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stardancerluv · 3 years

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When Gotham Almost Won

Summary: You are Roman’s weakness.

Arthur’s Note: This is after Creative Fervor & Sugary Kisses and Broken Glasses, but is before Roman’s Luck is His Lady & Gotham Lockdown 2020

A glass went sailing past you. “Why don’t you fucking understand ?”

“No one fucking cares about me!” You hollered back.

He came around his desk. He grabbed you before you could draw a breath. His gloved hands wrapped around you, and he shook you. “Yes, they fucking do.”

You could not bite back, the sound the pain it pulled from you. He barely flinched. Roman was in the midst of one of his blind angry tirades. Sometimes, you couldn’t even get him out of them.

“Fucking listen.” He shook you again. “I am in a war to gain the upper hand for Gotham.” His breath was hot in your face, when he exhaled. “You are my only weakness.”

That echoed in your heart. The screaming hadn’t, him holding you as he was which would most likely leave bruises didn’t but those words did.

You wilted, you stopped fighting.

“If anyone fucking grabbed you it would be over.” He stopped, and finally noticed that you gave up. “Y/N?”

“Alright.” You finally said. Your voice was scratchy from screaming. “I believe you. I won’t let them get the upper hand.”

He sighed and smiled. “That’s my girl.” His hands released you. But he wrapped his arms around you. As he held you, you could feel how hard and fast his heart was beating. You weakly hugged him back.

******

You waited till you heard his breathing deepened and evened. Very carefully, you slipped out of the bed you shared with Roman.

Grabbing a small bag, you packed a silly tshirt he bought you at The Booby Trap. Across the front, in bright colors it exclaimed that you both survived, its famous roller coaster.

Next, with tears in your eyes, you grabbed Millie and Max the stuffed cows he had won for you. Those two days at the Booby Trap, it felt like you were just a normal couple in love. Not of one where you were dating the infamous Roman Sionis

It had just been you and him, no fancy suits, and no fake smiles. It was a special time for the two of you, away from all of it.

All the while in the back of his mind, you were his weakness. No wonder, he had laughed when you were scared in the haunted house. The real threat, you should have been scared of was the Joker or Scarecrow. Unlike the fake monsters in the haunted house, one of them could snatch you away and kill you.

You loved him enough to not be what could bring him down, after all he had worked for.

Quickly, you slipped warmer clothes over what you had worn to bed. With tears sliding down your cheeks you watched, as Roman grumbled something incoherently in his sleep before be grew silent once again and you zipped up your boots. Grabbing, your purse you then went over to his office.

Looking, through his stuff you found sheets of paper with his initials embossed in an elegant black script.

Roman

I love you.

But that is why I have left.

Your club, your life should not be brought down by me, your only weakness.

Don’t go looking for me.

Let me read in the papers how you made them pay and how you became the king of Gotham.

I love you, goodbye.

Y/N

Your hand shook writing this. It really hurt. You had not expected to love him ever this much. Damn, you never thought it would last more then a month. Eight months of being with Roman had been amazing.

His darkness and his surprising tenderness was all you had ever needed. He cared and loved you the way you wanted.

Grabbing another sheet of paper. You quickly scrawled the following.

Roman Sionis is becoming fucking unstoppable.

You all better watch out.

Sincerely the girl who once got to love him.

You put that note into his fax machine. You didn’t care if that would severe any future job prospects with any of them. You also made sure it was emailed to all the important people.

It would be for the best if they all knew you were over and who’s side you were on.

Instead of taking the elevator, you took the stairs. As the frigid air pulled hard on you. But you managed to hail a cab to your studio.

It was ice cold in your studio. You no longer kept anything important there, except supplies. You would have to make it your home again. Right now, this was seriously more painful then you ever imagined it would be.

Going, over to your sofa you practically collapsed onto it. You pulled down the knitted blanket. You got Millie the purple cow out of your bag.

Opening, the drawer of the end table by the sofa. You felt around. It was where you kept your melatonin, feeling the small jar you smiled.

Sometimes when you worked hard, your excitement over a new project it would steal sleep from you. So the melatonin helped! You took two tablets.

Now you wanted to sleep to forget. You wanted to not feel any pain. Maybe when you’d wake up, knowing you made the right decision, perhaps you then would not be in so much pain.

*******

Roman, rolled over and pulled you close; still half asleep. “I’m sorry I got so angry. Let’s stay in and forget the world baby.” He squeezed you. “Watch bad tv, maybe have a pizza made and not even chan...” His eyes snapped open. He pushed away the pillow, he had mistaken in his sleepy state as you.

Panic seized him, he took a breath. Maybe you were you up and working in your temporary studio or perhaps you were making breakfast.

Stretching, he ran his fingers through his hair. Wondering where you were he went in search of you.

You were nowhere. Hot anger and worry filled him. He had thought, you finally realized you couldn’t just run off. You needed Zsasz or someone with you. Or at the very least tell him.

Going, to his office he didn’t care how early it fucking was, he needed a drink. Never did he think, this would happen to him. He fucking, cared for you as much as he cared about himself. Well, if her were to be honest, he cared for you more.

He knew what he was capable of and he was fully aware what he’d do to maintain his control. You did not deserve to suffer anything because he was a cruel man.

He stopped, when he saw a bunch of faxes coming in fast. Some had had already fallen to the ground pushed aside from the faxes that came before it. The single sheet of paper in the middle of his desk made him curious. This was not how he had left his office.

A scream erupted from him before he even finished reading the fucking note. He crumpled it and ran back to the bedroom.

Once in the closet, he saw that you had taken Millie and Max, this was serious. He tore off his pajamas, and pulled on some clothes.

Opening, a drawer he took out his wallet, a set keys and one of his custom made hand guns, which he made sure was loaded. Eyeing the elevator, he decided to take the stairs. He took the stairs two at a time.

******

Leaving the parking garage, the sun momentarily blinded him. Blinking he watched the traffic and merging, he was off to get you back. He knew exactly where you’d go.

It did not take long for him to get over to where your studio was. He remembered that first time be went there with you.

There he had watched as you remained strong. You showed him the aftermath of what a former friend; a now serious competition had done. Your studio had been destroyed. You had not let it destroy you.

At that point, he had been incredibly sexually attracted to you. It was easy you were by far loviest girl he laid his eyes on.

Though watching you as you took in all the damage; especially to those prized scissors he thought you could be the one. Over the course of these eight months, you knew now that you were the one.

With every fiber of who he was, he wanted to protect you from all that he was. You were the reason why finally felt fear. He knew what he was capable of, so he was keenly aware what they could do to you. The idea caused bile rise in his mouth, he swallowed it down.

Cutting the engine, he got out of the car. He hoped that maybe you had left the door unlocked.

You had not. Good baby, he mused at least you had done that.

He remembered you had a spare key, luckily it was still there. He didn’t know what he was going to say when he saw you.

Once, inside he locked the door behind him. He walked over to your spiral staircase. He wrapped hands wrapping around the cool metal of the railing.

A soft sigh, came from behind him. He went over to the sofa, looking over he saw you there.

The blanket barely covered you, you held onto Millie and anguish was splashed across your face. Usually when you slept, he always had enjoyed seeing how peaceful you were. He hated seeing the pain.

He came around, and knelt beside the sofa. He watched you longer.

“Y/N,” He finally said your name. “Wake up we have to talk.”

You didn’t stir. “Y/N, baby wake up.”

You stirred.

“There you are.”

Blinking your eyes opened, as you saw him and turned away. “What are you doing here?” He heard you ask, despite being muffled by the sofa cushions.

Taking a breath, he reached and turned you to face him. You fought. “Listen, we have to talk.” He tried again.

Your eyes burned, when you finally relented and faced him. Your hair was a wild, he would have pulled you close for a kiss if it had been any other time.

“Y/N.” He still didn’t know what else to say, he honestly thought he had said it all yesterday.

“You made it clear, I am your weakness. So I left.” Your voice was clipped.

“You are.” He agreed. He saw the fire in your eyes flicker.

“So then let me go.” You swallowed.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because, because I could ruin everything.”

“How would you do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Now look,” You had really ensnared him as he looked at you. He couldn’t imagine not having you at his side. “You are my weakness because I care about you. You don’t make me weak.”

Confusion crossed your face.

Finally, he was sure he understood. “Before you, there was nothing they could use to fight me. Blow up my club, my car? I can replace all of that.”

Swallowing, he had thought you knew that. He thought you knew how he felt. The words lingered on his tongue.

“Listen,” He inhaled then exhaled. “Fuck,” He barked. “If they did anything you, I wouldn’t want anyone else after you.”

“Roman!” You cried and launched yourself at him. Wrapping your arms around him, you held on tight. Your breath was warm as it tickled his throat as you exhaled. “Really?” You whispered.

“Yes, you silly girl. I want you by my side as I take over Gotham.” He chuckled and you held onto him tighter.

*****

Once outside, beside his car he pulled your woolen cap down further on your head. You smiled up at him as he did. “Let’s get you home where you belong.”

“I promise I won’t leave. And I’ll be careful when I do.”

“You better not.” Tilting your head up. He watched as the sun danced across your face. He pressed a kiss to your lips, as a gust of icy wind swirled around the two of you.

******

He had been eyeing that last piece of the pizza for awhile. You had not made a move for it and neither had he in case you also wanted it. From now on he’d have to tell the chef, equal pieces. This just wasn’t fair.

Leaning over holding your legs in his lap, he grabbed the remote. He paused the movie.

You looked over at him. “Should I grab us some ice cream?” Your eyes were playful.

He pointed. “But there is still a slice of pizza.”

“After that big bowl of popcorn and the pizza, I really have a hankering for ice cream.”

“You’ll get cold.” Whenever you ate it, you ended shivering even before you’d finish a bowl.

“You’ll just have to warm me up.”

Smirking, moving he easily came over to your side of the sofa. As he looked down at you, he brushed aside you hair that fell into your face. Damn, he loved looking at you. He pressed a kiss to your lips.

“What about the pizza?” You giggled, lightly.

“I think I found something tastier.”

He kissed you again this time as he did you easily deepened it. He smiled against your lips when he felt your fingers nestle in his hair.

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spn-safeandsound · 4 years

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07. Dynamic Duo

Safe and Sound

Dean Winchester x Original Character

Episode: 1x11; Scarecrow

Word Count: 9,028

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence and gore

Author’s Note: Enjoy!

Masterlist in Profile Description!

Julia sat in the middle of a large field on an overcast day. It was filled with three different kinds of flowers—honeysuckle, marigold, and violets—all separated into different sections. The white, yellow, and purple flowers formed a circle around her. They reminded her of her mother.

Naomi Petersen had always been a fan of giving her daughters flowers for every holiday and birthday. There were even some days that flowers would randomly be delivered to Julia, Abby, and Beth without a reason other than for their mother to show her love. The three girls would make a game of it, looking up the meanings into the flowers Naomi sent them that day.

Honeysuckle meant bonds of love. Marigold meant despair or grief. Violets meant loyalty and faithfulness.

"Julia Ruth."

Julia looked away from the violets to her right and looked forward to where she heard the man's voice. There was no one in the field with her but the sun had started to shine. It didn't matter that there was no one there, though. She recognized the voice.

"It's you," she breathed, her lips quirking into a small smile. "It's been a long time."

Many times, while Julia was growing up, she'd have dreams like this. She wouldn't always be a field—a few times she had been in an empty classroom at Stanford or on a swing in an abandoned park—but they all had the same voice visiting her to give her guidance.

When she asked her mom about the dreams, Naomi had simply smiled and told her that he was her guardian angel.

"Eight months, five days, and thirty minutes," her angel answered.

The last time he had shown up, she was thinking about transferring to Northwestern to be closer to Beth and Levi. Her angel talked her out of it and she hadn't regretted that choice so far.

"What's wrong? You only show up when I need your guidance."

"Then you should know why I am here."

"Okay, so I need guidance," Julia assumed. "About what?"

"I cannot say much," her angel told her. "Just know that you will soon be facing some trials and tribulations, Julia Ruth."

Julia furrowed her eyebrows. "What do you mean? What trouble am I facing?"

"Trouble that will test your faith."

Julia scoffed, more confused. She was a faithful person and it took a lot for that to waiver. Even when her mother was dying, she still had faith in God and his angels. Her mother had always told her that having faith wasn't always about the good and happy times but the tough times, too.

"That really cleared it up for me. Thanks."

"Stay true to your faith, Julia Ruth," her angel ordered. "We will meet again soon."

A ringing started blare around the field, making her look around in confusion. Where was that coming from?

The sunlight had started to fade and she stood up.

"Wait!" she called to her angel over the ringing. "Wait—"

Julia groaned as Dean's phone continued to ring, rolling off of her stomach to lay on her side facing Sam. The thing seemed so loud, like Dean had purposefully turned it on full volume just to annoy her.

The phone rang again.

"Phone!" she moaned, squeezing her eyes and burying her face in her pillow.

"Dean."

Julia opened her eyes, about to pick up the phone and whip it at Dean's peaceful face, when Sam wearily grabbed it off the table in between the beds. He flipped it open, his eyes still shut, and lazily pressed it to his ear.

"Hello?" there was a pause as whoever was calling Dean spoke; Sam sat up in shock, suddenly awake. "Dad? Are you hurt?"

Julia's eyes widened in surprise and she sat up as well, making sure her tank-top fully covered her breasts.

"We've been looking for you everywhere," Sam told his father, glancing over at a stirring Dean. "We didn't know where you were or if you were okay."

Julia studied Sam's face, taking in his eager expression. She was glad that John had called; it had been months—or in Sam's case, years—since the brothers heard from him. They had been so worried.

"Well, we're fine," Sam stated. "Dad, where are you?"

Dean sat up, fully awake, his blanket falling down to his hips to reveal his bare chest.

"What? Why not?" Sam questioned John.

"Is that Dad?" Dean asked Sam. Julia leaned around Sam so he could see her and nodded, silently answering his question. His face lit up.

Sam's face fell in realization at whatever John said. "You're after it, aren't you? The thing that killed Mom...A demon? You know for sure?"

Julia raised her eyebrows at Sam as Dean pulled on the shirt he discarded before falling asleep. So, it was a demon who killed Mary and Jess...she wondered how John figured that out.

"A demon?" Dean leaned forward anxiously. "What's he saying?"

"You know where it is?" Sam said into the phone. "Let us help...Why not?"

Dean reached toward Sam expectantly, irritated with his lack of answers. "Give me the phone."

"Names? What names, Dad?" Sam's face contorted in aggravation. "Talk to me, tell me what's going on?"

Julia bit her lip and clasped her hands together tightly as Sam stiffened, his anger growing as John continued speaking.

"No," he said firmly. "All right? No way."

"Give me the phone!" Dean raised his voice at him. When Sam angrily pursed his lips, looking like he was about to blow a gasket, Dean grabbed the phone away from him. "Dad, it's me. Where are you?"

Julia grabbed Sam's clenched fists as John answered Dean, rubbing her thumb against the back of one of them to calm him down. He always got so angry with his dad; it had been that way for most of his life.

"Yes, sir," Dean agreed to whatever John said, swallowing harshly; he reached for the pen on the nightstand. "Uh-huh, yeah, I got a pen. What are their names?"

"So, where are you now?" Julia's older sister, Abby, asked through the phone.

"Uh, hold on," Julia leaned forward to look at Dean, who was shockingly sitting in the passenger seat. "Dean, where are we headed again?"

"Some town in Indiana," Dean grumbled back absentmindedly, tapping on the keyboard of Sam's computer to continue his research into the names John had given him.

"We're on our way to Indiana," Julia reported back to her sister.

"Oh, yeah? For what?"

"We have no idea yet," she sighed. "What about you?"

"I'm in Point Pleasant, Virginia," Abby informed her.

Julia furrowed her eyebrows. "Isn't that the town that obsessed with Mothman?"

Abby laughed. "You bet it is."

"What the hell are you doing there?"

"Hunting Mothman."

"No, you're not."

"I am."

"No, you're not, Abby. Be serious."

"I'm completely serious, Jules," Abby stated. "I saw it with my own two eyes."

Julia was silent for a few seconds and then, "Are you fucking kidding me?" she almost screeched. "You're legitimately hunting Mothman?"

That caught Dean's attention; he turned around with wide eyes. "Abby's hunting Mothman?"

Julia nodded. "She's hunting Mothman."

"How the fuck did she know that he's actually real?"

"Dean wants to know how you found out he's real," Julia told Abby.

"I went to Point Pleasant because I saw some reports about hearts being missing from some of the recent murders taking place," Abby explained. "I thought it was a werewolf but then I realized that the cycle isn't right."

"Uh-huh," Julia hummed and Dean gave her an expectant look; she held up her index finger. "Go on."

"So, I checked it out, anyway, just in case," Abby continued. "And apparently, one of the newest tours they're giving is telling their customers that Mothman eats hearts."

"Well, how would they know that?"

"They don't, that's my point," Abby said. "Someone messed around and created a Tulpa."

"What's a Tulpa?"

"It's a physical materialization of a thought," Dean told her at the same time as Abby, looking ecstatic. Even Sam stopped his bitch face for a few seconds to look impressed. "Wow, I can't believe she's hunting a Tulpa of Mothman. Tell her to take a picture."

"Dean wants you to take a picture," Julia told her sister, rolling her eyes at him.

Abby laughed. "I'll try my best."

"Be careful, okay?" Julia told her as Dean turned back around to focus on his research again. "Love you."

"You too," Abby echoed her affections. "Talk to ya later."

Julia hummed and hung up her phone, tossing it onto the seat next to her.

"Some people have all the luck," Dean muttered, completely dismayed that they were heading to Indiana instead of Virginia to kill Mothman.

"Well, it's not really Mothman if it's just a Tulpa," Sam pointed out.

"Whatever," Dean rolled his eyes.

Sam sighed. "All right," he changed the subject, his jaw clenched. "the names Dad gave us, they're all couples?"

Dean nodded. "Three different couples. All of them went missing."

"And they're all from different towns, different states?"

"That's right," Dean confirmed for him. "Washington, New York, Colorado...Each couple took a road trip cross-country. None of them arrived at their destination and none of them were ever heard from again."

"The continental US is huge, though," Julia reminded him. "I mean, what if they just changed their destination?"

"Maybe but each one's route took them to the same part of Indiana," Dean informed her. "Always on the second week of April. One year after another after another."

"This is the second week of April."

Dean nodded at his brother. "Yep."

"So, Dad is sending us to Indiana to go hunting for something before another couple vanishes?"

"Yahtzee," Dean confirmed. "Can you imagine putting together a pattern like this? All the different orbits Dad had to go through? The man's a master."

Sam pursed his lips, looking severely annoyed, and pressed on the breaks. He veered toward the shoulder of the road, making Dean give him a confused look.

"What are you doing?"

"We're not going to Indiana," Sam declared.

"We're not?"

"No," Sam turned off the engine. "We're going to California. Dad called from a payphone with a Sacramento area code."

Oh, no, Julia thought. A fight was bound to break out now. Sam hated following John's orders, especially when it had something to do with the thing that killed Mary and Jess—a demon, she reminded herself—and Dean always followed his orders. It had been the cause of many arguments before and it would cause more in the future.

"Sam—"

"Dean, if this demon killed Mom and Jess and Dad's closing in, we've gotta be here," Sam cut him off. "We've gotta help."

"Dad doesn't want out help," Dean stated.

Sam turned to face him, retorting, "I don't care."

"He's given us an order."

"I don't care," Sam emphasized slowly. "We don't always have to do what he says."

"Sam, Dad is asking us to work jobs, to save lives," Dean reminded his brother, his voice and eyes hardening. "It's important."

"All right, I understand. Believe me, I understand," Sam tried to change his mind. "But I'm talking one week here, man, to get answers. To get revenge."

"All right, look, I know how you feel—"

"Do you?" Sam retorted; Dean gave him a shocked look and Julia's eyes widened. "How old were you when Mom died? Four? Jess died six months ago. How the fuck would you know how I feel?"

Julia gaped at him, surprised that Sam would say anything like that. "Sam!"

"Dad said it wasn't safe for any of us!" Dean raised his voice back. "I mean, he obviously knows something that we don't, so if he says to stay away, we stay away."

Sam scoffed. "I don't understand the blind faith you have in the man," he shook his head. "I mean, it's like you don't even question him."

"Yeah, it's called being a good fucking son!"

"Dean!"

God, both of them were idiots.

Sam took the keys out of the starter and opened his door, sliding out of the car. He went straight to the trunk and opened it, grabbing his bags. Julia and Dean both got out of the car at the same time for different reasons—Dean wanted to argue and Julia wanted to stop Sam before he started hitchhiking to California.

"You're a selfish bastard, you know that?" Dean cursed at his brother. "You just do whatever you want. You don't care what anybody thinks."

Sam shrugged on his backpack, glaring at him. "That's what you really think?"

"Yes, it is."

"Well, then this selfish bastard is going to California," Sam grabbed his duffel bag and slammed the trunk shut.

"Sam, no, you can't leave," Julia protested, lunging forward to grab his arm as he started walking away; he shrugged out of her hold. "Sam, come on."

Dean scoffed in disbelief as Sam ignored her, continuing to walk away. "You're not serious."

"I am serious."

"Sam, it's the middle of the night!" Julia's eyes started stinging as she watched her best friend walk away from them.

He didn't respond.

"Hey, I'm taking off," Dean warned him loudly. "I will leave your ass, you hear me?"

Sam turned around, clenching his jaw, to answer, "That's what I want you to do."

Dean was quiet for a few seconds and Julia was hoping he'd just apologize so Sam would get back in the car, but he shook his head. "Goodbye, Sam."

"Dean—"

"Get in the fucking car, Julia," Dean snapped at her, pulling the keys from the trunk's lock and walking around to the driver's side. "Let's go."

Julia bit her lip and looked back at Sam with wet eyes, meeting his gaze. He just nodded at the car, knowing that she didn't want to choose. It wasn't like this was going to be forever, anyway—it was just until he found his dad.

"Julia!"

Julia jumped at Dean's exclamation and gave Sam a sad smile before opening her door and sliding back into her seat. He started up the engine as soon as her door closed and pressed harshly on the gas, propelling them forward. Julia didn't look back at Sam; she never walked away from him before and the guilt threatened to swallow her.

Burkittsville, Indiana was of the smallest towns Julia had ever seen. It consisted of maybe four or five roads with one restaurant, one general store, and one gas station. She didn't know that if the main part of town was always this dead, but she hoped it was the rain and not their everyday life. There was not a single person in sight.

Dean parked at the side of the road—it was actually more of a paved trail more than anything—and pulled his cellphone out of his pocket. Julia eyed him hesitantly, watching as he opened the phone and scrolled through his contacts until he stopped at Sam's name.

He hesitated for a second, his thumb hovering over the call button, and then flipped the phone shut.

"You should call him."

In the hours since they had driven away from Sam, Dean had calmed down considerably. In fact, Julia thought that he wasn't mad at all now. He had apologized for yelling at her only thirty minutes after they took off and she could feel the regret coming off of him in waves. She figured that it had more to do with Sam than it had to do with him raising his voice at her.

Dean's green eyes flicked up to hers as he pursed his lips. He shut off the engine and pulled the keys from the starter. "I'm not gonna call him," he stated before getting out of the car. "Let's go."

Julia slid out of the passenger seat and followed him down the sidewalk to the main road, thankful that she had dressed in a navy windbreaker to ward off the rain and slight breeze. "Why don't you wanna call him?"

"I don't wanna talk about it, Junior."

Julia glanced at a lady who passed by them with an umbrella, glad that someone actually lived in this town, and then back at him. "Dean."

"Can you just drop it for now?" Dean gave her a firm yet almost-pleading look. "I wanna ask this guy about the people who disappeared."

He pointed to the restaurant they were walking toward; she followed his gaze, spotting an old man sitting outside of a cute little place called Scotty's Café.

"Fine, okay."

They continued walking toward the café, coming to a stop a few feet from where the man was sitting.

"Let me guess," Dean greeted, looking down at the sour-looking man. "Scotty."

Scotty nodded, not looking happy about the fact that they stopped to talk to him.

"Hi, my name's John Bonham and this is—"

"Isn't that the drummer for Led Zeppelin?" Scotty interrupted his introduction.

Dean looked taken aback by the man's knowledge—as if Zeppelin wasn't a popular band or something. "Wow," he muttered. "Classic rock fan."

Julia pressed her lips together and turned back to Scotty. "I'm Lyla Johnson," she made up a random name, hoping that there wasn't some old celebrity who used to be popular that she didn't know about. "Nice to meet you."

Scotty didn't look impressed with either of them—this time Julia was taken aback. Usually almost every man she smiled at melted at the sight of her. "What can I do for you, Lyla?"

Julia looked at Dean, stumped, and his mouth straightened slightly into a grimace. He pulled out the pictures they had printed of the last victims, Vince and Holly Parker.

"We were wondering if you'd seen these people by chance," he unfolded the papers and gave them to Scotty so he could take a look.

"Nope," Scotty hardly looked at the photos. "Who are they?"

"Vince and Holly Parker," Julia said flatly; the names were the largest things written on the damn pictures. "They're friends of ours. They went missing last year and they passed through somewhere around here."

"We've already asked around Scottsburg and Salem—"

"Sorry," Scotty handed the papers back to Dean. Julia scowled down at him—if this guy interrupts us one more time... "We don't get many strangers around here."

Did Scotty know how suspicious he came off as right now? He might as well have a neon sign above his head proclaiming that he killed the couple himself. His answers were too avoidant and rehearsed.

Julia just did not like his vibe.

"Scotty, you've got a smile that lights up a room," Dean stated almost mockingly. "Anybody ever tell you that?"

Scotty's frown never left his stupid face.

"Never mind," Dean chuckled at his own sarcasm. "We'll see you around."

They walked away from the café, heading down the street toward Jorgeson Motors and Jorgeson General Store, which happened to be the town's only store and gas pump. Usually small towns were cute but this one made Julia want to curl up into a ball and cry her eyes out. She would be so bored if she lived here.

"I never want to see that man again," she muttered to Dean, shuddering dramatically.

"If I ever get as grumpy as that old bastard, I want you to shoot me," he agreed with her. "and he definitely knew something."

"Oh, I know," Julia rolled her eyes. "He had the strangest energy, too."

"Like what?"

"It's hard to explain, but," her nose wrinkled as she tried to find words that would make sense. "Okay, you know how Dumbledore's all about the greater good and all that?"

Dean nodded and hummed.

"But he doesn't really care about Harry's well-being as long as he's there to save the wizarding world," she continued. "That's the vibe I got from Scotty."

"Like that little fuckwad from Shrek," Dean understood and quoted the animated movie, "Some of you will die but that's the risk I'm willing to take."

"Yes!" she tapped him excitedly on the arm. "Wow, I can't believe you've seen Shrek!"

"It was on one night while I couldn't sleep," Dean explained as they approached the store; he pulled open the door and stepped back, letting her in before him. "It really shouldn't have been marketed for kids."

"Oh, yeah, definitely."

"Hi, there!" they were instantly greeted by a chipper older woman that was bundled up in a cozy cardigan. "I'm Stacy, what can I do for you folks?"

"Oh, we were just stopping by for a few minutes to stretch our legs," Dean told her as he snaked an arm around Julia's waist, surprising her. "We're on our honeymoon."

Julia looked at him in shock but changed her expression as Stacy cooed at them. "Oh, how wonderful!"

"Yeah," Julia smiled sweetly at her and grabbed the hand that Dean had resting on her upper hip, pinching him subtly. "We're so in love."

Dean rolled his eyes at her awkwardness and Stacy's smile faltered only a little bit.

"Well," her smile widened again. "Why don't you two take some apple pie for your trip? It's on the house."

Dean was very, very tempted by the offer for pie but he had to focus. Especially if Julia was going to act like an idiot who had never been in a relationship before.

"Actually," he pulled out the photos of Vince and Holly Parker, showing them to her. "we were wondering if you've seen our friends lately. They went missing about a year ago and we know they went through here..."

Stacy's smile instantly slipped from her face. A man walked out of the back room, then, slipped around the counter to see what was going on.

"What about who?" he asked curiously, though he seemed a little nervous.

"We're looking for some people," Dean handed him the photos. "Have you seen them?

The man studied the papers and shook his head. "No, I don't think so."

"Really?" Dean raised a skeptical eyebrow. Everyone they had seen so far were acting so suspicious and sweet old Stacy flipped her tune real quick. "You sure they didn't stop for gas or something?"

"Nope, don't remember them," the man confirmed. "You said they were friends of yours?"

"Best of friends," Julia nodded sweetly. At least her smile worked on him. "Holly and I grew up together."

A young blonde girl, around Julia's age, walked out from behind the counter carrying a stack of printed boxes. "Did the guy have a tattoo?"

"Yeah, he did."

The girl took the papers from the man. "Don't you remember, Uncle Harley?" she asked him. "They were just married."

"Oh, you're right, Emily," Harley suddenly remembered. "They did stop for gas. Weren't here for more than ten minutes."

God, these people needed acting coaches, Julia thought, how many people in this town are gonna cover for a couple of disappearances?

Clearly something was going on here and it wasn't just because the man all of a sudden remembered a couple just because his niece did. Julia got the same vibes from Harley and Stacy that she got from Scotty.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "You remember anything else?

"I told them how to get back on the interstate," Harley gave the papers back to Dean. "They left town."

"Can you point us in that same direction?" Dean wondered.

Harley nodded. "Sure."

Julia frowned at the apple orchard in front of them. It had to be the creepiest little orchard, ever—the apple trees looked like they came out of a Tim Burton movie, some of the grass was dead, and the only thing that had color in the whole area were the apples on the ground and in the trees. It wasn't even apple season, so how the trees had apples to begin with, she didn't know.

They were driving down the interstate in the direction that Harley sent them when all of the sudden, the EMF meter started lighting up and buzzing. It had come out of nowhere so Dean had pulled over. Of course, because she was that lucky, the EMF led them to the orchard.

If she could guess what was making the EMF go off, it'd be the creepy ass scarecrow propped up in the middle of the orchard.

"What crows eat apples?" she muttered as she and Dean slowly walked toward the scarecrow. "Apples aren't even in season, Dean."

"Tell me about it," Dean muttered bitterly as he looked up at the scarecrow. None of the pieces of apple pie he had recently were very good. Fall was the peak apple pie season. "Dude, you are fucking ugly."

Julia rolled her eyes and blanched when she saw that the scarecrow had a scythe in its hand. "Why the hell would a scarecrow be armed with that?"

Dean hummed, his eyes searching the scarecrow up and down. He paused a little when he spotted something that looked familiar on the arm with the scythe. He turned to the ladder next to the closest apple tree and picked it up, bringing it back over to the scarecrow.

Julia grimaced as he climbed the ladder, hoping that the thing wouldn't suddenly come alive and slice his head off. That would be horrific for everyone involved.

Dean reached toward the arm he wanted to get a closer look at and pulled by the sleeve. "You see that?" he asked Julia, nodding at the tattoo on the scarecrow's arm. "It's the tattoo."

Julia stood on her tip toes to get a better look. "The same tattoo as Vince Parker."

Dean pursed his lips and crawled down the ladder. "The very one."

They got into the Impala and drove back to Burkittsville, deciding that they needed to question the girl that seemed to be the only one who was telling the truth in the whole town.

"Okay, so, a couple goes missing every year around the same time like clockwork in the same place," Julia hummed, resting her head against the passenger window. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Dean nodded. "Human sacrifice."

"Yep," Julia sighed and lifted her head to look at him. "So, I'm thinking a Pagan or Norse god."

Dean glanced at her, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. "I thought you didn't believe in that stuff?"

"I believe that different types of gods exist," Julia shrugged. "I'd be ignorant not to, especially when my dad has had run-ins with a couple of them."

The most notable story she heard from her dad was the Trickster run-in, of course.

"But you're a Christian."

"Because I believe that my God is the main God," Julia explained. "With a capital 'G'. The one who rules over the universe."

"Hmm..." Dean nodded thoughtfully as they rolled back into the town limits. "So, you believe in Evolution?"

Julia laughed. "Yes, Dean, I believe in Evolution."

Dean sighed in relief. "Thank the lord you're not a kook."

She shook her head, smiling fondly. "Thanks, D. I appreciate it."

"No problem, shortcake."

There was a red SUV parked outside of Jorgeson Motors when they approached. Dean pulled off to the gas pump at the side of the road. To their immense luck, Emily was already outside the shop.

"You're back," she greeted them kindly as they got out of the Impala.

"Never left."

"You're still looking for your friends?" she buried her hands in her red hoodie.

Dean nodded as Julia leaned against the car. "You mind filling her up, there, Emily?" she nodded and grabbed the hose from the pump, inserting it into the tank. "So, you grow up here?"

"I came here when I was thirteen," Emily told them. "I lost my parents to a car accident. My aunt and uncle took me in."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Julia gave her a sympathetic smile; Emily gave her a grateful look. "Your aunt and uncle were nice."

Well, they were until they mentioned the missing people, anyway.

"Everybody's nice here."

"So, what, it's the perfect little town?" Dean asked skeptically.

Emily didn't catch his tone. "Well, you know, it's the boonies," she shrugged. "but I love it. I mean, the towns around us, people are losing their homes, their farms. But here? It's almost like we're blessed."

Julia raised her eyebrows. Blessed. Ripe apples in early spring, a scarecrow, a couple sacrificed every year, and a town that seemed to flourish in a recession? Something tugged on the back of her mind but she couldn't remember what the exact information was.

"Hey, have you been out to the orchard?" Dean asked her suddenly; Emily nodded. "You seen the scarecrow?"

Emily scoffed softly. "Yeah, it creeps me out."

"I thought I was the only one," Julia chuckled in comradery. "Do you know who owns it?"

"I have no idea," Emily shrugged. "It's just always been there."

Julia nodded in understanding as Emily took the hose from the tank and put it back in the pump.

"Is that your aunt and uncles?" Dean gestured to the red SUV with his head.

Emily shook her head. "A customer's," she corrected him. "had some car troubles."

"It's not a couple, is it?" Dean asked hurriedly. "A man and a woman?"

Emily nodded in confirmation.

"Are they around?" Dean hesitated before continuing, "eating at Scotty's, maybe?"

"It's the only restaurant in town," Emily told them like it wasn't obvious. "Famous for their apple pie."

They paid for the gas and thanked Emily for her help before making an excuse to stop into Scotty's Café. The couple were the only people in the café when they arrived, besides Scotty, who was serving them two plates of warm apple pie.

"Hey, Scotty," Dean greeted the older man like a friend—if that friend was a guy who was most likely sacrificing a couple each year for some god. "can we get a black coffee and a sweet tea?"

Scotty gave them an unhappy look as they walked over to one of the empty tables next to the couple.

"Oh, and some of that pie, too, while you're at it?" Dean called to Scotty before he could disappear into the kitchen. If it was any other server than Scotty, Julia would have scolded him for being so rude.

Julia nudged him in the back, silently urging him to sit down. She took the chair facing with the back facing the kitchen and Dean took the seat to her left.

"How ya doing?" he greeted the couple casually. "Just passing through?"

The woman nodded enthusiastically. "Road trip."

"Yeah, us, too," Dean hummed.

Scotty emerged from the kitchen with a pitcher of cider. He walked over to the couple's table and refilled their glasses. When he finished, he gave Dean a stern look. "I'm sure these people want to eat in peace."

"Just a little friendly conversation," Dean said innocently while Julia narrowed her eyes into a glare. "Oh, and that coffee and tea, too, man. Thanks."

"So," Julia spoke up, flashing the couple a smile in an attempt to counter Dean's enthusiasm. "what brings you to town?"

"We just stopped for gas," the woman told her. "The guy at the gas station saved our lives."

She raised a curious eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah, one of our brake lines was leaking," the guy stated. "We had no idea. He's fixing it for us now."

"Nice people," Dean cocked his head suspiciously; the man nodded. "So, how long until you're up and running?"

"Sundown."

"Really? To fix a break line?" the man nodded at Dean's question. "Well, you know, I know a thing or two about cars. I could probably have you up and running in about an hour. I wouldn't charge you anything."

The man wrinkled his nose and turned to his wife for help. The woman fixed Dean with a polite, if not a little standoffish, smile. "You know, thanks a lot, but I think we'd rather have a mechanic do it."

"Sure," Dean smiled slightly in agreement and paused, leaning in a little toward their table. "You know, it's just that these roads, they're not real safe at night."

"I'm sorry?"

Julia got the sense that they were creeped out now. "He means any roads at night," she rolled her eyes in amusement and sent them a friendly smile. "He's a bit of a safety nerd. Hazards of being a traffic cop, right, babe?"

She was getting a little better at this couple talk, Dean admitted to himself, a lot less awkward than before. He backed off of the couple at her pointed glare and straightened in his seat. When he saw that the couple had gone back to eating and not looking at him like he was a weirdo, he sighed.

"You and Sam gotta teach me that puppy-eyed look," he grumbled, picking up a sugar packet from the middle of the table.

"You wouldn't be able to master it," she told him quietly, her lips pulled up into a smug smile. "It's the brown eyes and dimples. You stick to that charming smile, huh?"

Dean playfully rolled his eyes at her.

"Thanks for coming, Sheriff," Scotty spoke loudly from the counter as the door to the café opened. A man, who Julia guessed was the town's only police officer, walked into the restaurant. He crossed the room and spoke quietly with the man.

Julia and Dean shared a look as the sheriff walked over to their table.

"I'd like a word, please," the man requested stiffly.

"Actually, we were just leaving," Julia stood up and pushed her chair in; Dean followed her lead, glaring at the man. "So, unless you have probable cause to detain us legally, we'd like to get out of town before dark."

The sheriff's face hardened considerably but Julia and Dean walked past him and out of the restaurant. As they drove out of town, he tailed them to make sure they wouldn't come back.

Dean looked in the rear view, where he could still see the cruiser, and chuckled quietly.

"What?" Julia asked him curiously.

"That was badass back there," he told her. "How'd you know all that?"

"Beth's a lawyer remember?" she reminded him. "I used to help her study for her finals."

"So, you know all that legal bullshit?"

"Not all of it but, yeah," she shrugged. "I know some."

"Not gonna lie, Jules, that's kinda sexy."

Julia sighed in amusement when he smirked at her. "Oh, Dean...what are we gonna do with you?"

"Have you found anything yet?" Dean groaned from his bed, lazily turning his head toward the table where Julia sat with her laptop, researching Pagan gods.

After the sheriff stopped following them out of town, they waited at the orchard for the couple they met at the restaurant. Both of them had a pretty good idea that their car was gonna break down right around there and they would be the god's yearly dinner. They happened to be right; a half-hour after the sun set, they spotted the red SUV come to a stop at the side of the road in front of the orchard.

After saving the couple, they drove them to the nearest town, Scottsburg, and told them to make sure that they stayed out of Burkittsville. The couple and Julia and Dean got rooms at the same motel and in the morning, Dean went back to the orchard with the man and fixed up their SUV so they could get the hell out of dodge.

So, now Julia was stuck in the room with a miserable Dean, researching different fertility gods that could be animating the scarecrow.

"Maybe if you helped me..." she hinted flatly.

"That's not how this works, shortcake," Dean sighed, rolling onto his stomach with his head at the foot of the bed. "I'm the muscles, you're the brain."

"What's Sam, then?"

"When Sam was with us you were the beauty and he was the brains," Dean answered simply, his green eyes dimming at the mention of his brother. "You wanna watch a movie? Let's watch a movie."

"Dean," Julia sighed as he turned on the television.

"Oh, look, Forrest Gump is on," Dean said to avoid the conversation he just knew she wanted to have. "You're a Tom Hanks fan, right?"

"Well, yeah, but—" she paused, not allowing herself to become distracted. "No, you're not gonna distract me."

"I'm not trying to distract you."

"Sure, you aren't."

"What do you want me to say?" Dean huffed, jumping off the bed to start pacing the length of the room. "That I was a jackass to my little brother? I already know that."

"I wasn't going to say that, Dean," Julia crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair.

Dean gave her a doubtful look. "What were you gonna say then?"

"I was gonna say that you're an idiot," Julia told him; when he sent her a glare, she continued, "but so is Sam. You guys have conflicting personalities so it's not a surprise that you guys rub elbows sometimes."

"That's what brothers do," he crossed the room, feeling a little better that she called Sam an idiot too, and sat in the chair across from her.

"I know that. I'm just saying...just because you fight doesn't mean that you'll never see him again," she smiled at him. "Even when we were at Stanford, Sam talked about you all the time. You do the same thing."

"I do not," Dean grumbled, the tips of his ears turning pink with embarrassment.

"Yeah, you do," she said matter-of-factly. "When we met up for your birthday last year you asked about him before you even said hi."

"Well, that's—"

"And then you asked me whether or not he was doing well in school," she smirked at him. "and you didn't want to go near my apartment because you didn't want to make Sam uncomfortable."

Dean pressed his lips firmly together, looking uncomfortable with what she was saying.

"And that's okay, Dean," she leaned forward and reached across the table, placing her hand on his right fist. "You raised Sam and with your dad gone right now, he's your only blood left."

The corners of his lips quirked, making the dimples above them pop out. "I miss him, okay?" he admitted. "And I feel like absolute shit for what I said to him."

"So, call him," Julia urged, taking her hand back and nodding at his phone he left on the table when they entered the room earlier that morning. "Tell him what's going on."

"How about you tell me what you found, first," Dean grinned crookedly. "and, then, I will give him a call."

"Okay," she instantly gave in. "So, I did some research about gods of fertility."

"As in...?"

"No," Julia denied quickly and moved on, "I mean like crop fertility and all that stuff. There's different gods in different cultures. In Norse mythology, there's Thor and Freyr, in Greek mythology it's Aphaea and Demeter, in Roman mythology it's Robigus."

"Okay, so that's why there's apples in spring," Dean guessed. "and why the town is still in business while everything around it dies."

"Exactly," Julia nodded. "and at the basis of fertility, whether it's agricultural or reproductive—"

"A sacrifice of a male and female," Dean finished for her. "So, you were right about Scotty. He's Farquaad."

"Yep," Julia typed into her computer, looking at the address of an ideology professor at a local college. "I emailed a local professor and asked him if he had time to answer some questions. We're meeting with him at two."

"Good work, shortcake. You're getting better at this," Dean tapped the table for emphasis. "Come on, we have time for lunch."

"And for you to call Sam," she reminded him, standing up to grab her Stanford crewneck to slip over her head.

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

After they stopped for lunch, they started heading toward the local community college located on the other side of Scottsburg. While driving, Dean called Sam and was surprised that he actually answered. He quickly gave him the rundown of what happened with the couple the night before, causing Sam to pause for a few seconds.

"The scarecrow climbed off its cross?" he asked in shock.

"Yeah, I'm telling ya," Dean sighed, shaking his head. "Burkittsville, Indiana. Fun town."

"It didn't kill the couple, did it?"

"No, we can cope without you, you know," Dean shot the phone an annoyed look but Julia knew that he wasn't annoyed at all. She could tell by the gleam in his green eyes.

"So, something must be animating it," Sam said thoughtfully. "A spirit, maybe."

"We think it's more than that," Julia spoke up, glad that Dean put the call on speakerphone. "It might be a Pagan god."

"What makes you say that?"

"The annual cycle of the killings and the fact that the victims are always a man and a woman—like some kind of fertility rite," Dean explained. "And you should see the locals and the way they treated this couple. They were fattening them up like a Christmas turkey."

"The last meal," Sam offered. "Given to sacrificial victims."

"We're thinking a ritual sacrifice to appease some Pagan god."

"The god animates the scarecrow and the scarecrow takes its sacrifice," Julia stated. "For another year, the crops won't wilt and disease won't spread."

Sam hummed. "Do you know which god you're dealing with?"

"Not yet but I think I've narrowed it down a little," Julia sighed. "We have an appointment with a professor at a local community college."

"We wouldn't have to go if we had the brains of the team back," Dean hinted.

Sam caught it and laughed lightly. "You know, if you're hinting you need my help, just ask."

"I'm not hinting anything," Dean lied and then hesitated, looking over at Julia; she nodded encouragingly. "Actually, uh...I want you to know—I mean, I don't think that—"

"Yeah," Sam took mercy on Dean's inability to express his emotions outright. "I'm sorry, too."

"Sam, you were right," Dean admitted. "You gotta do your own thing. You gotta live your own life."

"Are you serious?" they could hear the surprise in his voice.

"You've always known what you want and you go for it," Dean said seriously. "You stand up to Dad and you always have. Hell, I wish...anyway, I admire that about you. I'm proud of you, Sammy."

Julia smiled and turned her head to look out the window, her eyes filling with tears. She was such a sap. She was one of those people who were cursed to cry when they were sad, happy, and angry. It made it hard to have a serious argument when you suddenly burst into tears—she knew that from experience.

Sam was kind of speechless at Dean's confession. "I don't even know what to you say."

"Say you'll take care of yourself."

"I will," Sam promised.

"Call us when you find Dad."

"Call us if you don't," Julia added, swallowing thickly to hide her tears.

Both Sam and Dean knew that she was crying. They all knew each other way too well.

"Okay," Sam said quietly, a hint of sadness in his voice. "Bye, Dean. Bye, J."

"It's not every day I get a research question on Pagan ideology," Professor Jenkins stated as he led Julia and Dean to his office.

"Well, we're in our last semester at Stanford," Julia told him. "We're partnered on a thesis about how Christianity took over the trend of Pagan ideals and practices."

"But you said you were interested in local lore?" he gave her an interested look.

She nodded with a dimpled smile.

"Well, I'm afraid that Indiana isn't really know for its Pagan worship," Professor Jenkins said apologetically.

"Well, what if it was imported?" Dean spoke up. "You know, like the Pilgrims brought their religion over. Wasn't a lot of this area settled by immigrants?"

"Well, yeah..."

"Like the town near her, Burkittsville," Dean added. "Where are their ancestors from?"

Professor Jenkins pressed his lips together thoughtfully. "Uh, northern Europe, I believe. Scandinavia."

"So, the Norse gods," Julia hummed.

"There are hundreds of Norse gods and goddesses," Professor Jenkins confirmed.

"We're actually looking for one," Dean told him. "It might live in an orchard."

"Woods god, huh?" Professor Jenkins turned down a short hallway and opened one of the two doors. He let them into his office and walked right over to a large book on Pagan ideology that he took out ahead of their appointment. "Well, let's see."

Professor Jenkins leafed through the pages carefully. Dean stopped him when he saw a drawing of a scarecrow in the middle of a flourishing field. "Wait, wait, what's that one?"

"Oh, that's not a woods god, per se..."

Dean squinted as he read the title of the chapter. "The V-Vanir?" Professor Jenkins nodded and he read on, "The Vanir were Norse gods of protection and prosperity, keeping local settlements safe from harm. Some villages built effigies of the Vanir in their fields. Other villages practiced human sacrifice. One male and one female..."

"Freyr is a Vanir," Julia supplied. "and so are Freya, Odin, and Thor..."

"Correct," Professor Jenkins confirmed.

"Do you know if Freyr took human sacrifices?" she asked him, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I-I'm not sure."

Dean pointed to the Vanir on the page. "Looks like a scarecrow, doesn't it?"

"Well, I suppose," Professor Jenkins chuckled awkwardly.

Dean continued to read, "This particular Vanir that's energy sprung from the sacred tree."

"Well, Pagans believe all sorts of things were infused with magic."

"So, what would happen if the sacred tree was torched? You think it'd kill the god?"

"Son, these are just legends we're discussing," Professor Jenkins laughed slightly. "I thought your thesis is on Pagan ideals and practices?"

"It is," Julia nodded with a grateful smile. "Professor Jenkins, thank you so much for your help."

Professor Jenkins shook the hand Dean was offering. "My pleasure."

The two of them went to leave the office. When Julia opened the door, the butt of a gun was forced against her forehead, instantly knocking her out.

When Julia came to, she was being tied to an apple tree.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," she groaned loudly, glaring up at Harley and Stacy, who were finishing up her ropes. "I am not about to be sacrificed when apples aren't even in season!"

"You don't have to worry about that for much longer," Stacy hushed her with a harsh glare.

"How many people have you killed, Sheriff?" she heard Dean ask. She whipped her head to the right and saw that he was being tied to his own tree a couple feet away from her. "How much blood is on your hands?"

"We don't kill them," the sheriff defended him and his neighbors.

"Oh, and accessory to murder is so much better?" Julia scoffed, wincing as Stacy harshly tightened the ropes around her wrist. "Take it easy, grand—"

She was slapped before she could even finish her warning. "Son of a bitch!"

"You okay, Jules?" Dean called as Stacy and Harley backed away from her tree.

"I'm peachy, Dean."

"Good," he turned his attention back on the sheriff. "How many cars have you hidden or clothes you've buried?"

"That's none of your concern," the sheriff spat.

The four elders started walking away from their trees, toting their shotguns with them.

"I hope your apple pie is fucking worth it!" Dean shouted after them.

A half-hour passed as they were stuck there, the sun starting to set. There was still a little bit of light left in the sky when Emily appeared. She pressed her finger to her lips at the confused looks they gave her, telling them to be quiet as she carefully walked over to them.

She knelt in front of Dean, pulling a pair of scissors out of her sweater pocket.

"You didn't know anything about this, did you?" he asked her as she started sawing at the thick ropes wrapped around his wrists.

"The scarecrow god?" she scoffed quietly. "No. I overheard my aunt and uncle talk about it earlier. They said they were gonna use you guys as the sacrifices."

"Thanks for helping," Julia sighed gratefully as Dean pulled his wrists, snapping through the rest of the rope.

"What's the plan?" Emily asked her and Dean.

"We can destroy the scarecrow but we gotta find the tree."

"What tree?"

"It would be really old," Dean explained. "The locals would treat it with a lot of respect. You know, like it was sacred."

Emily thought for a few seconds before her eyes lit up in realization. "The First Tree."

"What's the First Tree?" Julia wondered as Dean ran over to her and started freeing her from her ropes.

"It was an apple tree that the immigrants brought over with them," Emily told her. "It's somewhere around here."

"Okay," Dean broke through Julia's ropes, helping her to her feet and gently brushing a thumb over her black eye. "We'll focus on that tomorrow. For now, we gotta get the fuck out of here."

The three of them paused when they heard footsteps coming their way.

"Oh, my God," Emily breathed fearfully, afraid that it was the scarecrow. "Oh, my God."

"Dean? Julia?"

"No, thank God," Julia corrected her with a sigh of relief as Sam walked around a couple of apple trees, appearing before them.

"Oh, I take everything back!" Dean exclaimed, grinning at his brother. "I'm so happy to see you."

"Sam, how'd you get here?" Julia grinned at him.

"I, uh—I stole a car," he admitted sheepishly.

Dean laughed. "Oh, that's my boy!"

"Guys," Emily spoke up worriedly. "Maybe we should get out of here."

"Keep a lookout for the scarecrow," Julia warned Sam. "It could come alive at any second."

Sam gave her a confused look. "What scarecrow?"

Dean rushed around the tree where Julia had been tied up, looking for the scarecrow. It wasn't on its post.

"Fuck," he cursed harshly before turning back to Sam, Julia, and Emily. "All right, let's get the hell out of here."

While they started running through the orchard, Dean told Sam how to kill the scarecrow and stop the sacrifices.

"All right," Sam breathed. "this sacred tree you're talking about—"

"It's the source of its power."

"So we find it and burn it," Sam stated casually.

"In the morning," Dean insisted. "Let's shag ass before Leatherface shows up."

The four of them turned into another row of apple trees and stopped in their tracks when they came face-to-face with Harley and Stacy.

"This way," Dean urged, moving to the left.

Behind him, Scotty cocked his shotgun. On the two other sides were the sheriff and Professor Jenkins, both with large guns aimed at them. A soft growling approached them, causing Emily and Julia to back into Dean and Sam.

"Please, let them go," Emily begged her aunt and uncle.

"It'll be over quickly," Harley assured her. "Emily, you have to let it take them. You have to—"

Harley grunted as the scarecrow's scythe impaled itself through his heart. Stacy screamed loudly, the others scattered, and Emily turned away. Her aunt was next on the scarecrow's list; he grabbed her around the neck, impaled his scythe in the back of Harley's leg and dragged them both off back into the middle of the orchard.

The next afternoon, Julia, Sam, and Dean saw Emily off on a bus leaving to Boston, Massachusetts. They had found the First Tree earlier in the morning and it was Emily, herself, that lit it on fire.

Julia was very impressed with the girl and her bravery. Not many normal people would risk their life to save a couple of strangers from being sacrificed. Especially when it was for the good of the town they lived in and loved. Emily was a genuinely good person and Julia wished the best for her.

As the bus drove off, Sam sighed, "Think she's gonna be all right?"

"I hope so," Dean stated, staring after the bus.

"And the rest of the people, they'll just get away with it?"

"They'll be punished enough when their whole town burns to the ground around them," Julia muttered bitterly; the brothers gave her a hesitant look, reminded of when she suggested burning down the whole orchard just in case. "Metaphorically, of course."

Dean playfully rolled his eyes at her. "You little pyromaniac."

Julia winked at him.

They started walking back to the Impala. "So," Dean started, looking over at his brother. "Can I drop you off somewhere?"

"No," Sam scoffed lightly. "I think you're both stuck with me."

Dean raised his eyebrows as he stopped by his door. "What made you change your mind?"

"I didn't. I still want to find Dad and you're still a pain in the ass," Sam chuckled and paused briefly. "But, Jess and Mom are both gone. Dad is God knows where. You and Julia—you're the only people I have left."

Dean's eyes flickered over to Julia, remembering her saying something almost exactly like that the day before. She was smiling cutely at the ground, her dimple on display. He was sure there were probably tears in her eyes.

"So," Sam sighed and Dean looked back at him. "if we're gonna see this through, we're gonna do it together."

"Sam!" Julia sniffed and lunged toward the brothers, wrapping them into an involuntary hug. Dean had been right about her tears; they were currently soaking Sam's sleeve. "That was so beautiful. You should write a book of poems or something."

Dean laughed. "You could call it The Somber Sonnets of Sam Winchester."

"Ha-ha," Sam muttered sarcastically, removing a giggling Julia from around him. "You both should be kissing my ass, by the way. You guys were dead meat."

"Emily saved us long before you did, dude," Dean pointed out. "You got there just for the ending."

"He's right."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Sure, he is."

(Gif is not mine)

#supernatural rewrite #dean winchester x oc #dean winchester x reader #supernatural #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x original character

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writingfordreams · 5 years

Note

hi could you write an imagine about how Taron and the reader enjoy the weekend at the beach and they rent a cute lil beachfront house and the beach is private so there’s not a whole lot of people and they spend their entire time swimming, resting, making love, going out to shop and eat, and cuddling on the porch at night and listening to the waves. this is super detailed but I can’t stop thinking about it :(

i love all the detail in this, and i had a lot of fun writing it! i was happy to do this for you, and i hope it’s alright! thank you so much for the request ♡ more under the cut as per usual!

It wasn’t often that you and Taron had a weekend of complete nothingness. No events, no parties, no family to see, zero obligations. When Taron perked up at the idea of a beach weekend in the middle of a comfortable silence, it might’ve been the happiest moment of your entire existence thus far. Alright, that’s dramatic, but you were so, so happy. Sometimes you forget the wealth between you and your boyfriend, because when you arrived to the little beachfront house, a means to a beautiful view of the ocean and a couple of propped up umbrellas, you’re shocked. To say the least of it, anyway. Taron’s got a bag hung over his shoulder of a few necessitates that just couldn’t sit in the suitcases as you two walk inside, meeting the newly furnished living area and kitchen, and you plop down onto a love seat that actually feels like heaven. The whole place is drowned in this dewy blue hew, brought to you by aqua curtains. There’s shells just about every place a shell could be, and you look to Taron with every small discovery. He meets you half way with just as much joy. Each time you and Taron meet eyes it’s like this electrifying excitement that never quite goes away. This thrilling realization that, yes, this whole weekend was yours.

That Friday, you spend the rest of the morning unpacking. Putting clothes into drawers, figuring out how to work a kettle that Taron is convinced belongs on a space ship rather than the humble abode of your getaway paradise, and stepping outside just to smell the ocean air. Taron throws on a pair of shorts (That you told him prior to getting there that he should’ve put on to begin with), and he puts an arm around you as the waves come crawling in, crashing back into the body of the ocean like a beautiful reunion. When you two look at each other, the smiles are toothy and sincere. After a while and a power nap or two, the evening begins to roll in like the water touching the shoreline and you and Taron take a stroll along the dimming beach. There’s a small souvenir shop by the stairs of the dock that looked promising but was most definitely closed. Taron insists it’s not based on a small light turned on and runs ridiculously up the sand, peering into dark windows just to prove you right. You laugh adoringly at his efforts, and kiss his face when he comes back to you out of breath and sheepish. When you both had your fill of the ocean night life, you return to the beach house with lazy smiles and happy bellies fully of candy floss from a vendor that you just caught before closing. You set down your phone and before you can turn to face Taron he’s got two hands at your hips, and he’s smiling at you like he did at the setting sun just minutes before. When you two kiss it’s sticky sweet and lovely, and you both take your time unraveling each other. From the couch, to the bed, to each other.

Saturday morning brought on a trip to a small grocery store on the dock, and a full English breakfast carefully assembled by you and Taron. You both definitely wont discuss how you accidentally dropped an egg on the floor and laughed over it so long that you forgot to check on the sausage. With bellies full, you both head out to the dock for a bit of shopping. Taron sings along to the music buzzing along the chipping wood and shopping folks (You’re surprised by the lack of crowds, honestly) and you record a clip of him singing This Charming Man by The Smiths in his best impression for your Instagram story (Which you happily stamped with a sticker of a fish with sunglasses on). After a vicious day of draining your every penny, you return to your temporary home with new flip flops, a hat that Taron says makes you look like, and you quote, a sexy beach scarecrow, and two matching shirts for you and your boyfriend. Taron has his on already because of course he couldn’t wait, and you throw yours on once you step foot into the door. When the afternoon lulls on, you and Taron sit intertwined on the porch couch and watch seagulls fight over a discarded churro. Eventually you shift into a position where your head’s in Taron’s lap, and he’s toying with the strands of hair on your head while he talks about anything, everything. You can’t help bringing a hand up to squeeze at his chin while he talks, and it just feels right when he dips down to take your mouth in his own in a sweet kiss every few moments. Time escaping you both, the night rolls in in the sky leaving it a dull blue, and you nearly fall asleep to the sound of the waves - and almost don’t notice Taron leaving just to come back with two glasses of wine and a plate of pre-cut and prepared crackers and cheese you two had picked up that morning. Thank god. You talk, you laugh, you eat and even manage to have a heart to heart, sat there on the contentment of the porch.

Sunday comes with a certain lets makes the best of it attitude. You both take in your last morning of paradise, you wrapped up in Taron’s arms as he sways you both gently out of your sleepiness. First thing on the agenda was swimming, which, you’re shocked you hadn’t done any of just yet. The beach is no where near crowded, well with just a few people lingering about three miles off, and Taron’s got a hand at your back the whole walk into the water. Once you’re waist deep, shivering and chuckling, Taron goes completely under because he’s decidedly a maniac. Apparently a contagious son of a bitch too, because you take the leap and go under as well not long after his sudden bravery. You two smile so hard your cheeks hurt, splashing as the sun begins to poke from the clouds and warm up your skin which was littered with droplets of water and soon to be darker freckles and beauty moles. It feels like a film when you two kiss in the churning waves surrounding you, salty and happy. With one long, shared towel wrapped around the both of you, you walk further up the sand and decide together to lie and bathe in the sun for a while. Of course you take a few photos of Taron in his shirtless glory, and in return he shows you the photos he took of you last night, staring at the sun, then asleep on the porch. You show him that singing Instagram story, too.

Dinner is at a dimly lit seafood place up at the end of the dock, bustling with sounds of cutlery and dull chatter among the guests. You and Taron talk over a bowl of bread sticks and yes, ask for seconds when offered them. Dinner is as good as Taron looks in the orange hue of the place, and you clap and sing along to someone elderly man’s birthday brought on by happy waiters. Dessert is a lava cake shared by the both of you, and Taron takes it upon himself to get another good selfie in with spoons in your mouths. The walk out is within Taron’s arms, with yours around his waist (Could we look anymore like a couple? you’d said.) Once you get back to the house, it’s like a dam had broken and it’s all hands and teeth and heartbeats jumping from your chests. Taron says he loves you first chance he gets, and you can hear the waves go on outside from a window you had left open and forgot to close once you left for the day. You make love right there on the couch, kissing slowly and admiring each other at every chance. You tell Taron you love him when he’s got his mouth on your neck, and the vibration of his happy groan sends chills around your body.

The following morning is too quick for your liking. Besides the hour spend lazing on the couch you both had accidentally woken up on, smiling at each other and chatting about a dream you had which starred a man chasing you down the dock asking you if you’d like more bread sticks. Taron happily reenacts the horror of it once he stands, taking you with him and chasing you stupidly around the kitchen until you surrender, waving a napkin as a flag. Breakfast is jelly on toast because you both can’t be bothered until you head out one last time to the dock. Then it’s down to the beach, eating breakfast sandwiches and asking a nice couple to take a photo of you and Taron by the sand, holding up drinks you had picked up from a vendor bar along the shore. Smiling and holding each other as the sun peaked out from behind you. Taron takes a phone call while you look through the photos from that morning, smiling at one of Taron holding a bitten slice of toast up to his mouth, acting as a smile. When he returns to you, there’s melancholy in the smile he gives you. As the day comes to an end, you two stop at a few more stores to pick up a few things for Taron’s sisters and his mother. You buy a few magnets to give as gifts and a beach towel with the name of the location on it in fancy fonts. You and Taron laugh at how overpriced some items were and then discuss how important it is to support smaller tourist businesses and such. You both meet half way as usual. Packing up follows, both of you running around making sure not a single phone charger or hair tie was left behind. You selfishly take in the view from the porch for a little while longer while Taron sets up things in the car, and then you say your silent goodbyes, bringing a few bags to the van. The car ride home consists of This Charming Man by The Smiths and not much else.

#taron egerton x reader #taron egerton fic #taron egerton imagine #taron egerton fanfiction #taron egerton fanfic

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quicksilverlightning · 4 years

Text

The Interview

Might Tower is imposing, even on a clear day. Now, with the storm clouds rolling overhead, you could easily imagine it as a supervillain’s lair. You sigh wistfully, thinking of the umbrella you left on the bus.

You enter the lobby through the double doors and immediately head for the press entrance. The security clearance is swift and painless - metal detector, ID check, page though your notebook, nothing terribly invasive. The guard that has just finished patting you down gives an apologetic smile and a temporary badge that you clip on to your jacket. You ignore the main elevator and walk quickly over the glossy floor, passing the information desk where another guard is chatting up the redheaded secretary, and several cased displays of memorabilia, detailing both large and small moments in the long career of All Might.

The smaller elevator you’ve been directed to is tucked against the back wall and you swipe the badge, nodding to the guard with more confidence than you actually feel. You were invited here after all, one of dozens of reporters clamoring for the opportunity to interview All Might in the aftermath of Kamino Ward.

You nearly fell out of your chair when the boss tossed the press packet on your desk. It wasn’t until later, after the initial shock wore off, that things began to make a little more sense - the small-time office you work at was destroyed in the hero’s final fight. Even though you knew All Might was personally footing the bill for a significant amount of the reconstruction, you wouldn’t put it past your boss to put a guilty spin on the request for an interview; it was a small price to pay for recompense, surely?

You shake these thoughts off as the elevator stops at the 48th floor, just a few flights short of the top. The door opens with a musical ding and you find yourself in an open room covered in a creamy golden carpet. The walls are a rich, warm brown between vast swaths of windows overlooking the cityscape. Large rectangular frames decorate the walls at regular intervals; the nearest one is just a few steps from the elevator, and you realize that they’re movie posters. You can see some superhero films, as expected, but also a Western, a few sci-fi flicks, some sort of period drama, and, surprisingly, a couple of animated movies. The one you’re looking at is autographed, and you suspect every poster in this room is as well.

“Admiring my collection?”

The voice is deep and smooth, a far cry from the boisterousness of All Might, but you jump all the same. The man himself is standing on the other side of the room, hands clasped loosely behind his back, apparently watching the city as he waited for your arrival. He raises his arms in a placating motion at your start with a sheepish grin.

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to startle,” he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly.

He’s tall is the first thing in your mind. You knew that of course, intellectually, but seeing it in person is another thing entirely. All Might towers over you even slouched as he is, folded over on himself as though he’s afraid to take up too much space. His face is gaunt, but not unpleasant, blond hair bursting from his head like a sunflower. Long, spindly limbs stretch from his torso - all in all, he looks more like a scarecrow than a professional hero, even a retired one. You jolt again when you realize he’s watching you, waiting for a response.

“Ah, no, sorry - I was the one spacing out.”

It’s your turn to fumble, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, clutching at your notebook a little tighter. You jump one more time when he throws back his head and laughs.

“Well, miss,” he swings an arm wide. “Welcome to Might Tower! I have to say, you got up here faster than any of the others.”

You furrow your brow. Faster? He doesn’t wait for you to ask.

“I let the security team give visitors a little hell when they get a bit too entitled.” There’s a spark of mischief in his grin. “Gives me an idea of what’s coming for me.”

You can’t help the breathy giggle that escapes, lifting a hand to stifle it.

“So, me being the fastest…”

“Tells me that you’re polite, and probably of a rather calm disposition,” he nods with a wink. He moves away from the window towards the middle of the room where two overstuffed couches sit on either side of a wooden coffee table.

“Please, have a seat. Can I offer you some tea?”

“Oh, yes, thank you.” A hot cup of tea sounds delightful after the chill outside. You seat yourself in the middle of the couch.

All Might looks startled at your easy acceptance for a moment then laughs again. He shuffles over to a small counter against the wall, still chuckling.

“I’ve been making that offer to every reporter that’s come up here for almost two weeks,” he sounds genuinely pleased. “This is the first time anyone’s taken me up on it!”

He bustles about, grabbing dishware and sugar packets, setting a kettle on a small warmer. He loads everything on to a silvery tray, leaving the water to boil. The tray is placed on the dark wood between you and he settles himself on the opposite couch.

"You’re from the Kamino office, yes? The one caught in the crossfire?” His tone takes on a more somber note. You can see the guilt resting in the lines of his face and you find yourself rushing to reassure the former hero.

“Yes, but it’s not your fault!” You cringe inwardly, worried your voice was a little too loud, too eager.

“No one was there that night anyway and, well, the building wasn’t all that great.” You offer a timid smile that grows a little wider when the tension in his shoulders eases.

“All the same,” All Might runs a hand through his mane of blond hair. “I am sorry,” he looks tired, guilty, and you search for something to say.

“It’s okay. Really!” Your voice is too loud again when it looks like he doesn’t believe you. “I’m looking forward to working in a nicer office. Something with an open floor plan, maybe a few more windows."

He chuckles at your burst of enthusiasm. It’s a low sound that rumbles around the room like distant thunder. A moment later, you realize it was thunder - you forgot all about the storm brewing outside. You glance over; it isn’t raining, not yet, but there are streaks of water against the large windows. All Might hums in the back of his throat, pushing himself off the couch.

“That’s one of the things I like about these tall buildings,” he moves to grab the steaming kettle.

“You like the rain?”

Steam billows from the spout as he pours water over the tea leaves.

“I do. I find it soothing.” He places a small cup on your side of the table before pouring his own.

“Well,” you decide to tease him a little. “I suppose being a hero is quite the stressor.”

“Indeed,” he takes a sip. “But I doubt you’re here to make small talk about the weather.”

Right. The interview. To business then. You open up your notebook and click your pen.. Am interview with All Might - the number one hero and dream client of every journalist. The rest of the office was seething with jealousy, but you’d been chosen for this because… well, nevermind that now.

You didn’t want to think about why.

“So… uh…”

He’s casually stretched out on the couch, one arm resting along the back, legs folded over each other at the knee, waiting. Your throat feels suddenly dry, tongue cumbersome in your mouth. There’s a memory of grit in your eyes, blood on your lips.

You thought you were ready for this; you thought the questions on the first page of your notebook would be enough to guide you through your nerves. The pen in your hand clicks and clicks before it suddenly slips from your sweaty hand. You fumble and fail to catch it before the pen bounces off the coffee table and lands on the carpet. All Might reaches to grab it just before you, long arms stretching impossibly far and you jerk back before your heads collide. He offers the pen back with an easy smile, and you can feel your face heating up as you take it.

“I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I?”

You pinch the corners of your eyes, frustrated and embarrassed. He surprises you by chuckling and leaning forwards.

“It’s perfectly all right,” he says with a light pat to your knee. “I promise you, this won’t be the worst interview I’ve taken part in. Take a breath dear, and ask me what you want to know.”

You do so, holding the air in your lungs a moment before letting go with a noisy exhale. You’re still fidgety, twisting the pen around your fingers, and it doesn’t escape his notice. He laughs again.

“There’s no need to be nervous,” he leans back into the plush couch. “I’ve given so many interviews over the years - there’s not a lot left you can shock me with.” His smile is crooked like he’s trying not to laugh again, and he gives you a cheery thumbs up.

You look down at the notebook in your lap, scanning the questions your boss and co-workers have scribbled down. It’s the usual parade All Might has been getting for thirty years - what’s your Quirk? What advice would you give to aspiring heroes? Are you single? - alongside a new set that has been making the rounds for the past few weeks - what will you do now? How could you hide this for so long? Is your presence at the school putting the students in danger?

You came here to ask these questions, but suddenly find yourself annoyed. You want to rip the page out, crumple it into a ball, and set it on fire. Instead, you sigh and carefully tear the page out, passing the sheet to All Might.

“You’re right; there’s nothing on this page that you haven’t been asked before.” You can see his eyes passing quickly over the list.

“You must be tired of giving the same answers over and over again.”

“It’s all part of the job, my dear,” he passes the page back, still smiling.

“The job…”

Something in the way he says it gives you pause.

“But… being a hero wasn’t just a job to you, was it?”

He doesn’t answer, cocking his head to one side, sensing you have more to say. You rush forward, before the thought escapes.

“I mean, you’ve never just done the bare minimum - everything is above and beyond with you. You always have time for fans and autographs, there’s always a charity donation, always another villain, another rescue. You’ve given so much more than you ever had to.”

All Might isn’t smiling now, and you feel tears spring to your eyes.

“You’ve given so much - your time, your body, your health, to a world that takes and takes and never offers anything back. Even now, after everything… after you’ve given everything… people out there are trying to bring you down. And you’re still here, just giving the answers to people that are going to use them against you.”

You really are crying now, slow tears crawling over your cheek before being roughly wiped away.

“I - I don’t want to be another person that just takes something from you. But there’s nothing I can give.”

You’ve been looking down this entire time, watching the stains on your notebook get bigger, but look up when a hand enters your field of vision. All Might is leaning forward again, sliding his palm across the side of your face as his calloused thumb brushes your tears away. His smile is gentle and sad and the tenderness of the gesture is enough to make you cry harder, burying your face in your hands.

There’s a soft rustle from across the table and you feel the dip of the couch as All Might settles beside you, one arm resting across your back and shoulders. You sense rather than hear his quiet murmurs, vague sensations of it’s alright and don’t be sorry, and you realize that you’ve been apologizing for the last half-minute. You aren’t even sure why - for crying? For everything he’s lost? For the vultures circling, waiting to take even more from this good, impossibly kind man?

Something in your chest aches and you fold your palms over your heart, bent double, and his hand is still on your back, sliding up and down between your shoulder blades, rubbing little circles along your spine. He sits quietly and lets your sorrow run its course around him, like a boulder in a river. Each small kindness - his patience, the offer of tea, the soft half-hug he has you wrapped in - has only magnified his humanity. He’s All Might - he’s been a hero for longer than you’ve been alive, but here, his weakened form warm against your side, all you can think about is the blood he left on the ground that night, his uselessly broken arm dangling limp from the socket, the tattered cape he ripped apart with his teeth and used to tourniquet the leg of a woman rescued from the rubble.

Because you lied - there was someone in the office that night. You had slept there, pushing yourself towards a deadline you knew, that your boss knew, you weren’t going to be able to meet. It was why your boss gave this job to you; you were the only one who’d had a front row seat of the destruction. You were there when the ground shook you awake, the shockwave of the battle rattling the windows from over half a kilometer away. You were there with the crowd panicking in the street, confused, terrified, lost as the world simply crumbled and collapsed with each explosion. You were there as he stood alone against an enemy you couldn’t comprehend, that none of you could comprehend, alone against an unimaginable evil that sapped his strength and wore him down and broke him over and over again and he was still there, still standing between darkness and the people he swore to protect.

Once you’ve cried yourself out, some semblance of awareness of the world begins to return. You sit up slowly and All Might removes his arm, standing and grabbing the tea set from the table. He pours the lukewarm water away and begins a fresh pot, politely allowing you a few moments to gather yourself. You close your eyes and recline into the couch, letting your spine stretch itself out again, and breathe deeply for a few minutes. A soft clink tells you that All Might is back and you open your eyes to find him offering a new cup of tea with that same sad, gentle smile.

You reach out with a small thanks and if your fingers tremble a little, he doesn’t say anything.

“Sorry. Again.”

He pauses a moment while pouring his own cup.

“You know,” he places the teapot back on the tray.

“Many, many people have cried on me. Terrified children, thankful parents. Over-eager fans,” his grin is a little cheeky here, and you find yourself returning the sentiment in spite of yourself.

“Tears of relief, fear, joy,” he gazes into his teacup like it holds all the mysteries of the universe. He looks up and you find yourself trapped by the intensity of his gaze.

“But this is the first time someone’s ever cried for me.”

His eyes are full of strength and pride, gratitude and something else, something you have no name for. He holds you there for several heartbeats, each one pulsing in your ears until you can’t help but blink and the moment is gone. He sets his cup down.

“So thank you.” The sad smile is back.

“Thank you for crying for me.”

Your eyes are beginning to prickle again, and you hurriedly wipe the feeling away with a sniff. He takes a sip from his cup and looks away, giving you a moment to shuffle and settle. You take another deep breath.

“A-anyway,” your voice is shaky, but you do your best to press on.

“I guess… what I want to ask… well, no, I don’t want to ask anything really.” You really have messed this up, haven’t you? This interview has gone completely off the rails; you can already hear your boss yelling at the mess you’ve made. All Might reaches for your tea.

“Here, take a drink,” his voice is easy, placating. “Just breathe, dear.”

You wonder if he knows; if he knows who you are, that you were there that night, and that it’s all you can think about in this moment. The tea is sweet and the heat at your fingers steadies you, moves you away from the taste of blood. One more deep breath.

“I… what I want to know is… what do you want to say?”

He blinks at you with a puzzled expression. You bite at the inside of your bottom lip, not entirely sure yourself what you’re asking. He hums, fiddling with his bangs, clearly thinking, but you can’t read his expression at all.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

It’s your turn to blink. His smile is cheerful again, with a hint of playfulness.

“Sorry?”

“Thirty-five years,” he leans his elbows on to his keens, hands folded together, dangling between his legs. “Thirty-five years I’ve been a professional hero, and not once in all that time has anyone simply asked me what I wanted to say.” His eyes have you pinned on the couch like an ungainly butterfly and you cross and uncross your ankles.

“Sorry - I’m not very good at this, am I?”

All Might throws back his head and laughs. He laughs and laughs, deep from his stomach, hair brushing against the back of the couch, and you can’t help but feed off his joy, your own laughter small and soft in comparison, but there all the same. It cuts off abruptly when he coughs suddenly, one hand against his mouth, the other clutching at his left side.

“Are you okay?!” Now you’re the one reaching out, not quite brave enough to touch him, but he waves you off.

“It’s fine, I’m fine, this happens all the time,” there’s a smear of red at the corner of his lips. But his smile hasn’t wavered, so you decide to trust his judgement and let it go. Your expression must still betray your concern, because he offers an explanation.

“It’s the result of an old wound,” your eyes flick to where his left hand is bunched in his shirt. “Really, I’m used to it.” His grip loosens and falls away.

“I’ve already cried for you today; don’t think a few platitudes are going to keep me from worrying about you too.” The quip leaves your lips before you can even think about stopping it and you want to slap your hand over your mouth and take it back even as your face flushes red.

All Might laughs yet again, this time more of a asthmatic chuckle that makes your heart skip, ready to reach out if he starts coughing again.

“Thank you, my dear. Truly.” His eyes are shining in amusement. “But in regards to your question - may I think about it?”

You pause a moment, trying to remember what the question that started all this was.

“Oh - about what you’d like to say, you mean?”

He nods. “I’d like to mull it over for a little while, if that’s alright with you?”

“Of course,” you reach into one pocket, then the other before finding what you need. Your business card is simple - name, number, e-mail, web address. He takes it between his long fingers.

“Please, take as long as you need,” you offer a small bow from your seat on the couch.

“Thank you,” All Might stands and offers you a hand up. “I look forward to speaking with you again.”

You take his hand and he walks with you to the elevator. It still hasn’t started to rain outside - perhaps you can make the bus stop before the bottom drops out.

“Ah, you can just call or e-mail me if you like - we don’t have to meet in person.”

There’s a flicker of something on his face before he manages to school it into something more neutral.

“You don’t want to talk to me again?”

“No! I mean yes! I’d love to talk to you again! I just thought that you’re so busy and you might not want to waste time in person and I’m really not very good at interviewing so maybe you’d prefer something else,” you’re babbling, you know you’re babbling, but you can’t seem to stop yourself. You realize abruptly that the micro-expression you’d seen on his face was one of hurt. He places a hand on your shoulder, turning to you fully as you cease speaking.

“I would love to talk to you again,” his voice is deep and kind. “You did wonderfully; this has been one of my favorite interviews.” His smile stretches all the way across his face.

“I - thank you,” you drop your head in a hasty nod, sure that you’re blushing again. His hand drops your your shoulder and presses the elevator button.

“By the way,” All Might sounds hesitant for the first time all afternoon. You turn to him, puzzled.

“Do you like movies?”

You smile, thinking of his poster collection. “Well, not as much as you seem to. I don’t really go to the theater all that often.” The elevator dings and you turn to enter before facing him one more time.

“Thank you again. For everything.”

You hope he understands what you mean by everything. His hands are in his pockets and his body language is relaxed.

‘You’re welcome.”

You think he does.

#yagi toshinori #All Might #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #fanfic #mha #bnha #reader insert #bnha fanfiction #the interview #this fic is my baby #I'm putting more work into this one that all my other fics combined #I've never written anything with multiple chapters before #it's always been oneshots #roughly ten chapters planned #Bonus: oc is not actually an oc

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lostinthe-pines-blog · 6 years

Text

Olivia. Ch. 3 - A Final Ride

LIAM x MC, LIAM x OLIVIA, DRAKE x OLIVIA

A multi-chapter story that follows Liam and MC as they spend their first year ruling as King and Queen of Cordonia. As they rule together they realize their strongest ally is the one person from the one place their people have rejected. Questioning why Liam and MC still support Olivia and Lythikos they work together to restore her reputation.

Story-lines from The Royal Romance books have been altered slightly.

NOTE: This is a fictional story based on Pixelberry’s Choices App. *The Royal Romance books. I am not affiliated with Pixelberry nor do I own the rights to their original characters.

TAGS: @katurrade @emerald-bijou @speedyoperarascalparty @captain-kingliamsqueen

Ebony’s stride was much slower than it used to be, but she was still fast in her age. There is something truly freeing about the wind in your hair. Some people find this freedom in a car, or on a run but Oliva and Liam today found it on the back of a horse. They must have gone almost a mile through the forest before making it to the clearing. Liam leading Ebony over to the rivers edge.

“Dismount.” Liam says looking over his shoulder at Olivia as Ebony comes to a stop.

“Wait, what?” she’s confused, she thought they were going for a ride, she didn’t expect to stop in the middle of nowhere.

“Liv, dismount.” his voice chimes as he watches her hop down from off the aging black horse.

Looking around Olivia now recognizes the clearing, the river pooling into a small lake a cross a field of tall grass and weeds. She’d been here once before. The storm clouds above break letting light sprinkles fall as the air fills with the scent of rain. She closes her eyes remembering a similar experience from years before.

“Olivia!?” Liam yells riding into the clearing. “Olivia! The storms coming in, your mother is waiting for you back at the palace. We’re all worried about you! Olivia where are you!?”

The return of Olivia’s mother brought devastating news. Olivia’s father Mathew Nevrakis reigning Duke of Lythikos had succumb to his illnesses. In normal Nevrakis fashion her parents had kept his illness a secret to even her. He suffered from stage four cancer for 6 months hiding his pain from his daughter. He couldn’t bare to tell her, she was his light and he couldn’t see her light go dim. Her mother had sent her on a trip to Cordonia to “bond” with her betrothal. It was an unexpected and unusual time of year for her to visit. She couldn’t believe how stupid she truly was not to guess that something was wrong.

Olivia emerges from the trees along the side of the river her tears colliding with the rain falling. Ebony by her side she she’s Liam approaching her on foot now. He doesn’t speak he just wraps his arms around her. Their friend group seemed to be cursed, Liam had lost his mother, Maxwell both of his parents and now Olivia’s father.

“If I go back it’s all real, I can’t face my mother.” she cries into his shoulder. The prickly personality that was Olivia had been set aside. She was nothing but entirely vulnerable to him now. She couldn’t keep track of time but she knew they’d stood there for a while as her long red hair was now dripping from the rain. She imagined the clouds crying for her father just as she was.

“Liam why am I here!” she yells angry with the place he’d taken her. Triggered emotionally by every sight around her. She lets the frustrations of the past years fully take over her body.

“Because, when your father died you became the strongest version of you there is, and I need that Olivia now.” he respond tethering Ebony to a tree. “After you mourned you came out on top.” Olivia looks down toward the blades of grass feeling raindrops hit her harshly. She knows he’s right. “He would be proud of what you’ve accomplished. Of the ways you stood up to enemies and fought for your country.” Liam continues “But your fight isn’t over.”

“Cordonia turned on us!” she spits, “Our friend and ally, the people want a war they want to riot. But all the while my best friend sits on the throne. How can two civil leaders respect each other so deeply and yet defy what their people want. When I look at you I don’t know if I can trust that you wont turn on me too. If your people demand it, will you deny it? Will you wage a war between your neighboring lands for the sake of respect!” Olivia rambles angrily, she speaks out of fear and loss now. She’s had to rule a country that had been fed lies since the death of her father. Lythikos was a cold and harsh land now being tasked with the restoration alone was killing her. But now she lived in fear that the man she once loved would come for her lands and people.

“Because Cordonia will not survive the loss of Lythikos” Liam explains “Sure we’ll find a new way to import steel, but the fresh water from your mountains and constant snow is irreplaceable. I would never wage a war against you. Not even if it threatened my position. Olivia you have all the potential and fire to be the greatest leader. And you don't need me to do it. You don’t need any man. Lythikos has never been lead by a woman of birthright. Step up Olivia” he demands, Liam is certain she is the only person who could fill this position and take on this task. She was the strongest woman he knew. “This is your time! You have my support, MC’s support, Maxwell, Hanna, Penelope.. We aren’t kids anymore. In the next 10 years we will all stand in positions of leadership. We will make the choices that form our nation. And I want Lythikos to be there for it.”

“If we lose our connection with you we lose almost all of our major farming.” Olivia responds her tone and emotion softer now. Thinking through his words she breaks into laughter. “It’s funny isn't it, 25 years ago we were just kids riding on horseback, playing tag at Applewood Manor, Ice Skating behind my duchy. Your kind mother and my passionate father there to catch us when we fell. No one can catch us now. We have to catch our lands and ourselves. But I don’t even know where to begin.” As the rain begins to fall harsher now the two of them take shelter under the trees.

“We have options” Liam smiles taking Olivia’s hand in his own. “Do you trust me?” he asks boldly.

“Liam, you’re the only person on this earth I trust.” she nods in response.

“You will address the people, you will tell them the truth. You don’t have to reveal your mother as the enemy if you do not want too. But you will tell them of your innocence in the attacks and your intentions moving forward.” He explains, “I will support this, and I will speak about the imports and the friendship our lands have always shared. That these last few years cannot make enemies of us. But then there is one memory you must share.”

Olivia looks to him shocked she knew exactly what he’s talking about. A memory she holds dear to her. A memory she wasn’t even sure Liam had told MC. “What?” she asks baffled. “Are you sure?”

“We have to prove that we will always stand together, that my bloodline and yours will never betray each other. That will be the only way.” Liam assures her softly.

“What if it doesn’t work?” Olivia asks worried.

“Then we explore plan B?” Liam's’ voice harsh, clear that plan B is not a good option.

“And what would that be?” Olivia inquires

“You will marry a Cordonian.. Your people will have to respect its new reigning Duke.” Liam was her King and he could command this of her, be he never wanted to. He never wanted dictate a her love life the way his had been dictated for years.

Olivia looks to the ground angrily. “Please… don't make me do that.” she knows he has the power and she knows it’s a foolproof way of uniting these arguments and riots.

Their harsh tone and conversation is interrupted as Ebony whinnies at the lighting and thunder from around them. The old horse begins to collapse. Liam and Olivia share a moment of worried eye contact before running to the horse that had meant so much to them.

Olivia kneels in the mud beside the calm beast, she was dying; peacefully, but still dying. Olivia runs her hand gently down the horse as it rumbles and cries. Liam sits opposite of Olivia calming Ebony with his touch. They knew they’d have to walk back to the stables, Ebony would never make it. Olivia lays her face against the long neck of her old friend. Gently she sings to her a song of her childhood;

“Somewhere over the rainbow; way up high,

there’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby…”

Liam looks to her as her kind voice sings the simple lyrics from The Wizard of Oz. A movie the pair of them had watched together far to many times in their childhood. There were pictures somewhere of Olivia dressed as Dorothy and Liam as the scarecrow. He knows these lyrics comfort her, she’d sung them at her fathers funeral just as she sung them now. Liam reaches crossed Ebony and takes Olivia’s hand as their old friends breathing slows

“Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue,

And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true.”

Liam continues the song as her breathing stops. Olivia buries her face in the thick coat of the horse squeezing Liam’s hand tight she cries for her friend. But her tears also harbor stress and worry for her people, they represent betrayal and lies piled on to her over the years. She cries now for the hope that she can do right by her father and bring light back to Lythikos.

-----

MC sits with Drake in the dining hall discussing his memories of past Cordonian birthdays. Helping MC see the event from the eyes of a commoner.

“It’s always a time of year for the people to see their rulers face to face. People who never leave there homes come out for this event. Because they want to see how their leaders truly act. This is a chance for them to either believe or ignore the stories printed in the press.” Drake explains. “Everyone must put their best food forward on this day. No matter what their emotions.”

MC takes note quickly continuing to listen. She trusted Drakes opinions because he knew both sides of life in Cordonia. He’d been fortunate enough to be a member of Liam’s court but also live as a commoner. He was wiser than anyone she could think of. He was her key to uniting their kingdom in tradition. As Drake continues to recite stories of birthdays past they are inturrupted by the sound of loud thunder. It was mid day but the sky was almost completely dark.

“I hope they are alright…” MC trails wondering if Liam and Olivia had been caught in the storm. It was in this moment that her King entered the dining hall. Covered in mud, dripping wet and his face holding a sad demeanor.

“Drake, I’m sorry to interrupt. May I borrow my wife for a moment.” Liam asks gently.

Drake nods in response reading his emotion. He knew immediately Ebony had died. Drake stood to leave the room and as he passed Liam he offered his condolences.

“She was a good horse, a good friend.” He pauses.

“Drake.” Liam catches his arm. “Olivia is still out there…By the clearing. She won’t leave her.”

Drake nods knowing what Liam is asking of him. He exists heading toward the stables quickly.

As Drake exits the room falls quiet. MC stands to meet her husband, she ignores the mud covering his clothes and pulls him into a clearly needed embrace. Something had happened out in the rain and she wasn’t sure what.

“Talk to me..” she says pulling her face to his. “What can I do?”

“Ebony died out there, and I know she’s just a horse but she was the last horse my mother knew. She was the horse at my side during coronation. She’s been so much apart of my life…” He sighs. “Olivia refused to leave her out there but with the storm I need her back here.”

MC stands on her toes and kisses his forehead. “Is that where you sent Drake?” she asks watching his head nod in response. “You need to clean up, and I’ll cancel the press meeting for this evening. She wasn’t just a horse Liam, she was your family. Tonight is a night for family, for friends. Lets face this weekend together, let's start it off right.” MC suggests.

Liam looks into her hazel eyes searching for some sort of imperfection, he’d yet to find one in her. “I love you.” he responds softly. Even Kings have weaknesses and she made him strong through all of them. No one is more powerful the a Queen who stands for and by her King. A woman in power should never be questioned, for she is the bravest and strongest and kindest of all.

“Let's get you cleaned up…” MC trails walking hand in hand with him back to their chambers.

-----

“Olivia!” Drake yells. The rain is thick making it hard to see. He’s left behind a horse and decided to find the duchess on the back of his motorcycle. Machine wasn’t as easily scared of thunder as beast and he couldn’t risk being left in the rain. “Olivia!” he yells again spotting her red hair leaning over Ebony. Liam knew Drake was the only person who could get Olivia to leave. Their personalities both so stubborn he might actually be able to convince her to go.

“Leave me alone!” she yells in return as Drake pulls up beside her.

“Olivia this storm is not letting up, we have to go.” Drake insists.

“I’m not leaving her.” Olivia spits looking up directly to Drake.

“We will come back for her as soon as the storm clears I promise! But it’s not safe out here.” Drake says climbing of the old bike and heading to Olivia’s side. “Now get on the bike, or so help me Nevrakis I will force you onto it.” Drake’s tone strong. He wasn’t scared of her, he wasn’t afraid of her power. He respected it, joked about it yes but still harbored nothing but respect for the lone ruler from the north.

Olivia rolls her eyes at the commoner looking back to the dark coat of her friend. “I’ll die out here too.” she scoffs. “I’m already dying.” she whispers softly.

“You’re not dying Olivia.” Drake says grabbing her arm harshly.

“Let me go!” she screams fighting his tight grip, but he is far stronger than her especially in her moment of weakness. She fights his grip until his strong arms go from wrestling her to protecting her. He feels her scream into his chest. Something more was going on in her head. He wasn’t sure what. But she needed a friend now more than ever.

“Come on Nevrakis” he says lifting her onto the bike as she lays her head against his back watching Ebony fade in the rain as they drive away.

#the royal romance #choices #play choices #choices fan fiction #king liam #liam x mc #liam x olivia #drake x olivia #xoempine

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roadtripwiththewinchesters-blog · 6 years

Text

Going To California

A/N:

Hello! Thank you for all the love. ‘Dead In The Water’ is taking me ages to write, so here’s a little something for you guys in the meantime. This extract will probably feature much later in the series, I’m thinking ‘Scarecrow’, but it totally works as a stand alone piece too. I took inspiration from the Led Zeppelin song ‘Going To California’ of course because I love them and it always makes me think of Sam, listen to it as you read!

I’m starting a tag list, so if you would like to be added just drop me a message x

Word count: 2,949

Summary: You recount what happened the night Sam left for Stanford. Your best friend Sam shows up on your doorstep after the fight with his dad and Dean. The pair of you work out what to do next. You take him to the train station the next day, and give him something to help start his new life in California, but he does something in the moment that changes your entire relationship.

I waited up for him that night. It was a mundane Tuesday, but Sam had called me with the latest family drama. All the time I had known the Winchesters, he and John had clashed.

He stood on my porch soaking wet from the storm, shaking from both anger and from the cold. I pulled him inside.

My aunt and my brother had been asleep for hours. Sam was familiar with sneaking up to my room - the pair of us hanging out all night whenever he was in town, or researching a case well into the early hours of the morning - he knew which steps creaked and which didn’t.

Joni liked Sam. She thought he was a good influence on me because he had always done well in school, regardless that he had no permanent address. We both knew that would change if she caught us together this late on a school night.

Sam slipped into my room and I hurried down the hall to get a towel. I locked my door behind us and faced him. He sat on the edge of my bed, his head buried in his hands. Everything he owned was contained in a backpack and a duffel. I took one, rummaging through it to find him some dry clothes.

“Come on,” I said gently, holding them out for him. “You’re gonna freeze.”

When he looked up, I noticed his lips were purple from the cold. He slipped through into mine and Gus’ adjoining bathroom, the door still ajar. I busied myself putting my books away to clear some space, ignoring the urge to watch his reflection in the mirror. He emerged a minute later, finally in something dry.

“What happened, Sam?” I finally asked him from across the room.

“I have to tell you something,” he said quietly. I stood staring at him, waiting, afraid of what he might say. Was he in trouble? Had he done something? I didn’t want to guess.

“There’s a letter in the front.” Sam nodded to his bag that lay at the foot of my bed.

I knelt beside it and extracted the envelope, tentatively flipping it over in my hands. It had already been torn open. I saw the words ‘Stanford University’, and knew exactly what he had done. A warmth poured into my chest as I fumbled with the papers. I read the words silently.

It is with great pleasure that I offer you admission to the Stanford University Class of 2001. Your thoughtful application and remarkable accomplishments convinced us that you have the intellectual energy…

My eyes continued to skim the words, but I realized I was no longer processing them. It dawned on me what I was holding – this was his ticket out of this life.

“You did it,” I whispered, gawking at the page. “You’re out.”

I suddenly realized why he had needed to come to me. “Oh my god, your dad flipped out?”

Sam nodded, drying his face with the towel. “I’ve never seen him so mad.”

“And Dean?” I asked. I hoped his older brother would have at least tried to be supportive.

“He was pretty pissed too-” Sam sat facing away from me, breathing hard, and I realized he was scared of what I thought. “Are you?”

I took my place beside him, he had my full attention. “No, no,” I assured him softly. “Of course I’m not. Sam, I’m proud of you.”

Whatever had been said tonight, it had really hurt him. I ran my hand up his arm and he hung his head.

“Dad said if I left, I should stay gone,” His voice broke under strain. I shook my head, disappointed that his dad had let him down again. Dammit John. “I didn’t know where else to go-”

When he started to cry, I realized I was mad at Dean. I didn’t believe that he was angry, he always wanted the best for his brother. Yet, here Sam was believing that his family had renounced him for doing something for himself for once. I gently took the towel out of his lap, tossing it aside. Sam tried to hide from me, burying his face in his hands as he sobbed, but I took them both and held him.

“Dean loves you so much,” I told him. I was absolutely certain. “They both do.” I added, thinking of John and the extremes he had gone to over the years to keep his boys safe. “I think he’s just afraid of you going off on your own, and maybe… not being part of it, for once,” I suggested. I ran my fingers through his hair until he was calm again.

“When do you have to leave?” I inhaled, bracing myself for the answer.

His eyes were red and swollen, they met my own. “Induction starts in a few days. I was just gonna stop by to see you before-”

“Don’t go tonight,” I said without hesitation. “Stay here,” I half-asked, half told him. “Please.”

“You sure?” He asked, sitting upright.

“Are you kidding?” I said shortly, my eyebrows lightly raised.

He sighed. I could have sworn the expression he wore was relief. I don’t think he had any plans at all; no real place to go. I’d been damned if he slept on a bench at the train station.

“Thanks. I don’t think trains actually run at this time anyway.” We both laughed.

Later that night we lay on my bed in the dark, both too restless to sleep.

“I’ll go with you to the station tomorrow,” I decided.

“Don’t you have school?”

“So, I’ll skip first period,” I rolled my eyes at him. I breathed in and out slowly. “You’re gonna have a whole new life. You could be anybody you want,” I reminded him. Sam stared up at the ceiling imagining it all. “You could have a new name?” I suggested grinning, rolling onto my stomach to see his reaction better.

“Hmm, I mean, we use aliases all the time,” Sam pointed out dubiously, interlocking his hands behind his head. “Maybe I could just be me.” He said much quieter.

I wasn’t quite ready for the conversation to get deep. “Alright,” I said, as he shot down all my attempts to excite him about Stanford. “What are your plans anyway? Where are you going to stay until school starts?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess I’ll figure it out when I get there.”

I couldn’t help but worry. I knew he didn’t have a lot of cash. My eyes trailed to the jewelry box balanced precariously on top of my wardrobe.

“Okay, I’ve got one... You’re going to stay somewhere and it’s going to be… permanent,” I widened my eyes at him mocking horror.

Sam smirked. “Well it won’t be forever.” I could tell he was in denial.

“It’ll be for a few years at least,” I said. I didn’t think he could see it clearly.

“That’s not so permanent,” he said, trying to weigh it up.

I tried to put it in perspective for him. “Sam, what’s the longest you’ve ever stayed in one place?” I prompted, knowing the answer.

“About three weeks,” he admitted shortly. I pulled a face in response. “So, it might be weird at first,” he reasoned. “But having something permanent might be... kinda nice, for once.”

There was a silence. I suppressed a yawn, I didn’t want him to think I wanted to sleep. In fact, I wanted to talk to him until long after the sun came up.

“Promise me, you’ll visit.” Sam said suddenly, tilting his head to look at me. “That you won’t just disappear.”

“Hey, you’re the one who’s leaving, not me.” I joked. “You know where I’ll be… right here.” The thought was kind of depressing. Whilst Sam was off to California, I would be right here in this small town, trying to work out what to do with myself. Maybe I would take up lacrosse or something.

We lay still for another minute, I joined him in staring up at the ceiling. Light from the street peered through my curtains. “I’m so proud of you,” I said quietly, my heart sinking slightly at the thought of him leaving again.

“God, I wish you could come with me,” Sam breathed beside me.

“Hey,” I said, trying to raise his spirits. “I’m only a state away, it’s not like we can’t visit, right?”

“Right.” He croaked.

“And I’ll know where you are for once,” I added, most of the time I had no idea of his whereabouts until he called. This didn’t have to be a bad thing.

At some point we fell asleep. I probably went first. I jolted awake in the middle of night, afraid for some reason that Sam might have taken off. I relaxed at the sight of him beside me, the tuft of hair hanging over his face rising and falling as he breathed. I was used to him coming and going, sometimes it would be months at a time before I saw him. I thought about what I had said to him, it was true, I would know where he was, but this... this felt different. Maybe it wasn’t just the distance, but I couldn’t place my worry. I lay there conflicted, not knowing how to feel before realizing, this wasn’t about me. It didn’t matter how I felt. Sam was going to California tomorrow, and that was that.

I didn’t sleep well, waking up again in the early hours of the next day. My cat curled up asleep between Sam and I. The sun was rising, light pouring through the curtains, projecting patterns onto Sam’s cheek. He looked peaceful, I noticed, beautiful even, his expression free of the conflict of yesterday. I watched him until I drifted off again.

The next time I opened my eyes, the sun was higher in the sky, and Sam’s side of the bed was empty. I sat up slowly, smiling contently with our late night conversation, my hair sticking up at a funny angle. Sam’s side of the bed was empty. I shot up so fast, I almost tripped over my blanket, freezing when he slipped through the door - his own hair matching mine in a disorderly mess.

“I thought you-” I started before seeing his expression.

“I think,” Sam began grimly. “You might be busted.” I waited, eyes wide for him to continue.

“I ran into Gus in the bathroom.” He added.

I cursed as I burst into the bedroom beside mine.

“What will it take?” I crossed my arms, staring at my little brother. He smirked up at me expectantly. His silence cost me ten bucks.

“Whatever,” I said, dragging myself sleepily back to my room.

Sam waited for me in my truck, whilst I said goodbye to Joni and Gus like every other day. I sneaked a stack of toast and a flask of coffee from the kitchen, and we ate as I drove to the station. I wished the car ride had taken us longer.

I slyly left Sam in line to get his ticket, whilst I ran around the corner to the pawn shop. I pulled out my mother’s jewelry box and hastily tipped the contents onto the counter. When I looked up expectantly behind the counter, the owner was frowning at me doubtfully, his large arms crossed.

“I didn’t steal it,” I said defensively, seeing his reluctant expression. “How much is it worth?”

He combed through the pieces, some of them I recognized, some I didn’t. My phone beeped and I assumed it was Sam noticing I was gone.

The man indelicately picked up one of the rings, the dark green stone catching my eye as he flipped it over between his thick fingers.

“Not that one,” I said, snatching it back. The stuff didn’t mean a lot to me, I never saw her wear much of it anyway, but it didn’t feel right to sell it all. I hoped my mom would think I was doing the right thing.

“Or that,” I added, thinking of Gus as I slipped a plainer-looking black and silver ring into my pocket. He should have something too.

Altogether, it scrounged up fifteen hundred dollars. I had never held that much cash before in my hands. I asked for two paper bags, shoving a thousand into one and five hundred in the other before darting back around to the station, where Sam was leaning against the wall outside, waiting for me.

“Hey, where’d you go?” He asked as I approached him.

“Take a walk with me,” I said, taking him by the arm. “We still have time, right?”

I didn’t have a destination in mind, but we ended up stopping a little way away from the station on the edge of the riverbank. It wasn’t a particularly sunny day, but the train tracks glinted on the bridge regardless.

“So, is this the part where you murder me?” Sam quipped, holding onto the straps of his bags.

I pulled a face at him, shuffling my feet in the grass trying to think of a way to do this.

“Listen,” I began, looking up at him. “I know you don’t have a plan, so... I thought this might help.” I held out the bag containing the larger amount of money. He took it from me warily, eyes widening when he saw the contents.

“You were gone ten minutes and you what? Robbed a bank?” Sam hissed.

“Yeah, the cops are looking for me as we speak,” I humored him, rolling my eyes.

“Seriously, where did you get this?“

“Doesn’t matter,” I said shortly. If he knew I had sold my mom’s things, he would make me take it back. “It’s a thousand dollars. It’s enough to get you on your feet, right? Find somewhere decent to stay?”

“This is all for me?” Sam looked at me incredulously, and I knew it was worth it, just for that one look. “I can’t-”

“Shut up, Sam.” I stopped him abruptly. “Yes, you can. You can pay me back when you’re a fancy lawyer in your fancy office with fancy-“

I was going to continue mocking him. In fact, I had a joke up my sleeve about offices and briefcases, but he pressed his lips against mine, kissing me. It was an effective method of shutting me up. I blinked and it was over. Sam pulled away quickly. At first I thought I had done it wrong, but I realized he was only worried about my reaction. I became aware of my own brows knotted together and I relaxed them, not wanting him to think anything of my expression. We had never done that before.

I stood there for a moment, staring at him. The moment I felt my cheeks growing hot, I spun around, my back to him. I was sure we were thinking the same thing. Crap.

I was thankful as a logging train passed us, screeching as it crossed the bridge. My gaze quickly returned to the grass, dragging my heel across the dirt in attempts to focus on something else, but my hand trailed up to my lip, trying to preserve the memory of his touch. Then the train was gone, and we stood quietly for a moment.

“Have I ruined it?” Sam said from behind me. He didn’t come too close, apprehensive about touching me again until he knew what I was thinking. I understood exactly what he was talking about; our friendship. I didn’t know how I really felt until much later, after he was long gone. I had a lot of time to think things over, not that it mattered. But in that moment, I couldn’t let him go thinking it was a mistake.

I exhaled deeply, summoning the courage to face him again. “No,” I told him, dropping my bag and kissing him back. “See, now I ruined it too. And it doesn’t matter who did it first.”

We stood looking at each other for a moment, both too confused and conflicted to say much.

“I don’t want to leave,” Sam confessed suddenly.

I was afraid he might say something like that. “Yes you do, and you are,” I told him firmly. “You want this.”

He exhaled, shaking his head slightly as he focused on me. “It’s not the only thing anymore.”

I felt an ache deep in my chest. “You can’t have it all, you know,” I told him, somehow still finding a way to joke. “I don’t think this quite weighs up anyway.”

He still looked torn.

“Come on,” I said gently, taking his hand and leading the way.

We took our time walking back to the station and found a corner where we could sit and be relatively alone. I rested my head on Sam’s shoulder as we waited for his train to pull into the platform. He slipped a hand over my own. His touch relaxed me, it felt the same as it always had, but in that moment it meant more somehow, now that he had kissed me, now that he was leaving. He flipped my hand over, revealing the dark scar that ran from the center cross my palm. Sam traced it lightly so as not to hurt me. I watched his brow furrow slightly, and I answered his unspoken question, “A spirit in Salem.”

His eyes trailed across the tracks and I tried to work out what was on his mind. Was he thinking of his dad and Dean? Was he anticipating Stanford and the life that awaited him? Was he thinking of me?

“I’m done hunting,” he muttered. That was the one thing that hadn’t crossed my mind. It took me by surprise.

I sat up to read his expression, waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, I just said, “Okay.”

I didn’t cry until after he was gone. I sat in my truck, suddenly feeling very alone. The picture of Sam and I at the World’s Largest Ketchup Bottle stuck to my windshield.

TAG LIST:

@sherlock44

@dean-is-my-favorite

@be-with-me-for-evermore

@a-little-bit-of-everythin

#supernatural #spn #stanford!sam #o/c #fanfic #wee!chesters #sam x reader #Sam x Jess #stanford!sam x reader

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glassmaker04 · 6 years

Text

[Fic] Fragments of Memories

Title: Fragments of Memories

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia

Pairing: Erasermight l Allmight x Eraserhead / Yagi Toshinori x Aizawa Shouta

Warning: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Notes: I’m not a English speaker, and I tried to write this understandable enough for reading. This is my first time posting a fiction in English. I’ve waiting an invitation from AO3 and I hope I should get it soon, so I’ll post this story on that too.

I hope whoever reading this would enjoyed. And thank you for reading!

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Part 1: How we met and learned our names

Toshinori’s Memories

Yagi Toshinori had a bad habit. He liked to help around, to be useful. He liked to stand up for old people in a train or helped them across a street. Or sometimes, he guided travelers getting to their destination. Maybe because he liked to hear people said ‘Thank you’ to him, made him feel alive and had a purpose for living. He wasn’t sure why but he just liked it.

Not only people he’d like to help, many times he picked up random stray animals, especially cats. Well, he picked up a puppy sometimes, but he had to put in a Dogs and Cats Adoption Center very quickly due to its noise, his landlord wouldn’t appreciate and might kick him out eventually.

So, cats were nice, quiet and observed. He tried to let them stay for a couple weeks before they were strong enough to put in the center. Yagi worked as a barista at a local cafe. He was lucky enough that the owner of the shop knew him for a long time and offered the job for him. It didn’t mean that he was bad or somewhat, just…his appearances.

Yagi Toshinori had been in a coma for months after got in a car crash accident 2 years ago. He had lost his weight as well as his muscles. Because of his abnormally height, he looked like a scary scarecrow with deep black eyes circle and sharp cheekbones. All that made him quitted his old job and his town.

The only thing that people knew he’s still alive was his eyes.

The bright blue eyes like blue sky in summer.

After struggling for months, he decided moving to Musutafu city, near Tokyo, by his old friend’s invitation. He was contented and happy, could pay his rent and had some money left for saving. Sometime, just sometime he might feed stray cats behind his apartment.

Today had been good so far for Toshinori. He woke up early, got in a surprisingly empty train, talked to decent customers and went home. He bought a bento, some tuna cans, a bottle of whole milk and water. When he walked passed a dark alley, he heard small noise.

Meow…meow…

Toshinori stopped, held his breath for a good minute just to make sure what he just heard. The tall man walked in a shadow where that little noise hid behind a big trash bin. Then, he saw a tiny black kitten with white spot on its chest and paws, very sparkle blue eyes staring back at him. The man kneeled down, reaching his right hand to the kitten.

“Hello, little guy.” Toshinori said softly. It sniffed little before started to lick his hand. The man laughed a bit, picking it up.

“Alright, looks like I have a kitten to save today!” the man stood up and began to continue his routine.

While he reached the corner of his apartment, he heard some bang noises and glass breaking. The tall man tried to look around and griped the little kitten in his hand more tight to his chest. Could be some fights with poor guys and mafia around here. It happened all the time, Toshinori had fasten his pace and finally reached his home safely.

“Home sweet home.” He said and put the cat on the carpet in the living room. His apartment had a good size, not too big yet not too small.

“Luckily, I do have milk for you.” Toshinori grab a bowl and poured the milk before handed to the cat. Toshinori sat down at a coffee table, watching this little fluffy black and white cat greedily licked the milk.

“What should I call you then…” He murmured, setting his bento and teared chopsticks, eating quietly beside the cat

‘Meow…meow…“ when it finished, the kitten hopped on Toshinori laps and settled to sleep. The man looked down and saw it already rolled into a ball.

“Umm…Maru, I think I should call you Maru.” Toshinori slightly patted at Maru’s ear. It purred with joy loudly.

Seemed like he had a good night indeed.

Bang!

Not likely, Toshinori suddenly woke up in the middle of the night. His eyes catched a digital number on a clock ‘4:34am’

“What the f…”

Bang!

That made him got up from the bed, and looked down from his window. He saw a shadow, like a man shape in the trash area. He saw it moved a bit before stayed still and red…red liquid began to spread. Toshinori looked again with his wide eyes before he could react, he was so sure that it was a human with blood laying down on the floor.

His blood ran cold before rushing to his living room and putting his jacket on. He smiled once he saw Maru slept soundly on a blanket he’d prepared for it on the sofa. Toshinori left his apartment and hurried to the back yard as a dumping area. The tall man carefully approached.

A man, with black hair covered all of his face, was laying on his stomach. Blood had spread like a small puddle. That made Toshinori almost screamed like a banshee, but he rushing kneeled beside the man.

“Hey! Are you okay, can you hear me?” Toshinori spoke as he rolled the man so that he could see the man’s face.

When Toshinori had a good look, he realized that the man’s still young or younger than him. The man’s face was so pale and his lips were almost blue. He had a big cut around his abdomen. Toshinori noticed something that look like a small plastic bag inside and…

Is that…cocaine?

“Fuck!” Toshinori couldn’t believe what he saw.

Is that…is that what I thought it would be?

“Don’t…don’t call an ambulance…or police… ” soft voice cut Toshinori’s mind. The tall man looked down with relief.

“You’re badly hurt and-”

“I know! Just…just put me somewhere so I can take it out and stitch it back” The man tried to sit up and had glared Toshinori with tired look, panting.

“Stitch it back!?”

“Get my bag, I’ll try to stand.” The younger man didn’t try to argue. He really meant what he said. Toshinori’s brain didn’t process fast enough, like a very slow turtle enjoyed the sun. What he could do was starring at the man struggled standing up. When he’s back to the reality, the man covered in blood stood up by his own. His long arm wrapped around his abdomen.

“Get the bag!” He snapped. Toshinori looked around and saw the black duffle bag near small bushed. He got the bag and said

“Let me carry you!”

“Wh-!!!”

Toshinori carried the man with his two arms. The man’s surprisingly light which made it easier to walk back to his apartment. The man was quiet and didn’t say anything else, only let out a soft panting, shaking and sweating.

Toshinori had to put him down in order to unlock the door. The man leaned against him and he heard more of panting. When they were inside, Toshinori put the man on the sofa where Maru was asleep.

“Meow!” the cat jumped by the suddenly disturbing. It ran and hid somewhere in the kitchen which Toshinori didn’t care much for right now.

“What should I do? Do you need a towel? Warm Water?” Toshinori’s panic. Of course he had to! There was a bloody man in his living room!!

“Sounds good…get all of that…p…please…” the man barely said this time, so much sweating on his forehead. Toshinori hurried to his bathroom.

Why he’s so damn calm!?

That was the actual sentence, screaming and tearing inside his head. Toshinori got everything he could think of (dry towel, a bucket of warm water, first aid kit!) and hurried back to the man. The man was panting more and more with his eyes closed.

“Hey! Stay with me.” Toshinori kneeled down in front of the man and patted him, trying to wake him up. The man opened his half lid eyes slowly.

“In…in the bag…there is a box…just…hand it to me.” the man said, trying to sit up. Toshinori looked inside the bag which he didn’t want to see much. He handed the box to him. The man looked in the blue eyes before broke the eyes contact. Toshinori saw he put something like a needle out and a thread.

“Use this to wipe the blood. Make sure I can see…that…” the man handed him packs of gauze. Toshinori knew exactly what to do. It made him more panick yet he didn’t show. His mind now was a tank of questions whlile he watched the man pulling out the plastic bag from his abdomen. The young man hissed and tried not to let out a sound.

Who is he? What’s he doing? Why he has THAT inside? Why he’s injured? What happened to him? Was he in the fight outside? Is he a citizen? Where he lives? Should I call police? Oh no, he said not. Or should I call his relatives instead?

What’s his name???

After awhile, Toshinori helped the man wipe all the blood and sweat with his towel and the gauze. The man did stitch himself with medical stuff in the bag. Looked like he knew what to do and he did it calmly with his shaking hands which made Toshinori’s heart beat faster every minute.

“S…Stop thinking, you’re distracting me.” The man spoke to him made his mind snapping to reality once more. The tall man bit hip lips.

“What happened to you?” he finally asked, tried to keep an eye on his task.

“No questions…not now…sorry…” the younger man answered which made Toshinori felt so small.

“Tell me about you…so I can stay conscious.” Toshinori’d glared for a good minute before coughing a little.

Damn it! I haven’t cough for two days! Why now!?

“Nothing to tell much, really. My name’s Yagi Toshinori and I’m a barista at a cafe.” Toshinori glared the tired eyes again. The man only hummed back to him. The wounds was closed now and looked clean enough before he wrapped bandages around his wound clumsily.

“Let me help.” Toshinori said and helped him. He’s extremely careful not to hurt the man.

“Thanks.” the man said with tired voice and his eyes almost closed. Toshinori loved to hear those words, but this time, he didn’t appreciate much like he used to.

“I would be cruel if I didn’t let you sleep here so I will-” not even finished the sentence, the younger man already shut his eyes. His breath was soft and his face’s still pale. Toshinori used a fresh towel wiped out all the sweat on his forehead.

“Alright…good night…”

There’s no way Toshinori would go back to sleep, so he decided that he had to watch the young man for good. Maru came back from the kitchen after Toshinori called it and slept on his laps. He apologized a little to the cat and patted its head. Toshinori looked up at the man’s face again. Time had passed, and somehow watching the younger man slept made Toshinori’s calmed down a little.

“What should I call you then?” he asked himself, not expected the answer. Yet as if the man had heard the question, he answered with soft yet firm voice.

“Ai…Aizawa Shouta…and thank you…by the way…” The bright blue eyes wided a little, then a slightly smile was on his lips.

“Aizawa-kun then.”

Toshinori didn’t know why, but he really wanted to help this person. He still smiled to himself.

Shouta’s Memories

Aizawa Shouta had a hobby, only one hobby. He liked taking pictures especially cats when he saw them no matter where or when. And most of the time, he didn’t care much what’s happening around him. It had been almost ten years now when he started it. Because he had a bad memory and memories lost after got into an accident, falling from a roof ten years ago. So, it was a logical solution that taking pictures was one of methods helping him remember and not to forget things.

Shouta couldn’t remember much of it, that accident, luckily enough only had a scar under his right eye. The doctor said it was normal for the head’s injury when his head hit hard at the ground. Although his normal knowledge, his skills and his job were still good, but people…he couldn’t remember faces and names well like before. Like he cared, he didn’t like people anyway.

He just moved in Musutafu city two months ago for a teaching job. Really, Him as a teacher! Couldn’t imagine it but it’s true. He’s a math and physics teacher at UA high school. Got recommendation from a friend, Kayama Nemuri, and she handed his resume without asking him.

‘It’s for the best Aizawa! You can’t do that shitty job all the time!’

She had said to him and he didn’t have enough energy to argue at that time. The shitty job she mentioned was a programmer job he used to work. It made him no time to eat, sleep or anything.

It had been a good day today. He finished grading papers a bit early and enjoyed watching the sunset at the school’s rooftop before walking home. On the way, he saw a gray cat sleeping on a tree, his phone ready in his hand taking many snapshots. While Shouta’s in his own mind, he bumped into a very tall man who walked pass and spilled his drink.

“Shit! I’m sorry.” Shouta apologized quickly. He looked up at the man and then…from nowhere… a warm nostalgic feeling stirred in his heart. A familiar low and soft voice spoke in his mind.

‘…Ya-…at a cafe…’

Shouta didn’t recognize that voice in his head, not surprise but somehow felt so familiar with the man’s messy blond hair and the bright blue eyes. It reminded him someone from his old memories he couldn’t recall.

“It’s ok, I’m-” the taller man looked up from the ground before glazing him for a while with his mouth slightly opened, wide eyes.

Had he known me? Had we met before?

“Sho…Aizawa-kun?” the tall man said with that exactly same low and soft voice. There were tears in his eyes as if he just found something precious to him. The taller man stepped closer but Shouta stepped back, caution.

The man looked sad with his reaction. Maybe this man did know him.

“Do we know each other?” Shouta asked with his cold voice, really didn’t mean to though.

“Wha-…don’t you… don’t you remember me?”

His brain did say ‘No, I don’t know you.’

But his mind…his mind quietly said…

‘Aizawa-kun then…’

“I’m… I’m not sure…” Shouta broke the eye’s contact and looked down with shame. He still had problems with memories lost.

“Oh…maybe I…sorry, I thought you were a friend I haven’t seen in ten years. Sorry about that.” Toshinori explained before gave a sorry look and began to leave.

A soft wind blew after watching the taller man turned his back. Shouta suddenly said

“Wait! What’s your name?”

The blond man turned back. His face’s full of hope, had a big smile and his blue eyes somehow were brighter than before. Shouta felt like he’s in sunflowers garden with a clear blue sky above.

“Yagi…Yagi Toshinori”

“Yagi-san then…”

Shouta didn’t know why, but he really wanted to get to know this person. And before he noticed, a small smile was already on his lips.

To be continue…

#fiction #boku no hero academia #erasermight #オル相 #yagi toshinori #aizawa shouta

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unavenged-robin · 7 years

Note

Fic Prompt!: Brainwashed evil Dick with Batbros to the rescue! If you don't mind.

There you go. Tim decided he was the one in charge here, so I let him do all the angst. (Spoiler: it’s a lot of angst. As a matter of fact this is so sad, I’m just gonna go ahead and apologize for it in advance).

Read on AO3

There’s little room for mistakes, so they keep it simple.

Red Robin goes first. Strategically speaking, he’s the only one capable of surprising Nightwing and throw him off balance, which is something that they really need if they want to overcome him with minimum damage.

Red Hood goes next. His fighting style is brutal and effective, and bruises are not a problem at this point. Besides, Nightwing doesn’t know that he’s not going to use his guns in their most effective way, so most of his focus will be on that and not on the next attack.

Robin’s supposed to go last. Take Nightwing by surprise, work on his sides, distract him enough for Tim and Jason to go for the second round, and immobilize and drug him before things get even more out of hands.

Like with all the simple things, the plan looked good on paper, but a few hiccups here and there were to be expected as a general rule, and they all were prepared for them.

What they were not prepared for, is for Robin to freeze in the middle of the fight.

It’s such an alien concept to Tim, that it takes him three seconds too many to realize what’s happening. And even when he does, even when he turns his attention from the sedative syringe he’s fumbling with to his younger brother, it doesn’t hit immediately.

Robin is exactly where he should be - that is just behind Dick, who’s still trying to recover from Red Hood’s attack - and he’s in the perfect position to strike, but the kid’s posture is wrong, he’s not attacking and he’s not defending himself, he’s just there, arms at his sides, sword just a useless piece of metal in his hand.

Unfortunately, Dick notices it too.

Nightwing spins on his feet, fast and agile as ever, and Robin still doesn’t move, and Tim still watches the scene without understanding it. Nightwing lunges forward, escrima sticks buzzing and sparking with electricity in his hands, ready to seriously hurt, and still neither of the Robins can move a finger to stop it.

Robin is not Robin anymore, Robin is Damian. And Damian is not an arrogant and self-entitled demon brat anymore, Damian is a child.

And who the hell let a child stand in the middle of a battlefield?

Tim did. It was his plan.

Memories of old discussions come to mind. Back in the days, Dick had called him a hypocrite for saying that a ten year old should not be out playing vigilantes at night. He was right, Tim knew. They were all children when they started. What he didn’t say back then was yes, but I was supposed to be the last one.

Memories of worst days follow the course of his thoughts. Damian’s funeral, and how light the kid’s coffin felt on Tim’s shoulder. An empty cave full of grief, ghosts and shouted words, a promise of protection delivered too late, apologies and hugs that never happened.

Now Nightwing is smiling a twisted, feral smile, that doesn’t belong on his face, and it doesn’t make sense. None of this does. Weird that Tim’s noticing it just now, since it’s been at least five hours since Dick was injected by Scarecrow’s new toxin and revolted against them. Five hours of hiding and planning and fighting and now it all feels like a lucid dream. Like they all are a blink of an eye away from reality. Quite there, but not really there.

“Fuck!”

The curse startles Tim out of his trance and he turns around to look at the Red Hood.

Ever the pragmatic one, Jason swears again, doesn’t lose himself in bewilderment, and just throws a batarang at Dick. The sharp edges scratch his arm, blood splatters from there and once again Nightwing spins around and gives his back to Damian, voluntarily repeating the same mistake that should’ve brought him down the first time.

This time Red Robin is ready to cover it, though.

The fight that follows is everything Tim was trying to avoid: vicious, and angry and damaging.

He already feels Bruce’s disapproval on him, on all of them, the unspoken words of truth that he’ll never say and yet they all will hear: I trained you better than this, I trained you to not let this kind of things happen in the first place, I trained you to handle every situation with a clear head and not with your emotions, I trained you to not disappoint me.

And they will all bow their heads, chastised children, unworthy heirs.

“Tim!”, Jason yells, and by the irritation behind it, it mustn’t be the first time.

“What?”

Jason breaks his iron-grip on Dick’s arms and reaches for the syringe Tim’s still holding.

“He’s out”, he says, gesturing at the now unconscious Nightwing. “I’ll tie him up, you go check on the kid.”

Tim sways on his feet. He’s bleeding, and he’s sore and he’s once again not really sure to be one hundred percent awake, but he still walks towards Damian, one step after another, wondering about when walking became such a difficult task and on what the hell he’s going to tell the kid when he reaches him anyway. Why on earth did you freeze like that? sounds a bit insensitive even to his own ears. Yet, he’s curious to know.

He remembers Dick saying that he saw it happen once, long time ago, when Damian was still new to Gotham and to their family. Killer Croc scared the kid good, Dick said, and Tim snorted because he couldn’t picture it in his mind, what a truly scared Damian looked like. Still had trouble imagining it, up to a few minutes ago. After all Damian wasn’t scared the day he died, wasn’t scared the day he came back, so how could he be scared of anything else to the point of shutting himself down?

Now he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget it.

There’s the sound of a soft landing, a very well known voice calling Tim’s name, and then Spoiler’s there, just besides him.

He can’t see her eyes behind the mask, yet he knows she’s looking at him with concerned eyes, so Tim shakes his head no and tilts his chin towards Damian. Stephanie just nods.

She runs to Robin, kneeling in front of him to grab him by his shoulders. Tim halts his steps and just looks at them. Can’t hear a word of what she’s saying but understands the general feeling by the gentle tone and the way she’s stroking his cheek.

The sword falls off his hand as Damian throws his arms around Stephanie’s neck.

“I couldn’t”, Damian wheezes into her shoulder, loud enough even for Tim to hear. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t.”

Couldn’t bring himself to raise a sword against his brother, he means. Funny, Tim thinks, He’s never had that problem with me.

A heavy hand on his shoulder makes him spin around on his heels, and Tim finds himself staring at his own reflection on Jason’s helmet.

“-kay?”, Jason asks, voice muffled and distorted.

Tim looks over his shoulder, to where Nightwing’s lying, bloody and bruised and tied up with very painful-looking knots.

“Dick’s dead. Couldn’t save him.”

He’s vaguely aware that he intended the words to be two different questions and not statements. Jason doesn’t answer anyway, but his hand moves to Tim’s neck, fingers searching for his pulse.

Stephanie walks towards them carrying Damian in her arms, and she looks at Tim first and then at Jason.

“Second-hand exposure?”, she asks and Jason gives her a curt nod.

“The brat too. Must be skin to skin transmission then, since neither of us is affected”, Stephanie reasons, while rubbing Damian’s back. “I’m so gonna punch Scarecrow in his less straw-padded parts.”

“I like the sound of that plan, Blondie”, Jason says. “Let’s get the flock back home first, then I’ll gladly hold him still for you.”

Tim’s not understating much of the conversation going on around him, his attention constantly shifting from Dick, still out cold and crumbled to the floor, to Damian, unusually silent while cradled into Stephanie’s arms.

There is something wrong there, something nitpicking at the back of his mind, but he can’t figure it out what it is.

“They were dead”, he says. Thinks of saying. He’s not sure anymore.

“You were dead too”, he continues (thinks of continuing), looking at Jason and then at Stephanie.

He feels Jason’s fingers twitch in surprise against his neck, but that’s about the only reaction he gets. Without another word, Jason manhandles him again to get him closer, and before Tim can protest he finds himself being thrown over the Red Hood’s shoulder and awkwardly staring at the ground.

“Jason, what the-”, he yells, grabbing the back of his brother’s jacket with his fists.

“Just don’t kick me, please”, Jason sighs. “Dick’s already busted my ribs so be a nice and not dangerous fear toxined brother like Damian there, yeah?”

Tim is so offended by that to stop talking to him at once.

He wakes up in a gurney, strapped to an IV, still drowsy and with a big headache to the side. None of that comes as a surprise. A freshly showered and heavily bandaged Dick sitting on the chair next to him does.

Tim glances at him from under his eyelashes and frowns.

“You’re not trying to kill us anymore?”, he asks, only half joking.

Dick’s quick to hide the flick of hurt and guilt in his eyes behind a smile - almost quick enough for Tim not to catch it and feel shitty about it.

“Kidding”, he mumbles.

“I know.”

Dick’s smile softens instantly. The guilt stays. Tim can read it in his features, in his posture, in his low voice. He was also expecting it.

“Do you remember any of it?”

A shake of the head, and wet strands of hair fall on Dick’s eyes.

“Not much.”

“Good.”

It was scary, it’s what Tim’s not going to say. You coming after us, it was one of the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.

“Where are the others?”, he asks instead.

“Stephanie and Jason went after Scarecrow, Bruce is on his way to join them as we speak.”

Tim nods, then looks at him pointedly.

“Damian’s fine”, Dick offers. “He’s sleeping off the leftover effects of the toxin in his room.”

“While I only get the cave’s med bay”, Tim complains halfheartedly.

“Well, you’re a bit heavier to carry. For Alfred, at least”, Dick smiles again. Tim has the sudden feeling that Dick knows exactly how he was carried back home and quickly change the subject. He’ll make Jason pay for that another day.

“Nasty stuff this time”, he comments then, and Dick’s smile falls almost instantly.

“Yes. I was looking at the first results from the analysis and it looks like Crane enhanced the original formula to make the illusions more vivid, to the point….”

“To the point you start enact them”, Tim finishes.

Dick raises an eyebrow at him.

“You figured it out right away?”

“I’m not that smart”, Tim scoffs. “But it makes sense. Damian was too scared to fight, so there was obviously something wrong. And I couldn’t help. Should have, but couldn’t. My brain went totally banana.”

“But you did”, Dick points out. “Jason said that you snapped out of it and helped him.”

“Barely.”

“You-”

“At first I thought Damian froze in the middle of the fight, but he didn’t, didn’t he?”, Tim interrupts him, but it’s a rhetorical question. “He thought he was going to kill you, so he chose not to fight at all.”

Dick sighs.

“We’re going to have a long conversation about that.”

“Yeah, good luck.”, Tim winces in sympathy. And then, softly, he adds: “I was the one who really froze.”

And that makes sense too.

His parents. Stephanie. Kon. Dick. Damian. Jason. Bruce. They all died. Almost everything and everyone Tim’s ever called family. And he could never do anything about it. Only watch and accept it, and try to go on anyway.

Dick is nice enough to not add anything to that. He just raises his hand to gently stroke Tim’s arm.

“I’m sorry, kiddo.”

Tim cranes his head on the pillows to look at his brother again, a doubt running all around his mind and a question burnings on his lips.

Because the way Tim’s looking at it, Dick’s reaction to the toxin doesn’t fit. It’s the only one that doesn’t make sense to him and it’s been bothering him since the first moment Nightwing attacked them. So he licks away the blood from his splitted bottom lip and asks. Even if he maybe shouldn’t.

“Dick? Do you really think one day you’ll kill all of us? Because that’s crazy.”

Dick laughs, but it’s a pained, humorless laugh.

“No, I don’t think I’ll end up killing any of you. I mean, you do make me want to pull my beautiful hair out, and you all suck the life out of me sometimes, but that’s just how family is, you know?”

Tim furrows his brow.

“Then why…?”

Dick sinks back in his chair, head tilted back to look at the ceiling, tensed shoulders and clenched fists, and Tim is overwhelmed by how much he looks like Bruce right now.

“Because I already did, didn’t I?”, Dick sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Robin is good for a lot of reasons, I know that. It was good for us, and now it’s good for Damian. It’s good for Batman, for Gotham, for the kids. But sometimes I think at what cost it comes with and…”

“Dick-”

“…and I feel like I set up a death trap instead of a legacy. Which is ironic, don’t you think?”

Tim shakes his head and tries to sit up, only to be pushed down almost immediately by Dick’s hands.

“Don’t”, his brother scolds him quietly.

“You’re wrong”, Tim retorts. “You know you’re wrong.”

Dick strokes his chest gently, fingers tracing along the edges of the white bandages, and it’s not clear who Dick’s really trying to reassure there, if Tim or himself.

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I am. Maybe it’s just the toxin talking”, he sighs eventually. “So let’s sleep it off, mh?”

It’s the most polite end of discussion he’ll get from him, Tim knows. And maybe it’s okay. Maybe they really need a little time before going there again.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

“You’re going to sleep in that chair?”, Tim asks.

“Maybe I’ll snuggle into Damian’s bed later”, Dick admits candidly and with half a smile.

It’s exactly the kind of thing Dick would say in a situation like this, and yet, for some reason, Tim’s pretty sure that his brother’s just lied to his face.

#ms-aqua-marvel #tim drake #damian wayne #richard grayson #jason todd #stephanie brown #red robin #red hood #nightwing #batgirl #my fic #i can't write ending to save my life i guess it's pretty evident #also i don't know why i'm always in the mood to write depressing fics but eh #shari writes

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talonroar · 4 years

Photo

Sticks and Stones

They had tried everything with Dillan. His parents were a good sort and not at all mean. But Dillan was mean. He was the kind of boy to hurt other kids and bully them. He stole, he lied, he cheated. He did whatever he wanted. It got so bad that they had to send him away to a very small town in the middle of what most people would be considered ‘nowhere’.

The town was called Styx, and it was in Kansas, right in the middle of golden plains that stretched from one end of the horizon to the other. The people of Styx were kind, and in their town, there was no crime. Most people would have wondered why this was so, but not Dillan. In fact, he thought that being here was the worst punishment imaginable. Dillan was sent to Styx to live with his uncle Zebediah and Aunt Rachel. They had a daughter, Morgan.

Dillan was told that if he was a good boy, he could go live with his parents again. He would have to work hard and do his best.

It was a good deal and more than fair, given all the mean things Dillan had done, but he would have none of it. While he couldn’t do bad things out in the open, he had to be a bit more clever, and so Dillan would make his mean pranks look like accidents.

No one suffered more than Morgan. She was a sweet girl who wouldn’t have hurt a soul. Perhaps that’s why he was constantly playing mean pranks on her and making her life miserable. No matter what he did, Morgan wouldn’t fight back. This made him play even more pranks on her. Finally, one day, Morgan (who had realized it was Dillan pranking her) said, “If you’re not careful, Sticks and Stones will break your bones.”

“Are you threatening me?” Dillan asked.

But Morgan shook her head. She said, “A long time ago, a man came to this town. Back then, the people were a lot meaner. He offered to sell them some of his rare antiques, but they robbed him and beat him within an inch of his life. The man’s bones were broken. He tried to warn them that if they didn’t treat each other nicer, the same would happen to them. They were so angry, they killed the man.”

“Sounds like he deserved it.” Dillan said.

Morgan narrowed her eyes. She continued, “They then burned his body in the center of town. He didn’t stay dead, however. That night, the man killed each and every one of those people that had hurt them. Those that chose to change their lives were spared. Those that didn’t were killed. From that time on, the town changed. Everyone treated each other with kindness, because if they didn’t, the spirit of the man they killed would come back on the anniversary of his murder and kill anyone who had been cruel. We call him Sticks and Stones.”

“You and everyone in this town is crazy!” Dillan said.

“We will see.” Morgan said.

Of course, Dillan didn’t believe her. He continued to be mean, not just to her, but anyone and everyone he could find. This went on for months until the anniversary of the murder loomed on the horizon.

The people of Styx had a very special festival they would celebrate at this time. Every last member of the town would make a scarecrow resembling themselves and then, they would take their scarecrows to the center of town to be burned. This was called the Cleansing. It was supposed to be a time of celebration, but for Dillan, he saw it as an opportunity to play the ultimate prank.

The people of Styx were deathly afraid of this ‘Sticks and Stones’. What if he were to ‘pretend’ to be their worst nightmare? So Dillan feverishly set to work at creating his costume. As the time of the festival drew closer, Morgan, Zeb and Rachel had all created their effigies and were ready to bring them into town. On the night of the festival, Dillan finally finished his costume. He told the others that he would join them at the festival a little later, and his distant family, being trusting people, left with their scarecrows. Now it was just Dillan in that big old farmhouse.

It was an old house that made noises when no one was there. It would creak and moan, and when the wind blew, it sounded like a howl of some creature. There were two doors that led outside. One went to the front porch, and the other, the back. As Dillan was getting ready to leave, he heard someone at the front door.

Now the front porch light had gone out for some time. That meant when Dillan looked down the stairs towards the porch, he couldn’t see who was standing there. It wouldn’t have been Zeb, Rachel or even Morgan. They wouldn’t have knocked. Though Dillan really couldn’t call the sound he heard knocking. It was more like a banging of wood against wood. He decided to go down the stairs and approach whoever was there.

“Who’s there?” He asked.

He could see the stranger’s outline on his porch, but only just. The rest of them was too dark to see. They said nothing, standing still. Dillan listened to hear their breathing. It sounded raspy. Hollow almost. Dillan glared at them.

“Leave or I’m getting a gun!” He threatened.

When the figure still hadn’t moved, he went into Zeb’s room and found the rifle he kept under his bed. Dillan then went back to the door.

The figure was gone.

I must have scared them off, he thought. Dillan looked to the clock. He would have to leave now if he were to get to the festival on time.

He started for the front door. Dillan stopped. It was faint, but he could hear a scratching noise--the kind you get when wood is dragged across wood. He looked around him to find the sound. It was coming from the front porch!

Dillan raised the rifle.

“If that’s you again, I swear I’ll shoot!” He yelled.

Someone was standing on the front porch. Dillan knew the light on this porch worked, so he carefully inched towards it. He could see a figure standing just beyond the screen door. When he got to the light and turned it on, he saw that there was a person there, but they looked all wrong. They were thin and wore tattered, dirty clothes that hid their arms and legs. A wide brim, straw hat hung low over their face. Dillan squinted. It was a scarecrow!

Dillan got very mad. The only person who could have known was Morgan. She was always snooping around where she wasn’t wanted. Now she was trying to ruin his prank! He pointed the gun at them.

“You better take off that mask and show me who you are. If you don’t, I’ll shoot.” He warned.

But they didn’t show signs of fear or even that they had heard him. The person just stood there, hunched over.

“I know it’s you, Morgan. Are you trying to scare me? Well it won’t work! I’m the one with the gun.” He said, smugly.

The figure still did not move. He could hear their breathing, hollow and raspy. What if it wasn’t Morgan? What if some crazy psycho really was here? Dillan fired off a shot. The bullet missed, whizzing off into the dark. The figure slowly turned to look at him.

Instead of a face, there was a grotesque burlap mask, with stitches sewing its hole for a mouth shut. The person had no eyes that Dillan could see, only two empty sockets. Straw hair poked out from underneath its hat.

Dillan was shaking. This was far too big to be Morgan. He said, with a trembling voice, “Wh-who are you?”

“Sticks and Stones.” The scarecrow said with a raspy, hollow voice.

Then, Dillan saw a skeletal hand, part wood and part bone, reach out for the door. Dillan shot at the scarecrow, who pitched back from the blow. It crumpled on the ground, just outside of the porch light.

Dillan very slowly crept towards the door.

When he got within sight of the scarecrow, he could see its arms and legs bend back in painful angles. It crawled away like a spider, vanishing into the dark. Dillan swallowed.

He couldn’t leave the house if something was out there! Dillan made sure the front and back doors were locked. He checked the windows. All the while, he could hear something just outside the walls. It sounded like a scratching of wood on dirt, and then wood on wood…

The sound was moving up the side of the house.

For a moment, it stopped. Dillan waited to hear the scarecrow move. After a moment of silence, one of the upstairs windows shattered. It was in the house!

He had to leave.

With the rifle in hand, Dillan ran out of the house and started on the road to town. If he were lucky, the scarecrow would look for him inside the house while he ran away. From there maybe he could even get to town!

There were rows of corn on either side of the road, big thick stalks taller than Uncle Zeb. Old flickering lights lit the road, strung up on the telephone poles that ran alongside. He ran until his heart hurt. His lungs burned.

Finally, Dillan had to stop. He fell to his knees and took in deep lungfuls of air. He had put a lot of distance between him and the scarecrow.

After catching his breath, he looked down the road. The town wasn’t far away now, and he could see the lights from here. But then, Dillan noticed that someone was standing in the road.

Under one of the flickering lights, he could see the scarecrow’s wide brimmed hat, tilted so Dillan couldn’t see the burlap face underneath. It stood in the middle of the road, breathing ever so slightly. Dillan very carefully aimed his rifle again. He took aim right for the scarecrow’s head.

“This isn’t funny!” He yelled at it, hoping the scarecrow was still some sort of prank.

But the scarecrow didn’t look at him.

“Sticks and stones... broke my bones.” It said with its hollow voice. It slowly looked at him with hollow eyes.“They robbed me and beat me, and left me alone.”

The light flickered and the scarecrow was gone. Dillan was shaking. He could hear its breathing all around him; deep, painful breaths filled with dust and age.

Then, the voice came from right next to him, from the cornfield. It said, “Wood and mesh, became my flesh. They tried to burn me, till ash was left.”

Dillan started to run again. His every footstep was followed by the sound of wood being dragged across the ground; a shrick, shriiiiick, shriiiiiiiiick! The breathing was getting louder.

“Raked and raw, this was their flaw.” It rasped, much louder than before. “I killed them all; they broke my law.”

It reappeared under another light, so close it could reach out and touch him with its bony hand. Dillan immediately darted into the field. He ran and cornstalk after cornstalk slapped him in the face. He couldn’t hear the scarecrow anymore, but that didn’t stop him from running anyway. His legs ached by the time he came to the clearing. He had to be somewhere in the middle of the field by now. In the center of the clearing, surrounded by dark corn stalks was the cross the scarecrow had been hung upon.

Shrick…. Shriiiiick…. Shriiiiiiiiiick!

The sound came from every direction at once. He pulled up the rifle and aimed, moving the barrel left and right, jumping at shadows. Where was it?

Then, when the sound finally stopped, a single voice echoed in his ear.

“Soil and stake, the choices you make--”

Dillan slowly turned to see the Scarecrow standing right behind him. Its last words came from behind stitched lips.

“You’ll pay for them; your bones, I’ll break.”

After that moment, Dillan’s world became black. Just when he thought he was dead, he finally woke up. He couldn’t move though. His arms and legs hurt so bad that he wanted to scream. They were broken! He was being carried on something made of wood. All around him, he could feel the heat of a crowd of people, and hear their voices, chanting,

Sticks and stones, we broke your bones. Left you beaten and all alone.

Wood and mesh became your flesh. We tried to burn you until ash was left.

Raked and raw, this was our flaw. You killed them all. They broke your law.

Soil and stake, the choices we make--we’ll pay for them. Our bones you’ll break.

He tried to scream, but his voice was lost in the voices around him. Dillan began to cry. He could see most everyone there. Uncle Zeb and Aunt Rachel weren’t even trying to help! Why weren’t they trying to help him? The crowd couldn’t hear him, but they could still see him, couldn’t they?

Unless they thought he was just another scarecrow.

He was still wearing his costume! Dillan then looked ahead and saw hundreds of scarecrows, staring back at him with lifeless hollow eyes. In the center of them was Sticks and Stones. The scarecrow was smiling. The people carrying him planted Dillan into the ground and faced him toward the crowd. Then, as they walked away, a single girl approached, wearing a white robe.

It was Morgan.

Dillan called out to her. He begged her for help, but his cousin simply did not listen. She lit a match, and as the town chanted its eerie rhyme, the match fell and its flames spread from one scarecrow to the next. She then turned away.

As the fire ate its way toward him, Dillan realized he should have been nicer. Morgan had been right. Everyone had been right. But there was no chances left for him. The last sound Dillan heard was the town chanting into the night. And the screams of other scarecrows next to him.

#creepy #horror #monsters #iluustrations

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watchtower-feed · 4 years

Text

All in Your Head (Part 3)

SSA Main ✧ Batman ✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5

No one knows about your link with Bruce. Neither of you even knew you had it until a few months ago. The subconscious link is one of the, if not the most, private links there is. Only the two of you know you have it.

You reach out and hold Bruce’s face in your hands. He holds onto them and looks back at you. He looks so tired and you wish he didn’t have to go. “I’m not going anywhere so you go and save her.”

Just like you promised, you stayed asleep. He left you in that space of darkness and you stood in it for another minute before shifting the space into the Wayne Manor. You always walked in through the front door because the Manor always felt like such a sacred space for Bruce.

When you were with him, you would often see his family, the boys running around through the corridors and hallways, sometimes in their suits or in civilian clothing. Bruce would replay the moments he spent with them, watching TV, eating dinner, training, or even just sitting around and telling each other about their days.

Those were the best moments. They deserve more of those, not what Bruce mostly shows you, which are the fights, the yelling, the arguments, and the silent crying. He relives these moments with you instantly because he almost can’t do them by himself anymore.

“Sometimes when I’m standing in front of them and it gets too much, I forget myself and I just grab at your hand like you’re there beside me,” he said.

You stare at your hand and wish Bruce was there holding it tightly like he always does. On some occasions, Bruce thinks of someone he hasn’t seen for days and desperately misses. You’ve only seen him do it twice. Once with Jason and the other with Damian when they fought and he stayed with his mother for months.

You want to think about Bruce, standing here with you but you don’t. Neither of you does that because it feels like cheating. Your imagination could never live up to the real.

You walk along the hall and lean against the doorframe that leads into the study. There was one moment when Bruce missed his parents so badly that he relived the memory of when he annoyed his father until he would throw a ball with him in the garden. You watched, amused, as Bruce shifted himself into his younger self. A child with bright blue eyes and always smiling from ear to ear, so full of mirth.

But now the manor is completely empty.

You walk beside its walls like a ghost that can’t touch anything.

You walk up the stairs and down the long corridors until you reach Bruce’s room. You find it the same way the two of you left it from the other night, with pillows on the floor, sheets disheveled, and a broken lamp tucked away in the corner.

You smile as you walk forward and fall face down onto Bruce’s bed. The sheets don’t smell like anything and it’s exactly how Bruce smells. After honing his sense of smell beyond human ability, he’s become sensitive to everything. When he’s dreaming he shuts off all of his senses and relaxes.

You lie there for an hour, maybe less or more, you don’t know. Time is the most unstable factor in the dreamscape. You and Bruce have had to set up the most aggressive alarms just so the two of you won’t sleep away a whole day together. Again.

You bring your knees closer to your chest, emulating the sudden constricting hold wrapping around your torso. You grip the sheets in your hands until your knuckles are white and you let horrific sobs wrack through your body. You cry loudly inside the empty bedroom.

You cry until your subconscious couldn’t produce any more tears and it feels like your throat has closed up.

Finally, you get up and go down to the cave, walking in through the old grandfather in the study. You climb down the stairs as slow as you can and focus so that the dream won’t add more steps. You count the number Bruce has given you. When you reach the landing, you stare out at the illuminated cave and the parts that are still shrouded in darkness.

You walk past the glass displays that store their old costumes, Dick’s, Jason’s, Tim’s, Cass’, and Damian’s, until you reach the computer. You place yourself in front of the monitors, tucking your legs underneath you as you sit in a chair almost twice your size, and wrap yourself in a blanket you and Bruce shared on other nights when you would just sit and talk. You turn on the computer and let it boot up as if you’re actually there and not sleeping in your bedroom.

But you don’t touch the mouse or the keyboard. Instead, your mind forces the monitor to show you videos and clips of what Bruce could be doing right now. He might be infiltrating a prison cell hidden in the subbasement of a secret government building, a hidden island in the Pacific Ocean, or an illegal lab that experiments on soulmates and metas.

You watch one of the screens that’s showing Batman crawling inside a long air vent. He stops in front of a set of grills and looks in. You can see beds with two that are occupied, some desks and cabinets, a tall man in the middle of the room, and the biggest figure in the room stands between him and the door.

You lean in close to the monitor as you watch Bruce unscrew the grills. You watch as golden smoke rises up to the ceiling, making Bruce pause for a brief second. You still have the image of it in your head when suddenly the woman on one of the beds leaps at the tall figure.

Bruce is already through the vent and scaling along the walls when you realize that was Wonder Woman. She’s shaking, one hand clinging onto the table to stand upright. You gasp when the huge figure smashes her into the ground.

You watch the rest of the scene play out, inching closer and closer. You shout out Bruce’s name when you see Scarecrow come up behind him and injects him. You finally breathe better when nothing happens and you relax more as you watch them escape.

Suddenly, the monitors shut down and the lights around the outer walls of the cave turn off one by one, and then the whole cave is drowned in darkness. It takes a long second before the soft glow of the emergency lights light up the platform.

You definitely didn’t do that.

You hear groaning behind you and jump off the chair as you turn around. There on the medical table, Bruce is sitting up and looking around the cave frantically, as if he doesn’t recognize the place. He looks frightened and weak, standing up too quickly and staggering toward you. “Where’s Alfred?”

You quickly go to his aid. He wraps an arm around your shoulder as you help him stand. “He was just here,” he mumbles, turning his head to look around the platform. “He was just… testing me for poisons.”

“Poisons?” you gasp. Scarecrow’s mask immediately springs back into your mind. “I thought that was nothing. I thought you were fine. You were…” you suddenly realize that what you saw on the monitor wasn’t just your imagination. It was Bruce’s memories.

“Bruce, you’re asleep now.”

“I’m not,” he protests. “I’m in the Batcave. I was with Alfred but you were…”

“No, Bruce,” you whisper, almost pleading. “You’re asleep.” Something’s definitely wrong. Bruce has always had the better handle on your link, always better at controlling the dreamscape and filtering his subconscious. Lucid dreaming is still a skill you have a hard time nurturing but Bruce handles it with talent.

“B-Bruce…” you both turn at the sound of somebody else’s voice softly echoing in the cave. He sounds out of breath and gurgling. It’s Robin. Jason. He’s holding his side with both of his hands while blood is seeping between his fingers.

“Oh my god,” you whisper.

His face is badly bruised. His mask is torn in half and his eye is swollen. He coughs out blood and you feel Bruce’s fingers digging into your shoulder. “H-help…”

As Jason falls, Bruce drags himself away from you and kneels right beside Jason. His hands are badly shaking over Jason’s still body, so afraid to touch him. “No. Not again. Late again,” you hear him say. His thoughts are starting to filter out of his own head and into both of yours.

You can hear the chaos as different voices fill the dream. Bruce is devastated by the death of Jason but Batman is telling him it’s not real. You can hear an eerie whispering sound coming from him as he rocks his body in shock over Jason’s body.

“It’s the toxin. It’s the toxin. It’s the toxin.”

You muster the courage to take the steps toward Bruce and Jason. You flinch at the pale boy’s face and then pry your eyes away. You kneel down beside Bruce and touch his shoulder. You wait until he turns to you, “Bruce, please.” You hold his face in your hands, forcing him to look into your eyes. “That’s not Jason.”

Bruce whimpers and closes his eyes. He holds your hands and presses them harder against his cheeks as the tears start to come. “Not real,” he whispers like a mantra.

Metal skidding on the platform breaks both of your concentration. Barbara is rushing onto the platform, frantically turning the wheels of her wheelchair until she skids to a stop in front of you.

“Bruce!” she yells out and then there’s the sound of a door slamming and Barbara turns around in fear.

You follow her gaze that’s directed somewhere off the platform. It’s all black. Then there’s a gunshot and Barbara goes limp in her wheelchair, her head hanging on one side with a bullet hole in her forehead.

You’re screaming. Barbara’s eyes are wide open. You know this scene. You’ve seen it. You know who’s in the darkness. “Bruce, you need to calm down,” you whimper desperately. “You’re going to--”

Maniacal laughter fills every crevice and every crack of the cave. You look around the ceiling, desperately clinging onto Bruce’s cape. A voice boom out from the darkness, “Ello Batsy!”

Your whole body goes rigid as he steps out from the shadows, one leg first like an entertainer coming through the curtain. His pale white face stands out against the darkness. He’s grinning wildly. “Been a while.”

You choke down a whimper and his face quickly turns to you. “Oooooh. What do we have here?” He steps closer to the two of you. “Looks like you got yourself a soulmate, Batsy. And here I was thinking I’m the one.” Joker leans close to your face and glares at you with his eyebrows touching.

You prepare yourself to start inching back but then he grabs you by the throat and lifts you off the floor. The force is so strong that Bruce falls on his back with his hands bracing him. Scarecrow’s fear toxin has been completely absorbed by his system and he’s run out of control in the dreamscape. For the first time that you’ve been with him, Bruce is completely incapacitated with fear.

You choke as the bony fingers of the madman dig into your skin. It hurts and you can’t breathe. Everything suddenly feels so real.

The Joker laughs as you choke.

“No…” Bruce whispers, finally finding some semblance of his own voice. But it’s so low and broken. He sounds like a boy. “No. Please.”

You want this dream to be over. You try to claw at the Joker’s hands. He laughs in your face and the next thing you hear is a bone crack.

The Joker lets you go and you lie there unable to move. This is wrong. You’re supposed to wake up. You’re supposed to leave.

You’re on the floor with your bent neck and your head lying on the side, facing Bruce. He’s staring at you with wide eyes and his mouth is open. He drags his knees close to you and you can see his whole body shaking as he leans down. “No… no…”

Gently he picks you up to hold you in his arms. He’s staring down at your face, watching the stillness and pale skin. His subconscious is too strong and you feel like you’re dead because he truly believes it.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

You can feel it too. You can actually feel the rigor mortis kicking in and it’s scaring you. Is this how it feels to die?

Bruce’s head hangs low and you see the tears fall before feeling their warmth on your skin.

“Not you too… Please, not you...”

You want to whimper. You want to cry. You just want this to be over. You have got to be stronger than Bruce. You have to block out his thoughts and overpower him.

You will yourself to concentrate until you can move a single finger. Then another. Until you can move one hand. That’s all you need. Slowly, you lift it to touch his face and his eyes widen. He grabs your hand and clasps it while he stares at you with furrowed brows.

“Y-you’re right, Bruce,” you struggle to say, slowly feeling his hold on the dreamscape crumble. “I’m not real. None of this is.” Bruce shakes his head. “Please… just wake up.”

You shut your eyes and force the dreamscape to completely obliterate.

Bruce is sweating and raking in large breaths at a time when he wakes up on the medical table. Only some time has passed. Alfred is there with a sad expression on his face as the monitor’s angry blue lights frame his silhouette.

Bruce focuses his eyes on the monitor and finds a graph with greatly varying spikes connected to different types of chemicals. “W-what just…” he breathes out.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says gently, “It appears to be an alteration of Scarecrow’s fear toxin.”

Bruce groans as he drops down from the table, “What kind of alteration?”

Alfred doesn’t answer him right away. Instead, he stares at Bruce and from the way he looks, he might already know, “It’s a lot milder. Mild enough to not affect your consciousness…” he let his words hang as he watches the slow recognition dawn on Bruce’s face. “And only affect you while you’re unconscious.”

Bruce clenches his fists and suddenly finds it hard to swallow.

“They know.”

✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

#ssa #superhero soulmate au #DC fanfiction #DC imagines #DC reader insert #batman fanfiction #batman imagine #batman x reader #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne x reader #watchtower-feed #acropen #lexyartem

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