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trashassassin · 3 years

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Two Halves of a Whole | 5: Privacy Policy (V x Reader)

You really need to stop making such misguided decisions, my dear reader. Though, I guess if you listened to your better judgement, then this series never would have happened, would it?

Word Count: 2338

Warnings: Strong Language

You were always a little bit nervous getting out of your car after returning home late at night. Logically, you knew that if someone wished to do you harm, there was nothing that would stop them from breaking your window to get to you, but the belief persisted nonetheless. The car was safe, outside was not.

It wasn't that you lived in a particularly unsafe neighborhood. It was simply that you assumed the worst of everyone you happened to come across. And it didn't help that you'd been feeling an increasing sense of unease as of late, the source of which remained elusive.

Your own cruel mind, most likely, but you couldn't help feeling that there was something different about it this time, even if you couldn't put your finger on exactly what it was.

After sitting in your car far too long contemplating all of this, you opened the door and stepped out onto the street.

It was always a bit of a walk from your parking spot to your apartment complex due to the fact that, if you wanted to park closer, you would need to shell out for a parking pass, which you were entirely unwilling to do. You recognized that the negligible amount of money you saved was not a good tradeoff for the anxiety you felt on your nightly walks, but at this point, you continued to refuse to pay on principle alone.

Cutting through the alley was the fastest way to get to your complex, as it led directly to your back door, even if it made the journey more nerve wracking. Your standard strategy was to take it at a faster than average pace, but not at a run in case that made you a more conspicuous target for someone untoward, throwing casual glances over your shoulder every so often just to make sure no one had followed you.

On this night in particular, upon one of your glances, you noticed something in the distance that made your heart drop. It was a shadow, stretched across the brick wall behind you. At first, you tried to convince yourself that it had been there the whole time and you simply hadn't noticed it, but as you continued to stare at it, it shifted slightly.

Your mind tried to push you to run, but your body was stuck fast. Would it move again? Something compelled you to wait and see if it would.

And it did, in a way that you never would have noticed if you hadn't been watching so closely. It seemed to you that whoever, or whatever, the shadow belonged to did not wish to be seen.

This allowed you the perfect opportunity to turn around and continue to your apartment, and possibly consider picking up a parking permit after all once you'd reached it. And yet, as you turned, you found that you still couldn't force yourself to move.

Curiosity burned in your mind, egging you on to turn back around and investigate. But only a fool would do such a thing, and you were no fool.

Right?

You glanced back again and the shadow remained in your vision.

Perhaps you were a fool after all because, slowly, with one hand wrapped around the pepper spray affixed to your keychain, you started toward it. You hugged the wall to your left as you inched forward in the (likely false) impression that this would help you maintain the element of surprise. As you reached the edge, you peeked around it, only to be met with a rather peculiar sight.

There was indeed a figure there, human, you suspected, the finer details of which were all but obscured by the glare of the streetlight not far behind it. It was covered almost entirely by a black cloak, or possibly a blanket. At least, it appeared to be black in the darkness.

The confirmation of another living creature gave you the motivation you needed to finally turn around and, just when you were about to do so, the figure lifted its head and looked up at you.

Your blood ran cold and your body froze in place.

This was it. This was how you were going to die and it was all your own stupid fault for not running away like you knew you should have. Curiosity killed the cat, as you'd always been told, and today, the cat was you.

The figure stood, appearing unsteady on its feet for a moment, giving you another perfect opportunity to run away, but it was as though your feet were glued to the concrete below. As it began to walk toward you, its eyes found yours again.

It didn't appear to have a particularly threatening physique beneath the blanket it wore, but you were well aware that appearances could be deceiving. It paused about a meter away from you and you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the impact of your untimely demise.

But, it never came.

Instead, the figure spoke.

"Excuse me."

You opened your eyes. It was just a man, you realized, a perfectly ordinary man. The images you'd begun to formulate of a horrifying monster hiding beneath the sheet evaporated.

"I don't want to impose," he continued. "But, I was wondering if you might be able to help me."

You cocked your head to one side.

"What, do you need money, or something?" you asked. "I don't have any cash on me."

He shook his head, then reached his hand into the blanket. You took a few steps back, half expecting him to produce a weapon and begin brandishing it at you. But instead, it was a thin piece of paper, which he extended toward you.

"I was hoping you could help me find this man," he said.

As you took the paper from him and examined it, a chill ran down your spine. You did indeed know the man whose photograph was displayed there. He was a good friend of yours.

"Where did you get this?" you asked.

"That is… unimportant," he said, and alarm bells rang in your mind.

Then again, you were familiar with the sort of business your friend was involved with and he did tend to attract a rather unusual client base. So in that way, the interaction you were currently having was par for the course.

"You got a job for him?" you ask. "Something tells me you didn't find him by accident."

"Your assumption is correct," he said.

You didn't know a whole lot about the company's goings on, but you knew enough to know that anyone who sought out Devil May Cry and, by extension, its frontman, Dante, had a very specific purpose in mind.

"Alright," you said. "I'll give him your contact information next time I see him."

"I'd rather speak to him myself," he said. "It's quite urgent."

You did not drop your guard as you continued to stare down the strange man in front of you.

"How do you know him?" you asked, and he simply smiled. "Okay, then. Well, uh…" You pulled out a paper of your own, this one taking the shape of the business cards Dante had forced you to carry. "… Feel free to stop by in the morning whenever you get a chance. He hasn't been very busy lately, so I'm sure he'll be able to see you right away."

You handed him the card and turned to walk away for what you hoped would be the last time.

"Actually," he said, and, for some reason unknown to you, you again paused in place. "I was hoping you could offer further assistance."

Everything within you was telling you that continuing to listen to this possibly insane man was a very bad idea, but you stood your ground.

"What?" you asked, your voice cold.

"You see, I have nowhere to stay for the night."

Your eyes narrowed.

"There's a motel down the street," you said, pointing off in the vague direction of it. "I'm sorry, I can't help you there."

"Please." His face suddenly took on a rather urgent expression. "I'm in a bit of a difficult situation here. I only need one night."

The thought crossed your mind that this was possibly one of Dante's weird friends playing a trick on you, but you dismissed it as quickly as it appeared.

"A difficult situation, huh?" you asked, your voice dripping with disbelief.

"I don't have anything," he said. "They won't let me stay without identification. Please."

No identification? As sketched out as you were by the situation, your curiosity was piqued once again.

"Are you from out of town?" you asked.

"In a way," he replied.

This only intrigued you further.

He did seem harmless enough as you took a better look at him. In fact, he looked rather pathetic with the blanket draped over his thin frame. You realized upon closer inspection that the blanket was the only thing he had draped over him at all. His bare legs and feet were poking out the bottom and you could only infer that the rest of him was in a similar state.

So, you'd encountered a naked stranger in an alleyway, one who just so happened to be seeking a close personal friend of yours, with no identification on him whatsoever, and you were about to invite him into your home.

You wanted to make sure that you had properly established your ludicrous plan before you carried it out.

"I don't know who the hell you are," you said. "But you seem harmless enough. Come on."

You motioned for him to follow you.

"Thank you," he said, and he sounded genuinely relieved as he said it.

Even if you did end up dead and dumped in a sewer somewhere come morning, you were sure that Dante would stop at nothing to avenge your death, at the very least, so you had that going for you, if nothing else.

Against your logical judgement, you led this strange, naked man back to your apartment and allowed him inside.

"So, what do they call you?" you asked.

You flicked on the light and grimaced as your messy living room became illuminated.

"V," he replied.

"What, like the letter?"

"Yeah."

Yet another unusual thing about him.

"Well, V, make yourself comfortable," you said. You cleared off the couch a bit, tossing its contents wherever there was enough space, and motioned for him to sit down. "Would you like anything? Tea, or coffee, maybe?"

"No, thank you," he replied.

He sat down on your couch and was visibly shivering beneath the thin blanket he wore.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

You lifted your fleece blanket from the edge of the couch and tossed it at him.

"I'll be right back," you said.

You were going to make him some tea whether he asked for it or not. You couldn't just let him freeze on your couch all night after you'd so generously allowed him inside. And so, you grabbed the first box of teabags you saw, lemon ginger flavor, and brewed him a cup, along with one for yourself.

When you returned to the living room, he was already lying down beneath the blanket you'd given him.

"Here," you said.

You thrust the cup in his direction and he sat back upright.

"You didn't have to do that," he said.

"Well, I did, so take it."

He took the cup from your hands and you leaned back against the wall across from him, taking a sip from your own cup as you did.

"So, what's your story?" you asked. "How did you end up out here with no ID and no clothes?"

He stared at the floor.

"I have a bit of inside information that may be of use to your friend," he said, avoiding your question entirely.

"Inside information, huh? So, are you from the Underworld, then?"

He didn't respond.

"I'll take that as a yes," you continued. "Well, you don't look much like a demon, if that's any consolation, but I know that looks can be deceiving."

He still said nothing.

"Look, I'm not trying to pry, here. I just wanna know a little more about the weird naked guy I let into my house."

"If you think I'm crazy now, you'll only think me more crazy if I tell my story," he finally said.

You scoffed.

"Believe me," you said. "I've worked around Dante long enough to hear some seriously crazy shit."

It was clear to you that he wasn't going to relent no matter how many questions you threw at him, so you gave up asking and went back to your tea.

"I truly am sorry," he said. "Believe me when I say that I would not ask you to do this if I had any other option."

You shrugged.

"Whatever," you said.

You would have to have a chat with Dante regarding his clients and your privacy at some point in the future.

"I'll be sure to find a way to make it up to you when the case is settled," he said.

You weren't going to hold him to this, but you had to admit, you appreciated the sentiment somewhat.

"Well, I'm going to bed," you said, setting your still partially full cup on the coffee table. "Don't touch any of my shit and be sure to close the door when you leave, alright?"

"You have my word."

The entire thing began to feel a bit surreal as you headed up the stairs to your room. You could tell that there was so much more to this than he was letting on but, rather than putting you off, this fact intrigued you. You wanted to know more, so badly in fact that you had every intention of heading down to Dante's office the following day to ask him what the hell was going on.

Regardless of what it was, somehow, you got the distinct impression that you were already in way over your head.

#devil may cry #dmc #dmc 5 #v x reader #dmc v #v #fanfiction #writing #humor #series #plot #actual plot

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letsbenditlikebennett · 4 years

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Well, Well, Well || Ariana & Otto

TIMING: Some time before Winn went MIA and Celeste died. PARTIES: @gravityfissure & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Ariana runs into Otto in the woods and they hear what sounds like a call for help.

After spending hours looking over her notes and study guides for finals, Ariana desperately needed a study break. Her head hurt and she needed some fresh air to reset. Thankfully, she was already in athletic wear on account of the fact it was comfortable, so all she had to do was throw on a pair of trainers and hit the trails. With a wave to Ulf, she said goodbye and made her way through the trees. More often than not, she preferred to stay off the beaten path. There was a certain comfort that came with weaving through the trees and taking small leaps as they came up. Maybe it was the more wild part of her nature, but she loved every moment of it. She’d been humming through heavy breaths when she heard something not too far off. As she emerged from the trees, she saw a man snapping photos of the forest around him. She watched closely for a moment before coming into his field of vision. She gave a polite wave and greeted, “Hey, sorry to interrupt.” She looked to the camera in his hands, “Finding anything particularly photo-worthy out here?” Off in the distance, she heard voices, but she tried to tune her own hearing down for a moment to not be a total spaz in front of a stranger.

The forest wasn’t the strangest place for Otto to end up most days. Sometimes he came out here to try and practise in peace, while other days he needed to restock some of his alchemy supplies and others he simply came out just because he wanted some fresh air. Even with the dangers that lurked in the depths of the trees, there was little that compared to wandering the trails (generally he was mindful enough not to wander off them) but he’d seen a particularly curious plant that had drawn him over. He’d just been snapping a couple of photos with his DSLR when a voice behind him caught him by surprise, “oh! Huh, hey” he greeted lowering the camera and waving with his other hand, not recognising the young woman but that wasn’t all that uncommon. He smiled, before shrugging a shoulder and waving at the bright orange flowers with heavily drooping petals speckled with something that almost looked like gold dust sprouting at an angle off a tree. “Found a weird plant, figured I’d investigate.” His eyes took in her attire, a quick once over “out for a jog? Nice weather for it.”

While she couldn’t quite tell what color the flower was, Ariana could still appreciate its beauty and recognize that it wasn’t something she’d seen on her runs through here before. Not that she really did a whole lot of plant watching while on runs, especially if she was working on her pace. It definitely did look somewhat weird the way the petals drooped and she could tell there were speckles on it. “Huh, that’s a neat looking flower. I’ve never seen one of them before. Not that I usually, you know, thoroughly study the plant life on my runs.” She nodded in agreement, the weather was perfect and there was just the right amount of breeze going through the trees, “I love this time of year. It’s warm enough to enjoy a run, but not so hot that it literally feels like,” she cut her sentence off, the voices calling through the trees seemed to be getting louder, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. Her head whipped in the direction they were coming from and she whispered, “Do you hear that?”

It certainly didn’t seem native to the continent, plants like this bloomed in the depths of jungles or other far more unreachable spots. Which was part of what had given Otto pause in his walk and left him contemplating the interesting growth. “That’s fair,” he admitted as he peered at the flower once more “definitely not something you’d expect to see around here… Interesting that it’s even survived.” Almost certainly magical in nature that much he could glean. He listened to what the stranger had to say about the weather, it was true, perfect for this time of year and yet it seemed to suddenly grow a little more dim as clouds seemed to pass and settle overhead. Grabbing his jacket he pulled it a fraction tighter around his body especially as something caught his ear… “I-- Yeah, I think so” he strained to tune out the rest of the forest and listen to whatever he thought was coming from the depths of the forest. “It sounds like… Someone’s calling for help? That way…” he pointed to the West and further into the cluster of trees.

Something was out there. The way the wind suddenly had a chill and the sky looked just a little bit darker screamed that something was going on. Whatever it was, it sounded like someone had gotten caught in the middle of it. Ariana stood a little taller as she tried to discern if it was a cry for help. It sounded like this guy was spot on and she let out a deep breath to strengthen her resolve. “I think you’re right. I’m going to check it out. You can come along if you want,” she stated plainly. She wasn’t going to force a stranger she’d just met in the woods to follow her into a potentially dangerous situation, especially if they were human. At least in a worst case scenario, her body’s fight or flight method was to throw a werewolf at the problem. Instinctively, she took a few steps in the direction of the voices before looking back to him to say, “You totally don’t have to come along, but I’m going.”

Whatever it was, Otto didn’t like it one bit. His eyes trained on the treeline and he held his jacket tight for a few long moments. He focussed, inhaling through his nose and out through his mouth to steady the sudden uptick in his heart. When she offered him an out, he had half a mind to just turn tail. It wouldn’t take much, and he really didn’t want to die out here. “Hardly seems safe…” but this girl was apparently pretty determined. What was it about people in this town that made them run headlong into danger? His fingers curled a little before falling to his sides, as he weighed up his options but the sound came again, echoing and dissonant on the breeze and before he even realised it, he’d taken several steps forwards. “I’m Otto by way,” if they were going to die out here best to exchange details in case either one of them actually managed to make it out of here.

Maybe safety should have been more of a concern to Ariana, but it hardly seemed to matter if someone else was in danger. Naturally, she had a bit more of an advantage when it came to survival and it seemed cruel to leave someone else out there to die. With a shrug, she explained, “It’s probably not, but I’m a lot tougher than I look.” He seemed to follow her anyway even if it was likely dangerous. The more the merrier when going up against potential threats, right? Her feet took her in the direction of the voice calling for help. Each step taken was intentional and quiet as she avoided stepping on any twigs or rustling any leaves. The element of surprise could work to their advantage if the situation ahead was dire. In a hushed voice, she said, “I’m Ariana. Thanks for tagging along.” If they were going to potentially rush into danger, knowing each other’s names was probably a good thing. She kept a close ear out to make sure they were moving in the right direction before stopping. “We’re close,” she stated, “Try to move silently. Whatever it is, we’ll have the upperhand if it doesn’t know we’re approaching.”

“No offence but that doesn’t make me feel better.” She didn’t look strong, but then again how many creatures had deceiving appearances? Too many really… Nothing about this boded well, yet somehow Otto found himself trailing after this girl out of a mixture of concern and more apparent curiosity both to see whatever was going on out in the forest. He’d been here long enough to know that dangers lurked out here but it didn’t mean he knew just what could be lurking in the dark or that he wasn’t equally curious about them. Perhaps if he could harvest some resources he could try out a few new experiments, but that meant discovering just what might be out here and then hypothesising what could be done with them after the fact. One thing that could be said about White Crest was that it could help him work on his bestiary and harvesting notes… Small perks for the everpresent death and danger that seemed to lurk around every corner in this place. “No worries… I’m not regretting it just yet…” he admitted scanning around the nearby trees growing quiet as the calls grew louder, and Otto felt his skin crawl with goosebumps. “Right… Silently,” he eyed the ground and slowed his speed to make it easier to place his feet and not snap any untoward twigs though he hardly felt stealthy. “You see that?” he whispered pointing ahead to what appeared to be a clearing, in the centre of which sat an abandoned stone well.

Ariana was more than used to people thinking she couldn’t hold her own. She was smaller than average, but she knew how to pack a punch. In really desperate moments, shifting into a wolf was always an option though it was one she preferred as a last resort. Needless to say, she didn’t take offense to Otto not being assured by her being tougher than she looked. The crying sound definitely appeared to be coming from the clearing and her eyes landed on the well. The way the call echoed it seemed like someone was trapped in the bottom of the well. “I see it, yeah. Think someone’s gotta be trapped down there. Sounds like a kid,” she whispered to him, unsure of why she was still whispering if it was just a kid. Part of her had very little trust for the whole situation being simply what it appeared to be. “I’d still be careful approaching. I don’t trust there to not be anything sketchy.” She kept herself crouched as she walked and tried to get a good smell of the area. Maybe it was too far out from the full moon, but she couldn’t pick up on the smell of another person or even distinguishable animal. Her brow furrowed. Something about this didn’t feel right, but she still pressed forward anyway. She finally stood a little taller and peered over the edge of the well to see a strange looking limb coming at her. “What the fuck,” she yelped as her hand took a swipe at it, claws instinctively coming up and scratching whatever it was while causing her to wince slightly. She took a big step back, keeping her stance defensive.

“Maybe… Or something that sounds like a kid…” If there was one thing Otto’s brain told him, it was that walking towards a creepily abandoned well in the middle of the forest from which something was screaming were all signs that it should not be tampered with. “I don’t--” he started to say but Ariana was already forging ahead while Otto preferably hung back to gauge the situation before he truly got involved “oh for-- woah!” Something swiped the air, near to Ariana’s vicinity and it was in the responding swipe he saw the slightly transformed hand. Well, that was a little better at least. “What the fuck…” he whispered quietly, concerned that raising his voice too much might stir the creature from its depths while he continued to stare at the well that seemed to have grown dark and still all of a sudden. “Why isn’t it… What the fuck? What was that?”

One thing that became immediately clear to Ariana was that whatever was down that creepy well was not in fact a child. At least not of any human or human-ish variety. Whatever the fuck it was seemed to want to pull her down the well as a snack which she most decidedly was not chill with. “I have no idea what the fuck that thing is, but it’s definitely not a fucking child.” She took a step closer again, hands raised and ready to fire back, trying to get a better look at the thing. It seemed to come quickly pattering up the well again. She took another quick swipe causing it to recoil in pain. “Any ideas on how to kill this thing outside of me slashing it to death,” she asked Otto, not daring to look away from the well and give whatever the fuck that thing was any sort of advantage.

“No… That’s probably how it gets people out here though,” Otto eyed the well cautiously unsure what the best next option would be. “It hasn’t followed us up though, unless we go near the edge…” so logically he’d been about to say let’s not do that. But Ariana seemed to want to do the absolute contrary and he could only watch as she took another swipe with her claws. “It doesn’t seem to want to get out of there,” he pointed to the well, “so maybe we try and get it out to see what happens… Or maybe we try and trap it down there?” It seemed like a good climber, “taking the head off most things tends to do the trick but uh I don’t have anything to do that, unless I tried with magic but there’s no guarantee that’ll work. Depends. What do you think’s best?”

Why Ariana had gotten close to whatever that thing was again was beyond her, but her fight or flight instinct had always been a little more fight than flight. Slicing it to death with her claws would take too long and she wasn’t even sure if bleeding out would really kill this thing to begin with. “Okay, valid point,” she agreed, taking a few steps back from the well, “I could always go full wolf, but I don’t know how possible lobbing this thing’s head off is.” Her eyebrows raised and eyes widened at the mention of magic. She practically gasped, “Wait, you can do magic? I mean, yeah luring it out and chopping it’s head off is something I could do if I had a sword or something. Think you could set it on fire?” She smacked her own head realizing wells were filled with water, “Sorry, too many movies. Also, like hella water in a well, probably.”

“Mm, I’d say if it doesn’t want to follow us out of there then at a guess it’s probably because it's weaker without the element of surprise right?” From what Otto had seen so far it made the most sense otherwise the creature would’ve been up in their faces already. “Uh---” there was an awkward look at the reaction to his mention of magic, “yeah I can,” it was a general misconception he was used to encountering but he hadn’t anticipated having to explain it here. “I mean. I can’t just… summon a sword that’s not really how it works and fire isn’t really my wheelhouse anyway. But if we can get it out, and if you can pin it - I can cast a spell that should be able to do the trick if you can keep it pinned for the time it takes me to cast?”

“That makes sense. Gives me the upper hand in a fight,” Ariana agreed, keeping a close eye and ear on the well. That thing wasn’t surprising either of them or anyone else again. As Otto explained how his magic worked, she nodded along. The plan was a little dangerous for her, but she was scrappy enough that she believed she could pin the thing down. “Alright, drag the fucker out and pin ‘em down long enough for you to cast a spell. I don’t love it, but I can do it.” Seeing fingers at the edge of the well, she threw an arm in front of Otto and said, “Looks like I’m going in.” She lunged ahead, grabbing for an arm that shot out of the well. At the sign of further danger, the wolf seemed eager to come out. While her claws and fangs sprouted out with the odd tufts of fur coming through, a low cautionary growl was given. It was an uncomfortable sensation that was unlike the usual liberation that came with a full moon. Her body didn’t like being caught between two states, but the fight in her was able to ignore it in favor of them both getting out of this alive.

It wasn’t the most ideal plan, but it was a plan and one Otto would try to follow through on to the best of his abilities but you couldn’t always guarantee things would go according to how you tried to fix them in your mind. Still, Ari was moving in a blur of motion before he could fully process anything else and he shrugged. “Well here goes nothing.” There was a horrible wail from the well as another long spindly arm swung up to try and bat Ariana away and Otto’s eyes trained on the limb. His feet sunk into a wide stance to balance him and connect him to the nearby environment, the stronger his connection the more likely this was going to work but even that wasn’t always a guarantee. Still, Otto’s hands shot out palms upturned and the air above Ariana shuddered as the clawed arm slapped off some invisible force sending up sparks of purple energy that made Otto grimace. “Come here you fucker,” his left hand remained upturned, but the right swept out and around, over and down before his fingers clawed into a fist as if grabbing some unseen force and he slowly pulled up. Sweat trickled down his brow, as the words of the spell flowed but eventually the sound of scraping and scrabbling rocks could be heard as the thing was pried loose from its abode.

Pulling the spider like man thing up from the well was getting easier as Otto began working his magic. Ariana was still struggling a bit. The stupid thing clung to the stones along the sides of the well and tried to swipe at her whenever the opportunity arose. This was decidedly not your friendly neighborhood Spiderman. Miles Morales would never. A low growl escaped her lips as one of the arms managed to get a swipe in. She grabbed hold of another limb, sinking her claws in, and yanking as hard as she could as she heard the sound of falling rocks and stone within the well. It became easier to pull the creature from the depths of the well now that it had lost its grip. “That’s right, Spider Douche,” she snarked, pulling the thing further away from the well. She wasn’t taking any chances, but it still squirmed beneath her grip. She didn’t dare chance a glance back at Otto. She had to trust he was doing his magic thing. If she looked away, that gave this thing an opening to attack without immediate reaction.

The magic looped and curled around the creature’s limbs until with a sharp yank the creature came free with Ari’s help. It flew a few feet before skidding to a stop in a divot or dirt nearby and Otto was already moving dragging the heel of his right boot in a half-arc from front to back the movements helping to focus the magic on the necessary target. If Ari could keep the thing - whatever the hell it was right there the spell should work. God he hoped it worked. It’d be embarrassing to have to explain to the other wolves how he’d gotten Ariana killed if that’s what happened here. Hopefully it didn’t come to that though. Palms pressed tightly together as one arm drew back as though wielding an imaginary bow at the purple wisps gathered between the points of his palms in a series of smoke-like strings. His weight rocked back onto the right foot before he pushed off hard, jumping up; gaining more height than the typical person might normally be able to gain his arm pivoting forward. The action sent streaks of purple energy whipping down on the creature’s neck. Each struck true and the creature screamed and writhed to try and break away black ichor like substance oozing from the gashes in its neck. “When I say, get outta the way,” he yelled, his brow beaded with sweat and blood starting to drip down his nose having noticed a stack of boulders on the edge of a nearby overhang not too far from where Ari and the creature was.

Every sense was tuned in on the monster thrashing below her grip. Ariana had to stay sharp and watch the movement of all its thrashing limbs. One had ripped the left side of her favorite running tights, but it was barely a scratch to her actual leg. She had no attention to devote to seeing how Otto was doing with the whole magic aspect of this. Not if she had any intention of staying alive at least. Her claws swiped to slice any limb that got too close for comfort. She heard Otto explaining she had to move when she told her to and she called out, “Got it.” A low growl rumbled from her as it continued to fight her hold on it. “Stay put you stupid spider fuck,” she groaned. She waited for Otto’s instructions to move, using every ounce of strength she had to keep the creature in place. She repeated a mantra to just hold the thing down to help suppress the urge to go all in on this thing. This was definitely more a workout than she intended to have today, but at least this thing wasn’t going to hurt anyone else. That is, if they actually managed to kill it before it killed them.

Otto didn’t need an audience, as much as he might enjoy one. He was happy to work, pulling his hands in the motions he’d been practising and figuring out lately. Unfortunately, this kind of resistance due to the size of the boulder made him grit his teeth as nature fought back against the magic that was trying to drag the boulder off the cliff. Sweat pooled at the back of his neck, his hands shook and static tingled at the tips of his fingers as he dug deep for resolve to reinforce the act. He breathed, in through his nose and exhaled forcefully through his mouth as with a wilful cry he dragged his hands down and a crack from overhead could be heard. There was a sharp throbbing pain in his hand, that Otto ignored for the time being as the rock careened through the air down and down and Otto waited clutching his hand as he watched until it was halfway at its trajectory before he yelled “NOW!” He just hoped

Fatigue was beginning to hit Ariana as she did her best to keep the monster contained to one spot. Her snarls and growls seemed to do little to keep the leggy motherfucker from trying to eat both of them. It felt like Otto was taking forever to do his magic thing. Not that she had any idea how the whole magic thing worked. Even though she was a wolf, magic was still way over her head. Apparently so was this physical fight because she was exhausting her energy more quickly than she would have liked. The claws in her hand were throbbing and every instinct in her was screaming to just rip this monster to shreds. Ignoring pure instinct was becoming exceedingly more difficult. Damn it, Otto, hurry up. It felt like forever before Otto finally called out for her to move. She quickly dodged out of the way and looked dumbfounded as she saw the boulder crush the creature that had been residing in the well. “Holy shit,” she breathed, “You moved that shit with your brain? That’s so cool.”

Even under the boulder it continued to twitch just as Otto’s hand throbbed and glancing down he noticed the mild purple-black discolouration spreading across his thenar eminence. “Sure, I’m the next Professor X,” he quipped trying to massage the area of his hand with the other but stopping at the sharp shooting pain that radiated from the pressure. That was a new one. Likely from a mistake in the wordings or perhaps the somatic components of the spell. The creature twitched again and Otto stared at it for a long moment, “maybe just… yank its head off or something? That’ll probably get rid of it for sure…” Who knew what that thing could come back from, but considering how it still writhed under a boulder of all things he didn’t really want to find out.

It was becoming harder and harder to ignore the fact she was struggling in her partially transformed state. Ariana felt sore and it was hard to deny this creature’s blood was beginning to smell appetizing. Concentrate, Ariana. Concentrate. Who knows what reaction you’ll have if you eat this thing. The boulder was crushing the well monster, but its limbs still twitched and flailed. Through gritted teeth, she responded, “Head off, got it.” Easy enough. She did want to rip the thing’s head off and still hadn’t relaxed fully, so her claws were still extended. She dug her claws into its neck and pulled as hard as she possibly could. While it’s head was still hanging on by a string, it did seem to let out a final croak before becoming completely limp. Ariana collapsed to the ground, exhausted from being torn in between two states and her claws retreated. She took in a few haggard breaths and explained, “I just need a minute. Good thinking on the boulder though. I don’t know what the fuck that thing was, but glad I had you for back up.”

#otto #well well well #wickedswriting

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omgkatsudonplease · 7 years

Note

*KICKS DOWN DOOR* ROMAN HOLIDAY AU

HOLD MY BEER WRATH -CRACKS KNUCKLES-

His Imperial Highness Crown Prince Yuuri Katsuki of Japan is floating.

He’s not sure exactly what Minako had put into his tea. His housekeeper (minder, Yuuri thinks vaguely) had sworn it was a tonic for his nerves, but it tastes like alcohol and it burns through him like alcohol, and maybe he’d wrested an entire bottle of whiskey from her because there is a Jack Daniels bottle discarded at the foot of his bed. And at some point he’d given up on a teacup.

He wants out of this stuffy hotel room, wants to drink in the night lights of the city below. His Eastern European diplomatic tour had taken him from Moscow to Saint Petersburg, and from there he’d eventually go on to the Ukraine, Romania, Bulgaria, and a list of other countries and cities that he can’t be arsed to remember right now. It’d been nothing but meetings and greetings, hand-shaking and ribbon cutting and baby kissing until his lips felt chapped and his fingers ached. The only time he’s had to himself were the ten-minute respites driving from location A to location B, and these lonely nights in penthouse suites of fancy hotels in the heart of cities he was never meant to explore as an ordinary person.

His penthouse suite has access to the roof. Yuuri stumbles along, telling the bodyguards that he needs some air. He can hear them following at a distance, though, as he climbs the stairwell up to the roof of this grand hotel.

Out on the roof, Saint Petersburg spreads out below him, a brisk sea breeze blowing wildly as he breathes in the night air. His hair stirs in the wind; it’s getting a bit long, but he hasn’t had the heart to cut it in a while. Below him the bright glow of streetlights accentuate the cars speeding along the streets, accompanied by buses and trams. Yuuri longs to be one of those people on the streets, driving the cars, sitting on the trams. Ordinary, easily lost in a crowd.

Instead, he shivers in his t-shirt and sweats, his hands gripping at the railing of the roof as he looks out at the distant green-blue dome of a cathedral lit in the night, and all the surrounding elegant buildings that feel like bars in an elegant gilded cage. He needs just a day off. One day without people shepherding him into place and speeches about ‘peace and prosperity’ and ‘fostering good relations between Japan and Russia’. He has lunch with President Baranovskaya tomorrow, a tour of the new Mitsubishi plant on the outskirts of the city, a meet and greet with the press corps. And yet just the thought of each of these things makes him want to scream.

He sways slightly on his feet, and then he notices the staff stairwell on the other side of the roof, and he has an idea.

Viktor Nikiforov is late on his story for the History Maker gossip tabloid, and based on the near-emptiness of his bottle of vodka, he knows that fairly well.

The problem is, this is his only bottle and it’s not nearly enough. So he puts on a light coat, nearly tripping over the slumbering form of his poodle Makkachin on his way out his apartment.

Just down to the corner store for another bottle. Not even a big bottle. He just needs to be the right amount of buzzed for this article to get out of him. Never mind the fact that when he started out in journalism he hadn’t needed to drink to do his damn job.

(Never mind the fact that when he started out, he had been writing for publications of actual repute. But that’s neither here nor there.)

Once he reaches the bottom landing, however, just nipping down for a bottle and then returning to his apartment of solitude suddenly feels like a terrible idea. With the sudden urge to take a walk along the embankment of the Fontana burning brightly in his mind, he rushes back up to his flat to wake his poodle, clipping on Makkachin’s leash and leading him out the door.

Makkachin’s tail wags cheerily as they head out into the brisk city night. There are no stars visible out here, but Viktor pretends that they are wheeling overhead as the two of them make their way through familiar cobblestoned streets. He’s content to let his dog do most of the leading, and Makkachin is just as eager to wander down trails of interesting new scents.

Their joint meandering takes them to the front steps of the local church with its spires and domes topped in gold. There’s a man in the park out in front, fingers scrabbling against one of the benches as he sways, humming a tune to himself. Viktor pulls at Makkachin’s leash, trying to lead him away, but the man’s face breaks out into a wide grin at the sight of the poodle. And Makkachin has always been a sucker for friendly-looking strangers and the prospect of pets.

“Your dog is adorable,” simpers the stranger with a giggle. “Can I pet him?”

Viktor nods, since Makkachin is already upon the stranger anyway, licking him all over. The stranger doesn’t seem to mind; his hands come up, fingers curling in Makkachin’s fur with a giggle. “His name’s Makkachin. He’s a standard.”

“I have a toy poodle,” says the man. “He’s back… back.” He gestures vaguely in a direction Viktor’s not quite sure of. “Home,” he finishes. His English has a soft American twang to it. Viktor likes it.

(He then stops that train of thought, because surely it must be weird to think that some random drunken stranger one stumbles upon in a park in Saint Petersburg while walking one’s dog is cute with a cute voice.)

(The man is still very cute, though.)

“I’m Viktor,” Viktor offers. “And you seem like you need help getting home.”

“No,” says the man vehemently. “Don’t wanna. I live here now.”

“Here? At Vladimirskaya Church?” Viktor’s eyebrows arch. “I doubt it.”

“Don’t wanna go home,” repeats the man, punctuating it with a giggle and a determined rub along Makkachin’s back. “Not tonight.”

“Well, I can’t just leave you out here,” says Viktor. “The police will come fetch you. You wouldn’t want to spend the night at the police station, I assure you.”

“I’ll come with you, then,” says the man, grinning.

Viktor’s first instinct is to refuse. He’d just met this guy, after all. Number one on the ‘list of things not to do in order to stay alive’ would definitely be ‘let a stranger into your house’. And yet there’s something in this man’s expression that makes Viktor’s resolve crumble like a deck of cards.

Really doesn’t hurt that the man is adorable. It’s a bad idea to think of him that way, yet it’s an irrefutable fact. This man is clad in sweatpants and a loose tan jacket over a black t-shirt, a light blue scarf lightly draped around his shoulders. His shock of messy black hair is barely contained by a cat-eared beanie, and he has blue-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose. And he is adorable.

“Well, my mama always told me not to let strangers into my house,” Viktor says, “so you should tell me your name, so we’re not strangers anymore.”

“I’m Yuuri,” says the man, drunkenly shaking Viktor’s hand.

Viktor makes sure he makes it all the way to his apartment.

In the morning, Viktor wakes up to the blinding light of the morning sun in his face. He stretches, and yelps in pain when his head collides with the arm of his sofa.

Frowning a little, he swings himself up into a sitting position on his sofa, wondering how he’d ended up here when he clearly knew better from other drunken nights that his couch is the worst place to sleep on. And then he notices an unfamiliar coat discarded in the hallway, and suddenly everything comes rushing back.

Yuuri.

Yuuri had discarded that coat. And that scarf. He’d stumbled, like a newborn giraffe trying to do ballet, into Viktor’s arms just short of the bedroom, and Viktor had to carry him to the bed and tuck him in with an aspirin and a glass of water.

That’s why he’s on the couch.

“Shit.” Viktor scrubs at his face before clambering to his feet and padding down the hallway to his room. The door is closed; so he slides it open a peep. Makkachin immediately comes out, panting for his breakfast. Viktor sighs, and pokes his head in.

Yuuri is asleep still, lashes long against his pale cheeks. Viktor feels his heart seize a little in his chest at the sight, which is all he needs to close the door and beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen to fill Makkcahin’s bowls and start breakfast.

He’s halfway through making toast and eggs when his phone pings with a message from his editor, Yakov. He nearly drops his phone when he reads it:

The press conference with HIH Crown Prince Katsuki is cancelled due to his sudden and unexplained illness.

It’s followed by a picture of the Crown Prince. And Viktor would recognise those eyes anywhere.

Those are the same eyes belonging to the man currently sleeping in his bedroom.

(He had no idea Crown Prince Katsuki usually wore glasses.)

Viktor’s throat is dry; his hands are shaking. At this rate he’s going to burn breakfast. He quickly scrambles to plate the food, rushing everything to the counter just as Yuuri Katsuki (Crown Prince of Japan) comes shuffling into the room, rubbing at his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” says Yuuri after a moment. “But where am I?”

Viktor sets down the spatula and frying pan into the sink, and then slowly turns around to face him. “How much of last night do you remember, Yuuri?” he asks.

The man startles a little, as if he’d expected Viktor to call him something else. But then his cheeks flush pink. “I didn’t… do anything untoward, did I?” he asks.

Untoward. Viktor’s insides are squirming with glee at how adorable this man is. “No, you were just insistent on not going home,” he says. “Makkachin and I took you back here, to my place. I took the couch.”

“Makkachin,” says Yuuri, and then the poodle insinuates himself by Yuuri’s knee as a reminder. The prince chuckles at that, reaching down to pet the poodle. “A standard. How cute! I have a toy poodle back… at home.”

Viktor nods. “You told me that last night,” he says.

“Oh.” Yuuri bites at his lip. “Well. Um. Sorry. For that, and for imposing. I won’t be troubling you for much longer. I need to return –”

“Home?” asks Viktor. “You seemed pretty adamant about not returning last night. But then I guess you were drunk, so…”

“Yeah. I…” Yuuri trails off. “What time is it? And what was your name again?”

“Viktor,” says Viktor. “Viktor Nikiforov. And it’s actually ten.”

Yuuri freezes. “What.”

“Yeah.” Viktor nods.

Yuuri stumbles onto one of the chairs at the counter, putting his head in his hands. “Can I… borrow your phone? I need to make a call.”

Viktor nods, handing over his phone and opening it to the keypad. He then turns on the TV, just in time to catch a broadcast about the unexpected illness that had struck the Crown Prince of Japan, and how he had cancelled his lunch with President Baranovskaya.

Yuuri freezes with his fingers on the dial key, turning around to see his own face splashed across the news.

“What… happened to that guy?” he asks, gesturing to his own photo as if pretending he just bore an uncanny resemblance to the ‘sick’ prince. “I don’t speak Russian, so…”

Viktor hides a smile. “He’s sick,” he replies. “They’ve cancelled all of his public events today.”

Yuuri nods then, chewing at his lower lip. “I see,” he says quietly. He then sets down the phone and picks up his fork, raising an eyebrow at the plate of toast and eggs.

“Help yourself,” says Viktor. “Do you want tea, too?”

Yuuri nods. Viktor puts the kettle on, then, and it boils in moments. He serves up two cups of tea, then, and Yuuri gratefully takes his with a cube of sugar and a tiny dash of milk.

Viktor then takes his phone, firing off a message to his photographer friend Chris to ask him to stop by. He then sends another to Yakov about getting an exclusive interview with the Crown Prince, before going over to sit beside Yuuri with his own fork.

“So, what brings you here to Saint Petersburg, Yuuri?” he asks.

Yuuri fidgets with his fork a little. “Work,” he says vaguely.

“What sort of work?” asks Viktor.

“Family business,” mumbles Yuuri.

Viktor smiles. “No time for sightseeing?” he wonders.

Yuuri ponders it for a moment. “Well,” he says, “I think my schedule might have just freed up.”

Viktor’s smile broadens. He gets a message from Yakov at that moment: Everyone says they’re going to get an exclusive interview with the Prince. Try again.

He frowns as he replies. No, I mean a really exclusive interview. The Prince as a person, not a crown. I bet other people would kill for a story like that.

Yakov’s answer is almot instantaneous. Can you guarantee this interview?

Viktor looks over at Yuuri, who has raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him. “Work,” he answers.

“What sort of work?” asks Yuuri, a little smile twitching at his lips.

Viktor chuckles. “Boring work,” he replies. “And I just freed up my day, too. So if you want to go sightseeing, we could definitely do that.”

Yuuri’s eyes sparkle, and Viktor’s heart skips a beat. “I’d like that,” agrees the Prince almost eagerly. He sounds so earnest, so trusting, so determined to make the most of his situation. Viktor can feel his gut twisting at the question burning into his phone, and it takes all he can to make his smile reach his eyes.

“Then let’s finish up breakfast and get ready,” he says cheerily, and when Yuuri nods and tucks back into his eggs, he fires off the answer:

I’ll have it on your desk in the morning.

(basically viktor used to do investigative journalism for another magazine/newspaper higher up in the pecking order, but after a scandal or a lawsuit he loses that job and now works at a tabloid. he sees this interview as his chance to regain his reputation. but as the day progresses, he falls more and more in love with yuuri, and realises he can’t sell this story.

chris is his photographer buddy who gets roped in, and also goes along with not selling the story when he realises how much viktor and yuuri love each other.

yuuri, in the meantime, has actually loved viktor’s earlier work for journalists without borders and so when he realises that viktor is actually a journalist he’s caught between awe at having met an idol of his and dismay that viktor was probably spending time with him to write a story on him. but then viktor convinces him otherwise by not selling his story to the tabloid after all.

they part ways but they also stay in touch and viktor gets a job at a better publication with a branch in japan…. and then they become an item and it’s like the biggest news ever 😉 also ofc there’s an army of bodyguards that get completely beat up at a dance 😉)

#yoi #yuri on ice #victuuri #viktuuri #lily's dabbles #roman holiday au #exile wrath #ask

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solivar · 7 years

Text

WIP: Ghost Stories On Route 66

aka the one in which Hanzo Shimada is an expatriate art student, Jesse McCree is an NPS ranger, they’re both more than they appear to be, weird stuff is going down in the New Mexican desert, and their lives collide in the middle of it.

My God, these characters can talk once they all get together. First update of hopefully more. I WILL finish this chapter today.

The light that enfolded him faded slowly to gray and then to dark. The warmth that enfolded him faded slowly to cool, and it was the touch of something far colder on his eyelids that prompted him to open them. The wind that kissed his face also lifted the hair from his shoulders, heavier against his scalp than it had been in years, shining a pure and perfect white in the light shed by the river of stars arching across the sky overhead, bowing down to touch the peak of the mountain looming far in the distance before him. A cloak of red and gold lay over his shoulders and a glittering silver path lay at his feet and he stepped upon it and began walking. He did not look back; he knew that there would be nothing for him if he did.

He walked for perhaps forever or perhaps less, and came to a place where the path became a narrow pass between two high cliffs. The shadows lay deep between the walls of stone but in those places where the starlight touched, the white of age-bleached bone shone among the drifting sand, here the unmistakable curve of a shattered human skull, there the fragments of broken human ribs. He sensed within those high bloodstained cliffs a cruelty and malice beyond even humanity, a hunger for blood and flesh that could never be sated. He sensed also that it slept, bound by a will both ancient and strong, and so he walked through the Rock-Monster Pass unharmed.

He walked again for long or perhaps not long at all, and came to a broad plain that extended as far as he could see and beyond even that. In reeds the plain was covered, as tall as a man with great leaves upon them. The wind sang through them and the leaves struck against one another with a sound like the ringing edges of knives, from their tips blew tassels of dried human skin, sere human flesh. He sensed within those waving reeds a savagery and bloodthirst beyond even humanity, a hunger for blood and flesh that could never be sated. He sensed also that it slept, bound by a will both ancient and strong, and so he walked along the Slashing-Reed Path unharmed.

He walked and before he knew that time or distance had passed, he came to an open valley. Cane cactus grew along its sides and across its flat, crowned in masses of sweet-smelling flowers and limned in thorns the length of a man’s hand, glistening with poison. Long strands of human hair hung from their hundreds of barbs and at their bases lay a tumbled scree of many fallen bones. He sensed within those spiny branches a hatred and spite beyond even humanity, a hunger for blood and flesh that could never be sated. He sensed also that it slept, bound by a will both ancient and strong, and so he walked through the Poison Cactus Country unharmed.

He walked what only seemed a few minutes before he came to a barren land of rolling dunes, sand piled in waves taller than a tall man’s head. The wind whistled along them and stirred from beneath them the ashen remains of many who had struggled to escape and burned, shriveled to nothing. He sensed within those sparkling sands a wrath and wickedness beyond even humanity, a hunger for blood and flesh that could never be sated. He sensed also that it slept, bound by a will both ancient and strong, and so he walked through Burning Sands Desert unharmed.

And so it was that he made the rest of his journey towards the far star-touched mountain and came at last to the forest that gathered at its feet. There in the shadow of the pines, just off the path itself, he saw a flicker of firelight and heard the sound of a sweet voice singing and all at once the cold and weariness of his long journey fell upon him and he found he could go no further.

Another traveler sat in the shadow of the pines feeding sweet-smelling wood to a gentle, warming fire and, coming closer, he found that he knew the traveler’s face but could not say why. The traveler looked up as he approached, a smile more warming than the flames curving his mouth, and his eyes shone golden in the dark. “You’ve come a long way just to see me, cousin.”

“I...have?” Hanzo asked, and for the first time realized his journey had a purpose. “Who are you?”

“A friendly face in the cold and lonely dark, I hope.” The traveler said, lightly, and Hanzo knew the name belonging to that face, but not the name of what looked out through his unnaturally bright eyes.

“You are not Je -- the ranger that I know.” Hanzo replied and stayed where he was on the far side of the fire. “Who are you?”

“Will you not join me by the fire, cousin?” The traveler murmured, and stirred the pot sitting in the coals, releasing a fragrant burst of steam. “You are cold and weary, and I have warmth and comfort to offer you.”

“You call me cousin but you are no kin of mine that I know.” Hanzo replied and held his ground. “Who are you?”

“Ah, Hanzo Shimada, the things you don’t know yet could fill an ocean.” The traveler grinned and caught Hanzo’s eyes with his own and he felt himself touched by a will both ancient and strong -- touched, but not bound. “I think, my stubborn young friend, that the more important question here is who are you?”

“I...do not know what you mean.” Hanzo whispered and shivered as the cold settled into his bones.

“Oh, I think you do.” The traveler stirred the pot again, and poured a stream of fragrant liquid into the bowl he held. “Sit, child. Warm yourself and drink. Stop thinking of all those faery tales you heard as a boy and attend to the here and now.”

Hanzo came closer and sank down next to the fire, gathering the red and gold cloak that was not his closer around himself, and accepting the bowl the traveler handed to him. It was sweeter than the sweetest honey and more bitter than the ashes of ten thousand broken dreams and he knew, as he drank it, he would never taste anything like it again. He sat silently for a long moment, and allowed the warmth of the fire and the warmth of the drink soak into him, and when he spoke it was softly. “I know who I am, stranger.”

“No. I think you do not.” The traveler stretched his long body out on the ground on his side of the fire, and for the first time Hanzo saw that the tips of his fingers ended in claws. “I think you know who you thought you were -- who you thought you were meant to be. You came here to this place you had only read about in books because you thought you would find it as barren and blasted and empty as you felt in your own soul...and instead the desert is alive in ways you never could have guessed. You came here to wither alone into the nothing you thought you were.”

“I am nothing.” Hanzo replied, and gazed down, his reflection dark in the surface of the traveler’s strange drink. “I could do nothing to protect myself. I endangered the lives of my friends and my brother and could do nothing to help them. Minamikaze was correct -- I am not a dragon, and I will never be one.”

“There are more things in this world than dragons and nothing, my cousin. There is more in you than that.” The traveler’s hand cupped his chin, claws gentle against the skin of his cheek. “And, for the record, Minamikaze is a judgmental asshole who’s been right exactly twice in his entire existence and when next you see him, you can tell him I told you that.”

Hanzo choked on something halfway between a laugh and a sob, and the traveler’s fingers brushed the tears from his face.

“You do not know who you are, cousin. But you have chosen the path that will lead you to the where and the when that you will.” Warm lips brushed his forehead. “You need only the courage to walk it.”

“I -- “

In the distance, a howl rose, sharp as the edge of a knife and cold as death. The wind stilled before it and fled, the boughs of the pines overhead and the ground beneath them shivered, and the flames of the fire itself lost their warmth.

“The Serpent-Wolf hunts you still, hungry as only a thing that has tasted of your soul and now your flesh can be. For the sake of the one who lent you this, I think you should, perhaps, not meet him just now.” The traveler stroked his hand down the golden border of the cloak and seized his wrist in a taloned hand. “Wake up, cousin. We shall speak again.”

The traveler’s claws bit deep, drawing blood.

Hanzo jerked awake and the first coherent through to crawl out of the swirling morass of inchoate madness that was his mind was, I know that ceiling.

He did, in fact, know it: large wooden beams, carved their lengths with repeating geometric motifs painted particularly vivid shades of red and gold, white and ocher, paler latillas perpendicular and he was totally looking up at the ranger’s bedroom ceiling for the second time that week and his head spun savagely with the disorientation of it. He was looking up at the ranger’s ceiling. He was laying in the ranger’s bed, wrapped in the ranger’s wonderfully soft and warm sheets and comforter, his head resting on the ranger’s pillows, and he had absolutely no memory whatsoever of how he came to be there. In fact, the very last thing he could consciously recall was the sensation of being shot.

He lay perfectly still for a moment and took stock of the contents of his mind. Yes, that was a rather vivid and unmistakable memory of catching a couple very real and sincere bullets in the midst of an otherwise surreally horrific dinner hour at the Student Union. Moving slowly, he peeled back the covers and pulled up the hem of the tee he was wearing, expecting blood and pain and bloody pain to ambush him at any moment and found, to his pure and perfect astonishment, absolutely no physical suggestion of anything untoward whatsoever. No bandages, no blood, not even a powder burn where the ranger had held the barrel almost flush with his body and pulled the trigger. His arm, on the other hand, was wrapped in lengths of cloth dressing -- each finger individually, feeling too thick and clumsy to use properly, and up beyond the hem of the sleeve, the skin feeling prickly enough as he moved to discourage even thinking about unwinding any of it.

A sound caught his ear: something halfway between a deep breath and a gentle almost-snore. Given the precise gravity of recent events, it was with only a relatively small amount of surprise that he turned his head and found Zenyatta laid out next to him, deeply and comfortably asleep from the quality of his breathing. Beyond him, half-sitting, half-slouching in one of the ranger’s heavy old wooden chairs, his feet propped up on the far side of the bed, was Genji, his head thrown back and his neck crooked at an angle incompatible with human contentment. One of the ranger’s ceramic mugs, probably containing the world’s most powerful sedative tea, or possibly four times the average dosage of pharmaceutical-grade ketamine, or possibly both sat on the bedside table at his elbow.

For an instant the relief of seeing them both there, safe and unharmed, rose up in his chest and made his head spin, and it was all he could do breathe around it. Zen didn’t so much as stir when he touched his shoulder and shook him gently or when he slipped out of bed and padded around it on stockinged feet to check on Genji. Who did not respond in any way when Hanzo maneuvered his head and neck enough to insert a pillow behind both or rearranged the blankets a bit to cover his feet as well as his arms. It wasn’t chilly, precisely, but he fed the fire another sweetly resinous bit of fuel and closed the door firmly behind him as he stepped out into the hall, where it was genuinely cool. A wavering light shone through the kitchen entrance arch, its source an oil lamp on the counter next to the sink. The drainer, he could not help but notice, contained far more mugs than it was likely for one man to use on his own.

In the living room, he found the furniture rearranged -- the coffee table and a few of the chairs pushed back against the far wall to accommodate the introduction of a camp cot, occupied by Lucio, hands wrapped around the sides even in his sleep. Hana slept on the world’s most comfortable couch, wrapped burrito-style in three blankets, only the very top of her head peeking out. A second oil lamp burned on the dining space table and the fire was fed and as he turned he saw the flicker of firelight beyond the window seat curtains. He found his shoes lined up with all the others next to the door, his jacket hanging from the rack, and he pulled both on before he stepped outside, where it was so genuinely cold that his breath escaped in a puff of frost and an involuntary cough.

“Darlin’,” The ranger greeted him from the comfortably firelit shadows at the far end of the porch, “you should not be out of bed yet.”

The firelight illuminated his face in flickering planes of light and shadow, his eyes dark and tired and entirely human, neither shining red nor flashing beast-golden and somehow more beautiful for it. It took Hanzo a moment to find his voice. “I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep. May I join you?”

The ranger patted the spot next to him on the bench where he sat. Hanzo folded himself into it, tucking his legs up to conserve warmth, and before he was even finished settling himself, the ranger spread the blanket he was sitting under over Hanzo, as well, and wrapped the free side of that red and gold cloak around his shoulders. Warmth enfolded him, shared body heat and the ranger’s cedar-sage-spice scent and it was all he could do not to curl against him, rest his head on his shoulder and his hand on his chest, the desire sudden and fierce.

“May I?” The ranger asked, softly, and for a moment Hanzo couldn’t imagine what he meant.

“Oh.” Realization dawned. “Yes. Yes, you may.”

It came out, he thought, reasonably even if somewhat squeaky and the ranger’s arm came down around his shoulders, gathering him close against his side. Under the cloak he was wearing one of those heavy suede-and-shearling jackets and, beneath his cheek and the palm of his hand, it was just as soft as it looked. The fire was burning in one of those gourd-shaped firepits in an iron stand, giant extinct prehistoric squash consumed by the megafauna that once roamed Ice Age North America variety, the smoke was sweet when the breeze wafted it in their direction, and unless he was grossly mistaken that was the ranger’s cheek resting against the crown of his head and that was definitely his hand, warm, gentle, callused, resting over his own. Hanzo closed his eyes and luxuriated in it, soaked in the comfort and peace, knowing that it could not last.

Ranger McCree’s voice, when next he spoke, was a soft rumble under Hanzo’s ear. “I oughta be askin’ you all kinds of questions about how your insides feel, but I don’t have the heart for that right now. You mind?”

“Not at all,” Hanzo murmured dreamily. “It can wait until later.”

“Glad we’re in agreement.” The grip on his hand, and across his shoulders, tightened a fraction.

Hanzo drifted, not quite asleep and not quite awake, safe and at rest and aware of nothing but the presence of the man next to him and the contentment of holding and being held by him. At some point, he heard something: a long, low howl that sounded nothing like the creature that hunted him and so he barely stirred. At some point he heard the rustle of almost-silent wings and the deep-throated rasping of an owl, somewhere quite close by. At some point, there were voices, human voices, including the ranger’s, but the gentle caress of a hand down his spine soothed him back down before they could disturb him. What finally brought him back was the slow fade of darkness into light, touching his eyelids from the outside, and when he opened them the eastern sky beyond the cluster of autumn-red dogwoods nearest the porch was growing pale with dawn.

The ranger seemed to know he was back without the necessity of speech. “Ana and Reinhardt are bringin’ some things over for breakfast this morning -- you up to helpin’ prepare our contribution?”

“Of course.” Hanzo agreed.

Neither of them moved except, perhaps, to squeeze the last microns of separation from between their bodies.

“I’m thinkin’ scrambled eggs and home fries,” Ranger McCree murmured. “I’m afraid I don’t have the kitchen space and probably not the time for individual eggs to order.”

“That sounds delightful.” Hanzo agreed, nestled unmoving against his side.

“And some bacon and sausage, because what this meal definitely needs is an abundance of protein options. I can almost guarantee that Granny and Grandpa are gonna bring fruit and pastries and all the breakfast sweets you could possibly want.” The ranger’s arm tightened around his waist. “I hope y’all find some spice tolerable.”

“Hana makes a haejangguk so hot you could use it to keep warm in the middle of a blizzard.” Hanzo replied, and laced their fingers together on the ranger’s chest.

He was absolutely certain those were lips pressed against his scalp. “We’re goin’ t’have to get up, darlin’.”

“A few more minutes.” Hanzo whispered and the ranger, evidently, agreed, because he didn’t move again until the sky faded from gray to silver to palest blue and the last of the stars went out.

When he finally did move, he didn’t go far, rising to his feet with an audible snap-crackle-pop of unsatisfactory spinal alignment and a groan as he stretched it out.

“I’m sorry we sort of kicked you out of your own house. And your own bed. And, uhm, yeah, I’m just really sorry about this whole thing.” Hanzo unfolded his legs, pushed himself to his feet and found himself a moment later writhing in agony on the cold planks of the front porch while two million pins and an approximately equal number of needles reminded him why warm cuddles were not an actual substitute for healthy circulation. “Oh for fuck’s sake.”

Ranger McCree looked down upon him with an expression that was attempting, valiantly, to be Concerned and Kindly and was failing horribly at both because he was also visibly trying not to laugh. His dark eyes were dancing with a gale of suppressed cackles, the little lines next to them deepening from the force of his repression, the corners of his mouth twitching uncontrollably.

“Go ahead, let it out.” Hanzo muttered and sat up on his own, waving a helping hand aside and rubbing feeling back into his calves.

Ranger McCree’s laughter was low and husky and crawled into his ears and down his spine and into his chest, where it began frolicking around with his heart, which had abruptly forgotten how to beat in a calm and steady fashion. It hadn’t yet recovered when the ranger reached for his hand to help him up and it continued to skitter around, richocheting off assorted ribs and internal organs as they soft-footed it through the entranceway and into the kitchen. The ranger flicked the control surface on the wall and soon the kitchen was illuminated by gentle, eye-comforting light panels scattered strategically around the room. He took the oil lamp chimney carefully in a potholder, blew it out, and locked it back into a circular clamp mounted to the wall above the sink. The pantry was deeper than Hanzo would have guessed, quite probably once an eat-in dining area repurposed to hold both a refrigerator and a standing freezer, built-in bins for edibles that didn’t really require refrigeration, canisters of flour, sugar, cornmeal, coffee, and the most extensive rack of spices, herbs, and loose-leaf teas he had ever encountered in a private home.

Ranger McCree wordlessly handed him a pair of unused rubber dishwashing gloves to put over his bandaged left hand and offered him first choice of cutting boards, knives, and vegetables. Hanzo settled himself on a stool at the work island and began turning a pile of potatoes into a bowl of evenly sized potato pieces while the ranger warmed the broiler and began laying out thick slices of bacon and rounds of sausage on two different pans. They worked in a warm and comfortable silence, Hanzo’s heart slowly settling back into its accustomed place, surrounded by a little curl of laughter.

The first pan went under the broiler and Jesse murmured, “I’m gonna check the fireplace in the bedroom -- if you could keep an eye on that for a minute, darlin’, I’d appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Hanzo whispered and his heart discovered renewed cause for acrobatics, some of them a bit nervous.

But Jesse returned a handful of minutes later mercifully unstabbed and unsliced. “Doc Tekhartha and your brother are still sawin’ logs, so I elected to let ‘em. The doc took a pretty hefty energetic shot to the third eye when all his defenses went kaboom at once back there, so he’s likely to need a bit of TLC when he finally does crawl outta bed.” He slid the pan out from under the broiler, scrutinized the quality of the cooking thus far, and slid it back in. “You got questions, I can tell.”

Hanzo did, in fact, have questions, potentially all the questions since the beginning of time, and they decided that was exactly the moment to engage in a vicious scrum for the honor of being first substantive inquiry out of his mouth.

“Why do you use oil lamps and fireplaces?” The first substantive inquiry, knocked to the floor by inanity, stared at the inside of his eyeballs in unmitigated horror. “I -- I mean, you’ve obviously got a modern electrical system here, your solar array is better than the one we’ve got at the condo, and, yeah, that was -- “

“When the wind blows out of the north long enough, at the right time of the year, it can mess with modern electronics pretty severely. Even here, where we’ve hardened it thoroughly against such things, it can still whistle through the cracks from time to time, particularly when the local atmosphere is unsettled and primed to allow it.” He smiled, flipped the bacon, and put it back in to finish cooking. “Like now, really. When that happens, it can get mighty cold, mighty fast, so it behooves me to have alternate means on hand for warmth and light and cookin’. If the power hadn’t worked when I tried, we’d be doin’ this outside over mesquite charcoal on the grill.”

“That...doesn’t happen very often in the city.” Hanzo pushed the bowl of neatly diced potatoes across the table, wiped his knife and board clean with a damp cloth, and set to work on the peppers. “Or at least I haven’t noticed it if it does.”

Jesse laid paper towels on a broad serving plate, transferred the bacon to it, and set it inside the microwave to keep warm. “It’s a little different in the city. Reality’s a little more...solid there, I wanna say. Even so, weird stuff can happen in the right places for it -- abandoned houses with bad reputations, public parks at the times when nobody’s supposed to be about, that sorta thing. Given half a chance, unearthly stuff like we’ve been dealing with will find a way.”

“Such as it did on campus...yesterday?” Hanzo guessed, because he didn’t feel quite famished enough to have experienced a multi-day blackout.

“Yesterday evening, yes.” In went the sausage and out came several boxes of eggs, a gallon of milk, and a bag of shredded cheese. “That was kind of an extreme example, but yeah.”

“Of course.” Hanzo replied, dolefully.

“And not at all your fault, because there was literally no way you could have guessed that this thing would be so persistent.” The ranger gave him the world’s most perfectly soothing Stern but Kindly look in response to his tone. “Doc Tekhartha, who I know for a fact is better-educated than average about things like this, probably didn’t guess it would be that persistent, or so bold, so y’all are most definitely off the hook.”

“I suppose that’s pretty true, but I didn’t take the whole dose of my tea the night before last, and you know Zenyatta.” Hanzo looked up as all the ranger’s words filtered in and settled into place.

“Know is a pretty strong word.” A wry little smile curled the corners of his mouth. “I’d go more with professional acquaintances -- I guest lecture on occasion at UNM, and we’re both members of the loose association of practicing crafty types around here. We haven’t had cause to actually work together before this, though I gotta say, I’m pretty impressed with the tricks he pulled off on the fly using duct tape and markers. Be interesting to see what he could do with proper materials.”

“My brother is likely to hate that. A lot.” Hanzo finished with the peppers and set to work on the onions, as Jesse cracked eggs into a fresh bowl. “And I apologize if he was -- “ Hanzo gestured with his knife, “particularly cutty-stabby last night.”

“To give him the credit he deserves, he did sorta see somebody he loves get shot right before his eyes, so I really didn’t blame him for the cutty-stabby.” He fetched a whisk and set to work breaking yolks with untoward deep concentration. “There’s generally no good way to react to that.”

“So the shooting thing was...real.” Hanzo laid aside his knife and breathed peace for a moment.

“Kinda yes and kinda no.” Jesse’s hand closed over his own. “What I shot at you weren’t bullets in the traditional sense of the term -- they were a shell of matter around an energetic payload keyed to deploy a particular pattern of force. In this case, exorcism rounds. The physical mass of the bullet discorporates on impact, and only the energy penetrates to do its work, which forced the thing inside of you to let go.”

Hanzo shivered uncontrollably for a moment, and the ranger’s hands came to rest on his shoulders. “So it...it isn’t...it’s not...there...any longer?”

“No.” And now those arms were around him again, holding him close as he shook and failed at not crying. “You’ve got some of what we call physical artifacts of possession still in place on your arm, and that’ll feel prickly and uncomfortable while it heals up, and we’ve still got some work to do to make you permanently safe, but no. It’s not still there and I have no intention of lettin’ it come back.”

“Promise?” Hanzo whispered against his chest.

“You have my word and my vow. This thing will never hurt you again while I’m still breathing.” Warm hands tilted his face up and warm lips brushed his forehead. “I promise.”

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” said someone quite nearby.

The ranger lifted his head, eyes narrowing, and looked around. “What was -- “

Hanzo groaned and buried his face in the ranger’s chest again, because that at least stood a pretty decent chance of ruining Hana’s shot.

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that, you two are like THIS CLOSE to paying for winter break in Cancun for ALL of us.” Hana came completely over the top of the sofa, phone in both hands. “My steam thinks you two are adorable, by the way, can you do that forehead kiss thing again but turn a little more fully in this direction so -- “

“Hana.” Lucio manifested next to her on the couch between one minute in the next and plucked the phone out of her hands. “Maybe we could give them, I dunno, five minutes of privacy? Sorry to interrupt, gang, but we’ve gotta go, I think I smell breakfast burning, seeya later.”

“That kinda is somethin’ -- oh, damn, the sausage.” Jesse snatched up the potholders and rescued the pan of gently smoking, more than slightly blackened sausage patties just before they caught fire. “Well, I hope y’all like it on the crunchy side. And since you two are awake, I hope you don’t mind bein’ drafted to help.”

Within ten minutes, the ranger had Hana measuring coffee and loose leaf tea and Lucio juicing two full bags of oranges. A taste test suggested that the sausage was retrievable provided the worst of the crispy spots were scraped off, so Hanzo took over that task while the ranger sauted onions and peppers over gentle heat and whisked together eggs and milk. Ten minutes after that, the aroma of perking coffee was propagating through the air and, ten minutes after that, the door to the ranger’s bedroom opened and Zenyatta emerged, blinking owlishly, into the light.

“Hey there, Doc.” The ranger poured eggs-and-milk into the pan, gave both a brief stir, and retrieved one of his heavy painted ceramic mugs from the drainer. “How ya feelin’?”

Zenyatta settled himself onto the stool Hanzo vacated in order to fetch a packet of tea and a single-serving strainer. “As though I have been run over by an overloaded trash truck that was also on fire. Which is to say, crispy and in need of ritual cleansing.” A wry smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “And I would not refuse painkillers.”

“I’ve got a couple different sorts in the medicine cabinet -- darlin’, you’d be so kind?” The ranger asked, as he measured out the tea and poured the hot water. “It’s just next to the linen closet.”

Ranger McCree’s medicine cabinet was clearly assembled on the advice of a survivalist emergency medicine specialist who existed in active fear that the world was going to end sometime in the immediate future. There were at least six different varieties of OTC painkillers in the medicine cabinet, all of them in giant economy sized containers with their applications clearly labeled, and so Hanzo only grabbed the ones dealing with headache, fever, and body pain. Zenyatta was meditatively inhaling the vapors rising from the surface of his tea and being brought up to speed on current events by Lucio and Hana, with occasional interjections by Ranger McCree, by the time he returned.

“...and that’s when the big guy -- “ Hana was saying, as he re-entered the kitchen.

“Roadie,” Ranger McCree interjected, finishing off the scrambled eggs and pouring them into an enormous ceramic platter.

“ -- yeah, he got sick of waiting for everybody to hug it out and just picked you up,” She made a motion not unlike someone hefting a load of something on the blade of a shovel, “heaved you over one shoulder like sack of rice and started walking and we pretty much had to move it or lose it at that point, so Genji put his sword away -- and, believe me, I want to know where that came from because there is no way it came out of his backpack because it’s not there now and it wouldn’t fit anyway, I did measurements -- and he and Ranger McHottie here carried Hanzo down the stairs and there was smoke and rentacops and real cops and fire and rescue all over the place and the entire campus was blacked out and so was about half the city around us and before we finally fell asleep last night the news was saying some kind of major subterranean power relay station right near the school blew and that’s what they were blaming the whole thing on as of right now.” Hana took several deep breaths to recover from the oxygen deficiency that recital caused her. “And so, here we are, about to have breakfast.”

“Thank you,” Zenyatta replied warmly, to them both, as he selected his analgesic of choice. “It seems quite an eventful evening was had by nearly everyone.”

“That’s one way to describe it.” Lucio looked up from adding sugar and water to the jug of orange juice. “You accepting new patients, Doc?”

“I’m almost certain that the ethical canons of my profession don’t really cover situations like this so, yes, of course.” Zenyatta sipped his tea.

“Oh, good, ‘cause I’d hate to have to explain this to any other doctor.”

The ranger’s phone chimed gently and he stepped around the corner to answer it. Hana and Lucio exchanged a glance and immediately dragged him and Zenyatta into a huddle over the prep island.

“Are we agreed that this guy is possibly the hottest thing to ever wear a uniform apparently designed to absolutely negate personal hotness?” Hana asked, her tone low and intense.

“We are in agreement,” Lucio replied and Hanzo buried his burning face in his hands with an audible groan. “However, the precise state of his hotness is not really my concern at this moment. I admit, I was kinda mentally downplaying the whole ‘magic tea meant to keep my soul in one place’ thing in my head, Han, sorry about that, but, seriously what is this guy? Because I’m thinking ‘park ranger’ is only part of the definition. And that’s leaving out Roadie the Friendly Giant and his friend the psycho genius demolitions expert.”

“I could tell you,” Zenyatta murmured in the sort of low, soothing tones that had the effect of taking everyone’s body language and blood pressure down a few notches. “But it would be rude to discuss such things behind his back, when he has taken us into the safety of his home. I counsel patience.”

“I can do patience.” Hana agreed. “And not to belittle the seriousness of anything, really, that was pretty scary and intense back there, I mean, he totally shot you. But you weren’t shot? And it was freakworthy, but he was just so...nice? And he made us hot cocoa with real chocolate and gave us fresh clothes to sleep in and made sure we were all safe and comfortable and -- “

“Yes, I know,” said Hanzo who did, in fact, know quite well. “It seems to be his thing. Also, I understand that they weren’t real bullets.”

“Yeah, he said that but I’m not entirely sure Genji believed him which is another thing that’s a thing -- Genji, man.” Lucio flicked a glance down the hallway. “Your brother can get pretty hardcore from time to time but until last night I never thought I’d see him flat-out ready to kill somebody. And by ‘ready’ I mean ‘Hana and I had to physically restrain him from stabbing your boyfriend.’”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Hanzo replied to a chorus of eyerolls that included, to his surprise, Zenyatta.

“Semantics.” Hana replied, in almost precisely the same tone Genji used when he said it. “Listen, Hanzo, I’m going to strongly suggest that your face be the first thing he sees in order to prevent a potential outbreak of life-threatening violence.”

“That is not a bad idea at all.” Lucio concurred.

“I agree.” Zenyatta sipped his tea.

“Is this your way of getting me out of the kitchen so you can talk about me?” Hanzo asked, eying them all with newfound suspicion.

Any protestations of innocence were interrupted by the front door opening and closing and the ranger rejoining them, smoothing a pained look off his face. “Well, that was Ana and Rein, they’ll be here in about fifteen minutes and they’re bringing Jack and Gabe with them so...we’re going to need more seats. If you two,” he nodded at Hana and Lucio, “could give me a hand with that, I’d appreciate it greatly.”

“Sure!” Hana chirped. “Incidentally, do you have any more of these shirts? In pink? I mean, the fit’s nice and all but this isn’t really my color.”

The ranger smiled that genuine, bone-melting smile of his and Hanzo could not help but notice Hana’s knees swaying under the influence. “Y’all have no idea. There’s technically a gift shop in the park office across the way there -- I’ve got more stuff packed away in storage than I’ve ever sold. I’m sure we’ll be able to find you something after breakfast.”

“Cool. And a green one for Lu and Genji. And blue for Hanzo and Zen. And can we get our National Park Service passports stamped and you’ve still got those little pins and lanyard charms, right? I need to add those to my collection and maybe shoot some video and don’t you have some audio gear in your bag, ooooh, we could do a little mini-documentary and maybe our grades won’t get docked too hard…”

“She’s plotting something, isn’t she?” Zenyatta asked, amused, and finished his tea.

“I’m almost totally certain of it, yes.” Hanzo agreed. “I should probably see to Genji.”

“I concur. But before you go...may I?” Zenyatta gestured and Hanzo realized he was still wearing gloves and that what he wanted to see was beneath them.

“Of course.” He had, miraculously, not sweated through the bandages wrapped around his fingers despite the relative temperature inside the gloves.

Zenyatta took his hand in both of his own and bowed over it, eyes drifting half-closed and a low hum rising in his throat as he examined it, as he turned his wrist over to reveal the five tiny spots of dried blood welling up through the fabric. Hanzo almost jolted backwards out of his grip at the sight. “Whoever crafted this binding is skilled at their work.”

“If I hadn’t pulled yours loose -- “ Hanzo began and Zenyatta reached up to place two fingers across his lips.

“Mine were a stopgap, at best, and I am willing to guess that we all underestimated the lengths this thing would go to in its efforts to claim you. You have nothing to apologize for, least of all to me.” He looked up, eyes still gleaming faintly silver.

“You lot are in collusion to make sure no contrition from me goes unanswered, aren’t you?” Hanzo complained. “You were hurt.”

“Would offering an apology to me, and me accepting it, make you feel better about this situation?” Zenyatta asked with all apparent sincerity.

“Yes.” Hanzo paused for a moment, flustered, then soldiered on. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”

“Very well. You apology is accepted.” Zenyatta smiled serenely, poured a cup of coffee from the carafe steaming gently on the counter, and handed it to him. “You should probably take this and go before the smell wakes him.”

“Yes, I probably should.” Hanzo paused just long enough to adulterate the cup to his brother’s preferences, squared his shoulders, and marched down the hall.

He opened the door just enough to peek and found Genji still asleep, somewhat more sprawled out than when he’d left, but at least he hadn’t managed to completely lose the pillow even if the blanket was mostly on the floor. Given his brother’s well-known tendency to flail about violently upon waking, he placed the coffee cup on the ranger’s chest of drawers and approached slowly, casting about for something to jostle with from a safe distance and settling on the cast iron poker racked up next to the fireplace.

“Genji.” Hanzo whispered, gently prodding the bottom of the nearest foot with the tip of the poker. “Wake up, ototo, breakfast is ready.”

Genji’s nose twitched and he shifted his foot away from the source of the discomfort, but he otherwise did not stir. Hanzo reconsidered the angles of the room, his brother’s obnoxiously long reach with all his limbs, and repositioned into a place unlikely to result in being kicked in the head by sudden, involuntary movements.

“Genjiiiiii,” Hanzo cooed, somewhat louder, and nudged his brother’s shoulder gently with the tip of the poker. “Wake up, or Hana’s going to eat all the bacon.”

Genji’s arm flicked out and batted the poker away with such force that it bounced off the far wall and rolled off somewhere under the bed. And then he started snoring.

Hanzo took a deep breath, made peace with his ancestors, and leaned over far enough to take a solid hold on Genji’s elbow, shake it vigorously for six seconds, and bark, “Genji! Wake up!”

Leaping backward with the trained agility of someone with Genji Shimada for a brother, he actually managed to avoid being biffed by the sudden excess of limbs emerging from the depths of that chair, some of which were vividly translucent green, one of which was most assuredly a broad golden fringed tail, and even rescued the pillow from the outer regions of the fireplace before it got too badly scorched. The chair hit the wall just to the left of the windows, for which Hanzo was intensely grateful, as Genji heaved himself to his feet, looking about wildly for whatever it was that woke him, and finally settled on him, pouring a cup of water on the last of the smoldering spots on the pillow. Hanzo had to look away from the expression on his brother’s face and thus he missed it when Genji came over the bed in two bounces and was subsequently surprised by the incoming force of his embrace.

“Genji, it’s alright, I’m okay, I’m not even hurt,” Hanzo murmured comfortingly. “Well, okay, I’m a little hurt. But -- “

“I saw that thing shoot you.” Genji growled against his ear, and the rage in it was almost more painful than his fear. “I thought I was watching you die.”

“I know. And I am so sorry. For all of this.” He reached up and stroked the back of his brother’s head back down into configuration not resembling furiously spiky scales. “I never meant to do this to you and -- “

“It’s not me you should be worrying about.” Genji pulled back, only the barest hint of iridescence in his eyes, expression still fierce. “That thing, it -- “

“It’s gone.” Hanzo assured him, squeezing his hand gently. “The ranger’s bullets forced it out of my body. He says there ways to make me safe from it.”

Genji looked, very much, as though he wanted to say more, at considerable and vituperative length. “That...ranger. Is he here?”

“Out in the sitting room setting up for breakfast. There’s going to be company.” The resonant boom of something large and heavy hitting something strong and only dubiously flexible echoed down the hall. “That might be them now, actually.”

“I don’t suppose you’d climb out the window and run if I asked it, would you?” Genji asked, his tone perfectly even.

“Genji.” Hanzo replied quietly. “Whatever is happening here is beyond anything we’ve experienced before, together or apart. I...do not think running would help, no.”

“Very well. Together, then?” He offered a hand.

Hanzo took it. “Together. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

New voices, some of them familiar, some of them not, were traveling down the hall as they stepped out, Genji taking the lead with the sort of tension in the lines of his body that suggested a willingness to deliberately kick someone in the head.

“...You didn’t bring any of the dogs?” That was the ranger, sounding slightly disappointed.

“The Trio are sacked out in the dungeon from a long night of doing nothing particularly stressful.” Wryly and that was Hot Vampire/Gravelly Commando Dad. “Binky and Spot are on patrol. They both think we’re overdoing it a little, by the way.”

“Yeah, well, they’re allowed to think that and I’m allowed to hope they’re right and if the Serpent-Wolf doesn’t come slinkin’ out of the desert to try the border defenses at any point in the next few days we’ll all be very happy with ourselves.” The ranger heard them coming and turned to face them as they entered the kitchen, a carafe of coffee in one hand and a pitcher of orange juice in the other. “Misters Shimada, you’re just in time. Breakfast is on the table.”

“Thank you.” Genji’s tone was just on the subarctic side of polite. “That sounds wonderful.”

The ranger flicked a glance at him past his brother’s shoulder and Hanzo lobbed it back with a silently mouthed, it’s okay. He nodded slightly and led the way into the reconfigured sitting room, now with most of its actual sitting pushed up against the walls in favor of the kitchen table turned long way across the room, a folding table extension, and a random selection of chairs, most of which were now occupied. Zenyatta sat in a nylon camp chair, engaging in a quiet but intense conversation with a stately older woman, her silver hair falling over her shoulder in a thick braid, her left eye covered in an elegantly embroidered cloth-and-leather patch, the other underscored by the age-faded curves of a tattoo. Hana and Lucio sat to either side of a mountain -- an older man, enormously tall even in his seat, shoulders broad and dense with muscle, his beard and hair conspiring to gift him with a perfectly leonine mane to go with his deep, booming voice. All three were chatting amongst themselves. Hot Vampire Dad had settled down across from them, his cane in easy reach, interjecting embarrassing details into what was obviously an already amusing story. He found Terrifying Smoke Monster Dad not at the table but occupying one of the chairs near the fireplace, every single shadow in the room seeming to congregate around him specifically, knitting needles flashing in the firelight. Because he was, of course, knitting.

“Alright you heathens, who wants what to drink?” Ranger McCree asked, holding up his burden. “Hanzo, Genji, make yourselves comfortable. Somebody fix these two a plate.”

Hanzo selected the seat directly across from Zenyatta and his regal conversational companion and Genji, of course, took the one immediately next to it, which also happened to be next to Hot Vampire/Commando Dad, whose genial smile did absolutely nothing to warm the local atmosphere. “Bacon?”

“Please,” Genji unbent enough to remember his manners as platters were passed and drinks were poured.

Ranger McCree took the last unclaimed seat, the one at the head of the table. “Thank y’all for comin’. Ana and Rein, you’ve already Hana and Lucio. These fine gentlemen are Hanzo and Genji Shimada. Gentlemen, this is Ana Amari and her husband, Reinhardt Wilhelm, friends and colleagues of mine for many years long duration.”

“Greetings and welcome.” Ana’s smile was warm but her eyes were sharp and he could almost feel the intensity of her gaze pinning him to the back of his chair. “I have looked forward to meeting you, Shimada-san.”

“The honor is entirely mine.” Hanzo bowed from the shoulders -- anything else felt fundamentally incorrect -- and planted an elbow in Genji’s ribs to encourage a similar gesture. “Your efforts have already aided me greatly, for which you have my thanks, and I am pleased to meet you, though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Ana chuckled low in her throat and saluted the sentiment with her coffee mug.

“And that’s Jack Morrison,” Ranger McCree added wryly, “and the antisocial fella over in the corner there is Gabriel Reyes. They’re the hippies that run the garden shop down the way that I told you about earlier.”

“And, yes, we are his parents.” Jack added, innocently, taking a sip of orange juice.

“Technically, I am their guardian but, yes, they’re also my parents.” Ranger McCree admitted, adding food to his own plate. “That’s why even Uncle Sam doesn’t have much to say about them sharin’ this lovely slice of the Cerrillos hills with me.”

“How does that work?” Hana asked.

“It’s complicated.” They answered in nearly three-part harmony.

“More complicated than we need to get into right now given how complicated this situation already is.” Ranger McCree cleared his throat.

“Speaking of which,” Hana continued, around a mouthful of bacon, “I would really like to know how, exactly, you managed to shoot him,” she gestured with her fork in Hanzo’s general direction, “twice in the chest without leaving a mark on him? And also why it is he was doing a credible imitation of that creepy monster dude from those movies last night and also why he painted the world’s most disturbing impressionist Lovecraftian horror on his bedroom wall and while we’re at it a thorough and complete explanation of all you people, including you, Zen, would not be out of order.”

A ringing silence followed. Hana glared into it, utterly unrepentant. “Look, somebody had to say it. So just spill already and get it over with.”

“You’re not wrong about that, Miss Song.” Ranger McCree replied evenly. “Y’all deserve some straight answers, though there are some parts of this that I can only just guess at still. But I’ll tell you what I can.”

“I actually thought the painting was a bit more Cubist than Impressionist.” Genji observed, in the tone of one musing aloud.

“Genji, if you try to derail the confession in some misguided attempt to protect your brother, I will come over there and stab you with this fork.” Hana brandished it threateningly.

“None o’ that, please. While I’ve got the supplies to fix most things up, we really don’t need any excess bloodshed right now.” Jesse flicked a glance around the table. “Folks, would you mind helpin’ me a bit with this?”

“Of course.” Zenyatta set down his teacup. “I admit, this is not precisely how I wished to tell you this, but it seems that we all have little recourse under the circumstances. Hana, I and several other people sitting at this table, are craftworkers.”

Hana and Lucio presented him with identically blank looks of incomprehension. Hanzo, having heard that term before and somewhat longer to begin making connections, managed to express less blankness. Genji, at his side, was neither blank nor curious but serenely unconcerned, which under the circumstances practically shouted I know what that means. Hana noticed and glared a few layers of skin off his face.

“So you…” Lucio ventured. “...do crafts? Like arts and crafts? Woodworking? Throw me a bone here, Zen.”

“What we do is both an art and craft -- several different arts, several different crafts, born from different traditions from around both this world and, I suspect, others.” Zenyatta held out a hand and, for the first time, Hanzo saw the threads of radiance beneath his dark skin, hair-fine patterns of pearlescent light that spread across the flanges of his fingers, the palm and the knuckles, over his wrist and up his arm, around his eyes and lips and brow, glowing cool silver-blue-golden. A sphere, not at all unlike the ones that had appeared the night prior, curled into existence above his outstretched palm and he felt, at a level almost beneath conscious awareness, the tension he had been carrying in his shoulders, the quiet anxiety that had coiled in his stomach, easing away because here, among these people, he had nothing to fear. “It is mine to perceive the harmony and discord of others’ souls, to aid them in healing themselves when those forces come out of equilibrium in ways that do them harm. My way is a way of balance and of care, taught to me by my parents before they left this world.” He closed his hand and the sphere blinked out of existence.

“You will find that most of us were taught by our parents.” Reinhardt’s voice was as deep as the size of his chest suggested, a low rumble with a marked accent. “My mother was a knight of the old ways and my father a runespeaker. As their only child, I was given the gift of both their teachings and from them forged my own path, a way of protecting those who cannot protect themselves from the evils of this world and the worlds that lie beyond it.”

“Rein built the wards that help keep this place safe and somewhat hidden. People can find it, if they stumble across it physically like you did, Hanzo, but to everybody else…” Jesse shrugged slightly. “It’s kinda vague. Folks know it exists, it’s still on the map but...”

“If you find your way here, it is usually for a reason.” Ana caught and held his gaze. “Even if that reason is not immediately apparent.”

“Holy shit.” Hana breathed. “Magic. You are talking about real, honest as a punch in the face magic. And, seriously, because you pulled that lightshow, Zen, I can’t even accuse you of being high.”

“So the magic soul-healing tea is also a real thing, and you’re the one that made it.” Lucio directed the almost-question at Ana and she, thankfully, looked away just before she reached the core of his soul.

“Yes. I have cultivated many and diverse skills over the years but my primary practice these days also lies in the healing arts, both of flesh and soul.” A dry chuckle. “I can show you my workshop, if you would like.”

“Yeah, I...kinda think I would, if you don’t mind?” Lucio grinned.

“Not at all. But later. We still have much to discuss.” Ana smiled, as well, slightly mysterious around the edges, and picked up her own teacup.

“So -- does that mean you two are actually a vampire and actually a smoke monster?” Genji asked and it took all of Hanzo’s strength not to kick him under the table and keep kicking until he got the point.

“No.” Jack replied.

“Yes.” Gabriel answered from somewhere beyond Mount Reinhardt.

“Which is to say, no, Jack is not a vampire he just looks like one and Gabe totally is a smoke monster, at least part of the time.” Jesse replied, looking heavenward for strength. “Trust me when I say they’re mostly harmless.”

“Mostly.” In serene tones of unmistakable threat from somewhere beside the fireplace. “So back it down a notch, kid, and remember whose roof you’re under.”

“Like I said, antisocial. Don’t mind him.” Jesse smiled the world’s most pained smile and held up a pitcher. “More juice?”

“No thanks.” Genji smiled the most perfectly malicious smile in the history of the universe and visibly elected to ignore good advice. “So, what are you good for, Ranger McCree? It’s clearly not healing or even really protecting so...what, exactly, do you do to make this place safe enough for my brother?”

“Genji.” Through the blood ringing in his ears, Hanzo was vaguely gratified by the fact that Zenyatta sounded as horrified as he felt.

Jesse very carefully moved his hands away from his silverware and laced them together over his plate. When he spoke, his tone was carefully neutral, planed completely empty of expression. “I’m mostly good at putting down what others call up. We can’t all be healers and protectors, after all.”

Genji’s answering grin was tight and sharp and just short of feral. “Good to know.”

#WIP Ghost Stories On Route 66 #Genji Shimada is a goddamned menace

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solivar · 7 years

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WIP: Ghost Stories On Route 66

aka the one where Hanzo is an expatriate art student, Jesse is an NPS ranger, weird stuff is going on in the desert, and their lives collide in the middle of it.

Now featuring 100% more domestic metaphysical discussion.