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gildedmuse · 3 years

Note

Law is still Shichibukai (for some reason) and meets with the others including Mihawk for government business or something. He learns he had a relationship with Zoro during the 2 years. Even though Law is in a relationship with him now Mihawk & Zoro never really ended theirs officially so Law gets jealous and competative

Right, I have to pass out. But here is part one of three of this magical tale.

Oh thank God someone else has thought of this because I think about this SO MUCH. Like, "what are you even doing with your life?" / "Oh, you know, mostly trying to set up a Mihawk/Zoro/Law love triangle." / "..... Just WHY?"

Because it'd be super hot that's why.

One dude whose super possessive, one who hates losing and one who's totally obvious to all that shit. are you kidding me? That was made for fanfic glory.

I don't know if I can do such a delicious thing justice in a "let's see if I remember how words work" post, but damn right I'll try it.

It's 2020. The world needs this you guys. And hopefully it inspires others to look deep within themselves and realize the Mihawk/Zoro/Law triangle was inside them all along.

To War Over You

"Why do I have to be here again? No offense, Torao, this whole thing sounds boring as hell."

Law closes his eyes and draws a deep breath; the best way to deal with any of the Strawhat crew if you didn't want it to end in bloodshed and a broken alliance. "Did you not understand the first three times I went over the situation, Zoro-ya? I don't know if I can explain it in any simpler terms without resorting to coloring books and grade school lessons."

It may have been a little snippy, but for as confidently as he struts down the hallways of the naval base just those side of Marie Joice, Law could never get use to having marines on either side, standing at every doorway, eyeing him suspiciously as they walk past him in the halls. He'd seen what these men would do given the orders or the chance, so despite how well he could hide behind a haughty mask and arrogant demeanor, Law can't help feeling once more like a frightened child on the run from these very same men.

He had fully expected to have to lead Zoro through the whole parade, tell him not to jump at the sight of every uniform (as is still, deep down, Law's immediately response) but the other swordsman comes off as almost entirely unaffected. He makes eye contact with passing marines as if daring them to question his presence or better yet try something. He doesn't even have a hand on his sword, a sure sign of the boy's nervousness. He walks next to Law, appearing utterly calm and unafraid and, well, bored.

It's giving Law a headache to be honest. Could one if the Strawhats even pretend to behave like normal pirates?

When Zoro's shoulder bumps against Law's he wonders, fleetingly, if this this is the part where Zoro finally admits how paranoid this whole scene leaves him.

They walk past a pair of marines like that, Zoro leaning into his shoulder practically hanging off Law, and neither men blinks an eye. In fact, they make a point of not even glancing up at the passing pirates, their conversation going quiet and their eyes locked to the floor until they've past. That's been the case more and more this visit; a complete change from the first time Law had been invited where even privates and ensigns felt confident enough to give him bad looks, expressions that clearly asked what one of his kind was doing there.

Zoro also waits until the heavy steps of the two marines are mostly out of earshot before he leans, somehow, even closer. Until Law can feel the boy's hot mouth up against his skin, heating the metal hoops in his ear. "I'm so sorry oh powerful warlord," Zoro teases because, since it really occured to him that Law is a Shichibukai - and apparently one the government is desperate to keep on their side - he couldn't seem to stop himself from mocking the title. If it were any other pirate, Law could have chopped them into parts and been done with it, but for whatever reason he allows the vice captain of the straw hats to get away with such insults. "I must have been distracted at the time."

Ah, yes. That's why.

Law ducks his head, as if attempting to hide a smirk as they go by another three marines - ensigns based on their uniforms and the way their eyes go wide before they scurry past. Ah, well, at worst they'll think he's planning something big, something illegal (which he is, though not for a while) though more than likely they'll just think that's how pirates are. Cocky and unafraid.

Law doesn't mind the reputation.

Of course, if they knew the real reason Trafalgar Law, pirate captain, worst generation, and Shichibukai looked so damn smug they probably would have hurried by all the faster.

Is it his fault that there is something so pleasing about taking a man with the reputation of Roronoa Zoro and having him on his knees and begging? Law can't help the spark of pride knowing that while most others couldn't even halt Zoro's steps were he determined to get by, Law could leave him sprawled out, exhausted, panting on the bed after being made to come a fourth time and yet in two hours he'd crawl into Law's lap, needy and impatient and wanting anything the older pirate would give him.

It's enough to make any man a little conceited. After all, how many can say they've reduced the pirate hunter to such a desperate state?

Law has every right to feel proud.

Still nearly climbing on top of Law even as they walked, Zoro takes the other man's ear in his mouth, tongue first warming the metal and then teeth pulling at the earrings. Law really should make him stop; they must have all sorts of surveillance inside the base. But he just can't find it in him to do more than find the most obvious of the recording snails stuck to the walls, offering it and whoever is lucky enough to be watching a cocky smile.

And because Zoro, like the most crew, doesn't seem to understand the idea of subtle, he follows the bite up with, "I guess having you fuck my mouth interests me more than some political bullshit. Hard paying attention to all this useless junk when your buried that deep in my throat."

It's not romantic. It's hardly even sexy. And yet even as Zoro slides back into his own space, Law can feel something in his gut start to tighten, to want. It had been such a mistake to bring the swordsman along, he should have known better.

Only he'd received a hint from a certain high ranking, unnamed inspector general that the navy knew he was harbouring at least some of the Straw hats on his ship (However did they find that out, Zoro-ya? Maybe if you didn't insist on fighting every battle ship you saw). He would still be expected to attend the meeting, of course, but if he did show up they would certainly search his ship for the pirates and, failing that, likely charge him all the same. Especially after they couldn't use the Doflamigo incident against him, in part thanks to Issho's very live, very unscripted broadcast.

It seemed obviously to Law that their best option is to claim these straw hats had made the decision to work under him (some more literally than others) which only left the matter of which one to bring, to show Law isn't afraid of their suspicious.

Robin could lie very well and would have easily been the best choice, except she was just as likely to stand in front of some of the top ranked marines and inform them that, in fact, she is still and will always be a Strawhat. And she'd say it with a smile. Franky... Well, no. Franky wouldn't last two minutes into an interrogation. Usopp could lie, but there's a chance he'd over do it, or simple break down at the sight of so many marines.

No, Zoro had been his best choice, which is a condemnation of his chooses really. He's just hoping the vice captain will be able to clentch his teeth and get through it.

As added incentive, Law made plenty of promises.... And threats. Depending, of course, on Zoro's ability to behave.

"What's the point of even calling you out here?" Zoro asks in an entirely casual tone, as if he hadn't just described sucking Law off. "Not like the government acts wants your opinion on anything."

Law has to admit Zoro's right, but after the near catastrophe at Dressrosa, Law is trying to play ball. If they haven't expelled him yet it's because they need something from him, and Law is determined to find out what. "Just do as I tell you and don't make a scene," Law says, knowing those two instructions are impossible for any strawhat to follow, perhaps especially this one. "So long as you don't-"

Suddenly, Law is no longer looking at Zoro but at the plain walls of the military base. Confused, he looks back to see Zoro has come to a stop in the middle of the hall. There is a dangerous grin pulling at his lips, one that Law would definitely be afraid of of he hadn't seen it so many times right before Zoro swallowed him whole. Now it just makes him lose his breath a little too fast, the heat in his gut pours through the rest of him, becoming something he can't control.

Expect Zoro isn't looking his way at all.

"Hawkeye," Zoro says simply, and while his voice is harsh his expression certainly isn't. "I forgot they still recognize you as a Shichibukai. When I defeat you then, do I get that title as well?"

Law jerks to look back so abruptly he feels a little sick, but sure enough there he is; fellow Shichibukai and world's greatest swordsman. A title that Law knows Zoro coverts, perhaps explaining the gleam in his eyes as he stares down the other swordsman. Though Law would have expected it to hold more.... Hostility. Instead, despite the seriousness of his tone and the challenge in his eyes, Zoro's lips keep twitching, unable to completely hide the a smile.

He's probably just happy to get this chance at a rematch. Not that Law is about to let that happen in the middle of a marine base. Zoro may be less than cautious and driven by his heart rather than solid reason, but he isn't that crazy.

.... Is he?

"Roronoa," Mihawk greets him formally and, again, his voice even and devoid of humour, and yet the older Shichibukai does nothing to hide his smile. "How strange to see the rabbit has wandered so far from its burrow."

Zoro wrinkles his nose before deciding to go for something slight more intimidating. "I told you not to call me that." He might try and pass it off as a growl, but honestly he sounds like a pouting child. It's cute, in a way.

In the way that it would have been cute, if it had been for Law.

Mihawk's smirk grows more amused, more cocky at Zoro's reply. "I seem to recall you didn't mind at times." Mihawk's long strides eat up the room between him and Zoro in a matter of seconds, and before Law even thought to be on guard the older man is leaning down, whispering something for only Zoro to hear.

Law may not know what exactly is said, but he recognizes the flush in the other boy's cheeks, the way his eyes go wide before falling half closed as he rocks, almost consciously, up onto his toes and closer to the one teasing him.

It's a state he's enjoyed putting the swordsman in in the past, one he's never had to witness as a third party.

When Mihawk has finished, Zoro is just a touch too pink and too breathless for Law's comfort. But it's the smirk on the older swordsman's lips when he pulls away that makes Law clench his fist and bite doesn't hard. If they weren't at this base, he's fairly certain nothing, not even his intelligence or will to survive, could stop him from casting a room and cutting Mihawk's heart out. At the least.

It's only after Mihawk has had his fun with Zoro that he looks up, his sharp golden eyes falling on Law. Law can only remember one other time the master swordsman has graced him with so much as a vague consideration; when he'd first arrived here, a newly appointed warlord. Mihawk had merely regarded him with nothing more than a passing glance before declaring he had more important things to attend to and making a swift, unapologetic exit.

Now, though, his eyes seem to study Law like he's preforming a dissection, seeing parts of him that Law would have thought impossible to see.

"Trafalgar," Mihawk uses the same even tone as he had with Zoro, only lacking in any signs of warmth as he had with Zoro. "I see you decided to join us after all." Before Law can point out that he could hardly deny the summon he had been sent, Mihawk's eyes are back on Zoro. "Am I to believe the rumours of you abandoning your captain are true then, Roronoa?"

Before Zoro can ruin their cover (Law can see it in his face and feel the aura around him, this refusal to deny his captain) Law is quick to leap in. "Zoro-ya is under me now, if that is what you're asking," Law snaps, perhaps with more bite than is necessary. And if his words can be taken more than one way, well, that's really up to the listener to decide. "Otherwise, why would I entrust him to accompany me to this summit?"

#ask and you shall receive #the zolaw au nobody asked for #zoro x law #zoro x mihawk #one piece #one piece au #one piece fanfiction #mizo #zolaw

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faejilly · 4 years

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Let’s Go Steal Some... Magic?

This is entirely the fault of a prompt from the Hunter's Moon Discord: “A Leverage Shadowhunter crossover where Alec gets desperate enough to hire a band of good thieves who’re known for being able to steal back ANYTHING to steal back Magnus’ magic.”

I take no responsibility whatsoever for any of this, but man, I had a great time writing it, so I hope you enjoyed reading it, too 😅 (With an extra thanks to @greentealycheejelly for double-checking it at least sort of made sense.)

Alec knows more about the mundane world than most people realize. He may, in fact, have helped encourage the impression that he's ignorant; it's not like he's been impressed by most of what he knows, so it's easier to just... not deal with it when he doesn't have to.

But there's nothing anyone in the Shadow World can do about this, so maybe... maybe it's time to try something else.

Only he's not sure where to start. He's going to have to ask for help.

Not his favorite thing, but. This is for Magnus. He'd do worse for Magnus.

Lindsay's probably his best bet, she's the one who tracks the bots and AIs that the Clave has keeping as much of an eye on the internet as anyone can manage, hoping to catch those mundanes who might cross the line from figuring out that what they're seeing is because of the Sight, into trying to do something like summoning demons or playing with dark magic.

Her reports on some of the conclusions their machine learning algorithms come up with are sometimes the highlight of his week. He liked the one that tried to figure out which folk songs were based on real adventures with the Seelie and Unseelie Courts versus the ones written by people who'd drank too much or gotten stuck in a cabin in the middle of nowhere for a longer than usual winter.

So he asks her to come see him. She looks, unsurprisingly, deeply nervous when he closes his office door behind her, and he sighs as he sits down in one of the armchairs rather than behind his desk. "I need your help, please."

She doesn't look any comforted by that comment, but she sits across from him, and refrains from either glaring or babbling, so that's something.

"I need." He stops. He's not sure what he needs. "I need to think outside the box, and as the current box is Edom and the entire Shadow World is pretty convinced that that's an impossible box to open—" Alec stops, realizing his metaphors got slightly more tangled than he'd intended. "I think I need someone who is in the know but still mostly mundane, so they're not stuck on the same preconceptions the rest of us are?"

Linday blinks at him. She clearly didn't follow that.

He frowns, but she doesn't get more tense, so at least she figured out he's frowning at himself rather than her.

Clary might have given him multiple migraines and almost as many heart attacks, but she'd barrelled through things he'd thought inviolable just because she didn't know any better, and he could use some of that, right about now.

"Magnus traded his magic to a Greater Demon in order to banish Lilith's demon, and..." He trails off again. And I have to do something about it, but the only thing I can think of is trying to negotiate with said Greater Demon myself and that's a clusterfuck of epic proportions just waiting to happen.

He'll do it, if he has to, he knows this, but that should probably be a last resort, not the first attempt.

"You want to steal it back?" Lindsay's voice cracks half way through the words, and he doesn't blame her, that sounds more insane than anything even Clary would attempt, but...

He hadn't actually framed it that way himself, and he should have. She's probably right, and that is exactly the sort of thinking he needs.

"Do you think that's possible?" He tilts his head, spreads his hands in something that's almost a shrug. "I know there are Sighted thieves, and there's a thriving grey area of mundane and Downworlder interactions with magic that don't usually end up with dead bodies or demons so we don't do anything about them."

Lindsay frowns back at him, but she looks like she's thinking, so he waits.

"Well." She starts, stops again. "There is this hacker..."

Alec blinks. "I don't think the Prince of Edom keeps his stolen magic in a server."

Lindsay snorts, and rolls her eyes at him. "Ha, ha. Sir."

Alec shrugs, and waits.

"There's a warlock, Edda White. She fosters mundane children, usually ones that lost their parents to the Shadow World, or who have the Sight."

"And she's a hacker?" That's an odd combination of jobs, but he supposes it's something one could do from home while keeping an eye on a bunch of presumably traumatized children.

He wonders if there's anything they could do to help her out. Unofficially. Or officially? The Clave really should stop pretending the Shadow World's completely separate from the mundane world, no one believes that.

"No." Lindsay shakes her head. Pauses. "Well, yes, but she's not the hacker I was thinking of, I meant one of her kids."

"If said kid's already in the Shadow World, that's defeating my outside of the box request." He's not really trying to argue with her, he's just not sure where she's going.

"Sir." Lindsay levels a stare at him. It's not as good as the ones his mother or sister can pull off, but it's not half bad.

"Sorry."

Lindsay nods, and adjusts her glasses. "He's Sighted, and he's active on some of the forums the Clave tracks, helps people find resources or contacts, which is how I know about him, but he works in the mundane world. With a team of thieves who have pulled off some really impossible jobs."

"Edom impossible?"

"No, but you said you needed some creative thieves, and they're arguably the best in this world." That is something the Clave would know, just because the few truly occult artifacts the mundane world knows about tend to be expensive, so they attract the attention of the worst sorts of people and the best sorts of thieves... who then attract the attention of the Clave, to make sure no one actually tries to use the things they've stolen. "It's a place to start."

Alec nods. It is, and that's all he asked for; he hopes it's enough. "What's his name?"

Lindsay shrugs. "No idea, but I do know how to get a message to his team. They've an open call out for people who need help and don't have anywhere else to turn."

Alec feels his lips twitch with reluctant amusement. "That certainly fits this situation, doesn't it."

Lindsay concedes with a small nod. "I'll reach out, and let you know what they say."

"Thank you."

She nods again, slightly less smoothly, as if she's not sure what to do with gratitude, though he's not sure if it's because it's him personally or the Head of her Institute in general, and slips away to get to work.

Alec closes his eyes, and lets out a sigh, and tries to hold onto the flicker of hope in his chest.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe this is what he needs; maybe this is what Magnus needs.

Please.

***

Hardison blinks at the email he just opened.

He double checks the sender's address, and IP, and everything else he can think of to confirm it's not somehow a joke or a scam or something, but as far as he can tell by every test he can think up, it's genuine.

Leverage just got a fucking email from a Nephilim. On behalf of the goddamned Head of the New York Institute.

He pokes his computer screen, as if that'll make it disappear or something.

It doesn't.

Which is probably good, he's Sighted, not a warlock, if he started making the world change outside of a computer, he'd be in deep shit.

The email's surprisingly straightforward, in contrast to their usual potential clients, the Shadow World in general, and everything he's ever heard about Shadowhunters in particular. Shadow Hunters? Shadowhunters? He's not sure he's ever had to write that word out, he wonders which is considered proper grammar.

Holy shit, he's distracting himself with grammar.

He calls his Nana.

"I got an email about Alec Lightwood and Magnus Bane."

"Fuck."

Hardison pulls his phone away from his head and stares at it for a moment before he can handle that. "Did you just swear at me?"

"Not at you, baby." He can practically hear her roll her eyes at him. "I was old enough to swear before your grandma was a gleam in her daddy's eyes, and you know it."

Yes, but you don't, Hardison almost says out loud, not around your babies, you don't, but he swallows it down. "Some Nephilim is asking for help from us, from my team. Do you think it's legit?"

She hums, some melody he's never been able to track down or place, never heard from anywhere or anyone else, and he's glad that that's normal at least. Nana's thinking noise is exactly what he hears in his head whenever he's trying to crack a particularly tough system.

"I do. New York's gone through some shit, and I've heard some rumours about Magnus..." She trails off. "Lightwood's reputation is pretty solid, I think he'd stretch those Nephilim Laws as far as he could, if he thought it was worth it."

"Should I take the meeting then?"

Nana pauses, but she doesn't hum this time. She's not thinking, she wants to make sure he is. "You'd have to tell your team what sort of meeting it really is."

Hardison's whole body tenses up along with his face as he scrunches his eyes as closed as he can get them. He wonders if Parker and Eliot really are part-fae, like he's always thought. They've both got more than a touch of the other when he looks at them out of the corner of his eyes, and it would certainly explain how hard they are to injure, how easily they lean into each other's space, as if they've never before found someone that makes some weird sixth sense relax.

Then again, he loves them enough it might just be his own aura sparking in the way.

He wonders, if they are just a little magic, if either of them know, and just don't think they can tell him.

He wonders if they'll be mad to realize he's kept a secret from them all these years, or if they'll be hurt.

"Yeah," he sighs, and opens his eyes back up. "Don't suppose I could get a family dinner to help uh... illustrate my point?"

Nana laughs, but it's sharper sounding than usual. "If New York's as messed up as I've heard you don't have much time. Tonight good?"

Damn.

This is clearly more serious than he'd thought, and he wonders what he's missed, busy focusing on his mundane life rather than the Shadow World.

"I guess it has to be. Thanks."

Nana doesn't bother to say anything else before she hangs up on him.

He turns around, and no he does not scream, that was just a gasp, and Parker and Eliot are in the doorway, both of them staring at him.

Check mark in the supernatural column.

He smiles at them.

They don't smile back.

Hey guys, want to meet my Nana, the centuries old warlock who taught me how to see demons so they wouldn't eat me?

Yeah. That's gonna go over well.

"Don't suppose either of you believe in magic?"

Eliot does that thing where he's not frowning but is really obvious about how he's refraining from frowning so it actually feels worse than if he'd just scowled at you. "You mean science we can't explain yet, or actual magic?"

Hardison tilts his head and hands with an eh maneuver. "Vampires and werewolves and fairies, oh my?"

Parker shrugs. "Archie always said he thought I was a changeling, does that count?"

Hardison shakes his head, and sees Eliot frown for real, and knows they both wish they'd been harder on Archie when they had him in their sights. "Yes, but that's a terrible thing for him to have said."

"Why?" Parker comes into the room proper to perch on the edge of the table extending out from his desk. "If it's the truth?"

"Because he didn't think it was true," Eliot answers, his voice low and rough. "He was using it to pretend it was okay for him not to take care of you."

Parker rolls her eyes; they've had this argument before. "But if he'd tried, I wouldn't have realized how much better at it you are."

Eliot jerks, like his whole body just tried to shut-down. Hardison can't even appreciate how remarkable that is, because he's too busy feeling his brain stutter right in sync.

"What?" Parker did that are you being stupid or did I make less sense than usual? face of hers, eyes a little squinty and shoulders just starting to hunch.

"Thank you, baby girl." Hardison manages, before she thinks it's the second. "I'm still gonna be mad at him for not trying though."

She frowns, as if she thinks that's dumb, but shrugs, clearly having decided that that's just the way it is. "So does that mean you think he was right, even though he didn't know it?"

"Uh." Hardison does a whole body shrug, because he's not sure why he ever thinks his conversations with these two are gonna go the way he intends. "I have no idea, but it wouldn't surprise me? You're uh. Better at things than most humans. You both are."

"Huh." Eliot says, but not like he disagrees. "But neither of us have a problem with steel or cold iron or whatever it is."

Hardison stares at him.

"What." Eliot stares back, and Hardison can't tell if he's fucking with him on purpose or not. Damn Eliot and his poker face.

"Did you say that because you know things, or because you read fairy tales when you can't sleep?"

Eliot's face looks like he wants to say damnit Hardison but doesn't want to give Hardison the satisfaction.

"Second one, got it."

"Kindaalwaysthoughtitwasaliensanyways." Eliot mutters.*

Hardison is pleased to note that Parker joins him in giving Eliot the look.

Eliot crosses his arms in front of his chest, and looks back, and Hardison sighs. He's right, they don't have time for that right now. "We are revisiting this," Hardison says, pointing at Eliot. "But first we're going to Nana's for dinner."

Parker actually literally squeaks, and he can't tell if she's excited or nervous. "Is she a fairy too?"

"No, and they prefer Seelie or Unseelie, depending on which Court they were born into, but you know, that's a whole separate thing we also don't have time for right now. Nana is a warlock which means she can do magic and she's immortal which I know sounds like more fairy things because they are practically immortal and also do magic, but I swear it's not."

It's his turn to be getting the look from both of them, and he stops. Starts again. "So. Uh. Demons? Totally a thing?"

Eliot sighs, and finally stops lurking as his shoulders relax into something more like at-home-Eliot rather than working-Eliot. "You made a multi-media presentation, didn't you?"

Hardison opens his mouth, and shuts it again. He did, like three different times, and he keeps deleting it and starting over, but he supposes that might be one way to go in order without thinking about Nana swearing and the email and trying to jump to angels are real and angel-blooded people kill demons and the Head of the New York Institute wants our help! before that means anything to anyone.

"Ooh." Parker sits up straighter. "Should I go get some popcorn?"

"Why not." Hardison can't help the smile, doesn't even try. "We'll have a proper briefing in five."

***

Magnus is not entirely sure why Alec invited him to his office, it's not like I can help with missions anymore, and seeing Alec sitting on the edge of his desk wringing his hands when he walks in the door doesn't calm his nerves any.

"Magnus!" Alec looks up, and his smile's not any more comforting than the wringing hands were.

"You're here."

"You asked me to be here." Magnus offers, and makes himself walk further into the office. He's not sure what else to say, and just lifts an eyebrow in Alec's general direction.

Alec shrugs, and bites his lip as he shifts his weight, and then suddenly his tension melts away and he's standing at parade rest and oh, whatever this is, it's clearly important. "I did."

Magnus holds up one finger, turns around to close and lock the door behind him, and faces Alec again.

Alec offers him a crooked almost smile, much more sincere than the last one, and the tension between Magnus' shoulder-blades eases a little, though it definitely doesn't go away. "I have a potentially terrible idea, but it's for you, so it's your choice to make, not mine."

Oh.

Magnus considers that, nods to himself, and goes to sit on the couch. He lifts his head, and makes himself meet Alec's eyes. "All right."

"I want to hire some... consultants, to see if there's a way to get your magic back without having to try and make another deal with Asmodeus."

Magnus doesn't move. He doesn't even blink. If he had his magic he'd probably blow up the chair next to him. "No."

Alec's shoulders slump. "Magnus."

"No." Magnus stands up, his hands clenched and his jaw too tight and he wants to scream, but he doesn't. "Asmodeus is too dangerous."

"And he's going to be less dangerous later if with your magic he can overthrow Lilith while she's still weak from the Mark of Cain?" Alec's voice is quiet, but even so Magnus can barely hold in the wince. "Do you really think he'll be more inclined to stay quietly in his own Realm without interfering with the rest of us if she's no longer there to keep him in check?"

Magnus swallows, refuses to think about the things he did at his father's side the last time Asmodeus freely wandered around Earth. "You said this was for me."

"It is!" Alec's voice and hands lift, and then he stops, his arms drop. He's holding himself so tightly it looks like he's a breath away from shattering. "I would sacrifice anything to help you Magnus, just like you did to stop Lilith, to save Jace, but that doesn't mean helping you isn't also doing my job."

Magnus can't move, can barely breathe.

He exhales, long and slow, and closes his eyes.

He can't argue that, because if he did, it would make everything he'd done to save Jace, to stop Lilith, all of it, for nothing. They can't let either Lilith or Asmodeus take over Edom without the other, can't afford the risk of that much power being concentrated in one person. Demon.

Monster.

Magnus opens his eyes again, and somehow Alec can tell, Alec can always tell, and he's right there, reaching out to cup Magnus' jaw in his warm hands before kissing him, soft and sweet. "Thank you."

Magnus huffs out a breath, and leans in to rest against the warmth of Alec's chest. "Thank you. So who are these... consultants then?"

"Um." Magnus tilts his head enough to look at Alec, who's looking at the ceiling as if too embarrassed to meet Magnus' gaze. He rolls his lips in tight, then pops his mouth open and sighs. "Thieves?"

"What." Magnus steps back, so he can glare properly. And also enjoy the way Alec's squirming, because it's not often Alexander gets tongue-tied around him anymore, and if he's going to go through with this insanity, he might as well try and get some enjoyment out of it. "You. Want to steal my magic back?"

"I mean, that seems slightly more likely than negotiating it out of a Greater Demon?" Alec shrugs, and rubs the back of his neck, and his mouth twists before his whole body sags with a sigh. "I don't know, but I certainly don't know how to get it back without risking Asmodeus pulling one over on us, do you?"

"But you think your thieves might?" Magnus can't help it, his voice cracks.

"Not my thieves." Alec shrugs again. "Lindsay found them, and Edda White said she could portal them to us whenever we come to an agreement on a meeting time and place."

"Edda?" He stops again. Edda, who fosters mundane children and likes to play with computers and has the weirdest running bet with Catarina about the stupid excuses they've used to convince mundanes that the magic they just saw wasn't really magic... "Mundane thieves?"

"Well, anyone in the Shadow World would start already convinced that it was impossible, wouldn't they?"

Magnus can't argue with that, either, and this is the weirdest conversation he's possibly ever had, and that's saying something, considering the number of times he's been high or drunk and determined to not let it stop him from doing... well. Anything. "Huh," is all he manages. "That. Almost makes sense."

Alec grins. "I know, weird, huh."

Magnus' chest aches, because oh, he hasn't seen that sort of look on Alec's face since they found out about Jace, before Magnus went to Edom, before he lost...

Before they lost so much.

Magnus laughs, and Alec's grin widens, a glint in his eyes as if he's as delighted and surprised as Magnus is to realize they're both actually looking forward to this. "Let's go meet some thieves."

#shadowhunters #leverage #jilly writes #hmdiscord #malec #ot3: 'til my dying day #my sh fic #* Eliot was on a stargate team #that's practically canon!

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flutteringphalanges · 4 years

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Stifling the Howling Wolves

Summary: “Quid Pro Quo, Agatha. Consider it a friendly gesture of sorts. You give me what I want and I’ll return the favor.” The Count offered her a toothy grin and even though she was safe behind the prison wall, the nun still felt a shiver run down her spine. “And what would that be?” She inquired, maintaining her calm, collected state. “I’d love to learn more about you,” he answered simply. “In exchange for your blood, I will tell you everything. Just a small amount. The offer stands.” She thought hard. Harder than she’d ever had. They were losing time. Mina’s life was in mortal danger. She had to make the decision now. “Okay,” she agreed. “You have a deal.”

Ship: Dracula/Agatha

Rating: M (may eventually be change to Explicit)

“Silence of the Lambs!Dragatha”

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: Firstly, I want to say welcome! I'm so stoked to be taking on an idea like this! This is dedicated to @mitsukatsu because it's one of her favorite movies and she's been here since day one of planning this. Also almost all characters used in this story are from the show! I really love incorporating all of them in. Anyway, sit back, relax, and enjoy! Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated -Jen

Chapter One

Budapest, Hungary

Agent Philip Sokolov wasn't at all bothered by the icy air as he stepped out of the black vehicle and onto the stone walkway. After all, he'd served in the British Royal Navy and knew the cold like the back of his hand. Adjusting the file folder in his grasp, the man's eyes fixed forward, taking in the sight of the large, stone abbey that lay before him. St. Mary's Convent of Budapest, Hungary. A decent sized monastery tucked away from society and the thrills of modern day life. Yet despite this, it hadn't taken him long to locate what he was looking for. Or rather, who.

"Do you really think she'll be able to help? She's a nun after all."

For a Mobile Surveillance Officer, Olgaren tended to stick out like a sore thumb. He was tall, towering nearly fifteen centimeters above the other man and quite burly. And on one or more occasions, his "mouth of a sailor" had gotten him in trouble. Despite this, he had been a reliable and loyal partner, probably one of the only people Sokolov entrusted his life with. But his skepticism on the agent's judgement that day wasn't exactly the most welcoming. Especially since he could very well be putting his job on the line.

"She's our last resort," Sokolov explained as they walked up the long pathway towards the main gate. "If there's the slightest chance she can get something out of him, I'm willing to take it." The two men stopped at the entrance, the former captain now holding the officer's gaze. "Agatha Van Helsing is our only hope."

Olgaren's lips pressed into a firm line, but he offered Sokolov a nod. Further questioning would have to wait. In front of them on the opposite side of the gate, a woman was approaching. Her face was round, framed by a white habit that fell against her dusty blue robes. Sokolov smiled as genuinely as one could as the head nun stopped in her tracks.

"I see you made it here safely," she commented, her eyes looking both men up and down. "The roads can be treacherous."

"We managed just fine," he agreed. "I believe we talked on the phone a few days ago? You're Mother Superior if I'm not mistaken?" Sokolov began to fish in his pants' pocket with his free hand retrieving his wallet. "These are my credentials. I'm from the United Kingdom's Security Service, MI5. Thank you for being so cooperative with us."

"I didn't think I had much of a choice," Mother Superior replied, unlatching the gate. "I must admit I am still confused as to your reasoning for coming here. Besides, of course, wishing to call upon one of my nuns." She took a step back, allowing them passage. "You must understand my concern seeing as our convent has no association with England."

"I apologize for the lack of disclosure. Believe me, if I could, I would answer your questions. But this is a matter of national security. My orders were to talk to Sister Agatha, and to Sister Agatha alone." He gave the woman a sympathetic look to which she merely frowned in response. "Does she know we're coming?"

"She's expecting you, yes." Mother Superior spoke, motioning for them to follow her. "I'll take you to her quarters. I believe she's in there now."

Sokolov had begun to notice multiple pairs of eyes watching him as he made his way down the cloister. Nuns had begun to appear, standing their distance as they whispered to one another. It made him feel strangely uneasy. It wasn't like they were going to do anything. If he had been in their situation, he'd stare too. Doing his best to stay focused, he met the head nun's surprising fast pace until they stood in front of a door.

"She's in there," Mother Superior nodded. "I suppose I'll leave you to your visit then."

The woman turned on her heels and walked away leaving both Sokolove and Olgaren to their own bidding. The taller man glanced over his shoulder before looking back at his partner with a shrug. Sokolov found himself absentmindedly readjusting the folder in his grasp before he raised a fist and gently wrapped on the door.

"Come in."

The door let out a soft creak as the man pushed it open. The room was small, simple with a bed, book shelf, and a desk squeezed into a corner. To Sokolov, it seemed to be a rather boring set up. Then again, this wasn't a lifestyle he'd have chosen.

"You look surprised."

Sokolov's attention turned to a woman, much younger than Mother Superior, sitting at the table. She seemed rather relaxed all things considered, her blue eyes bright, lips curved into a smile. When she stood up, the nun was the first to extend her hand in greeting. Sokolov took it and for a moment was a little taken aback with how strong her grip was.

"If I may apologize for being blunt, but might I ask why you are here?" Agatha smiled looking at either men. "I'm assuming I haven't broken the law. If I had, I think it'd be Hungarian authorities after me, not some men from England."

"No ma'am, you haven't done anything wrong," Agent Sokolov explained quickly. "My name is Agent Sokolov and this my partner-"

"Yes, yes, I know who you are. Mother Superior did inform me that you'd be visiting." The nun said with the wave of her hand. "But I'd like to know what brings you to here." She motioned around her as if to emphasize her point. "You've come a long way."

"Sister Agatha…"

"Please," the woman smiled. "Just Agatha will suffice. No need for such formalities."

"Agatha," the agent corrected. "I suppose there isn't a best way to jump into this discussion, so I'll get right to it. You are the distant relative of Abraham Van Helsing? The vampire hunter?"

"Something tells me you aren't asking me because you want to write a book." The woman replied after a long moment, studying both men's expressions. "Yes, Abraham was my great, great, grandfather. I am very well versed in his history."

"So you know about vampires?" The man ventured.

"Well yes." Agatha chuckled, looking rather amused as if waiting for the punchline of a joke. "But many people do, don't they? While I did grow up being told the legend of my grandfather, one can simply google about the creatures."

"What about Count Dracula?"

The smile faded away from Agatha's face, her expression changing to one of uncertainty. "What about Count Dracula?" As if suddenly concerned by the appearance of her bookshelf, she began to rearrange her books. "He was just a story. Just as all of the other ones were. He never existed."

"But you don't really believe that to be the case, do you?" Sokolov watched as Agatha seemed to hesitate, one hand resting on the wooden case. "Agatha, we're here to tell you that Count Dracula is in fact alive and is being detained in England. Has been for many years now."

She was silent for a moment. "That's not possible." Agatha turned, facing the agents once more. "Count Dracula was said to have died on The Demeter. His body was never recovered, but there was no evidence that he had survived."

"Dracula is a very intelligent and highly skilled man-if you even want to call him that," Olgaren frowned. "He was finally caught in England three years ago when one of his victims managed to escape. Jonathan Harker. When we were able to locate and imprison him at a highly secure facility, we believed that to be the end of things. We paid the Harker family a lump sum of money to remain quiet about what Dracula was and that was that. No need to get the public up in arms. Life had resumed to normal."

"Until very recently," Sokolov finished. "When new cases began to show up. Strange murders that, in a sense, mirrored Dracula's. But at the same time they were different. More...ritualistic. Agatha," he exhaled, looking directly into her eyes. "We believe we are dealing with another vampire. A serial killer at that."

He held out the case file towards Agatha. She eyed it for a moment almost hesitant before accepting it. Sokolov watched as she flipped through its contents, her brow furrowing as she studied the papers from within. After a while she looked up, closing the folder as she did so.

"So why is the MI5 coming to me?" The woman questioned, not offering the file back to Sokolov. "I'm not my grandfather."

"Dracula refuses to talk to anyone," the agent responded, looking from Olgaren and back to the nun. "We're hoping that maybe he'll speak to you. Because of who you are. We need to catch the killer before things get really out of hand and we think that Dracula knows more than he's telling us. That information in the folder alone is what we have on Dracula. If you agree to come with us, we can share with you everything that we can. You'll have our entire archive at your disposal." He inhaled, his tone almost pleading. "England needs you, Agatha. Won't you help?"

XXX

Agatha could count on how many times she'd ridden in a plane on one hand. Her most recent, being many years ago, when she left Holland to join St. Mary's in Hungary. As the plane took off, she relaxed in her seat and gazed out the window as the ground was replaced by the cloud covered sky. It felt surreal leaving the convent. Saying goodbye to her sisters she'd known for so long. But it felt even more bizarre finally having the confirmation that Count Dracula, her family's one true enemy, was alive. Something she had begun to give up hope in learning that was true.

"I want to thank you again for coming."

Sokolov's smile was warm as he took the seat beside her. She straightened up, turning her body to face him. Methodically, he pushed another folder over the tray table towards her. On the opposite side of the plane, Olgaren was fast asleep, snoring rather loudly. Doing her best to block the noise out, she took the file and opened it.

Agatha would be lying if she didn't admit that her stomach immediately twisted at the picture that lay before her. A woman, skin so pale it was almost translucent, was stretched across a long, metal table. Against her own better judgement, she flipped to the next picture. This time she was looking at the neck. At the flawless skin defiled by a set of sharp, fang like marks that dug deep within the flesh. Again she turned to the next image, feeling the bile begin to rise into the back of her throat. Right in the middle of the chest was a large hole as if something big had been shoved into it, penetrating past the rib cage and into the heart itself.

"Kathleen Piper." Sokolov explained as the nun took a moment to collect herself, closing the folder. "She was his second victim, found floating in the Thames. Completely drained of her blood. Based on the particles we found within her chest cavity, the object is always made of wood."

"A stake," Agatha said quietly. "He stakes them."

"We believe so, yes," Sokolov agreed. "Almost as if he is trying to keep them from turning. We don't understand his motive behind that. There's a lot we don't understand which is why we need you." He folded his onto the table. "We've dubbed him the Midnight Slayer. It lacks creativity, but he does only seem to kill at night. All of his victims so far have been young women."

"And that's the reason you've been led to believe he has to be a man?" The woman questioned, a slight frown forming on her lips.

"No," the agent sighed. "It's because the only detail Dracula ever offered up was that we were looking for a man. That's how we know the Count has more information on the case. Which is why we need you. Because maybe he'll open up more to you more than he has to anyone else." He exhaled, running a hand through his graying hair. "Because you're a Van Helsing."

She stared out the window for a bit, watching as the white clouds floated by. Just hours ago, she was just a nun. Living a quiet life, left to her own devices. But now she was being pulled into a horror of a mess. Chaos that involved Count Dracula himself. A monster she had believed to be dead after years and years of researching. And though she wished she could just turn around. Pretend that this never happened. Her curiosity, ambition, and aggravating need to do what's right overweighed that.

"I'll help however I can." She responded, finally returning her attention to Sokolov. "But don't expect any miracles."

The man chuckled at her words. "An odd statement coming from a nun. Aren't you supposed to believe in that sort of thing?"

"I'm not your average sister." Agatha with a small smile, watching as the plane began to descend towards the airstrip below. "Far from it."

"Well, I should hope as much," he agreed. "We certainly do need that." Sokolov sighed, leaning back in his chair momentarily allowing his eyes to close. "We certainly do."

#Dracula #Dracula 2020 #Dragatha #Agatha Van Helsing #Dracula x Agatha #Stifling the Howling Wolves

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starkrogerrs · 4 years

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when we got so close, so close to love;

i’ve been writing this for a month now, and it’s finally done. i just love this idea deeply and really hope i did it justice. shoutout to @oluka and @plonid for painstakingly reading through my numerous drafts and providing valuable feedback and being my hype people in general.

also on ao3.

The cell reeks of animal carcass, damp wood and terrifying unfamiliarity. Tony can hear the skittle of spiders across the walls, a welcome sound amidst the deafening silence.

A light breeze swoops into the chamber, and Tony draws his robes closer around himself.

Tony is used to the darkness, but not the kind that goes on for days on end, with no relief in sight.

Murmuring ancient words under his breath, he waves his hand through the freezing air.

He is greeted by the same, silent void.

A loud clang echoes through the chamber. The door of the cell opens, flooding it with white light, and in spite of the fact that he needs the light so desperately, he finds himself shielding his eyes against it.

The light is gone as quickly as it had come. He hears the crunch of feet on the stone floor and a soft click, as fire bursts into the room, flooding it warm amber.

"Food for today," says the man from behind the flaming torch, as he stoops down to place a wooden plate before him.

Tony doesn't know if it is the hunger that is making him see differently, but the food looks absolutely ravishing.

"What coven do you belong to?"

They have been through this before. Three days in a row in fact. Tony would've almost called it their little game.

He doesn't answer, reaching out to the plate, but the hunter draws it back. Atleast, he assumes the man is a witch hunter, given the circumstances.

"What coven do you belong to?" he repeats.

Tony lifts his head to gaze at the hunter. Icy blue eyes that seem almost green when reflecting the yellow flame, greet him.

"Why am I here?" he retorts, choosing to ignore his question as always.

Two days he had said nothing, and the hunter had merely taken his food away and not returned until the next night.

Not a muscle on the man's face moves as he gazes at him steadily.

"You're lucky that you have a pretty face, hunter," Tony adds, when he says nothing. "Or I would've slaughtered you long ago."

Truth be told, Tony is terrified. He has no idea what the man's intentions are with him, there is no way he can guard himself against whatever the man has planned for him. He can't, however you, let him know that.

"You can't move a hair on my skin, witch," the hunter murmurs through gritted teeth.

The flame cackles between them as they stare each other down, and Tony is all too aware that their breaths are not synchronous.

"I am looking for someone," the hunter finally admits. Something flickers across his features for a moment and then it is gone.

Tony huffs, unamused. "I can assure you that it isn't me."

"I haven't told you who I am looking for, yet."

"You don't need to. I know you're not looking for me."

The hunter glances at him irritably, a single muscle clenching in his jaw. They say nothing for a moment.

The hunter stands up then, but not before pushing the plate towards Tony and placing the torch into one of the holders in the wall; and is gone.

Tony has never missed Jarvis, his familiar as much as he does at this moment. The looming darkness dulls against the ache of missed company.

The hunter - Steven, he has learned- visits frequently now. They have the same conversation everyday but that doesn't stop the man from trying again. Steven grills him at an increasing degree everyday, but hasn't resorted to physical torture. Yet.

He's had days to prepare himself for the worst, to talk a bargain if he can. Because here, in the dusty cell, he is completely at Steven's mercy.

To infuriate him more, he has learnt next to nothing about the hunter, save for the fact that he is looking for someone. A witch. A witch that is not him.

His powers still don't work; the familiar tingle in his body as he chants spells that have been engraved in his mind, is now fainter than ever. There must be some sort of spell over the cell to render him powerless, he is sure of that.

Tony wonders if Steven had used and perhaps, killed another witch to have the place warded.

An all too familiar clang shocks him out of his thoughts and he backs up against the wall feebly. By his calculations, it is almost an hour past midnight and definitely not the time for another visit from the hunter.

The door opens and Steven stumbles in; bent over and almost collapses before him. Tony blinks against the light as he leaps forward involuntarily.

"What in the Heaven..," he murmurs to himself.

A large cut runs across Steven's front, extending from his left shoulder to the middle of his belly. His torn shirt clings on to his sweat covered torso as he heaves, struggling to breathe.

"I-I was attacked," Steve manages throatily. "By- by a werewolf."

For a moment, a sickening sense of pleasure rushes through Tony. He forgets that there is a dying man before him. The door of the cell, wide open and inviting, beckons to him. "Run away," it whispers.

"Please-," Steven whispers, reaching out to grasp Tony's arm. "-please, help me."

Even as he speaks, blood pools beneath the hunter.

Despite the fact that relations between mortals (most hunters included) and witches have improved significantly over the last decade, Tony doesn't know if he should even consider helping his captor. His captor, a man of whom he knows so little.

Steven squeezes his arm again, his face beaded with sweat and dirt. "P-please."

"My magic doesn't work here," Tony finds himself saying, even though his obvious choice should be to rush out the dingy cell and never see it again.

"Out.. side," Steven croaks, gasping as he tightens his grip on Tony's arm.

Tony doesn't think twice, all second thoughts leaving his mind at once. His coven was unlike most black witch covens. They believed in treating humans with respect, helping them in dire situations. When he had been baptized to become a witch, he had also taken an oath as a healer to always save those in need, no matter the species. Torn as he was, about helping someone who was possibly a witch hunter, he had to help him.

Steven was a mortal first, after all.

That very oath rings in his ears as he removes his robe and tears a long strip from the hem. Wrapping the cloth around the wound as gingerly as possible, he helps Steven sit up. Then, he pulls Steven's left arm around his shoulders and hauls them outside.

For a moment, as soon as they step outside, he freezes. He feels his body buzz as the spell instantly lifts, primordial magic flowing through his veins again.

Steven guides Tony to a small room leading off of the landing. A row of fire against the wall of the room, illuminates what looks like a mini infirmary. He gently sets Steven onto the tiny bed in the far corner, and checks his pulse. His breathing is ragged and Tony can feel him burning up against his skin.

He eases Steven out of his already torn shirt. There are tiny cuts everywhere, a million paper cuts if you will, that probably hurt more than the actual wound itself.

Tony chants spells that heal the paper cuts easily but the large gash across his front is persistent. It runs deep, cutting into his flesh and right to the bones. Two smaller, but equally deep gashes flank the larger one. Some of the torn skin hangs loosely at the edges, as more blood continues to ooze out.

Tony has never seen a more gruesome sight. He can tell that it, most definitely, is the mark of a werewolf.

How Steven managed to walk home with his guts spilling out, Tony will never know.

In his desperation to help the man, Tony reaches over to the array of herbs and plants stocked up on the shelves behind him and concoct the quickest healing potion. Steven groans behind him, and Tony can almost sense that his heart is giving out. He summons whatever plants he can remember and mixes them together before rushing over to Steven.

He cleans up as much of the blood he can, so as to save the wound from being infected.

"This might hurt," he advises, before pressing the paste onto the wound.

Steve screams in agony, reaching over to clutch Tony's arm. He flinches as his nails dig into his skin, but continues to spread the paste around. The blood flow has slowed down but if Tony doesn't act fast, he knows that it would kill him. The paste can only do so much.

Summoning magic that is as old as time itself, he chants a spell he's never used before. Before he can even complete it, the wound starts to glow white. Tony can feel the familiar tug in his gut as he continues to whisper the spell, Steve's grip still firm on his arm.

There is a blinding flash as he finishes and the world comes to a stand still.

Tony's eyes flutter open as he leans against the wall, panting. Three angry red lines still run down Steve's chest but the skin has stitched itself. The hunter's passed out but is fortunately alive.

Tony saved him. His captor. It was his duty to help him, and it seemed like the right thing to do in spite of everything. He's done more than his share for the hunter and now that he's asleep, he can finally make a break for it.

The thought exhilarates him.

Despite his powers being feeble at the moment, he rushes out of the room, but not before he casts the hunter one, last look. His features seem gaunt, which is natural, considering that he has just been on the brink of death; ghost-like skin caked with dust, hands greasy and bloody.

Tony tears his gaze away from the man then, the thought of escaping clouding his mind already. Adrenaline courses through him, heart beating wildly at his chest at the thought of freedom. At the thought of seeing familiar faces again. He almost grins as he reaches the main door and yanks it open.

Cool, midnight wind sweeps towards him and sends shivers down his spine but the euphoria of freedom keeps him warm. He steps outside, a little too excitedly, grin plastered on his face but is immediately flung backward into the hallway and lands on his back with a thud.

He groans, feeling pain shoot up his back from the rough landing. Thankfully, nothing seems to be broken.

A force-field spell.

"Absolutely brilliant," Tony mutters angrily as he sits up. Trapped. He is truly trapped. His captor, who he just healed in an act of stupid nobility is asleep and he can do nothing except wait. He almost wants to go back to the hunter and slit his throat, even though he's never, in all of his years on the planet taken a life.

White hot anger burns through him.

Having used most of his magic on the healing spell, he cannot even attempt to break the spell that surrounds the house. The spell, he realises, must be the work of a white witch.

He slams his fist into the ground, frustrated at how pathetic and helpless he feels.

In the face of spending a lifetime trapped with a hunter of all people, death seems like the most welcome choice.

Tony wakes to find Steven sitting up on the bed, looking less gray than he had just a few hours ago.

Dejected, Tony had set up camp in the infirmary and fallen asleep by the table.

"You healed me," Steven says raspily and moves to stand up. His wounds, although closed, must still hurt because he falls right back onto the bed with a loud groan.

Tony walks over to help him ease back into the bed, hand gripping his back. The gash across his front, although stitched, is still an angry red and the skin around it seems to be infected.

"Why?" Steven whispers, and Tony is forced to ask himself the same question. Why did he ever take that oath? It had forced him to help a hunter. Satan knew his kind would hate him forever..

"You need to rest," he whispers, ignoring the hunter's question altogether. He falters as Steven reaches over to grip his hand. From what he can gather, Tony knows that he must be in incredible pain.

Tony goes over his options. The only two options that swirl in his head over and over. He can either leave Steven to die and hope that the spell breaks once he does or he can help him heal and ask for freedom in exchange for his service.

Helping a witch hunter of all people would definitely be frowned upon by his coven. But his magic is still weak, (he had hoped it would return once he was awake, but to no avail) and he's not sure if he can force Steven to set him free. He has noticed the strange symbols on Steven's arm and back; symbols he doesn't recognise. Who knows what spells against witches his body is warded by.

Resigned to his fate, Tony decides that the latter of the two choices is a better and more probable option. Maybe, just maybe, Steven was of the benevolent kind and would hear him out. It was a risk he'd have to take, otherwise, once he had learnt what Steven had planned on doing with him, he'd think over the more... dire options.

Steven looks up at him then, blue steel meeting warm brown and Tony has to look away when something spikes inside him, hot and strong. He frees his hand from Steven's grasp, as the latter looks on.

"You need to rest," he repeats, gulping, as he turns to grab some of the paste he had made before.

"I don't generally do this free of charge," Tony muses, handing Steven - Steve - the bowl of soup, prepared from whatever the hunter had stocked in his kitchen.

Steve laughs through his nose as he sips the soup, moaning as it warms his throat.

Tony knows that he should be hating Steve. That he should be poisoning the soup that's brewing before him, knows that he should run away from someone who could possibly be his mortal enemy.

And yet, he can not bring himself to. Satan damn him but he can not. It isn't because Steve is just so bloody gorgeous, although he does admit he'd love to bed him if he weren't his captor. But he doesn't know what it is either.

Steve's dependent on him now, because he isn't fully healed yet. It is exactly what he had wanted; to ask Steve for freedom when he was most vulnerable. And yet, Tony finds himself straying from that very thought and showing Steve concern no hunter deserves.

The hunter has given him access to the entire house but he is still bound, unable to contact his coven or his familiar or anything that is not Steve.

His magic, to add to his misery, continues to remain at sub par levels.

"You want freedom," Steve comments, as if reading Tony's thoughts and walks over to place the bowl into the kitchen sink.

"Glad you noticed," Tony chides, his white knuckled hand grasping at the spoon handle tightly.

Steve hums, and there it is again; that swooping feeling inside Tony's stomach that raises a million red flags in his head.

"My mother was murdered by a witch."

The shock that rocks through Tony at his words leaves him grasping at his chest. In all the days they spent together, they never talked much. Tony healed Steve and the latter made sure that Tony was comfortable. Well, as comfortable a prisoner could be.

"She was beautiful and kind.. and I was seven. Only seven and it was just us," he says, voice cracking and Tony does all but reach out to pat his shoulder.

"Just me and ma, when a witch murdered her right in front of me."

"I was in another room, watching from behind a wall when it happened. I ran away to the woods and.. n-never looked back. I don't know what happened to her body."

A single tear rolls down his cheek and Tony feels his chest tighten.

A mortal. Killed by his kind.

Tony can't fathom what Steve must have gone through. He had to witness his mother's murder at such a tender age and be on his own from then on. Tony himself lost his mother when he was ten, but he had his coven and father to turn to. Although the loss was irreplaceable, Tony was never alone.

Steve turns to him, vulnerability shining bright in his eyes. He cannot help but sympathise with the man; ache for him. Even if he shouldn't be because he's being held captive, for Satan's sake.

How cruel the ways of the universe could be.

"I joined the Barnes' Hunters Guild then. They took me in when I was eighteen. It's been my mission to catch my mother's killer then," he says grimly.

"And that is why I need to know what coven you belong to."

Tony purses his lips.

"Do you know the witch that killed your mother?"

"No. But I am aware of the coven they belong to."

Tony sighs. He might as well let him know. He was at his mercy after all.

"I belong to the Church of Lilith."

A shadow passes over Steve's face.

From his pant pocket, he draws a piece of charcoal and begins to sketch something on his hand. Tony watches impatiently, as the drawing looks more and more familiar with every stroke until-

"That's the symbol of the Church of Lilith!"

Steve looks up at him, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

"The murderer was from your coven."

Tony deadpans as the implication dawns on him.

"I may have been alive for over seventy-five years, hunter, but I have never killed a mortal."

Steve says nothing at first, only looks grim and distant.

"I believe you," he says after a moment, looking up at Tony.

"You healed me, your captor. I don't think those hands could kill an innocent mortal."

Tony doesn't know what to say. Steve seems to be more trusting of him, and he doesn't know what to think. Or feel.

"Then let me go," Tony says, "- repay me by giving me what is my right."

Steve's features darken.

"That is the one thing I cannot give you. I need you to help me find the murderer."

Tony bursts into laughter at that, disbelief shining in his eyes.

"I healed you when I could have left you to die. I am now nursing you back to health, as you hold me captive, against my will. And now," he snorts, "-you want my, a witch's, help to kill another. Are you out of your mind?"

Steve wrings his hands and sighs.

"I just might be. I've been looking for the killer for so long and you're the closest I've gotten to finding them. I don't want you to work for me, I need you to work with me."

"You want me to help find a witch from my coven and hand them over to you. Work with you and against my own coven. You cannot possibly, be asking me this."

"But I am. I will return your powers in exchange for your help in finding the killer. Once we find them, you are free to go."

Tony takes a shaky breath.

What Steve wasn't telling him was that he didn't really have a choice. It was either help or refuse and face certain death.

Besides, Tony did want to catch the traitor. The witch had broken the very oath that made the coven different from the others and followed a path of its own. Broken the new rules that reigned over mortals and witches and encouraged them to be friends and not enemies. The high priest of their coven might not even be aware that such a thing had happened. And why had the witch killed an innocent mortal, anyway? What were their intentions?

"How do you even know if the witch is still alive?"

Steve rubs his thumb against the palm of his hand.

"Let me show you."

Tony stares at the wall with dread. Four, neatly cut newspaper clippings stare back at him.

Steve flinches as he rests his back against the wall. "These are the murders committed by that witch. At least, supposedly. I've looked at the bodies myself. And on all of those-," he points at the symbol drawn on his hand, "-this symbol had been left. The most recent one happened two weeks ago."

Tony scans the clippings. The first of the four, Tony realises is about Steve's mother's death.

"Has it occurred to you that the witch might not be from my coven at all?"

Steve nods. "All the more reason for you to look into this. Someone is framing your church for these murders."

Inspite of himself, Tony finds himself being impressed at how convincing and tactile Steve can be.

"If you want me to help you, we will need to go places. If I'm out, how will you ever get me to help you?" he asks, although he already knows the answer.

"If you leave with me, you are bound to me automatically by the spell that guards the house. There is no escape, Anthony," Steve answers and Tony wonders if he imagines the reluctance in his voice. "I need you to help me."

But Hell, he hates him so much. And yet, he can't help but admire the cunning Steve possesses. It is almost witch-like.

And, as much as he hates to admit it, Steve is right. If working with a hunter was the cost he had to pay to restore his coven's glory, so be it. There was a chance that Steve might be lying about setting him free, but he had to take the risk.

"Fine. I will help you," Tony says and much to his dismay, Steve purses his lips in sympathy. "As if I have another choice. But first, I want you to return all my powers. Second, I need you to make a blood pact."

Steve looks at him questioningly.

"An oath bound to your blood; You will never bother me or my coven again, after I help you. Fail to deliver and your blood will turn to poison."

The hunter stares at him for a moment, undoubtedly considering his options.

"I guess I do owe you that much for saving my life."

"Oh, you owe me so much more," Tony shoots back and Steve chuckles brazenly.

"We should get to my coven as soon as possible," Tony says later that night, as he stands by the window, watching the moonlight dance on the roaring waves. He massages the palm of his hand absentmindedly. The cut on his hand from the blood pact although healed, still hurts.

Steve looks up from his seat at the infirmary table, "I don't think I can walk much yet."

Tony casts him a wry glance. "I know. At this rate, it will take you a millennia to recover."

"You should eat," Steve says, turning back to the book open before him.

"Your concern for me is absolutely heart-warming," Tony comments sarcastically.

Steve laughs through his nose.

"I don't want you staying here for long either," he says. "But you need to eat, you can't die on me."

Tony feels a slight pang in his gut at his words.

He dismisses it quickly, before pouring himself some of the hot broth he had made.

Tony doesn't think he and Steve are becoming friends.

He still doesn't trust the hunter much; although with the pact, chances of him betraying him are small.

But Tony finds himself relaxing more in Steve's presence, finds himself liking the way they shoot each other down while also being equals in some ways.

He rolls the last of the gauze from the box as Steve sits on top of the kitchen counter, clenching his teeth and red-faced.

"Quit being such a chicken, will you," Tony mumbles, gesturing at Steve to hold out his arms. He starts to bandage his torso with the fresh gauze.

"It hurts," Steve mutters, gasping when Tony presses too tightly.

"’Could've done this myself, you know?"

Tony glances at him irritably. "And I would have to hear you grunting and ooh-ing and aah-ing until it drove me mad."

Steve bites his lip at that, face reddening even more. Tony has to look away because he finds it way too endearing for it to be alright.

"I've never actually killed a witch," Steve admits as they sit pouring over books, in the amber light of the tiny library that the hunter himself built. Several rows lay stacked with ancient books that he somehow possesses.

"You keep calling me witch hunter, but I've never really killed a witch."

Tony looks at him questioningly, jaw set. He doesn't know if he wants to discuss this. It is easier to justify his choice of helping Steve if he pretended that he wasn't really a hunter. "I find that hard to believe."

"I know. But it's true. I've only ever caught a handful; some of which had nothing to do with the Church of Lilith, and some who-who-," he glances awkwardly at Tony, "-I had to torture to get information out of."

He looks almost ashamed and full of regret but that doesn't douse the fire that spikes through Tony at that instant. He shouldn't have been surprised or upset to find that Steve did all of those things that hunters did.

"I'm going to go get some rest," he says, standing up abruptly and storming out of the room. In hindsight, it was a bad decision to have shown any sort of emotion really but Tony was crushed.

He crashes onto his bed heavily, feeling that hot anger flash through him in bursts. He misses his coven, his friends and familiar more so than ever. James, Happy and all of his friends must be looking for him as well. The thought twists at his heart.

He is truly trapped and the weight of it seems to have finally settled in, because tears begin to brim in his eyes.

Just then a loud knock resounds in the room, and he has to bury his face into the pillow. Steve, although his only company, is the last person he wants to talk to right now.

"Tony, if you can hear me, know that I regret all of it. I've never admitted this to anybody, but if I could take it all back, I would. Please believe me," Steve's muffled voice comes through the door.

There is no reason for Steve to have walked up all those stairs to tell Tony this, and maybe that's why, a part of him wants to forgive him. But a lot of him still hates that his freedom is just a mirage; that pretend as he much as he'd like, Steve would always be a hunter.

He decides not to respond, burying himself deeper into the mattress. He doesn't know how long he stares out of the window sullenly, or when it is that Steve leaves but the night seems to draw on for eternity, until he finally succumbs to the exhaustion.

Next morning, Tony finds Steve bent over himself on the floor, clutching his chest.

"What happened?!" he yells as he rushes to Steve’s side.

He holds out bloody hands in answer.

Tony learns, after healing Steve with a quick spell, that a part of his wound had opened up when he'd been cooking that morning. He had patched him up silently, some of the anger from last night still burning through his being.

"Hey?" Steve murmurs, grasping his hand when Tony turns to leave. "Can we talk?"

Tony shuts his eyes and massages the bridge of his nose.

"Tony, I did what I had to do," he adds softly, regret full and genuine in his voice.

And that's what Tony hates, hates that Steve is so genuine, so real. Despises the fact that a part of him trusts him, wants to help him while the other tears its hair in frustration.

Steve is messing with his head and a strange, new anger burns inside him.

"I don't care, hunter. You can do whatever you want. I just want to get out of here as soon as possible," he spits out, letting the anger roll of his tongue.

Steve's face visibly falls at that, and he lets go of hand and Tony suddenly feels cold all over. He turns away, not wanting to fall victim to the tricks his mind seems to be playing.

Only tricks, he repeats to himself as he storms to his room. They're only tricks.

He finds Steve in the library, hunched over books as usual, after he had spent the entire day avoiding the hunter. The only thing that is odd about the sight is the bottle of rum and a half full glass beside him, on the table.

Tony slides in next to him on the high chairs wordlessly. Steve watches silently as Tony takes the glass and brings it to his lips. Throwing his head back, he downs the liquid to its last drop, before slamming the glass onto the table.

Steve throws him an amused look, a subtle smile playing at his lips. "By all means, make yourself at home."

"You're messing with my head," Tony declares, turning to look at Steve. He seems to be half drunk too, which he can tell from the half-open eyes and slur.

Steve frowns at him, suddenly looking serious.

"How?"

"Oh, don't act like you don't know," Tony retorts, rolling his eyes. He reaches over to grab the bottle but Steve pulls it away from his reach.

"I don't know," Steve replies, flipping the book shut and pushing it (and the bottle) to the far corner of the table.

Tony squints at Steve. "I've done things that I regret too, you know?"

Steve cocks his head. "I'm sure you have."

"But I've tried to be better. Do better-"

"Why do-" Steve interrupts but Tony places a finger against his lips, silencing him. A tinge of red dusts Steve's cheeks but Tony's already slipping under the alcohol's influence and doesn't notice.

"O’ Hell, would you let me finish?"

Steve nods and Tony drops his hand.

"I've regretted them every second I have lived. And now I am here, sitting with you, a hunter I saved. Should be the biggest regret of my life."

Steve looks down at his palms. "You keep saying that. But I'm not a hunter."

Tony doesn't say anything for a moment, only breathes heavily. Steve blurs a little out of his vision before his outline comes into focus again.

"Say what you will. Believe what you will. You are and will always be a hunter. And I should hate you," he says, the words sounding like poison on his tongue.

Steve adverts his eyes and Tony's gut twists.

"But I can't." His words are almost a whisper, he’s not entirely sure if he said them out loud.

Steve looks up at that, blinking.

"I.. I regret everything I have ever done. Perhaps, ma would've hated me for choosing this path. F-for wanting to avenge her. But she was my mother and I was seven. It's no excuse but.. if it hadn't happened...I wouldn't be here. Nor would you," he says, voice raspy as if he's struggling to get the words out.

Tony glances awkwardly at the glass and then back at him. Steve's eyes are shining with tears and Tony's heart almost stops.

"I never wanted to harm another person but the hatred that my guild has towards your kind...it fueled my need to find the killer," he says, and he's sobbing now; this hunk of a man who suddenly seems so small, so tiny, as he curls into himself.

"I-I don't know what I've become. But hunting for her killer.. it's all I've ever known."

Tony reaches over to hold Steve's hand, his body acting on its own accord. A heartbeat passes as Steve stares up at him with big, round eyes.

"Promise me," Tony says, staring into those ocean eyes, "Promise me, that you'll stop once you've caught the killer."

Steve blinks at him, making the tears spill faster than ever. "It was what I had planned. I would stop once I found the wretched bastard. But.. I-I promise.."

A strange calm washes over Tony at his words. He blames it on the alcohol, but knows in his heart that it isn't the liquor that makes him do what he does next.

He pulls Steve close and kisses him, a strange fire bursting through his body at the contact. Steve, to his mild surprise doesn't pull back, instead, only slumps against him, as if all of the strings restraining him had been cut off. Tony let's his hands curl through Steve's hair, feeling the rush of blood and alcohol roar in his ears. He can taste the last of the rum on his lips and mint; freshness that sets his body humming.

Steve wraps his arms around him eliciting a moan from him. His hands drop to Steve's shoulder, as Steve untucks his shirt out of his pants. He pulls away for a moment, hesitating as his hands ghosts the front of Steve's shirt. The latter chases after him, staring intently at the dip of lips like he wants them and Tony knows better than to push him away.

Before long, Steve's shirt is on the floor. Tony can see the now dark red scars down his front and he hesitantly runs his finger over them. Steve shudders at his touch.

"I never thanked you for healing me. For agreeing to help me. I don't know why you did it, but- but I am grateful. And. And I am sorry. For making you go through all of this," Steve whispers against his lips, words tumbling over one another in his effort to be earnest.

"You should've never been a part of this," he adds, lifting Tony's chin with one finger. He looks alert all of a sudden, as if coming to a realisation. His words slur but his tone is fierce when he says, "I set you free, Tony. I am sorry we had to meet this way. I am sorry I kept you against your will."

The words settle over Tony like thick skin. He is finally free from his chains. He could walk out the door right now, the very thing he has been thinking about since he got here, and never come back, never see Steve again.

The thought leaves him feeling empty in a tiny part of his heart. His mind is its own master at the moment, all of his feelings and desires oozing out of his being unfiltered.

Deep in their hearts, perhaps they both knew that there was something indescribable between them. Something more than raw attraction, but also not something that was always meant to be.

It had simply been woven into existence when their paths had crossed.

Tony decides to not say anything in answer and pulls Steve into him again, shutting off the myriad of feelings and thoughts hurtling through his brain. He hopes that his actions convey what he wants to say. That for once, he let that one part of him rule over the other. That for once, he wants this, as complex as it might make things. He runs his free hand over the curves and lines of Steve's body, committing them to memory.

He could always leave tomorrow.

"Kiss me like you mean it,” his eyes seem to say. And so, Steve does.

Everywhere that Steve touches him, grazes his teeth against, sends a sliver of sparks down Tony's back. The bliss of alcohol and Steve's gentle touches and squeezes is nothing short of electric.

If Tony didn't know better, he'd have thought it was magic.

Tony jolts up in his bed, as if he's been shaken awake. It is still dark outside but the first tendrils of dawn are starting to blossom across the sky.

He winces when the vein in his temple throbs slightly. All of the rum that he unceremoniously downed last night is finally taking affect.

Last night.

Tony can still feel the ghost of Steve's lips in places that make him blush, still taste him on the tip of his tongue, still smell him in the sheets strewn around him.

And then it hits him, the realisation that Steve isn't there next to him. Where is he?

A dull thud comes from somewhere outside the room just then, startling Tony. Straining his ear, he hears loud voices coming from below. His body reacts before he can and the hairs on his neck stand up. Before he can take action of any sort, the handle on his door turns and someone slips in.

It's Steve.

"Satan's Horn, you scared me," he breaths, clutching the sheets to his chest but falters when he sees the look on Steve's face.

"The other hunters... they are here. They know about you," Steve says, a frantic look in his eyes.

Tony looks at him, shocked. For a horribly numbing moment he thinks Steve has double-crossed him. After everything they went through and last night- he opens his mouth in question but Steve answers him before he says a word.

"I didn't tell them, I swear. They must've put a spell on this place. I've told them to wait downstairs so I can fetch you."

Tony blinks at him, heart beating wildly against his chest. Was he to die today? His mind seems to have shut down, fear seizing his body completely.

"I can't hand you over," Steve says, gripping his shoulders. "I've never lied to you, Tony. I need you to believe me. I- I like you. You saved me and in spite of everything, I fell for you, as the gods would have it. I need you to trust me."

Everything seems to be moving at the speed of lightning. Mere hours ago, he had been in Steve's embrace and now Steve is asking him to run away.

Tony's body tingles with electricity, feeling the adrenaline rush through him as his powers take control, ready to defend him. A billion questions burn through his mind and he blurts the first thing that comes to him.

"Steve, you're not fully healed-"

"I almost am. I'll tell them that you fled, I'll make up some excuse. I can hold them off. They cannot harm me," Steve says, handing Tony his clothes that he immediately shimmies into.

"You could tell them that I'm not like the other witches-"

"They won't listen. They'll burn you before they give you a chance to speak, you need to go. Now,"

As if on cue, Tony picks up footsteps coming up the staircase. Steve glances at the door and then pushes him frenziedly towards the large window beside the bed.

Tony hesitates as he climbs atop the bed. He could stay. He could help Steve fend off the other hunters. He could run away with him and they could start afresh.

"I could stay and help you fight," he breathes, trying to shake off the cold feeling that's turning his stomach to concrete.

Steve shakes his head.

"No more of that. I already freed you last night and...” he stops for a moment, seeming lost but shakes himself out of it seconds later.

“I, Steven Grant Rogers of the Barnes' Guild, free Anthony Edward Stark, heir to the Church of Lilith from his binding," he chants quickly, eyes wide with fear.

The effect is almost immediate; Tony feels like a blanket has been lifted off of him.

There is a dull knock on the door and Tony's heart threatens to burst out of his chest.

"Run," Steve whispers assertively and Tony sees remorse and... something else in those azure eyes. He wants to look away, lest it burn him completely. He can't bring himself to. Instead, he pulls Steve close and kisses him, with the passion of a thousand burning suns. He tastes fire, regret and a flash of the future that leaves him gasping for air.

“Memento mei,” he whispers against his lips, letting the power of the words settle into Steve’s being.

When they break away, Steve grabs his hand before he can climb onto the window sill. The remorse in his eyes has been replaced by something brighter and in his heart, Tony knows just what it is.

"I'll find you," Steve breaths, eyes glinting like wildfire and Tony nods meekly, at a loss for words.

Steve seems to sense his hesitation and squeezes his hand.

"I'll find you," he says again, finally letting go of his hand and nodding reassuringly.

There's promise in the way he smiles at him, a little dazed but with such surety that Tony can't help but believe him.

With that promise and the image of crinkling blue eyes, Tony summons his broom and leaps into the darkness below.

#stevetony #stony #steve x tony #steve rogers x tony stark #stevetony au #stevetony ao3 #witch!tony x steve #mywriting

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paige-and-opal-inc · 3 years

Text

Rogues of the Shadows-Chapter 3

By: Paige Turner and Opal Dreemurr

Masterpost

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Warnings: Sibling Fighting, Fighting, Blood, Bad Father, Death Mention, Insomnia

Summary: In the world of warriors that you already know and love we bring you a whole new set of characters. Follow three kits as they go on a journey to learn what their mother never told them. From learning to love yourself to learning to deal with the mistakes of your past, these kits are faced with many challenges. Based on the amazing series of warriors, created by Erin Hunter.

Link: Wattpad

Leo glanced up the hill at the bare tree.

It used to be so beautiful. Too bad it was where the fire started.

He couldn’t stand to see their mother’s favorite tree so bare and lifeless. The bark where the lightning had hit it was still black. He tried not to think about what happened. Leo was so tired of being mad. Mad at his misfortune. Mad at his sisters fighting. But he didn’t know what to do about it. He knew at least one thing, that ignoring his sisters wasn’t helping.

“Yeah. Let’s leave.” He answered.

Leo put little logic into his answer. He knew it hurt him to be here. Leo didn’t think about all the different possibilities of what the clans could do to them. They could be evil like their mama had told them. Or they could welcome them. Leo felt the reality of the situation hit him like a twoleg monster.

“It’s all gone… Everything I’ve ever known and loved. All ash. Mama’s dead. Our home is gone. Wherever we go it can’t get much worse than this.” Leo said. He stared down at his claws, avoiding his littermates eyes. Sadness flooded up his mind, choking his words.

“At least we have each other.” Grace sighed. Leo knew she was trying to cheer him up but, this only boiled his sadness into anger. He knew his emotions were usually extreme but, he had never felt so sad then so angry before.

“WE DON’T EVEN HAVE THAT!!” Leo hissed.

“What?” Grace asked.

“All you do is fight! How can I say we have each other if we can’t get along?” Leo asked, “Everything is gone! I’m ready to leave. Do you know where we’re going?”

“Well I don’t think we’re too far from the thunder path.” Dapple answered. The mood was tense but they still followed Dapple. They made their way toward the tall grass that was closer to a new scent. The scent of the thunder path. They continued to walk in silence.

Leo’s emotions dipped down into a deep guilt. He was the glue that kept the family together. How could he be tearing it apart? He could feel his stomach dip. He began to remember how much he adored his sisters, how much fun he had before Mama had gotten sick, which only made the guilt worse.

“Is it true that you saved me from the fire?” Leo asked. He looked over at Grace who perked up.

I think she’s glad I started talking to her again!

He hung on to every detail, in complete awe. His joy spiked back up. He loved his sisters and wouldn’t let anything come in between them, ever! Leo even got Dapple to join the conversation. As the sun set they settled into a bush to stay hidden and surrounded themselves with a bunch of really pungent smelling plants and flowers.

Leo was suddenly awakened in the middle of the night by loud thoughts that came rushing in like an ocean wave. The touch of a moth's wings on his ear is what woke him up. It was gentle yet it really irritated him. He chased the moth, silently, out of the bush. He began to head back when the sight of the unorganized plants around the bush felt like someone bit him. He quickly began to sort them all by how strong the smell was, making them into nice neat piles. Then after he sorted them into smells, he did the colors irritated him.

Leo had no idea where all this energy was coming from but the piles of plants kept him up all night. Every time he resorted to it a new thing irritated him. His thoughts couldn’t stay still. They were racing to the point that it made him dizzy.

When the sun began to rise Grace came out from under the bush with a yawn. She blinked at Leo and tilted her head. Leo got no sleep and he was starting to feel tired. He stretched, but didn’t realize Grace was talking to him.

“Leo?” Grace said. This time her words actually traveled to his mind.

He shook himself, “Huh?”

“What are you doing up so early?” She asked, probably repeating herself.

“Why are you up so early?” He answered her question with a question.

“Hunting… Leo are you ok?” She said. Grace had no idea what kind of night Leo had.

“Hmm? I’m ready to sleep.” He answered.

“Sleep? Did you not sleep last night?” She asked. She got closer up to look at him then saw the piles of plants in front of the bush. She led him back under the bush and messed up the piles so looked natural. Leo didn’t have the energy to get up and fix them.

He knew Grace knew what happened. Without him even having to tell her. This had happened before. He had gotten a burst of energy and went to their mother’s tree. He had collected all the petals that fell from the tree, but still wasn’t satisfied. He wanted more but couldn’t figure out why, so he actually climbed the tree and picked more. He knew he didn't need or want them, but he still did it.

He remembered being annoyed, almost sad at the pile. They had looked so pretty in the tree, why had he moved them? He couldn’t put them back, they could never go back. His confusion and sadness spiked. He had mewed loudly. He was confused and in pain. The sadness had overtook him like a wave again and washed away the energy. He mewed for what felt like moons. By the time it was sunrise Grace had heard him and had tried to calm him down. She brought him back to the den where Dapple was still asleep, and he had slept for what seemed like only a few heartbeats.

He wouldn’t let her leave. Leo was too afraid it would happen again and there would be no one to save him. Grace slept in till at least sun high, he didn’t have the heart to wake her. She wanted to visit the tree so bad, he and Dapple went with her even though they were hungry. Grace had noticed the pile Leo had made that night. She had stared at it.

When he looked at it fear captured him. Then his sisters began to fight again, so he ran. He ran past huge trees that would soon be reduced to ash. Grace came after him but still didn’t hunt. Why couldn’t she just hunt?! He caught a mouse and was bringing it back to the tree, it was a sort of a peace offering. But the lightning had hit, and everything had… it had… No! He wasn’t gonna think about it.

That was then but, now Leo didn’t know how to make these sudden bursts of energy stop. They were just so uncontrollable!

Grace came back with a fair amount of prey, and after eating they began to walk.

After a while Leo’s paws start to ache so he drags behind.

“Guys wait for me!” Leo called out. They didn’t slow down, they didn’t even say anything to him. They just kept walking and talking to each other. Maybe he needed to be polite.

“Excuse me, would you guys please slow down?” He asked. He began to drag behind even more. Intense anger creeped back in. He didn’t understand why he felt so angry for something so small, but he did.

They’re ignoring me! How rude! Rage filled his thoughts.

“Slow down you fox hearted flea brain!” Leo hissed. He stopped and they turned and stared at him in silence.

“Do you even care that my paws hurt and that I can’t keep up!? No apparently you don’t!” He hissed. The anger swallowed him and the unwanted energy spiked. Then quickly and suddenly the anger released him and the energy went away. He stepped back and fell to the ground, choking on his sadness.

“Woah, are you okay buddy?” Dapple asked. They approached him and helped him up. They continued to ask him how he felt but Leo couldn’t answer, he just choked on all his words.

It had been another sore, awkward walk until sunrise. They talked a little but Leo didn’t join in. He tried to enjoy the beautiful sights but his mind was full of fear and worry. What if a clan cat caught them? Leo usually didn’t worry so much, he had just been staying up in the night way too often so he couldn’t help but worry.

Would the medicine cat be able to help? Leo wondered.

That night Leo got a full night of sleep. Or so he thought. Apparently he had slept through the first half of the day as well. He woke up with the sun high in the sky and he was on top of the backs of both his sisters. Leo let out a tiny yawn as he slowly blinked his eyes open.

“Wow you slept in longer than Grace did the other day!” Dapple exclaimed. He felt sore but had know idea what he did to cause this pain. He leaped off their backs and began to walk on his own.

They began to walk through thick bushes. Grace stopped while Dapple kept walking. Dapple eventually got why Grace was stopping but it was too late. Cats bigger and muscular than their Mama ever were jumped out of the dry bramble thicket. They pounced onto Leo, Grace and Dapple. Dapple was the first one they pinned down. No matter how hard she thrashed they held her down. Grace on the other hand was being pinned by two cats with folded ears and yet she was still able to slip away. She quickly weaved her way over to Leo and lunged at the cat on top of him. He watched as she slashed the cat with a mud brown pelt across the nose.

“Leo, run!” She shouted. The cats that were on her before charged toward her again. Leo dashed past them luring them over to him instead. Leo bit the tail of the gray tabby who was holding Dapple down. Then a brown curly furred cat came out of nowhere and jumped on him. Dapple began to run the other direction.

The tabby pounced back on Dapple before she could get away. Grace broke free once again. That’s when Leo realized her mouth and claws were covered in blood. Not her blood but, the clan cats’ blood.

“Wait!” yelled a cat from the distance. Leo could smell him getting closer. The bushes rustled louder and louder. Grace didn’t stop, she kept fighting. Leo never thought he’d see his sister beat what he assumed was clan cats. The cat that yelled appeared from the bushes.

“They’re just kits!” said a small orange tabby tom with a bobbed tail. The rest of the cats backed up. The orange tom was only a little bigger than Dapple.

Maybe that’s why they thought we were full grown. That warrior is small.

“What are they doing on Shadowclan territory? And how is this one so good at fighting?! She’s barely old enough to be an apprentice! The other clans must be training kits and sending them as spy's!” The gray tabby declared, and Leo thought he looked a bit crazy. Grace ran over to Leo and Dapple. She got in front of them and ejected her claws.

“IF YOU AS SO MUCH AS GRAZE YOUR TAIL ON MY LITTERMATES, YOU’RE DEAD!” Grace hissed. She shielded her siblings. When one of the warriors moved she bared her teeth.

“Where are you from?” Asked the gray warrior with folded ears. She stepped closer. Leo and his littermates backed up.

“We’re from-” Leo began.

“LEO! We can’t trust them they just attacked us!” Grace hissed.

“Still, I don’t see how telling them where we’re from could hurt.” Leo said. He defended himself. His ideas weren’t all that bad; he just wished his sisters would take them into consideration.

“We should take them to Lavenderstripe. He could heal them while we try to get answers from them.” Offered, the black white with folded white ears.

“All of them? This one doesn’t have any injuries.” Asked the curly brown furred one, flicking her tail at Grace.

“Yes, we need answers!” answered the black cat with white folded ears, “ Come on kits, let's get you to our medicine cat.” She flicked her tail and they followed her. The rest of the warriors followed beside and behind them, watching their every move. Leo couldn’t help but feel anxious. He was gonna meet his dad soon. His dad. The cat that their mother fell in love with. Leo couldn’t wait to meet him but he couldn’t say his sisters looked too excited to meet their father.

Grace stopped. Leo and Dapple stopped behind her. The warriors turned and stared at them. Why are we stopping?

“I don’t want them getting hurt. They could get stabbed by the bramble if we go through there.” said Grace. She whipped her head and glared at the closest warrior. The gray tabby rolled his eyes at her.

“Seriously? Just follow me closely and you won’t get scratched.” The tabby hissed. He quickly and methodically stepped through the bramble. Grace was right behind him.

“Who’s the grumpy gray tabby?” Leo asked the orange warrior with a bobbed tail. He smirked.

“That’s Tigerstripes. He may be pretty rude and ruthless to others but, he’s not all that bad if you get to know him. You can hang around me though I’m Shorttail.” Shorttail answered. Shorttail seemed nice but, he was easily distracted by all the sounds and smells around him. Not irritated like Leo gets in the middle of the night but just distracted. Leo quickly hopped through the bramble. He really didn’t like the thought that if he weren’t careful enough he could get pricked.

After a terrifying walk through the bramble they reached a dry area filled with bramble bushes, ferns and rocks. Leo imagined Shadowclan to be more magical and full of life. The thing with the most life in it was a huge oak tree.

“Berryears take the kits to the medicine den. Get your answers.” Hissed Tigerstripes. The rest of the warriors began to head back.

“I guess I’ll see you around camp.” Leo said to Shorttail. He nodded his head but, Leo could tell he didn’t really listen to what Leo said. He could tell Shorttail was distracted again.

Grace cautiously followed Berryears. Leo and Dapple stayed close behind their sister. Berryears led them to a den under two boulders that are surrounded by ferns. Maybe that’s the most life he’s seen in the clans. At least it was more life than the home they had left behind. A sudden urge of sadness took over Leo. Any thoughts of his mother or his old burned down home made his mind dive into the bottom of sadness lake.

When they made it into the den there were neat piles of bundles. It was nicely sorted and pushed out of the way. Leo wondered if the medicine cat felt the same way about a mess as Leo did. Leo scanned the den for the medicine cat. There were two cats in the room.

One looked old. She was fluffy black and had yellow eyes. The other one was younger. Leo could tell that the cream tabby had more energy than her. He was talking about pain relieving herb options for her and patiently waited to hear her response before he moved on to the next one. Leo wouldn’t be surprised if he was the medicine cat. Berryears loudly cleared her throat.

“Oh, hi there! They're injured b-but, they’re just kits.” He said. His blue eyes inspected them. He got closer, nearly touching his nose to Dapple’s wounds. She flinched stumbling back. Berryears glanced over at the black cat.

“Eclipsewatcher, I hope you don’t mind coming back some other time. We need privacy.” She explained. Eclipsewatcher nodded, politely, and slowly made her way out. Lavenderstripe pulled Dapple aside first. He began to apply cobwebs to her when Berryears pulled Leo aside. Grace followed.

“No, you go over there with your sister. I just want to talk to him.” Berryears told her. Grace scowled in return. Then she turned to Leo. “I won’t hurt him. I promise.”

Leo gave Grace a look to say I’ll be okay. That got Grace to go over to Dapple and Lavenderstripe but she still wouldn’t take her eyes off of him.

“How old are you?” She asked. It seemed like a weird and irrelevant question to ask. Leo did like talking about himself though, even if it were to his sisters who already knew everything about him.

“I’m 5 moons old. We’ll be six moons soon! Did you know my sisters were born at the exact same time? That’s why Grace is a runt and she’s not even the weakest! She’s stronger than both me and Dapple!” He exclaimed. The truth was Leo could go on for moons. That’s when Berryears stopped him. She laughed. Not in a rude way but the kind of way you laugh at someone who is being cute.

“Okay,” She said while still partially laughing. She calmed her laughing then began to speak again. “If you guys are rogues what makes you come to the clans? Why not stay and why are you guys alone?”

The sadness he had felt before crept back into him. He sighed.

“That’s a painful story to revisit.” He admitted. “ The forest we lived in burned down. I-It was struck by lightning. Our mama got sick…” He began to choke on his words. “ She’s been gone for awhile now. Her dying wish was that we found our father. He’s from Shadowclan.”

She tilted her head. “You poor thing! Thank you for cooperating.” She said in a baby voice and with a smile. Why was she treating him like a kit? He’ll be six moons soon.

Leo slowly headed over to join his siblings with a disgusted look on his face. He stopped behind Grace and shyly watched Lavenderstripe patch up Dapple.

He finished on Dapple and was ready for Leo. He began on Leo’s back.

“This scratch looks like it’s already healing. Didn’t you guys just get attacked? Dapple also had wounds that were already scars.” Lavenderstripe explained. He examined closer.

“I know a little bit about healing.” Dapple admitted. Grace tensed up a bit. If Grace didn’t like her telling him that little bit of information, she would freak if she found out how much Leo told Berryears. Leo felt weird when Landerstripe tended to his wounds. He had never had any wounds bad enough to patch up with cobwebs.

It feels tingly. Just so weird.

“Who taught you what kind of plants to use?” Lavenderstripe asked.

“Our mother… Stripes.” Dapple answered. He knew Dapple shouldn’t have said that. Leo heard a little screech come from Grace. As if she was screaming on the inside. Lavenderstripe gasped and dropped the cobweb. Berryears even jumped at the name Stripes.

“Stripes! You mean as in Stripepaw! She’s dead?!” Berryears exclaimed. Leo did say his mother had passed away and Dapple saying her name put the puzzle pieces together.

“Leo did you tell her everything?!” Grace whipped her head to meet Leo.

Berryears also turned toward Leo. “Stripepaw killed Shadowstripes! Why are they even here?”

“I told you we need to find our father!” Leo shouted. He took heavy breaths. Fear fogged his logic. He arched his back trying to gulp up more air. Would they let him and his sisters stay? There is no way their mother, their loving caring mother, would kill another cat. It had to be a mistake. Or an accident.

“Hmmm… Then who is your father?” Lavenderstripe asked. Leo looked at Dapple then at Grace. He had no idea what he was allowed to tell them anymore.

“At this point it doesn’t matter, our mother said that Braveclaw was our father.” Grace admitted. Lavenderstripe gasped again. Grace shook her head. It was probably because this was exactly what she was avoiding and she gave them the information herself. Leo didn’t know why she didn’t want to tell them anything. How were they going to help him if they didn’t ask? How would they trust them if they didn’t give them a reason too?

He watched Lavenderstripe take a long moment to think. “Berryears, go get Braveclaw. He must know.” Lavenderstripe demanded, Berryears hesitated. “Go on.”

She quickly scurried out. He finished healing them in silence. Dapple and Leo were too afraid of saying something wrong and Grace was too upset. Leo couldn’t tell if Lavenderstripe wanted to say anything or not. Leo was finding Lavenderstripe hard to understand. One moment he was excited and interested in a topic and the next acting like he didn’t even remember talking about it to you. Leo couldn’t figure out why.

After a long awkward silence Berryears came back. Behind her a large brown tom with long fur and amber eyes stepped through the entrance. He scanned the room, looking really intimidating. All Leo’s excitement to meet his father suddenly turned into anxiety. Fear slowly crawled into his stomach. This cat didn’t look excited to meet his kits for the first time. He looked disgusted and angry. His stare shot negative vibes through the air.

“Who are these kits?” He hissed.

“Berryears! You didn’t tell him?!” Lavenderstripe exclaimed. She vigorously shook her head. Leo could tell she was scared, that’s why she didn’t tell him. Scared of how he’d react.

“We’re your kit!” Leo beamed. He thought if he were to act happy and excited maybe Braveclaw would see that they cared about him. Maybe then, if he knew how they felt, he would have a positive reaction.

The disgust on his face grew to a level Leo didn’t even know was possible. “My kits? What doesn’t your mouse brained mother understand about staying away from me?!” He hissed. Leo realized he assumed wrong, so very wrong. What was he even thinking? Why would someone like that be happy and excited?

“Don’t talk about our mother!” Dapple hissed back. She bared her teeth in an attempt to also look intimidating. Grace just stayed quiet. Leo couldn’t tell how she felt about this.

“If your mother is so great why do you need me? Why do you need the Shadowclan?” He snarled. Grace leaped in front of them as if she were shielding them from another battle.

“Our mother is gone and our home burned down!” Leo cried. He couldn’t stand this anymore. He didn’t care if he wasn’t supposed to tell him.

“So Stripes ditched you. Betrayed you just like she betrayed her clan!” Bravclaw said.

“NO! She’s dead! She would never ditch us! She got sick and died!” Leo gasped. He choked on every word as he tried to get them out as loud as possible.

Leo watched as Bravclaw’s cruel scowl slowly turned into sadness but only for a second before it was quickly engulfed by anger. He vigorously shook his head and ran out the den. Leo didn’t know if he should follow or stay in the medicine den. He decided he would call out to his father and if Braveclaw didn’t come back then he didn’t want to be around Leo. He didn’t come back. The sound of Leo’s voice made Braveclaw walk even faster. Leo curled up tight to his sisters. Leo was feeling really mixed emotions. Was he to feel mad that their father left them and wasn’t happy to see them? Or sad?

Lavenderstripe didn’t talk; he just, awkwardly, went back to cleaning and organizing the den. Did he not have any more questions for them? What now? Fear came back to infect Leo once more. Where would they go now? Their father clearly isn’t happy about them being here.

A big stone gray cat came into the den and interrupted his fear. He stared at them for a few long moments while he processed his thoughts.

“You must be the kits the whole clan is talking about. Berryears tells me that you’re almost six moon old. I also heard that your home burned down and you're here because Braveclaw is your father.” The cat’s voice was slow and deep. He was more intimidating than Leo’s father. Leo fearfully stared into the cat’s green eyes. He smiled at them. “I’m Pebblestar. The leader of shadowclan.” he said.

They all just silently stared at him.

“I have decided that you kits can stay here and soon you can start your apprenticeship. But only if you want to.” Pebblestar explained.

“Why would you want us? We weren’t learning to fight since the day we were born like all of you. Our own father doesn’t even like us!” Graces hissed. She puffed out her chest trying to look intimidating and still looked small to Leo. She was even smaller compared to Pebblestar, so that chest puffing did her no good.

Pebblestar laughed, “Clan kits don’t start hunting or training till their six moons old! You’ve been living on your own for I don’t even know how long and you already fought some of my best warriors! You have more experience than all of the kits here combined. Though you do look like you could use a bit more food.”

Anger boiled in Leo. Mama lied to us again! Can we trust anything she said? Was any of it true?

He knew if he tried to speak he would choke on his words so he shoved his face into the side of Dapple’s neck and let out a small whimper.

“Come on Devoncoat is waiting outside. She'll show you where you’ll be staying until you become apprentices.” Pebblestar said with a softer voice.

#warriors #warrior cats #warrior oc #shadowclan #tw insomnia #tw death mention #tw sibling fighting #tw fighting #tw blood

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theofficialstereklibrary · 5 years

Note

Hey! Could you please please please update the ptsd stiles tag??? Bless your blog!!!

Bless you for helping us keep the fandom running!! Here’s your update :) - Jeep

I’m not real. Am I? by lady emebalia (emebalia) (48/64 | 92,548 | E)

Stiles solves problems. His latest problem is self-created. And is asking some fundamental questions.

Trust the Instinct (Season 2) by Akinasky (35/? | 213, 186 | NC17)

Stiles has survived the Alpha and the Hunters, he’d come out of the closet – sort of. Now he would have to get back to normal only nothing is normal anymore. He has a new alpha and werewolf pack to help, school to continue and now there’s something out there that’s scarier than the alpha.

And that was before the Argents called in reinforcements.

Learning to Live Again by Shipshave_sailed (8/8 | 18,488 | PG13)

Stiles is still working through the after effects of the Nogitsune. Feeling like he doesn’t belong with the pack he’s isolated himself not realizing they still want him. Derek is done letting Stiles think he’s alone and is also ready to show his secret (to stiles) but not so secret (to everyone else) feelings.

Alpha, Mage, Pack by Foxfire2018 (24/? | 285,976 | E)

Set at the end of Season 2. Stiles was kidnapped and tortured for hours. Yet no one came for him. Hurt and cast out of the pack by people he thought cared for him, what is he to do? He finds himself accompanied by someone he never expected and someone he is eternally grateful for.Derek feels betrayed and foolish for what he allowed to happen. Out of anger and hurt he forced a valuable member he really started to care for out of his pack.With the pack scattered and people hurt, what will come of them? Will they bond together again in time for the next big bad?

A Stilinski Christmas by Tigg (1/1 | 4,078 | PG13)

Derek meets some of Stiles extended family but they don’t know about werewolves

A Fear of Falling by WonderWolf (1/1 | 3,689 | PG13)

The pack is on the last day of their ‘Third-Annual Hale Pack Vacation’ at a ski resort. Unable to resist the chance to spend more time with Stiles, Derek agrees to go on the resort’s ski lift despite his fear of heights.Of course, they get stuck in the air.

#asks #mukesmokes-blog #tag update #ptsd stiles

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cainov · 5 years

Text

nonbinary — ever hear people say CAIN ROMANOV looks a lot like BILL SKARSGARD? I think HE/THEY is about 24, so it doesn’t really work. The ANTIQUE BOOKSHOP OWNER has lived in Livingstone for TWENTY-FOUR YEARS. They can be RIGHTEOUS, but they can also be EVASIVE. I think CAIN might be A SHEEP. ( snot goblin. 20. EST. she/they. )

hi hello ... decided 2 bring in my son ... my soft boy ... my light ... some of u may know him from watershed but ! here he is again ! forced upon u all. please love him as i’m very fragile. ** i’ve changed parts of his bio so !! if u think u knew all the deetz ,,, but please be warned that it’s PRETTY HEAVY STUFF !!

pleathe LIKE this to PLOT and i promise i will not abandon u all like the other times usfdg

TW: CULT LIFE, HEROIN USAGE / ADDICTION, DRUG ADDICTION / USE / ABUSE, EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION, ABUSE, MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES ( PTSD, ANXIETY ). if i forgot anything PLEASE tell me !!

a e s t h e t i c s

dangling limbs from tree branches, yellowed book pages, opened bottles of vintage wine, oversized sweaters and deep under eyes, bleached denim, worn leather gloves, cat hair against black cloth, fields of wheat, broken windows, descending staircases, tight-lipped smiles during public appearances, golden skies, light spilling from windows, stumbling over one’s own words, wire-framed beds, linens, wool scarves, making the wrong decisions; running, from others and yourself.

general information !!

full name: cain alexei romanov

nickname(s): cock and ball torture, N/A

b.o.d. - feb 19th, fuckin pisces

label(s): the fallen, the phoenix, the crestfallen, etc. etc.

height: 6′4″ jfc

hometown: livingstone, VT babey !!

sexuality: bi…? bi. yes. bi.

stats

biography !!

the eldest to vermont senator vaughn romanov and philanthropist adelaide romanov - they were born into a life of privilege in a very prominent family. they’re the eldest of five.

with this background in mind - cain was taught to be the perfect citizen, the golden child, the all american ( willfully ignoring the fact that his father came from russian immigrants ) son. they were obedient, always staying within line.

several expectations for them included joining clubs at school such as model UN, debate, DECA, etc., sports (soccer, track, basketball, lacrosse - all throughout the years), student government (class president for at least one year), and maintaining a GPA status valedictorian-worthy.

was made to volunteer on the weekends at homeless shelters and food banks - to show the community how much of a gem he was, a darling - a perfect member of society.

his eagerness to impress pleased his parents and thus, he never had a problem with them. life was good for them. they attended church on sundays, sometimes wednesdays, did everything as a family. dinners and christmas photoshoots and new years eve parties, easter egg hunts and family reunions.

lived northside, not on the beach but close enough to it - a big fancy, seven bedroom, eight bath, two fireplaces and an expansive dining room - no pool, but a sturdy treehouse made by scratch.

his ~model citizen~ persona was just that - a persona, a charade. in the community and his family, cain was a hardworking citizen who upheld standards to follow. to classmates - from elementary school all the way to college - cain was the worst.

they were arrogant, harrowing, an outright bully who tore down others when he felt like it, often unprovoked - they were the senator’s son, and a rich one at that - rules never applied to him because of his father and their family’s presence in the community. tattlers faced more consequences than cain ever did.

was the sort of person who’d genuinely look down at somebody if they had less than him. a narcissistic dickhead who cared about two or three people, tops, outside of his family. he was never physically violent, nor did he raise his voice - but that was what’s made it worse. cain spewed his classist bullshit with ease.

his best friends since childhood have been brooks hunter and michael green - a very troublesome trio based on their mutual love for power highs.

only redeeming quality back then was probably their protectiveness over his siblings - wasn’t the best person, but family was family.

went into political science + business to please their father, mainly - everything they’d been taught growing up was essentially to build them into a perfect little presidential candidate.

probably joined a frat though didn’t participate in parties too often - known for keeping his composition even when others resorted to violence, because he never liked to leave a bad press image. this attitude was the same when it came to parties and other ... taboo subjects,

sometime during college, two important things happened.

the first one was that he became a middleman / broker / whatever you’d like to call it. wasn’t producing product, but wasn’t dealing it. was the middleman, the connection between producers and dealers. it was for fun - never for profit. very hush-hush.

the second is that he met earl and may meyers. they were fellow volunteers at a thanksgiving food drive, and the older couple were immediately drawn to cain - and him to them, essentially. to this day he can’t tell you what about them had been so appealing. just, the air around them was something else entirely. some would probably call it unhinged, some would call it comforting. they were kind folks, very down to earth, very religious and warmhearted. they liked his name being cain a whole lot; told him that he reminded him of their late son.

it was the beginning of his senior year in college for cain - a few years after he’d gotten started in the drug business - the couple volunteered more and more at the same places that cain would, the same times, almost as if they were learning his schedule. in retrospect, it was odd, but cain had never thought to suspect the elderly of anything ... deceiving. kept talking to them and it became a genuine friendship.

a few months into it, the couple started talking about the sin of wealth - god choosing only a select few when he cleanses the earth - only the worthiest souls - eventually they’d gotten into the rhythm of claiming cain was special. they could see he would be selected - see it in his aura, in their dreams - god personally speaking to to them, etc. etc.

it was ... oddly appealing to cain - like, maybe i am being constrained by capitalism and disappointing god - even though it had felt nearly ridiculous - it seeped into his mind.

this was essentially the result of emotional manipulation over a period of time - cain unsuspecting, unwilling to believe that he could be manipulated - always so sure in himself.

earl and may told him that they were going to leave livingstone - that there were so many more who had the same ideals as them, that it was time to join them - that it was time to prepare. cain held off from it, at first - having just graduated.

he had so much in livingstone - loyal companions and a close-knit family, a blooming side-business and a long-term girlfriend and an engagement ring burning in his pocket. he was still the same boy - cruel without cause. but he’d found himself surrounded by others, anyway.

within a month of newfound freedom - cain had a change of heart. the third most important event in his life had happened.

it was an average day - june, hot enough that sweat stuck to your skin, but not hot enough that you weren’t glad for it. a family bbq the entire day - relatives from all around - cain had been cleaning up with his mother when, out of nowhere, she had broken down in sobs.

essentially - after a long ... discussion, cain learned that they were not his father’s son.

in a fit of petty anger towards the beginning of their marriage, adelaide had cheated on vaughn. the result was cain.

it was the sort of news that breaks a person. his entire life - he idolized his parents, done everything they’d ever expect of him - let them mold him into whatever they pleased. to find out that his mother - a woman who, he had previously believed, could never tell a lie in her life - was a liar, and that his father - the man he looked up to most as a child - didn’t share the same blood as him.

cain unraveled. that week. several altercations, both sober and drunk - landing in county jail overnight - only to disappear without notice on june 21st, 2018.

it was treated as a missing persons’ case, the first week or so - until it had been determined that cain left on his own accord, then it was dropped much to the dismay of his family.

BEGINNING OF CULT / DRUG / MOST OF THE TRIGGER WARNINGS

only earl and may knew where cain went - because they had left together, cain’s last minute decision. cain’s mistake. the fourth most important thing to happen to him.

only hours away from livingstone - on the border between new york and vermont and not nearly far away as cain would had liked - was the cult’s location. they wore white linens and cotton - never mixed, and technology had been abandoned. prayers and daily chores.

it felt ... natural, at first - for the first three months - it was grand, in the beginning, peaceful, mind-clearing. they treated him differently - as if he were something special, as if his birth was a gift - a sign from the heavens above. cain come to undo his past’s damage. a leader, perhaps. the longer he stayed - the more apparent it became that he wasn’t who they had long waited for.

once they began slipping up - the members became displeased with him and punishments occurred - sometimes once a week, sometimes multiple. the memories are suppressed, for the most part - but they can’t forget the hands. pulling, and tugging, and gripping, and begging - asking him to repent, please, repent - head held underwater, counting seconds until his vision goes out - pulled out gasping and sobbing. it repeats in their mind - each day blurring into one another.

once he started reacting violently - they found ways to subdue him.

heroin intake - little by little, everyday - enough to leave him in a high he wouldn’t remember - enough to burn a hole through his memory.

with memories becoming dimmer each day - cain managed to sneak paper and pencil into his ~living arrangement~ and he wrote everyday - wrote as much as he could remember about livingstone, about his family, about his life before. sometimes he couldn’t remember what he’d written previously.

when these were found - it had been the final straw. they had dragged him, kicking and screaming and mind-numbingly high into place - a twisted reenactment / retelling of the mark of cain and a brand of the mark burnt permanently into his skin right above his heart - forehead not an option due to difficulties fully subduing cain (he bit them).

left to die in the middle of woods afterwards, with nothing but his writing and the clothes on his back - cain shouldn’t had had the strength to go on - but they did. they didn’t know what day it was - really, what year it was - but cain got up and cain ran. and cain, obviously, survived.

it was pure luck that cain had run into a truck driver who wasn’t doubling as a murderer - one who took him to the hospital - who essentially, gave cain another chance to live. cain was found on june 21st, 2019.

END OF CULT / DRUG / MOST OF THE TRIGGER WARNINGS. PROCEED WITH CAUTION. STILL MENTIONS OF TRAUMA / MENTAL HEALTH / RECOVERY / ADDICTION BEYOND THIS POINT.

immediately reunited by his family - everything went very fast. he couldn’t recognize his youngest sibling, but couldn’t remember why he’d left in the first place. couldn’t remember the name of his girlfriend, but the color of her hair and the way she smelled.

put into therapy and recovery for their addiction - vaughn romanov makes his announcement that he’s running for the 2020 election the day after cain is found and brought home. they’re not expected to be alright within a few weeks of therapy - but cain feels restrained, in a way - confined to the role he’d always had to play. expected to up, and continue with life as if he hadn’t endured an extremely traumatizing year.

is essentially forced to stay in livingstone for the time being - but cain has taken a few things into his own hands. they’ll go to therapy, work on their recovery - but, having no further interest in what he’d gotten a degree in - has decidedly bought himself an antique bookshop off of the owner looking to retire, and has taken shelter in the apartment above it.

with their four cats, of course. his parents agreed - purely to give him the space to recover whilst keeping him close to them. if only he hadn’t found recovery to be most helpful in the form of pills - his old business now turned into a way for him to get what he believes will make him better.

personality !!

to clarify - cain is no longer the douchebag they once were. kind of .. learned to be a better person with his entire experience - mostly a lot of self-blaming that boils down to karma and deserving what happened to him.

he’d always been a pretty ... quiet, person - even with the massive ego - but now, cain’s ... quieter. kinder, if not a little sarcastic. distant and not much for parties - that never changed - but it’s more of a ... restrictive, distance, than one of comfort.

smokes weed but rarely drinks - as if it’d make a difference with the pills addiction he’s using to battle his heroin one.

like mentioned - they’ve got four cats. that’s their personality. had two of ‘em before he’d disappeared, and just got the other two probably ... yesterday, tbh. they’re named frank (big chungus when yelled - white and gray), brock (orange. fluffy. stoic. devours food.), shoelace (black-furred and missing an eye), and crunchwrap supreme (crunch for short, calico with bent ears).

probably has photos of their cats in his wallet.

parents help pay for the cost of owning the bookshop - though cain’s expected to fully take on the financial responsibility when he’s ‘well again’.

their memory is fucked. forgets a lot of things - short term, long term, it’s a struggle. managed to keep the notes they used to take back at the cult - so it helps, but not always. forgets dates, faces, names, events. he wakes up sometimes and doesn’t know where they are.

they don’t sleep a lot, regardless - night terrors came with his trauma, and in an attempt to avoid ‘em, they don’t really ... sleep. only a few hours each night because it gets so bad.

cain suffers from severe touch aversion. skin-to-skin contact of any sort is enough to send them into an intense panic attack. they wear leather gloves more often than not, in an attempt to combat it without hindering them too much. not the biggest fan of body contact in general, even with clothes - but it won’t send him into a panic like bare skin will. makes it obvious from the get-go that he doesn’t like physical contact if somebody gets too close.

also dealing with ptsd and attends therapy every week - therapist recommended he kept writing after looking at his notes - so he does, keeps an entire journal where they write and like ... sketch a little, because it helps them cope. means more to them than it would seem.

they’re pretty blunt. won’t go out of their way to announce that they joined a cult, hence the disappearance - but won’t lie about their disappearance if the topic comes to it. cain doesn’t like delusions, doesn’t like secrets - doesn’t like unnecessary attention, either.

being said uh ... cain sort of hates the new division ? anything that resembles a cult, he instantly hates. hates the watershed app too.

being in town keeps cain anxious, because they’re aware they’ve wronged a good amount of people - but it’s hard to remember who, and what, and when, and why - and it’s just. an entire ordeal of figuring out how to ... redeem himself to multiple people.

screwed over a lot of people when they left ! from their plugs / customers to their ex-girlfriend who they are, undeniably, still in love with - you can’t forget that feeling - to his friends.

isn’t ... aware that michael is in prison. isn’t aware that kieran is dead. hasn’t been told yet.

is high often ! says it’s just weed but ... it’s not !

hates cars and swimming and crowds - hates feeling trapped and will avoid it when possible. doesn’t want to be seen as unsociable, but it’s difficult.

climbs trees when overwhelmed and needs a space to think - has a tall tree right outside of the window of his apartment, on the side opposite of the street if that makes sense ?? can be found there often. like - won’t leave a conversation to go climbin’ but. y’know.

feels the need to redeem themself to ... everybody, really. wants to avoid conflict and wants to be a better person - they’re trying really hard but not everybody believes them.

really .. wouldn’t be surprised if people from livingstone were suspicious of cain, for whatever reason - they don’t have the best track record anymore !

they’ve got a stutter that developed as a result of the trauma - their voice is damaged from screaming a lot. working on being less self-conscious about it, thinks there’s more important things to worry about. in general cain looks ... gaunt, too thin, generally unhealthy.

they can still definitely hold a conversation, and like i said they’re pretty…lowkey. soft, sort of. generally a quiet person and while they’re not the most social, they won’t be a direct asshole or anything. likes people! just…has low energy.

goes by he/they, doesn’t really care which one as he alternates pretty frequently.

very happy with being the owner of a bookshop - especially antique. feels more genuine than political science or whatever.

got really into the investigation of the cult he was part of - they got uncovered and arrested due to cain’s escape but there’s still branches out there - you could call him obsessed. willing to stick his nose where he shouldn’t, even though he really ... really shouldn’t.

wanted connections !!

so first and foremost - people who he’s grown up with his entire life. people he’s just. wronged. people who idolized him - people who envied him, who despised him, etc. etc.

would love ! a good amount of antagonistic connections because it fits the bill.

exes he’s dumped, old hookups, ex-friends, people he got into an argument with / fought before he disappeared last year.

ex-gf would be gr8 ! thanks ! will be holding american-idol-esque auditions.

any prominent families in livingstone that his family would know. family friends - family rivals. his siblings.

people he’s trying to redeem himself to - trying to prove his worth, that he’s better now. y’know.

old clients that he left in the dust !

people from his frat - people he used to go to the occasional party with.

people angry at cain, still. just. so mad. pissed completely.

some good ol’ reconnecting / reconciliation plots ! i’m a slut for slowburn friendships. enemies to friends.

people he used 2 bully.

wholesome shit, angst shit. i said slowburns but i love them. friends to enemies. enemies to bigger enemies. anything.

no. hookups. please. only previous encounters. nothing in the present. for obvious reasons.

except MAYBE sexual tension but the kind that hurts. maybe a fun, casual sexting thing. they’ve got needs too.

people who just hate his dad b/c politicians suck !

i imagine a lot of conversations between him n other people start out ... aggressive, because they’re mad at him. :/

people who are soft for them ?? people who are hard on him ?? make his life difficult but also uwu him.

i’ll rly take anything !! just like this so i can slither in !!

#cult tw #drug addiction tw #drug abuse tw #abuse tw #heroin tw #mental illness tw #ptsd tw #livingintro

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thattipsybee · 5 years

Note

You mentioned in a previous ask about your au that the orher ghosts aren't there and morro works alone. But then Ronin doesn't have a debt to whiplash or a reason to betray the ninja and the story kinda falls apart... is tht it or is there more to it?

Ronin’s reason for betrayal lies in the hands of morro in the form of an invitation to the Kingdom of Enlightenment (Cloud Kingdom). During the bounty hunter’s ghostly vanquishings he resorted to using Lethe water stolen from from the underworld. As ghosts are made up of memories, Lethe being the river of forgetfulness is the only way to permanently extinguish a ghost. The underworld doesn’t like their shit being stolen and denounced Ronin and barred him from entre in death, leaving only the Kingdom of Enlightenment between him and the cursed realm. The kingdom wasn’t part of the original afterlife system, they merely processed and preserved the knowledge and memories of those whom passed away. The Master Historian thought it unfair that if someone were denounced by the underworld, they would only have the cursed realm to go to and decided to invite anyone so unfortunate into his own realm for a second chance. These invites are actual, physical pieces of parchment written for anyone the Master Historian knows have already been rejected by the underworld, high risk of being rejected, or their death is nearing. They can’t see into the future but as much as they’re a realm of history, they observe patterns and motifs in times past to help determine when certain deaths will occur. Its not very accurate but it helps sort out all the work. As a side note this is how prophecies are made. The residents having nothing but time and like to make bets on what sequence of events will happen and then send those to different realms to spark up some drama. This is why prophecies are vague and unhelpful as shit so to increase the chances of those events happening first and winning the bet for whomever wrote them. Morro stole not only Ronin’s invitation, but Nya’s (as she dies in the next season) and maybe from someone he’s close to as additional incentive. Don’t know who that person would be since Ronin’s backstory is completely none-existent.

So how in the in the sixteen realms did Morro obtain these invitations? Well I’m glad you asked hypothetical future anon. And the answer is that he’s simply been there before. Its rather odd that Morro was banished to the cursed realm only because he merely sought out for the tomb of the FSM. By that logic the ninja should also be cursed (but since they destroyed the cursed realm I guess they dodged that bullet). So in this version Morro not only found the tomb but had the crystal in his possession. It should be noted that this realm crystal needs a hefty amount of energy to transport even a single person.-went on a bit of a tangent here so you can just skip to the next paragraph- Jay might be able to generate enough energy to transport himself but it would leave him completely fried, possibly even passing out afterwards. JP, having unlocked his true potential, could transport himself two or three times before having to hit the bench. And an entire sector of Nadakhan’s ship was dedicated to a separate generator for activating the crystal. One more thing to note is how the crystal functions with space in regards to Morro’s plans. The cursed realm is mobile, swimming through the space between the other realms making it very difficult to teleport to or even track. The realm crystal will always teleport the person to the paralleled coordinates of the realm they are traveling to. So in the first realm, point A and point C always correspond to the second realm at point B and point D respectively, meaning if there is more or less space in the second realm (for example if there is two feet between point A and point C but two inches between point B and point D or if there is two feet between point A and point C but two meters between point B and point D) the ratio of space will always remain the same between those two realms. Unless one is for some reason expanding or diminishing but shhhh we’re not going to worry about that now. Meaning Morro, unless he wants to end up in the void between realms, has to wait until the Cursed Realm is parallel to the realm of Ninjago before summoning the preeminent, regardless of how much energy he can provide for the crystal.

Sorry for rambling off but we’re back to the good stuff! Garmadon as the Underlord, was none too pleased about his father’s resting place being disturbed, denounced Morro and prohibited entry into the underworld after death. Once our dear salty boi dies, he’s taken in by the Kingdom of Enlightenment but it wasn’t meant to last. The philosophies and ideals of the realm, such as coming to peace with one’s self and relinquishing troubled pasts to reach a higher level of being, immediately clashed with his outlook. Morro being Morro, refused the mere idea of letting go to everything that happened to him and didn’t buy into their bullshit. Often instigating misconduct out of spite or frustration, it prevented him form learning everything about the realm’s inter-workings, something that would bite him back later. Soon enough he was kicked out with the only place left being the cursed realm where he would rot alive for the next few decades. A rift opens into the realm of Ninjago, he escapes, possesses Lloyd, steals the scrolls for Ronin and Nya to hold over their heads and now we’re back where we started. yay.

One last thing to mention if only to tie this up a bit more neatly: When possessed Lloyd went to the Kingdom of Enlightenment, Morro was looking for three things, the invitations, the Sword of Sanctuary, and any information in regards to his death. The realm crystal was presumably still with Morro when he died but ghosts don’t remember their deaths. Every year they relive their dying moments at the same time annually if they are outside of the Cursed Realm. And even though as that anniversary approaches, they are drawn to the location of their passing, Morro being as impatient as he is might as well take the opportunity to take any sort of lead available. Unfortunately or fortunately when a person is sent to the cursed realm their name and likeness is completely expunged from the writings within the Kingdom of Enlightenment. As for the Sword of Sanctuary, it was more so used to taunt and mislead the ninja since he doesn’t actually need it but the they do. He took it firstly to show his superiority and secondly to give Lloyd false intelligence on the method he intended to achieve his goals in case Lloyd came in contact with his friends and slipped some info. Shortly after he ended up handing it over, via stabbing Nya, for the sole purpose of creating inner conflict among the team later with Ronin’s betrayal. And while the ninja were off scavenger hunting for the tomb, Morro was already preparing for the eventual summoning of the Preeminent. That’s all I can remember right now as far as relevance goes. So we’ll call it a night.

#to anyone who read through all that congratulations #thankyou for your patience #ninjago #thatstupidninjagoau #too many words #au shit

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roswellroamer · 5 years

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Tsumkwe to Rundu, Namibia on the Okavango river and Angolan border. 4/24/19. About 400km

We took our time this morning. Made to order breakfast of eggs, sausage and bacon along with toast, juice, cereal and yogurt. We gathered around for a while and didn't roll out until near 9:30. We rode for a while and stopped at a bushman village. We are a real oddity in this way out of the way area. The kids come running to the road to wave everywhere today the entire day. The group of bush people that gathered around us when we stopped were very friendly and happy. They showed us how they shoot arrows with the very small bushman bow and small arrows. The bushmen are known to be awesome trackers and hunters. All these kids were learning the bow. Also they use a deadly poison that supposedly once the skin is pierced with it the animal will surely die. The clicking noises along with their language are really interesting. Then, after the obligatory poses with our bikes and wanting their pictures taken, Gavin brought out the Mavic Air drone. This was now getting the whole village out to watch. Gavin flew it down the highway to another group coming towards us, bringing lots of clicking and excitement. We waved good bye and went on down the road. The crushed limestone base is hardened into what seems like pavement but still mostly covered with sand and gravel. The main tracks in each direction are however nearly 50% exposed. Some ruts and rocks but largely a smooth ride today even though much of it at least time wise was on a D highway we averaged 100-120km/hr. We had our first flat tires today. While waiting with our new bushman friends, the "bucky" (what Aussies and S. African folks call a pickup truck) had a rear tire get slit. They had a spare so that is what gave us so much time with the locals. Later this afternoon on a long stretch to Rundu, Andy ran out of gas about 25k shy of town and his mate Jim fetched him a can of gas. Also Gavin had a front flat and spent some time on the side getting the wheel off before the truck arrived. Eventually the rest of us all made it to the gas station and then about 20k out to the Okavango river and the very nice Hakusembe River Lodge. Beautiful day of riding and the last 5k or so on the lodge's driveway likely provided the most off road challenge of the day! Beautifully landscaped with wide wooden decks and a swimming pool which has just doubled as an interim laundry since I went for a dip long before the support truck got here with my clothes. Still no Wi-Fi which seems to even piss off the SA crew. I didn't know what to expect but after two days here's hoping tomorrow's destination has it so I can let somebody know we're OK. Today we skipped lunch, there really was no place or town at all moving up towards the Caprivi. Very desolate and beautiful. We also found that we had been in elephant and lion territory but that we hadn't seen any. One of the guards at the multiple animal/vegetable checkpoints told us about that. We had a couple stops today where they'd check out licenses and sign a log form but no real hassles. One interesting section of the D highway before we got on the tar for the last 142k to Rundu was our passing through a series of farms. Not that farms would be unusual but here the gates to keep their cattle in ran across the road. I lost count after a dozen. I would guess north of 16 or 18 gates that required us to dismount and open then close after we passed. Also a number of cattle grates to ride over and one farmer who tended his gate and waved us through. The D roads have even more mounds growing up along the tire tracks. We suspect these are termite mounds in an early stage that should be graded away whenever the Namibian folks get around to grading. Interesting country. Still heading mostly north after 5 days and still in Namibia. HUGE! 🇳🇦 and under populated. My SA mates say that there are only two million folks in this huge country. Namibia is about 1/12 the size of the US (bigger than Texas plus other states) but with only 2.5M people!

They say there are crocs in the river here so I'm gonna stick to the pool. This is a pretty 'lux resort so we should have a good dinner. Gonna go join the group on the deck over the river for a cool refreshment. 🍺 Now I am on board the "sunset" cruise full of European folks (German, Swiss and Dutch) some with huge telephoto lenses. We stopped over on the Angola side of the river and saw a border post just up the hill. 🇦🇴 Lots of cool birds. Night heron, cormorants, open billed storks, egrets, some crocodiles and also monitor lizards. It turned into a booze cruise with choices of alcoholic beverages and a nice snack assortment including cheeses and Kudu biltong (jerky). I should also mention that due to the truck's late arrival and the impromptu swim in my riding shirt and skivvies, I was likely the most underdressed on the boat ride. What the heck, I was still sporting more fabric than most of the Euro folks in their banana hammocks! Dinner was a buffet but first class. A salad bar with must've been thirty + choices, butternut soup, springbok steak, oryx stew, lots of side dishes and a dessert bar. They also served everyone Pimm's with some fruit. A great evening on the deck right on the Okavango, looking across the river to Angola. The wait staff has banded together a number of time for example to welcome me back from the sunset cruise. The last singing group came by the tables after dinner and one of them was inquiring if anyone would like some grappa or after dinner liqueurs. One other thing I think I'll mention before bed is that once we got onto the Rundu highway, there was a steady stream of villages and even items for sale every few kilometers alongside the road. People walking, school kids, families, workers even passing some sort of community gathering of maybe 200 people circled around under a tree for who knows what. In general today was almost like a parade route as we spent the first half of the day in bushman country feeling like oddities as we passed by garnering attention from nearly everyone and waving with gusto. The last stretch I referred to above was a much more heavily traveled paved highway so we were no longer one of the only attractions riding by, however most folks especially children offered a wave and I waved a LOT especially those last couple hours on the B8 into Rundu. 👋 Tomorrow we enter the Caprivi, a beautiful strip of land that Namibia owns heading eastward. If you haven't seen the NatGeo documentary film Into the Okavango, please check it out. It is about the river delta just down from here and it is amazing. https://www.nationalgeographic.com/films/okavango/

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redsdesktop · 6 years

Text

Deviant Dynamics: Revolution

Chapter 31

Masterlist

Warnings: ANGER.

Connor sat at his desk with his forehead resting on top of it. He now felt how it was like to be rundown, getting nowhere with his investigation. He wasn't even safe in his own home anymore, Connor knew it would've happened eventually but he'd had some false hope it wouldn't. Markus had tried to insist that Connor and his family should stay with him, but Connor didn't want to risk putting Markus in danger by being there. While Connor valued his own life, admittedly, Markus was more important to try to gain and keep rights for androids while Connor just sort of kept androids in line. He was doing a very poor job of it as well. All morning him, Collin, Conrad, and Hank had to make their statements about what happened.

Conrad had brutally killed two androids, but they had broke in with the intent to kill Connor. One of the androids had been identified as the one who had killed the human omega nearby. Technically it was cut and dry and Conrad would be free of anything binding. It wasn't unusual for acts like that to happen. If strange alphas had the intent to kill another alpha's omega, then their life was pretty much forfeited. Connor just wished he could've tried to get some answers out of them, though with how wild they had acted, he doubted they'd been sane enough. What was even worse was that Conrad had already contacted to get Connor's window repaired and added bars as a new feature. He hated the idea that his home appeared to be turning into a cage. All the more reason to hurry up and solve this case before Conrad went to extremes to keep him safe.

Amanda. His mind kept coming back to her, only she and Kamski had the power to take control over androids like this. This didn't seem like Kamski's style though, the man was more sly about his actions while Amanda was not. However, Cyberlife had been shut down, so what happened to Amanda? Did she still belong in someone's hands? Maybe someone had purchased the AI and was not using it against Androids? If so, targeting Markus would've been a better goal, but maybe Amanda held a grudge? Was that possible? She knew Connor and the other RK hunters would likely pose a problem, eliminate the threats and then cut off the head while it was vulnerable. Killing Connor would likely send Conrad and Collin into a downward spiral and Connor was too certain what the two would do without him there to keep them calm and controlled.

Connor felt like he was in the middle of a chess board with Kamski and Amanda being the players. It seemed Amanda was keen on taking out Kamski's best pawns, destroying any resistance without any subtly. Which made Connor wonder what as Amanda's best pawns? Raising his head, Connor looked around the office, the attacks all were involved with the police station. The two androids from last night had worked with the police in form for or another. One had been an electrician who had repaired one of the broken lights in the storage room, the other had been their usual delivery man. There was too much revolving around the station to ignore it. Which brought Connor to the police android no one seemed to bother noticing, able to move around without leaving a single trace.

After seeing Conrad's and Collin's reaction to Fiver previously, Connor was a bit concerned about the android. All his records checked out, but why was he still a machine? Was it possible Amanda was controlling him? That was a reason that could make sense, why he hadn't deviated and why Markus hadn't been able to free him. Pushing himself up to his feet, startling Collin who had been sitting next to him, dozing off. The epsilon grumbled a complaint as he rubbed his eyes to get them to focus properly. "What the hell, Connor." He growled out, but Connor was already on the move, forcing Collin to scramble after him. Conrad who had been at his own desk working was up immediately and following after Connor. The alpha hadn't even allowed Connor to go anywhere without him now, even with Collin as an escort.

It was probably for the best, Connor could handle one or two androids, but what if there were more? Seeing how he'd been attacked by two, Connor wasn't going to take any chances now. Especially when he was hunting down someone that could potentially be dangerous, so having some back up might prove useful. However, as he searched through the station, he began to realize how little people know about this PC200. A majority of the workers didn't even know who Connor was asking about, the others only briefly recognized him but had no clue where he was. It was alarming how someone could go so completely under the radar like this and no one was even concerned about it. The android could go where he wanted, do as he pleased and no one even bothered to notice him. What were all the things the android had been doing that nobody knew about?

When Connor came up empty handed, he had to resort to asking Captain Fowler, knocking on his glass door before entering without receiving permission first. "Captain, do you know where that PC200 android went to?"

"Captain Fowler looked annoyed at being interrupted from his work, even more annoyed by being interrupted for something such as this. "Yes, I sent him down to relieve the officer guarding Reed's room at the hospital, why?"

Before Fowler finished his sentence, Connor had already left, leaving the Captain momentarily bewildered before muttering under his breath and returning to work. Connor jogged down the steps to make his way over to Hank's desk, hearing the familiar click of dress shoes behind him, Conrad and Collin were still following close behind him. "Hank! I need you to drive us to the hospital, I think Reed's in trouble." Connor's voice was a bit higher with his urgency, which grabbed Hank's attention, making him frown and turn to look at Connor from his desk.

"And what makes you think that?" Hank said though he was already grabbing his keys from the desk, if Connor seemed to be on to something, the old alpha knew there had to be a good reason. He ignored Collin's mumbled comment about how he could drive, the epsilon always seemed to complain when Connor asked Hank to drive him somewhere.

"Its just a hunch, I don't have any concrete evidence but I feel it would be better safe than sorry." Connor added as he followed after Hank to the car, he had learned to follow his instincts from the detective. The man had shown that he had good instincts when he'd realized Connor becoming a deviant before Connor even knew. Connor explained in further detail on the ride over to the hospital, not even Hank remembered who Fiver was, even when Connor explained the android's appearance. When they got to the hospital Hank lifted his badge to the receptionist without pausing, she looked like she wanted to protest but Hank and the three RKs were already in the elevator.

Connor tried to keep his anxiety low, especially in such a cramped space, but it seemed he couldn't keep himself entirely calm as Conrad was already moving to stand in front of him and Collin was pressing against his side. Even Hank seemed to shift from foot to foot, bothered by the stressed scent Connor was giving off. When the elevator dinged and the doors slowly slid open, there was a commotion that greeted them. Conrad stepped forward, blocking the door and Connor's line of sight out of it. Collin grabbed onto Connor's arm to hold him back, this protectiveness was getting a little out of hand and not making his stress any better. "What's going on?"

As soon as Connor said that, his LED blinked yellow as he received a message from the station. Apparently there was a call from the hospital reporting that an android had locked himself in a patient's room. Connor blinked and looked up, Conrad's body tensed exponentially and then there was the sound of muffled glass shattering. Connor shoved past Conrad when he didn't budge, receiving a snarl from the other android for disobedience but if Conrad wasn't going to deal with this situation because of him, then Connor had to go to the situation. He was already running, hearing footsteps behind him as he weaved effortlessly through the crowd of nurses, doctors, and even patience towards Gavin's room.

He noticed that the door handle on the outside had been completely torn off, making it impossible to open from the outside, but that didn't stop Connor as he turned and tucked himself a bit. He slammed into the door, it gave from the force and Connor stumbled into the room. Instantly he took note that Gavin's hospital bed was empty, from the knocked over equipment and blankets strewn everywhere, the detective had tried to resist. The window had been broken and Connor rushed to look outside through it, but there was no signs of movement, he'd been too late. Looking at the outside wall, he could see where the android had dug his fingers into the brick, leaving long gouges down the side as he had slid down safely to the ground. To have such strength to dig into brick and mortar like that... Connor had underestimated the other android, but know he knew and wouldn't be caught by surprise.

Connor lifted his head a little, trying to catch a scent, but this time there was nothing,with Gavin having not touched anything, there likely wouldn't be any scent to follow. The iota PC200 had vanished like a ghost, but there was one thing that Connor hoped, if the android wanted to kill Gavin, he would've done it with ease. Still though, Connor would get his sort-of friend back and hopefully soon before anything bad happened. Now the android wouldn't be able to return to the station, he would likely find someplace to hide and there weren't a lot of abandoned places now that Markus had set about assigning androids to them. All Connor had to do was narrow done possible places where one might hide a very angry and very salty Detective Reed. However, before Connor could even bring up a map of Detroit, a hand grabbed him, yanking him around until he faced the cold expression of his alpha, frigid gray eyes boring into him where any lesser person would've shriveled up.

"Are you trying to test me?" Conrad's low voice chilled Connor to the bone, the crisp mountain air was oppressive, burning his lungs and demanding obedience. Instantly, Connor locked eyes with Conrad, revealing he wasn't going to waver, not this time. He had enough of being shoved to the side. He didn't want independence but neither did he want to be excluded either, treated like he was incapable of helping out.

"Maybe I am." Connor tossed out there without a thought to the challenge, making Conrad's hand tighten on Connor's shoulder. He knew he shouldn't have said that, but while Conrad was under a lot of stress, so was Connor and he had enough of his alpha's antics. "If you hadn't have stood there blocking the elevator door, we could've caught the suspect."

"I was trying to protect you!" Conrad raised his voice, something he never did, so it sounded like he was roaring at Connor. While it was supposed to suppress any objects, Connor only bristled and his lip curled as he finally had enough of this, revealing his small but dangerously sharp omega canines in warning.

"You can protect me by helping me do my job!" Connor bit back, ignoring how Hank and Collin were standing in the door, looking surprised by the interaction while also keeping nosy civilians from trying to peek in on the scene. By now, Connor was letting his anger finally get the better of him, having bottled it up all this time because he knew Conrad was trying his best, but too much was just too much.

"We are going home this instant and you're going to stay there." Conrad snarled, putting weight to his words. Never before had Conrad used his alpha command, a tone of voice that usually made less dominant dynamics submit to him. Connor's eyes widened, he could feel every omega instinct within him begging him to shrink away and bare his throat in submission. It was so strong that it was a struggle not to give in, if he did, every scrap of pride he had would be destroyed.

"That is not the way you treat your omega, Conrad." Connor narrowed his eyes, he didn't budge but his scent began to press against Conrad's, smelling of burnt sugar, offending to the nose. "We are a pack and packs work together." He leveled his tone, low and serious, filled with warning as their gazes were near feral, locked in combat to see who would give in first.

"Now, you either work with me or I'm going to work without you, make a choice, Conrad."

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huntertales · 6 years

Text

Part Two: Heart to Heart. (Let it Bleed S0621)

Episode Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester’s worst nightmares come true when the reader is taken hostage by Crowley after her demon side is freed. But things only grow worse when Lisa and Ben Braden are kidnapped as well, forcing the brothers to work with an unlikely alley to save the people they love. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Warning: Demon!Reader, mentions of violence and pregnancy and very brief mentions of intimacy. Word Count: 7,253. (Buckle up kids, this part is gonna be a ride!)

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

If there was one thing Dean knew, it was all the ways to make a demon spill their guts. Figuratively and literally. He utilized the skills he learned from hell and the knowledge required for a hunter to know about what could slow down the enemy. Demons had a few weaknesses that could hurt them. Holy water, salt and iron. Along with something no other hunter had. A special knife that actually inflicted pain on them, or, in the case of the two other demons lying on the ground, kill them for good. Mix that together with a man’s rage and he was the storm none of these sorry sons of bitches excepted coming from what they did.

Dean had went through at least two useless meat suits alone this morning that only gave him bits of incoherent sentences that ended with them coughing up blood or pleading for their lives when they admitted they didn’t know anything. The man gave into their desire for death when he knew they had no clue what their king was up to. He ruthlessly stabbed them with the knife, sending them back to the fiery pit where they belonged. When the second to last demon was gone, Dean stood in the middle of the garage area he converted to his torture chamber, a thin layer of sweat covered his body as he caught his breath from the rigorous activities.

The older Winchester examined the bloody knife for a moment. If this was any other day, maybe he would feel an ounce of remorse for what he was doing, resorting back to old habits that he long swore off. Long as he kept moving, he wouldn’t have to think about anything, except finding answers. While there was only one more left on the chopping block, he knew there was plenty more from where he found them. All he had to do was put out his neck and they were lining up to try and get a piece of him. Only if those sorry sacks knew what they were up against.

The last demon was shown the exact same treatment like the rest of his friends; he was thrown into the devil's trap painted on the floor and shoved into a chair so he couldn't do anything stupid. Dean began circling around the demon, and not even a second into the conversation, the demon was claiming his innocence. "Look, I don't know anything."

"Yeah, we'll see." Dean muttered underneath his breath. It was too early to tell if what the demon claimed was the truth or not. He wasn’t going to fall for the same excuse he heard two times already from his friends. He would wait until the demon was begging for mercy to consider.

Dean walked over to the station he set up for himself filled with all sorts of tools he used on a few other demons to try and get them to talk, only to no avail. But he was giving up hope yet. He reached for the half drunk bottle of whiskey he’d been nursing all night and took another sip. Dean decided to take a small break while he contemplated new punishments for the scum. He heard one of the wooden doors quietly creak open when his brother stepped inside after wrapping up a phone call with Bobby to see how things were on his end. While the older hunter was having a bit more luck chasing down this Lovecraft lead, the boys weren't finding squat.

Sam couldn't help but notice his older brother was the same way when he left him. Dangerously focused and full of rage that hadn't faded since he got the disturbing phone call with Crowley. It was clear that Dean would stop at nothing until he got answers. No matter the cost on his health or the body that started to pile around him. And in this case as he took yet another sip of the whiskey, his liver’s future wasn’t looking so good.

"Dean." Sam spoke his brother's name in a quiet voice. Dean calmly acknowledged the man's presence as he grabbed a rag to clean still wet blood off the knife. The younger Winchester could see the man was getting himself too wrapped up in this with no signs of stopping. He slowly approached the workbench Dean set up for himself, attempting to try and talk some sense into the man of taking a break. “Look, man. You’re running on, what, coffee and whiskey and whatever else you’re taking.”

“And?” Dean asked, not seeming to notice what the problem was.

“And we’re grasping at straws here, man.” Sam said. He knew the truth was a hard pill to swallow, but his brother wasn’t going to acknowledge the fact that maybe not everything was it seemed. Perhaps Crowley had kept all of his plans for a select few. And maybe the one person who they were thinking was the enemy might be clueless as the both of them. But he knew Dean would rather continue slaughtering through demon's than pray to Cas for some extra help.

“If I kill enough of these demons, eventually one of them’s gonna tell me where Crowley is.” Dean said. Sam let out a sigh as he looked at his brother from his way of thinking. It worked once before when it came to figuring out what Cas was doing, it might be good enough to work again. When he got nothing back that sounded like a protest, Dean figured their conversation was over. “So we good?”

"Look, you've been at it for a while. Why don't you at least let me take over. You deserve a break." Sam said. Dean shot down the offer as he started to walk back over to the demon that was impatiently waiting for him. The younger Winchester reached out a hand to stop the man in attempt to get him to back off the ledge before he could burn himself out. "Dean—"

“Sam, back off.” Dean cut off his little brother, stopping whatever sort of lecture the man wanted to say in order to make him feel better. The younger Winchester gave his brother a look, reminding him that he wasn't alone in this situation here. But Dean, like always, felt he was the one who needed to carry the heavy burden on his shoulders. "Lisa and Ben, wherever they are, that is a hundred percent on me. The reason why Y/N ran off in the first place is because I lied to her. And I promised her I wouldn't. If they're hurt…”

"This isn't just your battle to fight, either." Sam reminded his brother. "Y/N's my best friend, too. I want to find them much as you do."

Dean knew in the back of his mind that his brother was right. Sam had a lot to lose if something were to happen to you. He would be losing a friend that had seen him through thick and thin, who always stuck by his side even in the worst of it when he didn’t deserve anyone’s love. But Dean couldn’t drag his brother into this mess. Not in this way of torturing demons and seeing a monster who he tried so hard to shed. “I’ll yell if I need you.”

Sam wanted nothing more than to stand his ground and try to convince his brother to at least think about taking a break and eating something. But he knew from his own experience there was no talking down a Winchester from what they wanted. Sam let out a defeated sigh and let his brother get back to what he wanted. He had a plan in mind that he knew Dean wasn’t going to like, and it might not even work, but he had to at least try. Sam slipped out the same way that he came in, leaving his brother to torture the demon so he could send a prayer to an angel he still wanted to consider his friend. Because, much as Sam sometimes hated about himself, the man still tried to look for the good in people even when they had betrayed him,

"Castiel, it's Sam. Uh..." Sam began making his way back to Bobby's house. Along the way he decided to talk to an old friend, hoping he might be listening in. "I don't know if you're in on this while Y/N/Lisa thing. But if you have any heart, whatsoever, you know Y/N's your friend. She would do anything for you. Don't do her wrong like this...Just bring them back to us, man. Come on. Please. I'm begging you." He wasn't sure if his prayers were getting anywhere, but he was pouring out his heart and soul here. Sam looked around at the junkyard, hoping that he could find the angel in the distance, but all there was out here was just him. "I am begging you. Bring back Y/N. Do you understand?"

Sam took one more look around the junkyard to find a trace of anyone else here with him, but he was alone. He felt his heart sink at the harsh reality that he was having to come to conclusion with. The young man wasn’t losing just a good friend, but a lifelong one too. Sam let out a heavy sigh and headed back to the house like he intended, not realizing he passed by the angel, who had heard every word he said. Cas was unsure of what happened over the past few days while he was banished somewhere across the way. All he knew was that him and Crowley were going to have a serious talk about how to handle a situation.

Dean slipped himself back into the habit of interrogating a demon who might have been more talkative than the last two he got. Maybe it was because they laid not too far from where he sat, dead, posing as a reminder not to piss off this Winchester. Dean started off with a few punches when the demon thought he could mock him in true fashion of how most of these thing started before cleaning off the blood on the demon's face with some holy water. When Dean got serious that's when the demon started to realize this wasn't going to be the same cut and dry routine like he was used to. The demon said the same line his friends had said: “I don’t know anything.” That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. So, Dean decided to get more...creative.

The older Winchester turned his back for only a few moments so he could grab a syringe from his work bench and fill it up with a nasty concoction of holy water and salt. If he really wanted this son of a bitch to start singing, there was nothing like liquid fire coursing through their veins to get them to realize Dean wasn't playing around. "I promise you, pal. You start talking...Or I swear," Dean threatened the demon as he lightly pressed down on the syringe, watching as a gush of the water squirt out, making sure it was working properly. He turned around so he could face the demon again as he finished his promise. “I will rip your skin off.”

"I always loved it when you talk dirty."

Dean found himself stopping dead in his tracks at what he heard. The first thing he noticed when he turned around was the demon he was interrogating for answers didn't seem useful anymore. He was hunched over in his chair, blood drooling out of his mouth and into his lap from what was done to him while the hunter's back was turned. Dean slowly tore his gaze away from the dead demon to see where the voice was coming from. Across the devil’s trap stood a nightmare that he hoped he would never have to personally see. But she was here. Alive and in the flesh with a devilish smirk on her lips.

She looked a lot like you—hell, for a second Dean thought that it was you. The woman that he was desperately trying so hard to save. For a moment he put his guard down and let himself believe the woman he was staring at was really you. However reality came crashing down on him when he found himself staring into the dark, empty eyes of the demon that had taunted him for years. She leaned herself against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest, her chin titled high as she stared at the hunter with a smile. It wasn't warm or kind like he expected out of you. All he could feel from her was sheer arrogance, and a coldness that he never felt from you before. Because this wasn’t you. It was everything you had spent your entire life trying to fight.

"Hi, honey. I'm home!" You greeted the man in a one of those high-pitched housewife voices from the sitcoms dating back to the fifties. You pushed yourself up from the metal shelf you had been leaning against that was cluttered with all sorts of mechanical parts. Your eyes went back to normal as you traced the devil's trap line with a careful step, knowing it wouldn’t be good for the demon trapped inside the body. Dean wondered to himself if that was the original body. You noticed his wandering gaze, and to satisfy his curiosity, you broke out into a smile as you did a little twirl for him. "You like it? It's new. Thought I'd pop in and see if I could fool you into thinking it was the real thing. It’s not. Unfortunately.”

Dean slowly began to back away from you when he noticed you were starting to approach him. And from the smirk settling at the end of your lips, you weren't here to have a civil conversation. The demon knife was right behind him. "You got a lot of nerve showing up here like this." Dean said between clenched teeth. You raised your brow slightly in curiosity as to why that might be, but you knew than to tell him why. You wanted to hear him beg for the whereabouts of his three favorite people. "Where the hell are they, you black eyed bitch?"

"Who?" You wondered, pretending to play dumb as you crossed your arms over your chest. "I'm juggling a lot of people here, Dee. You gotta be more specific."

"How about Crowley, for starters. You know, the one who trapped you in your own meat suit for his own purposes. Don't you want to help us take that son of a bitch down?" Dean thought he could distract you with the opportunity to joining the winning side long enough to get to the work bench. You pretended to think about the opportunity before you shook your head. "Wow. You are not who I thought you were. I always pegged you as the demon who would want hell all for yourself. All or nothing. Guess I underestimated you, sweetheart. You really like it when the big boys tell you what to do, h—"

Dean couldn't finish his insult when he felt himself flying backwards and roughly landing against one of the shelves behind him. He had only a few seconds to recover from the blow before he felt a dangerously rough grip around his throat. Your nails sank into his skin as you forced him to stare at you with the inky black eyes he had seen on a handful of different occasions. Each time he had seen them you, the woman he knew, was still in there. She always managed to pull back on the reigns before the bitch she fought with went too far. Only the person staring back at him was in full possession of her own body. No voice was going to stop her.

"No. I just learned to be smarter of who I do my business with. Once you get past that God awful arrogant accent you realize Crowley's not that bad of a guy. He knows I could easily destroy him from the inside out. As that saying goes, keep your friends close and your enemies closer." You said. You tighten your grip around the man’s neck as you leaned forward to him until he could feel your warm breath roll off onto his cheek. You kept quiet for a moment as you stared at him, making Dean grow uncomfortable from what you were thinking. "Do you realize how long I spent just imagine all the different ways I could torture you? How much I just wanted to take control and rip your throat out with my bare hands. But I couldn’t...Not until now. Now I’m gonna make you suffer in ways your pretty little head can’t imagine.”

Dean could feel your grip around his throat loosen just enough for him to inhale small pants of breaths. He guessed this was because you wanted to hear him beg. The older Winchester's gaze moved away from you for a split second when he saw something out from the corner of his eye. Dean continued to play it cool as his brother—that sneaky bastard—crept up from behind with an iron crowbar. One thing that all demons had in common was pride. They all thought they could get the jump on the Winchesters and make them do what they wanted. You were about to have a hard lesson when you felt a sudden pain in the back of your head, taking you by surprise. You released your grip around Dean as you stumbled forward to the ground.

"Sure thing, sweetheart." Dean said. Sam lunged forward when you snarled at them in anger at what the younger Winchester had done and got ready to attack again. But before you could, Sam swung the crowbar, knocking you unconscious. "Right after we're done with you."

+ + +

Sam disposed of the dead body lying in the chair and tossed it with the others while Dean picked up other demon that was the doppelganger to the woman who had sent them down this long and harrowing path to find her again. The real you. The boys made sure the demon was nice and tied up and stepped back, waiting while you slowly came back around into consciousness. Maybe Sam was right about this one. Perhaps it was better if the both of them got in on this. Dean stood behind the devil's trap, watching as your head slowly nodded slightly before you finally began to wake up. A slight groan of pain escaped your lips as you came back around with a pounding headache. You looked up to see the sight of the Winchester brothers surrounding you. The devil’s trap that was a demon’s enemy kept you under lock down.

A look of displeasure crossed your face as you attempted to break the leather straps that kept you in the chair. However you weren't the one to complain about your accommodations. It was only more material you could work with to amuse yourself with. You leaned back in your seat and eyed both of the boys with a slightly growing smirk. "Well, if it wasn't my lucky day. I get not one—but two Winchester men. I'm digging the leather, by the way. Nice change of things." You said, turning your gaze over to the older brother to toss him a wink. Dean showed no signs of being amused as he stared at you with a threatening glare that would have made any other demon start to squirm in their seat. You found it cute how tough he thought he was. "What can I do for you, boys?"

"How about you tell us where your boss is." Sam said. You found the title Crowley was being addressed by strike a nerve in you. You narrowed your eyes on the younger man as he stared at you with a smile of amusement from your reaction. Out of anything to make you tick, it was being thought lower than the demon you became awfully good friends with quickly. "Or, if you want to make it out alive, tell us where you're keeping everyone."

"Why ruin the fun so quickly, Sammy? The party’s just getting started. For me, for you...for your little friend." You said. You watched as the boys' expressions faltered slightly. They knew it was a hint something sinister was unfolding while they were gone. “Honestly, I really didn't come here to kill you. Not yet, at least. I wanted to deliver you a present. It’s in my pocket. Why don’t you grab it?”

Dean watched as you lifted your shoulder best as you could from the way you were strapped in the chair so you could show the boys that there was something in did stuffed in the pocket on your shirt. He noticed that you were also leaning far enough so your shirt scooped down low enough to reveal a perfect view of your body he had seen a thousand times before. And while it never ceased to amaze him of how much he loved every since inch of your body, this wasn't the one he remembered touching, it was one of pure evil. Just the sight of it made his blood boil as you batted your lashes at him, continuing to pretend all of this was casual talk. "Come on. It's not gonna bite. I promise."

The boys exchanged a look as they silently communicated back and forth of what they should do. It could be a million different things. Their first instinct was to think it was some kind of trap. But they would only find out if they were to look. Dean did what he was told. You watched as he stepped inside the devil's trap and walked over to you. He slowly reached out and put a hand inside the fabric pocket of your shirt, digging below to feel something like silk touch his fingers. He grabbed it and pulled it out. Dean hesitantly noticed it wasn't very big, the ball of fabric was about the size of his palm. When you reassured him yet again it was nothing to be afraid of, he didn't know why he listened to you. He inhaled a deep breath and pulled on the knot, letting the fabric unravel in his hand, revealing something he would have never suspected.

"Son of a bitc—Damn it! Damn it!"

Dean's natural instinct was to flinch and drop the thing when he discovered what it was, letting it fall to the ground where it collected dust and debris on the concrete. Sam stepped forward to see what sort of thing that would be making his brother so angry. But when he discovered the bloody severed finger, he stopped dead before he could take another step. He could feel his mouth parting open as he felt himself becoming slightly nauseous. It wasn’t the body part that was making him feel sick, it was thinking about who it belonged to and the pain they were forced to go through in order for Crowley to make a bold statement.

You let out a throaty laugh at the reaction from the boys that was too priceless, it was better than you could imagine. You watched as Sam decided to be the brave soldier who reached down to grab the dismembered finger with the fabric it was wrapped in. "I’m gonna...I'm—" Sam tried to tell his brother that he was going to clean off the blood and bits of dirt that formed in the wound before putting it in the fridge. The younger Winchester remembered reading somewhere that a severed finger could survive up to twelve hours. And four days if chilled.Dean nodded his head to the door, doing what felt needed to be done.

When the door shut behind Sam, and the sound of his footsteps distanced away closer to the house, Dean didn't hesitate anymore in acting on his aggression that had been building closer to the edge. He lunged forward at you with the knife in his hand in a stabbing motion, appearing like he was about to strike. You knew better than to flinch and make him have the satisfaction that you were the tiniest bit nervous. The hunter ignored his feelings when he looked at you, the woman he called the love of his life, because all he could see right now was a monster. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back, forcing you to stare at him as he exposed the hollow of your neck to rest the knife against the skin.

The slightest movement made the jagged edges of the blade pierce your skin. You stared at him with a smirk at how he was acting as he drew in deep breaths like a wild man hellbent on letting all of his frustrations out. You knew he wanted to do it, but deep down, he couldn't do it.

"What the hell did you do, bitch?" Dean snarled the question at you with an aggressive voice. The older Winchester stared at you with a hostile expression as you felt the hand holding the knife against your neck began to shake ever so slightly. You knew it wasn't out of anger. You could see right through his facade. Dean was right where you wanted him. He was shook to his very core at this situation he couldn’t fix. He was powerless at what the right thing to do was.

Dean’s natural instinct was to kill you like the rest of the demons that crossed his way. He didn’t hesitate when he took down Ruby and Azazel. And he knew he wouldn’t bat an eye if Crowley showed his punk ass up here. But he found himself holding back on hurting you. It was like the time his own father told him to kill his own brother if Sam ever went dark side. Dean kept pushing down the possibility for long as he could until the reality came true.

He knew it would have saved the world a lot of trouble if he did take his father's word of caution to heart and put a bullet in Sam’s head when he discovered he was one of Azazel’s special children. Or when Sam gave the biggest warning of all when he began putting all of his trust into Ruby over his own family, who got him addicted to demon blood. Even when he was being worn by Lucifer Dean still wouldn’t back down from trying to save the man. Because all he could see was his little brother, his family. And if there was one lesson he learned the most important from his childhood was that family was something to always fight for and protect.

Dean always knew there was something wrong with you when he learned the truth about how you really came into this world from a crossroads demon after he sold his soul for the first time. He kept the knowledge in the back of his mind, but like his brother, he didn’t look at you any differently. Because all of you had a darkness inside of you that you tried to fight. For Dean it was torturing souls in hell and his crippling pain, Sam it was the demon blood and his purpose to be Satan’s vessel, and for you it was being born with a dark side of a monster you hunted. Even when he saw you with black eyes, Dean always knew that the real you was buried deep down, and you always fought it off.

But what happens when the monster was stripped away from the person he loved and what he was staring at him right in the face? What laid beneath him wasn’t you, it was the thing that you had spent your entire life fighting. Dean knew the right thing to do was to kill you once and for all. The demon that had been haunting the woman he loved. The real question was, could he separate the woman from the monster? And the answer was no. He couldn’t do it, even with three lives on the line. You had him right where you wanted him. And he could tell from the pleased look on your face. It reminded him of the times when you—the real, human you—would get when you won an argument on him. That face he couldn’t stay mad at…

"Guess who's finger it is, Dean. Come on." Your voice broke him out of his troubled thoughts, reminding him that you weren't the woman he loved. The real Y/N was in some abandoned building, surrounded by demons. You raised your brow slightly as he ignored your question. "I'll give you a hint. It's not Ben's. He's too young. Do you think it's Lisa's? Maybe. I thought about it. She seems like a real fun chick. But not the kind of stuff I have in mind. She’d get boring real quick. I like someone with prior experience. Someone I knew through and through. All the right buttons I can push.”

You could tell he got his answer when he let go of the grip around your hair as he dropped the knife away, too. The anger was slowly to fade away as the fear settled in when you continued on. "It's her ring finger, by the way. Figured I'd start with the most useless one. Not like you two are gonna get married. I mean, the thought did cross her mind every once in a while. However the wheels really started going off in her head when we went to that alternative universe. She slipped on a ring on that little finger and thought about it. Y/N Winchester does have a nice sound to it, doesn't it? Too bad it’s never gonna happen.”

"You have five seconds to tell me where they are." Dean tried to ignore what he was hearing as he pointed the blade in your direction, as if that was supposed to scare you into telling him what he wanted to know. You stared at him with a blank expression. "Or I swear—"

“You two never talked about getting married. But she had a feeling you wanted to. She wanted to be that couple. To be better than anyone else. She wanted to get married cause you two had something real. Something your parents never had. She thought that the both of you could survive whatever life threw at you. Look at where it ended the both of you.” You said. Your cynicism about how the situation was playing out was the truth. “I guess you really only need the finger...you know, what the hell? Let’s have some fun. Pop a ring on that sucker and let’s have ourselves a shotgun wedding!”

Dean heard of that term before. It happened when a girl had an unwanted surprise with a man after sharing a moment of intimacy without protection. His expression dropped, along with his heart in his stomach as he thought about the possibilities. He looked over at the demon and ignored his shock as he threatened the demon. “I’m gonna kill you, bitch.”

“Do it.” You said, pushing him closer to the edge of snapping and falling into the trap you set. Dean didn’t move. He continued to stare at you as the grip around the knife tightened until his knuckles turned a ghostly white. He wanted to. But you knew he couldn’t. “You know what will happen if you do. Y/N will be good as dead. And you know that’s not a good thing. Two for the price of one. But...do you really think it would be a bad idea? It’s not like you wanted a kid, anyway. mean, like you said, you’re not father material.”

“Shut up.” Dean grunted. “You don’t know me.”

“I know enough that you couldn’t even stay with Lisa and that brat of hers without screwing it all to hell. All you’re good at is slicing throats and watching the people you love die bloody.” You said, taunting him with his own confession he unwilling gave to a goddess of truth. That was also when the real woman he loved confessed how her feelings for him never changed. “Kind of fitting the mother of your child is gonna go the same way.”

Dean forced himself to step away from the demon before he could do something he would regret. All at once he was on the verge of...he didn’t know what. Sheer panic, rage...maybe even the slightest bit of happiness? Only for it all to be washed away with a fearful denial. Demons liked to mess with people’s heads. They used their own desires and pinned it against their prey. He did it to you—the real you—in hell when Alistair offered him the chance to torture souls.

Everything about a person was all laid out there for the taking. Dean was taught the best way to break someone was to take everyone they loved and turn those happy memories into nightmares that make their worst fears seem like a walk in the park. That demon bitch, she knew everything about you. All of your thoughts running through your head were her own. She must have known about your secret desire to have children. It might have been a topic of discussion between you and him, but you probably dwelled on the past the first year while you were back from the dead. Along with Dean's supposed desire to have a family.

Dean knew better than to trust a demon and the threats they make, along with what is the truth and some attempt at getting under his skin. He labored his breathing as he stared at the bitch who looked exactly like the woman he loved. She returned his glare with a simple stare. "You're lying."

"Now, why would I do such a thing? This is a miracle. A little piece of you is gonna be in this world. The Winchester tragedy can move onto the next generation. And they don't even have to be born for that to happen.” You said, your tone of voice was too cheerful. Dean looked away from you when his eyes began wandering around the place. He wanted nothing more than to cut the bitch up, make the demon confess where the real you was. But he couldn't help himself dwell in the possibility that what the demon was say might be true. The both of you were so careful, making sure to use the right safety precautions..."Except last month. Remember? The both of you went on that 'supply' run out of town. Only it ended with you taking her over the Impala. And man, wasn’t that good. Been awhile since the both of you had a second alone. While it was good, you were so worried about getting in her, you forgot one thing..."

Dean had to walk away from the demon so he could gather his senses together. Before he could do something he would regret. He wandered over to his work station littered with all sorts of tools that could make the demon scream in pain. But all he wanted right now was the bottle of whiskey. His threatening glare fell as he stared at the wall, his eyes glazing over as he felt his stomach tighten at the mere thought. There was no way it was possible. Dean reached for the bottle and took a long, and much needed drink. But no amount of alcohol would calm his nerves from what was happening.

"You know, come to think of it...I wonder who would be the father. I mean, let's not forget—Y/N had you and your brother. Talk about keeping it in the family. Not that I blame her. The both of you could make her scream. I bet Crowley's goons are getting the same reaction from her. But not the fun, sexy kind. More like the begging for mercy, 'Please God make it stop' kind of screaming.” You said. Dean could feel himself becoming overwhelmed with too many emotions to process at what he was hearing. He shut his eyes as he exhaled a breath. What he wouldn’t do just for the nightmare to end. When you spoke up again, you used a baby like voice to mock him. “She sure put up a fight when I cut off her widdle finger."

You wiggled your index finger up from the armrest when Dean turned around to face you again with a grin on your lips at how defeated he looked. You decided to be the slightest bit nice and throw him a bone. "Fine. Maybe I'm being mean here. I'll make a deal with you, hun. You are all about saving people, right? Okay. Pick a family to save and we’ll call it even.”

Dean heard every word you said, but he stared at you like you were talking gibberish. "What?"

"Pick. A. Family." You repeated your words, this time, much slower for him to understand. "Come on. You know how this goes. Y/N did it when she picked you over Sammy. So...who gets left on the cutting room floor? Lisa or Y/N? I know, it's a big decision. Choosing either your side chick slut or the dumb bitch who keeps crawling back to you time after time. Even after all the things you did to her in hell. Which, by the way, thanks for that. Really helped boost my ego.”

"You're getting off on this, aren't you?" Dean asked you as he narrowed his eyes slightly on you.

“And you aren’t I mean, look at yourself...this is second nature to you. You learned from the very best and this is what you do? Torturing low level demons you know damn well who have no clue where Crowley is. This is compared to what you really can do. So why not unleash the beast on someone who can handle it? I know you really want to.” You tried to persuade the hunter, but he kept staring at you with those green eyes filled with fear of hurting you. You rolled your eyes and decided to take another route. "Should I get into character? Make this feel more...natural? Like old times?"

Dean watched as you inhaled a deep breath as you adjusted your body best that you could from how you were positioned in the chair. You shut your eyes for a brief moment and composed yourself, gathering the memories of the time from what felt to be life ago. Dean felt himself taken back to that very moment when he saw you finally open your eyes. The arrogance and anger was replaced with...fear. Pure fear of terror as you stared at him like he was the monster.

"Dean," You choked out his name as your bottom lip began to tremble as tears began to form in your wide eyes. Dean stared at you with uncertainty, suddenly wondering what was going on. He gave you a worried expression as he wondered for a moment if it was really you. He found himself being pulled back into the devil’s trap as he inched closer to you. Only when you spoke again, he suddenly realized what you was trying to do. "Please. Don’t hurt me again. Alistair is lying to you. You gotta believe me. I didn't mean to get you killed by Lilith. I didn't, I swear! Please…I can’t take it much longer.”

The older Winchester found himself staring at you with complete disgust at what you were doing. You were trying to recreate a memory from the time in hell while he tortured souls. And yours was the very first one. He took a step back, not realizing that his boot accidentally scraped away part of the devil's trap, releasing you from the hold it had on you. You didn't make your move just yet. You waited until he was standing over you, with those eyes filled with what seemed like guilt at what you were subjecting him to while he strolled down memory lane of a time that he tried so desperately to hide. Only it was the perfect distraction.

“Now, ask yourself. Who’s the real monster here, Dean?” You asked him. “Because remember, you helped make me this way. And I never properly thanked you for that, did I?”

Dean would realize his mistake when he watched your eyes flicker black, giving him a hint that things were about to turn something. Before he could use the knife that was still in his hand,, you didn’t even need to lift a finger as he went flying back to the van that was just across the garage. His body hit the vehicle with enough force to shatter the windows. While he was trying to recover from the blow he took, you worked on getting yourself free.

You easily snapped off the bonds that held you and pushed yourself back up to your feet before you were back over at the man’s side. Before he could try and make a move, you shoved him back, pinning him against the van by grabbing ahold of his neck and squeezing the flesh until you felt him take his last breath. You stared at him with snarling lips at the possibilities of what you could do to the Winchesters. Cas had told Crowley the Winchesters were off limits, but nothing to you. And you were about to have a field day with them,

"You know what my favorite kind of torture is? Physical is fun, but wounds can heal. What really damages a person...is the mental games you can play on simple folk like you." You whispered to him, squeezing his neck even harder, wanting to feel his bones break in your grip. But before he passed out from the lack of oxygen, you decided to give him a piece of mind on the scare you gave him earlier about a responsibility he would never be good for. "Relax, bucko. You're not gonna be a daddy...not to whatever fetus that doomed to grow in Y/N disease ridden womb or that little brat, Ben. Because you’re not father material. You're not good for anything. And you know that.”

You had all the intentions of taking your sweet time of killing Dean before moving onto the other brother, who remained clueless of what was going on between the both of you. You watched in sickening pleasure as Dean's eyelids began to flutter at his surroundings began to appear hazy. The man could feel himself slowly slipping out of consciousness from the grip around his throat. However before his vision could go completely black, something of a miracle happened.

Dean blinked, and just like that, he felt the grip around his throat be released after what felt like an eternity. He quickly inhaled a deep breath of air his lungs were demanding over the past grueling minute and came back to his senses. Dean looked around the garage to see that you had vanished from his sight, and replaced with someone else that he had been hard to ignore. A friend turned enemy...Cas stood across from the man, appearing with an expression that seemed like the angel wanting to talk.

[Next Part]

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fanfic-from-a-67-impala · 7 years

Text

Better With You

Characters: Sam x Reader, Dean; Demon!OMC, OFC

Word Count: 5167 (It's worth it – I promise!)

Summary: You and Sam were an item until you left. When Dean calls you for help on a case years later, you agree. The hunt takes an unexpected turn, and you and Sam are forced to reevaluate what you mean to each other.

Warnings: Lots of angst; there's a fight scene, near-death scenario, mention of rape (no description, though)

A/N: This got away from me. *shrugs* The ending is great, in my completely unbiased opinion :)

Also, first oneshot! Let me know what you think!

The name appearing on your phone stops you in your tracks in the middle of the parking lot. You feel your blood running cold as your finger hovers between the answer and reject buttons, your mind racing with so many possibilities it makes your vision spin.

You regret pressing the button the moment your finger hits it.

"Dean?" you murmur into the receiver.

"(Y/N)?" the familiar voice says. Deeper than when you last heard it, but familiar.

You grip the side of your car, shock threatening to knock you over. "How the hell did you get this number?"

"I know people," he says, voice higher in defense and arrogance. He pauses a beat before admitting, "Garth."

"Right," you sigh. "Bye, Dean."

"Wait, wait – hold on a minute. Hear me out, please," he calls.

When you don't answer, nor does he hear the click of the call's end, he continues. "Are you still on the west coast?"

You hesitate. Telling him would make you easier to track, and you don't believe you have it in you to handle a surprise visit today. Though, if they wanted to hunt you down, they would have found a way in the last year. Or the last five.

"I might be," you resolve.

"Sam and I've been tracking a demon in the area, but we can't make heads or tails of any of it," he says. "Demons are in your wheelhouse, aren't they?"

Sam. Even his name brings you back to the days of passion and longing and yelling, leading up to a final night of passive aggression and a closing door. It brings you to all the reasons you should hang up now.

"I don't know, Dean. Is there really no other hunter in the area?" you try.

"No hunter in this country does what you do," he states.

Though you take other monster cases when you happened upon them, you have dedicated your life to hunting demons, learning their weaknesses and how to track them.

"C'mon, (Y/N). Even Sam's on board."

"He is?" You allow the stoic walls you have built in your voice to crumble in your surprise.

"Yeah, he's all for it – right, Sammy?" You think you hear a rustling on the other end of the line, but you suspect you have imagined it.

The thought of Sam wanting to see you, or at least not willfully opposing working a case together, sends nervous butterflies through your stomach. After so long, maybe the two of you could find a way to work together, if only for this case.

But what if you can't?

What if neither of you can push past past feelings? It took a lifetime to pry him from your mind, and this phone call from his brother proves a painful reminder that you haven't managed to forget him completely, despite your efforts.

"Where?" you sigh, climbing into your car. You haven't caught a case in over a week, have resorted to chasing thin leads that lead to nothing supernatural. Now, a case stares you in the face, with no rational reason to refuse.

"Eagle Point, Oregon. You coming?" he says.

You turn over the engine, knowing you never would have said no. "I'll be there by morning."

Few cars have parked outside the sports bar whose name Dean texted you when you got into town. The gleaming black Impala catches your eye. You force deep breaths into your lungs, pushing away the nerves of seeing Sam again, along with the wonderment of whether he feels the same nerves, and pull the glass door open.

Dean's face crosses into your vision the moment you walk in. He's lost the childish smile and the light in his eyes, which had already begun to fade before you left. He looks older, sadder and weathered, like he's been through things you couldn't imagine.

You suppose you look different, too, after all these years.

Across from him sits a man with brown hair, longer than you remember, back turned to you. The man whose face you still see everywhere, who you can't help but let cross your thoughts everyday, where your mind wanders when you run out of work to focus on.

With all the energy you have, you drag your feet in front of each other toward their table. Dean's eyes drift over you, and snap back to you, unblinking, lips parted in surprise. Maybe he thought you wouldn't come, or maybe you have changed more than you thought.

Seeing his brother's stare, the brown-haired man turns in your direction.

Like a deer stuck in headlights. That's what he looks like. Not like Sam, not like the Sam you knew. So different, you think he may not be someone else for a moment. Like his brother's, his smile has faded, the light in his eyes dimmed. His face has hardened, frown lines forming where they hadn't been before.

He turns back to Dean. "You called (Y/N)?"

You notice how much his voice has deepened, grown out of the childish twinge you hadn't realized you missed until now. A deep voice, shocked and enraged.

"He wasn't on board?" you demand, more harshly than you would have wanted your first exchange with Dean to be.

"I..." he starts, panic growing in his eyes as they dart between you and Sam. "Look, you two can stow your crap for a day, all right? Now, are we hunting this thing or not?"

You don't dare look back at Sam, who gives Dean a disapproving shake of his head in the corner of your eye, but remains silent. You have already driven into town, already prepared for a case, so you slide into the seat between them.

"What have we got?" you huff.

Dean shuffles a folder of papers around while Sam angles his computer toward you, pulling up a map and an array of crime scene photos.

"We've been tracking a series of kills along the northern part of the country," Sam says, finger tracing the lines connecting dots on the map.

You sneak a lingering glance at him while his eyes are occupied with the screen, noting he hasn't lost the spark in his tone while explaining a case. Some things, you think, could never change.

Dean continues, pulling your thoughts back. "He goes after women. He'll get a few in each town, then he'll move on. Rape, murder – the whole nine. Found sulfur at all the crime scenes."

"And you think it's one demon travelling?" you ask, flipping through the reports.

Sam points to a picture on the screen, the side of a woman's face. "He leaves the body in the middle of the road and always kills them the same way – carves her heart out with a knife..."

"And leaves it in her hand," you breathe, eyes darting over the pictures. "Holy hell."

"What, you've seen it before?" Sam asks.

You nod. "A long time ago, over a decade," you recall. "His name's Elliott. Tough son of a bitch. Tracked him down three times before I managed to exorcise him. 'Course, this was before the whole devil's gate-opening, Lucifer-escaping, apocalypse business."

"We tracked the kills up to a few months ago, but we think they go back further," Sam says, catching onto your thoughts.

"And the most recent?"

"Two high schoolers here in town. Last one was yesterday around nine pm," Dean says.

You lean in to get a better look at the report he points to on the screen, but you feel Sam tense beside you. Only when you look across to him do you realize how little room you have left between the two of you. A reflexive, absent-minded movement, one you wouldn't have thought twice about before.

But now, you jerk away. "Sorry," you mumble.

You see hurt in his eyes, you think, at your apology. Why did you apologize?

For the first time in years, you look at each other – really see each other. You see his hazel eyes, the ones you could spend ages staring into at one point. You see the crap he must have been through since you saw him last. And you see yourself through his eyes. The girl who left.

"We, uh – we don't have a lot of time," you say, pulling your eyes and thoughts away. "Why don't I head down to the morgue, and you two see what you can get from friends and family?"

"Great," Dean agrees.

You collapse onto the bed, exhausted. You spent the entire morning calming the panic of a serial killer on the loose flowing through the police station, and the better part of afternoon sorting through the scrambled medical examiner's office before finally getting a look at the body.

The knock at your door slits your eyes open in time to see Dean striding into the room, Sam following close behind, cutting short your moment of peace. "Long day?" Dean says.

You push yourself off the lumpy mattress and onto your feet again. "I'm ready to kill something."

"You and me both, sister," he mutters. "If I gotta listen to any more crying today, I'll start throwing punches."

"They're in mourning, Dean," Sam reminds him.

You shrug off your blazer and drape it over the bed, grateful you had the mind to go to the morgue. You hate talking to the families; Sam was always better with people, caring and sympathetic where you couldn't be. It made you a good team. It made you fall in love with him.

"What'd you guys get?" you ask.

"Her parents weren't much help. They found her room empty last night, thought she snuck out. Only she didn't come back in the morning, and we found sulfur at her window," Dean says.

"According to her friend, she'd met a guy a few days ago," Sam continues. "Apparently, she was spending a lot of time with him, and he used the name you gave us – Elliott. She sent a picture." He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it to you.

The screen displays a picture of a young man in profile, a candid shot, outside with people walking in the background.

"You okay?" Sam asks, picking up on your frown before you realized your mouth had turned down.

You hand his phone back to him. "The guy he possessed last time had blond hair and blue eyes, just like this one."

"Lookalike meat suits? Do demons do that?" Dean questions.

"Occasionally," you shrug. "They can get sentimental. And this guy's strong enough to take his pick."

"Lucky us," he comments. "You get anything?"

"Nothing we didn't already know," you sigh. "Same deal – heart carved out, in her hand. Only they found mud on her, so they think she was killed near the creek that runs through here, but they don't know where."

"That's, what – two miles of land they're combing through?" Sam says. "The next girl could be dead by the time they find anything."

You pull out a piece of paper from your pocket and unfold it on the table, revealing a map. "So, I did some digging," you continue, pointing to red "X"s on the map. "These are all the churches in Eagle Point."

"They're all on the eastern side of town," Dean notes.

"And demons tend to set up camp as far away from consecrated ground as they can get, so I say we start looking –" you slide your finger to where the creek meets the far side of town "– here."

Dean nudges his brother's shoulder, smirking. "Told you we needed her."

You feel heat rising in your cheeks at the thought of them talking about you, Dean convincing his brother they couldn't solve the case without you. And the prick in Sam's heart strong enough to tell him no.

When you manage to lift your eyes to him, though, he gives you a small smile. You return it without a second thought, almost comfortable in the knowledge that this encounter with Sam won't be one of hatred and past grievances. He will trudge through polite small talk with a living, breathing reminder of what could have been, his good nature never allowing otherwise. If someone cracks the eggshells below your feet, both of you know, it will be you.

Paint fumes permeate the air, cutting through the rotten egg smell. After a half-mile walk along the stream, you and the boys stumbled upon an old boathouse outside of town, the moisture-swollen floorboards dotted with clumps of sulfur.

At the table toward the back of the room, in the dim light of the narrow windows letting in the early evening sunlight. Sam refills the shotgun shells with salt. You focus on the faint pattering of the granules tumbling into the metal casing, the clicking of the gun as he loads them, even the hissing of spray paint as you mark out the devil's trap on the ground.

You don't focus on the silence between the sounds, or on being alone with him for the first time in years.

The pentagram comes naturally to you by now, the symbols you could draw in your sleep. But, halfway through the circle, the line of paint from the nozzle becomes faint. You rattle the can, granting you a short stroke of color before it fades again. Rattle, spray, fade; faster with each cycle.

You want to slam your head into a wall. Your spare can is in your car, a ten-minute walk away, which would cut down on precious preparation time. The boys may have packed some, but that would mean breaking the already uncomfortable silence.

"Hey."

You dart your head up toward Sam and catch the spray paint can he throws in your direction.

"Thanks," you mumble, abashedly.

Dean walks through the sliding wooden doors as you finish the trap, illuminating the painted floor with grey light. "Brought the car around. Found this by the stream," he announces, holding up a hand. Mud coats his fingertips, lined with a brownish red residue.

"Blood?" Sam questions.

"Enough to drain a teenage girl," he says.

You bite your lip, thinking of the blood, such an obvious clue left by an expert killer.

"What is it?" Sam asks, catching your nervous habit.

"The meat suit, the name, the kills. And now, the blood." You ask the question you have been dreading. "Does it seem a little too easy?"

"You think it's a trap?" he says.

"I think everything's a trap," you answer.

A wave of unease passes through the room, the awareness of your vulnerability surfacing.

Dean shrugs. "So, even if it is..." he nods to you.

"We'll kick it in the ass," you finish, unable to hide the uncertainty in your tone.

"Damn straight. Then it's beers on me," he says. "And then what do you say we catch another case somewhere, get you out of the rain?"

"Dean," Sam warns.

"What?" Dean shoots back. "We'll get the band back together. It'll be great."

You can't help but think how great it was to hunt with them, to have backup, to not be lonely everyday. To not have to shoulder the weight alone.

Sam turns to you with pained, unreadable eyes, and you know it could never go back to the way it was, no matter how hard you both tried.

"One case at a time," you advise, pulling attention back to the demon more harshly than you intended.

As the sun sets outside, darkening the room, you help Dean pour holy water from a jug into flasks at the table while Sam places hex bags in the corners of the room to conceal your presence.

A chill runs down your spine, and you notice the smell of sulfur growing stronger. You know better than to chalk it up to your imagination.

"Guys," you say into the darkness. "It's here."

Sam glances up from where he stands at the far end of the room, near the door. His hands go to his sides, searching for a weapon.

"Hey," you call, tossing him his shotgun, loaded with salt.

He nods in thanks and aims it at the door. You check your own gun and slink around the table, watching Dean do the same. The three of you wait in silence for the doors to open, or for a shift in the air, maybe.

After moments of hearing only your own low breathing, the room begins to relax, weapons lowering and eyes darting to each other. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe it was just a breeze, or your paranoia.

You see Sam shoot up again before you hear it. A faint crying, a girl's voice, growing clearer by the second until you can make out words. "Help! Someone, please, help me!"

You glance around the room to form a plan with the boys, but Sam has already rushed out the door.

"Sammy! Damn it," Dean mutters, reaching for the demon blade before he strides across the room.

You grab a flask and follow him out the door into the cool air, through a grove to the side of the house. You reach an arm out to where Dean stands behind you, facing the opposite direction, making sure you don't lose him to the darkness.

Guns raised, you scan the trees for movement, ears tuned for a sound over the whisper of the stream water, until you hear a soft whimper and dash toward it.

Dean reaches her first – a young girl, maybe high school aged, curled up in the dirt, gagged, and bound at the wrists and ankles. Her eyes go wide in fear when she sees you approaching.

"We're here to help," Dean assures her in a hushed tone, undoing her gag. "Are you hurt?"

You stand above them, eyes on the surrounding trees, glimpsing down only once to tap Dean's shoulder with the flask of holy water.

He unscrews the cap and the liquid sloshes, but no screams or sizzling of demon skin.

Your feet skate around them, longing to move, to find Sam before Elliott does. "Which way did he go?" you say, as gently as you can manage.

She raises a shaking finger to the creek.

"You got her?" you mumble.

"Go." He waves you forward, but you have already taken off, willing your feet to move as fast as your heart races.

A shot rings through the air, then another. You follow the sound outside the grove and into a grassy area near the water. You see blond hair first, reflecting the moonlight, knelt over a darker figure. As you sprint toward them, the sight becomes clearer.

Elliott, in the same young man whose picture you saw earlier, holding Sam to the ground, hands around his neck.

You shoot a round into his side, knocking him over, warranting a strained gasp from Sam.

Drawing Elliott's attention away from him, you scramble toward the edge of the stream and raise the gun again. The demon pulls himself to his feet, laughing a low, throaty chuckle, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

"(Y/N)," he sneers. "Long time."

You strike him with the butt of your gun, but he only stumbles backward before lunging, knocking the wind out of you. In an instant, he has sent your gun flying to the side. Cursing yourself for not thinking to get the demon knife from Dean, you swing, the impact of his jaw under your fist sending a biting jolt through your arm.

He spits blood, treading close enough to tower over you, even as you rise to your feet. "You know, for all the hype," he drones, "you sure took your sweet time."

You swing again, but he catches your hand, contorting your wrist until it has bent around, bringing you to your knees again as a hiss of pain escapes your lips.

"I mean, you're supposed to be this top-notch demon slayer. Yikes – scary!" he exclaims with mock terror as he twists your arm. Your stomach hits the grass and pressure on your back forces your chest into the ground.

A wave of panic goes through you when you realize you can't hear Sam breathing anymore, but you can't raise your head enough to turn it toward him.

"You had to know I'd get out eventually, so imagine my disappointment when I couldn't get your attention," Elliott continues.

The image of blood comes to your mind again, coating the tips of Dean's fingers. Blond hair and blue eyes. Hearts carved out of girls and placed in their hands. It was a trap, and you stepped right into it. Worse yet, you let Sam and Dean step into it.

"And then, I remembered you were awfully cozy with these boys, particularly Winchester extra-large," he adds, a smirk in his voice.

"You son of a bitch," you breathe into the grass.

He bend your arm back further, extracting a groan from your throat. But behind it, you can hear another voice – Sam's voice – uttering a string of words. "Exorcizamus te, omnis imundus spiritus..."

The pressure on your back becomes heavier, but his grip loosens. You yank your wrist out of his grasp and push him off of you.

You feel like you can breathe again, maybe from the release of the weight of his foot pressing on your lungs, maybe from seeing Sam on his feet.

Elliott flinches, brows knitting in fury, but the corners of his mouth turn up in a smirk. Before you can make another move, he flings a hand to the side.

"Omnis legio, omnis congrega–" Sam flies to the stream, landing with a splash.

"Sam!" you shout. Though the water appears shallow and you know he can swim, his arms and legs continue to flail, the water sloshing around him, as if an invisible force holds him under.

You leap toward him, but you have barely brushed his hand when something pulls you away, throwing your back into a tree.

Elliott shoves his forearm into your windpipe, striking down any hopes of finishing the exorcism.

"Maybe I should kill your boyfriend here," he remarks. "I imagine that would hurt something awful. Almost as much as, you know, being sent to Hell."

The splashing sounds weaken; you can only hope because you are further away now. You push against his arm, if only in frustration, but it remains unyielding.

"What do you want?" you croak.

He holds up a small knife, no longer than his hand. "I want you to hold your own beating heart in your hand as I carve it out of your chest."

You listen for the water again. Silence.

"Let him go, and we'll talk," you reply, desperation creeping into your strained voice.

"Are you trying to bargain with me?" he scoffs. "You do realize I'm holding all the cards?"

You catch movement out of the corner of your eye, behind him, creeping closer and closer. "Maybe," you say, and thrust a knee into his stomach. He doubles over, turning back to you in a second, but you push at his shoulders while Dean drives the demon blade into the back of his chest.

Orange light emits from his mouth and eyes, both wide in shock, but you don't wait to watch his body drop before tearing through the stretch of grass and to Sam's still figure past the edge of the creek.

You pull him by his arm as close to the riverbank as you can, kneeling waist-deep in the water.

"Sam! Hey," you shout. When he doesn't move, you shake his shoulders, swat at his cheek. "Sam, please, look at me... open your eyes, please." You let your plea fade to a whisper, not sure if you are begging to him or some kind of god, some higher power.

No response. He remains still, silent. Almost peaceful, with his long hair pasted back with water, though a stray lock crosses his forehead. His skin glistens in the moonlight, but all you want to see are those hazel eyes.

You let two fingers hover above his neck, above where a pulse would be, and hesitate to let your fingers press down, because if you find nothing...

His chest shudders, so quickly you think you imagined it. But a jolt runs through him, and he leans to the side, drawing in shallow gasps at first and deepening them as he coughs up water back into the stream. He jumps when he sees you beside him.

"Easy, easy," you say, but your voice breaks, and you become aware of the tears spilling over your cheeks. Only then do you tear your eyes away from his, wanting to collapse with relief over seeing them again.

You told the boys you would drive the girl home. She didn't give you a name, only remained frozen in the passenger seat, speaking only to murmur for you to take the next left. She didn't say what he did, and you didn't ask.

Back in your room, showered and dressed again, you throw your waterlogged clothes into a plastic bag for the next time you come across a laundromat. You pack the bag into a duffel, along with the rest of your belongings – your suit and some soap.

Your fingers linger over the zipper as you consider telling the boys goodbye. Neither of them acted anything but kind to you, and you don't want to leave on bad terms. But you would have to give them a reason for leaving so soon, before a night's sleep. And you couldn't tell them you want to put as much distance between you and them as possible. Hunts like these are why you work alone. You can't risk anyone getting caught in the crossfire, especially not them. Not Sam.

The doorknob turning rips you from your thoughts, but before you can reach for your gun, Sam steps into the dim light of your room. His long hair is smoothed back and glossy, like he took a shower, and a grin plays on his lips, reminding you of the way he always seemed to have a smile behind even a frown. A smile you missed.

"Dean and I are gonna grab a bite. You coming with?" he asks.

You cast an awkward glance down at your bag and watch as the light flickers from his eyes, his smile fading.

"You're leaving?"

His voice falls, and you let the thought of staying cross your mind.

"You know I have to," you say, to both him and yourself.

He closes the door behind him. "Look, I know it's been weird between us," he begins, choosing his words carefully. "But the way we fought together today – the way we hunted..."

"We've both been doing just fine on our own," you say.

"Have we?" he argues. "Have you? Because I know I haven't been half as happy as I was when it was you and me."

You bite your lip, thrown off by the outburst more than his words, not what you expected from the gentle-natured boy you thought you knew.

He stands nearer now, halfway between you and the door. "Whatever it is, we can work it out. You don't have to go."

"I 'don't have to go'?" you scoff. "Sorry, have you forgotten that you almost died tonight?"

"You know what we do. This was just another night," he says.

"No, Sam," you insist. "You almost died."

You surprise yourself with your honesty, watching realization pass over his face, bringing with it a solemnity that renders him speechless.

"You almost died," you repeat, the words sinking in. "You could've... because of some demon I hunted years ago. Then, where the hell would we be? What would Dean have done, huh? What would I have done?"

When he says nothing, you finish zipping up your bag, but his hand brushes over yours, warranting a gasp from you as you glance up at him. His eyes hold yours, wide and deep and sincere, not darting down with nervousness or awkwardness. They hypnotize you, sending butterflies fluttering through your stomach to the tips of your toes.

"These past few years – they've been more dangerous than anything we've seen before, and you've probably seen your fair share of it, too," he says, calmly. "It's a risk, getting close to people in this life, and if you don't want to, I'll drop it."

You blink back the tears you feel forming behind your eyes, but he doesn't let you lower your gaze.

"I don't know what you've been doing all this time. I know we've both hunted enough crap to wreak havoc on each other's lives," he continues. "But I also know that Dean and I are better with you. We always were."

He stands closer now – so close you have to tilt your head up to look at him – your bodies almost against each other, his hand still a gentle blanket over yours.

"I'm better with you. The rest, we can figure out," he promises.

You drop your eyes as you feel his hand grazing your hip, but you let it glide across your back and draw you nearer.

"Sam, I left." You say it like a question, like a flaw in a plan. Like a plea for forgiveness.

"And I pushed you away," he retorts.

"Because we didn't work."

The space between you dwindles, turning the beating of your heart into a vibration. He tilts your chin back up and catches your eyes again.

"We're not kids anymore, (Y/N). We deserve another chance."

His voice holds more passion than you thought possible. Not the innocent fervor it used to have, but now with conviction, a genuine maturity you find difficult to argue with.

He has grown up, and so have you, you realize.

And you believe him.

"Okay."

His eyes go wide in surprise, like he expected a different answer. "'Okay'?"

"Okay," you repeat, nodding. "You're right. And I've never been better than when I'm with you. If there's a chance in hell we can make this work," you lace your fingers through his, above the forgotten duffel bag, "I'll take it with you."

He stares at you, eyes still wide in wonder, and your stomach does a flip. He leans down and places his lips on yours, only for a moment. You freeze in his arms, anxiety and desire and sorrow pouring over you in quantities too great for you to comprehend.

When you don't respond, he pulls away, ducking his head. He stammers out the beginning of an apology, but you lift your heels off the ground, a hand going to the back of his damp hair, and bring your lips to his, cutting him off.

He pulls you closer, closing the gap between you two. You hold each other tight and start down the long road of making up for lost time.

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