I’m writing an obimaul fic that diverges from s01e07 of maul shadow lord because I’m extremely ill for them, here’s the link! I plan to update as often as I can!
There’s also a heavy focus on Icarus and Scorn because I miss them BAD
For @genderthings Transmasc Eddie week day 6 prompt "Corroded Coffin" | rating: T | wc: 887 | cw: mentions of periods and period sex (no actual sex).
summary: Gareth, Jeff, Bear, and Eddie are on their annual boys trip. While searching in Eddie's bag, Gareth finds something he's never seen before.
AO3
They started the annual boys trip tradition the summer after Corroded Coffin disbanded.
It was too hard to make a name when Gareth was still in high school and Jeff’s parents insisted he go to college for a “real” job. Bear decided to take over his dad’s tire shop and Eddie pursued a solo career.
He’s actually been pretty successful. But even as they went down different paths, the four boys swore to remain friends.
The first trip was Chicago. Then New York, Miami, Houston, San Francisco; this year they’re in Nashville.
It wouldn’t be Gareth’s first choice; but, Eddie talked it up a lot when he performed here a few months ago. So, of course the others wanted to check it out.
One thing he didn’t mention was how fucking hot it is; the humidity is making his already frizzy hair even worse. Even in their air conditioned hotel room, Gareth feels like he’s drinking every breath. Sharing the room for the next week is going to be miserable, but that’s all part of the fun.
“Do you think Eddie has a spare hair tie?” He asks Jeff, who’s laying splayed out on the floor. He’d ask Eddie, but he’s in the shower.
“Probably. His bag is the gray one,” Jeff replies, pointing across the room.
Groaning, Gareth shuffles to the bag, unzips it, and digs around until he finds Eddie’s toiletry bag. Excited to get his hair off his neck, Gareth up ends the small bag. He expects the toothpaste, curl cream, and sunscreen. What he doesn’t expect is the handful of plastic tubes on the bottom.
Furrowing his brows, Gareth picks one up curiously. Why the hell did Eddie bring these?
-------------------------------------------------
Steam follows Eddie out of the bathroom as he opens the door. Refreshed, he’s ready to show his friends the best restaurant in Nashville.
Bear’s asleep on one of the beds, Jeff lays starfish style in the middle of the floor, and Gareth… is digging through Eddie’s stuff.
“Whatcha doing there Gare-bear?” Eddie asks, raising an eyebrow.
“I was looking for a hair tie, but I found these,” Gareth turns around, holding a handful of tampons. Eddie’s eyes widen and his cheeks heat.
“Oh,” he squeaks, voice cracking.
“Dude what the hell! Why would you bring these on a boys trip?” Gareth asks, incredulously. Why is he mad about this?
“Why were you in my bag?” Eddie throws back. Trying not to panic, he wraps his arms around himself protectively.
“Dude, what’s your problem?” Jeff groans from the floor. “It’s not like Eddie can control it, stop being a douche.”
Eddie sighs, grateful that at least one of his friends isn’t suddenly a huge asshole. He bumps Jeff with his foot in thanks.
“Oh he totally can. None of us ever try to get lucky on these trips. Why can’t Eddie keep it in his pants?” Gareth replies, crossing his arms.
Huh? Now Eddie’s really confused. Before he can ask what he means, Bear sits up obviously woken up by the argument.
“Oh gross!” He shouts. “That’s disgusting, no offense Eddie.”
“None taken, very few want to earn their red wings,” he wiggles his eyebrows, making Bear groan.
“What are red wings?” Now it’s Gareth’s turn to be confused.
“Sex and head while someone’s on their period. No kink shame, but it’s not a thing for me. I’m not one to turn it down, but I’m not seeking it out, you know?” Eddie says no longer embarrassed. “Plus I probably won’t start this trip, I just like being prepared.” He shrugs, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Start what?” Gareth asks, putting everything back in Eddie’s bag.
“Gare, honey. What do you think those are?” Eddie finally asks, fully convinced there’s a huge misunderstanding.
“They’re tubes of lube, right?” He replies.
A snort escapes Eddie that he tries to smother even as Jeff and Bear burst out in loud laughter. “What? What’s so funny?!” Gareth stomps his foot.
“Those are tampons, Gare. Kind of the exact opposite of lube,” Eddie explains once he’s not choking on his own spit.
“Wait why do you need…” Gareth trails off, his face turning an alarming shade of red. “Shit, I forgot that you…” he buries his head in his hands.
There’s no way Eddie can hold back this time. Tears run down his face as he laughs until his stomach aches, unable to breath through it.
Once he calms down a little, he pats his friend’s shoulder reassuringly.
“I’m flattered that you forgot I have a uterus; and, I’m also pretty concerned that you don’t know what a tampon looks like. But rest assured, o matter what, the boys trip is still a sacred ‘don’t get laid’ zone.”
“Not that it’ll be hard for you if you think that’s what lube looks like,” Bear chimes in, tossing a pillow at Gareth. With a groan, Gareth relents, laughing at his own expense.
“Now that Gareth proved he’s never looked under a girlfriend’s sink, can we go eat?” Jeff asks.
“Hell yeah! There’s this awesome barbecue place that has crazy good mac and cheese,” Eddie grins, jumping to his feet and pulling on his shoes.
“I still need a hair tie,” Gareth says. Eddie yanks one off his wrist and flings it, nailing him on the nose.
It was uncomfortable in the beginning, now it's just annoying. A strange beast stalking me, watching my every move? Rank.
Romantic~ /sarc
He'd show up in my windows, stretched grin plastered to his too-pale face stained with shadows. Purposefully scaring me several times a day. Not hurting me every time, but it was making me crazy, anxious. It's a being that seems intrinsically tethered to the darkness, like he's wearing a human face as a mask.
Then one day, he'd lured me out of the village, and chased me down. A few times it seemed like he was hesitating. The Knocker was not. It was playing. My heart was pounding when i strangled it with a dirty sweater I left on the floor. You would think a monster would be absolutely pissed after— but, no.
When he was free of my makeshift snare he just stared. Shook like a tree, but eyes full of mania. Which was an uncanny presence in those dead, expressionless eyes. And his smile was wider than usual. But then it… he disappeared right in front of me, like ash scattering in the wind.
And I basically threw a tantrum. Cursing like a teenager, he was so… HE IS SO.. ugh.
Fucking annoying.
(Day 350): Mini Entry ───
I hate that he's growing on me. I keep looking for him, i need to stop doing that.
(Day 392): Mini Entry ───
The Knocker hasn't been showing up lately. I'm dreading the possibility he's setting up a huge, heart-attack inducing scare… Or that he's bored now and is gonna literally bury the hatchet. Into my skull.
Already proven before that it has no problem or remorse in causing me harm, specifically.
It's way too quiet. I think I was getting used to his dumb knocking at night, I haven't been sleeping very often.
sleep deprived babez hot girl problems yabaiii
(Day 400): Update entry ───
I can't believe I'm admitting this. I miss the creepy bastard. He.. It used to greet me in the windows in my mornings, sometimes just staring or with a scare. I'd been making faces at it, trying to get a reaction.
And now he's… gone? How gone? Like, did he leave or.. Or is he just hiding again? How long is he going to play this?
(Day 402) Entry 2 ───
I hate him so much. He was gone, he was! He reappeared after I left that dumb sign. I knew it was a bad idea. Scared the crap outta me!
But.
Why do I feel better? There's something so wrong with me.
He left me fresh meat in the fridge. I don't know how he even knew I needed it. Was he gone? Or just hiding… Listening to me talk out loud?He ate two WHOLE pieces of my blackberry pie, and i pretended to care. But I don't. Not really… I can't eat a whole pie by myself.
He spoke, and it's a creaky, ashy sound. He didn't…couldn't? raise his voice above a low whisper. He teases, and jokes. Is that possible for a night creature? You would think the village cleric would've observed such a thing. And written it down or something.
Then he got real close. Answered me. Stayed glued to my back for way too long. The air around him is chilly, and he's very big up close. Towering.
And now i can't stop imagining… unhealthy, filthy things. If it was for a person? It wouldn't be a problem but—
The Knocker isn't a person. But UNFORTUNATELY my lady bits don't care. I've never had this much attention before, it's..frustrating. Would it be absolutely bat shit crazy-stupid to…?
NO— Absolutely not. But.. if he's gonna kill me eventually anyways, what's the actual harm?
Dying? Being tortured? Mmmm… I'm not very good at math. He's strangely beautiful, attentive, kinda hot too… in a weird way.
I pity the fool who reads this diary actually
He looks softer up close. Shape-wise anyways, because his face is... rough. Attractive. That's dumb, right? Maybe I'm delusional. He has a carved squarish nose, strong, prominent, hooking downward. Strong jaw, deep-set eyes. It's pale with dark patches stained onto it's face, smeared, worn... like a clown after a bad day, but its a permanent part of it's face. The streaks almost look like tears. It doesn't seem to have eyebrows, like, at all. Intense deep eyes of void that fixate so dramatically, so incessantly they pierce my soul, and remain on me even when i can't see him. I could swear i saw hair tucked under that hood, but I can't really be certain.
He flickers at the edges, like black smoke rising and swaying. But tangible, because I could feel him against my back, in my face, and under my fingers when I touched his hand.
His mouth is… not average truly, but not as stationary, or permanent as it seemed at first glance. It moves almost imperceptibly when he speaks. Not like it's carved into a mask, or painted on. Smiling just seems to be the natural state of its face, a not-quite-right kinda smile. As if its wearing a learned behavior and not understanding what it means.
They are… aesthetically speaking, rather pretty. kissable...
And there is a gnarly scar that trails across both lips up to his left eye as black as the rest of his mouth, it blends into his smile unless you look real close. Why is he handsome???? His breathing is quiet, but rasping. It fills the back of his voice when he speaks. drool shutTHEFUCK
It should scare me. He's real. Present and real. He's been in my grasp only once, and yowzah he's WAY too strong. Scary strong, scary heavy. But…
the unfortunate, god-awful truth I've realized;
It's been holding back this whole time.
He's… playing. This is a game. A very fucked up one, for sure. And if that's the case…
Wicked— I can play too.
If he's going to piss me off and get under my skin every single day? How about a new game—
I'm going to fuck The Knocker.
────────────────────────────────────────
No. The fuck is she thinking? SUCH a stupid, foolish idea. Maybe stupid enough to work? Wasn't there a horror movie where one of the women tried to seduce the antag. and got murdered immediately? Probably.
Goddess, she misses movies.
What else could she write about it? Him? Humanizing the monster, again. Not a person. He fizzled like, 10 seconds after she touched his hand. With her very.. sweaty hands…
Alice sighs, leaning back in her chair.
She's going stir crazy with all of… everything. Its faint whistling is like white noise, the only break she gets is by going to the village. Like most night creatures, it avoids the golem. Honestly? He could probably beat it, she muses. Maybe a weird nonverbal agreement they have.
Either way, it gets her out of the house. It pisses off The Knocker, and she gets a break. Win-win. Maybe he'll appear up close again…
She shivers, face suddenly too warm.
A flicker of void catches her attention in her peripheral. Knows better than to ignore him completely. So she settles for tilting her head towards him, in the window.
Small smile, and a cheeky wink.
Alice has never seen The Knocker furrow his brows, but that smile doesn't fade. Awarding her the closest Knocker equivalent expression to 'bemused'. It squints at her for a moment before obscuring into ash. (Hawt. noshutup)
Now that's a reaction. This might actually work.
────
<-Previous Chapter -- Next Chapter
Also on AO3 -> LINK
A/N: This one's shorter on purpose! Next chapter I plan to be a bit longer! It'll take place on the same day in story! (and maybe today lolz, i wanna post it today if i can) Also, this is an alternating POV style fic series! I'd say a mix of third person, and first? But only very rarely in the same chapter, like this one!
Chapter summary: Sam’s acting strange, sneaking around and keeping things from his brother. Dean’s sure something’s wrong, and when Dean Winchester thinks there’s a secret, he goes hunting for answers.
Which is how you end up stuck in the Impala, hours into a stakeout that turns into a whole different kind of conversation.
Tags: Established relationship, Trust issues, Fluff, Light angst, Light dirty talk, Sam Winchester goes to college, Sam Winchester is done, No smut, Plus-Size reader, POV Dean Winchester, POV alternating, POV second person
⸻
The alley was too narrow for comfort, a jagged spine of brick walls and rusted fire escapes pressing in on either side. The wet slap of his boots on the pavement was the only sound.
It was too damn quiet.
Dean’s breath ghosted in the cold air, the kind that cut sharp deep inside lungs. Somewhere ahead, metal creaked, soft, but wrong…
He palmed his gun on instinct, thumb brushing the safety off.
The alley spat him out into a parking lot littered with broken glass. Across from him, an old storefront sagged in on itself, windows smashed out, the black maw of the door yawning open. The kind of place anyone with sense would steer clear of.
His pulse kicked up, hard.
Inside was worse. The stink hit him first. Copper and rot, thick enough to taste. The flicker of a bare bulb somewhere deeper in barely cut the shadows.
‘Sam?’ His voice bounced off the walls.
No answer.
Dean’s boots crunched over debris as he moved toward the light. His grip on the gun tightened.
That’s when he saw him.
Sam was on his knees in the center of the room, head bowed, hands braced on a shape Dean couldn’t make out at first. A body.
‘Sammy…’ It came out sharper this time.
Sam lifted his head, slow. Too slow.
His mouth was smeared with blood. Not just a little, thick dark streaks along his lips, chin, down his shirt. His eyes were glassy, fixed on nothing, like whatever was left inside wasn’t Sam anymore.
‘What… what the hell did you do?’ Dean heard himself say.
Sam smiled. The blood on his teeth made it worse. ‘You can’t stop it this time, Dean.’
Dean’s throat went dry. ‘Stop what?!’
Sam’s hands left the limp body with a wet sound. He stood in one smooth, unnatural motion, the corpse collapsing behind him.
Dean raised his gun, but the walls seemed to close in, shadows curling around him, dragging the air out of the room…
Dean jerked awake.
The room was dark, familiar. Sheets tangled around his legs. His chest heaved like he’d sprinted the whole way back from Hell.
Her hand was already on his back, warm, steady, tracing slow lines over his spine. The other slid over his arm, pulling him back into the here and now.
He let his head hang forward, squeezing his eyes shut. ‘Son of a bitch…’
She didn’t say a word, just shifted closer until her knee brushed his hip, fingers smoothing the damp hair at the back of his neck. That subtle hum of hers was there, probably magic, probably without her even realizing, but it wasn’t the magic that was dragging him back from the edge. It was her.
Minutes passed before she spoke. ‘What was it?’
Dean’s jaw tightened. Nightmares hadn’t touched him in a long time, not since she’d been in his bed.
Well… except for the one that still broke through now and then, no matter what.
Her, lying in a pool of her own blood, chest split open by her own hand.
Her, on a bunker bed, skin cold, eyes closed, unmoving.
And now… Sam.
He swallowed, pushing those images back into the dark. ‘Dreamt of Sam,’ he said finally, voice rough.
Her hand kept moving over his back until his breathing evened out a little.
‘What happened in it?’ she asked softly.
Dean dragged a hand down his face. ‘…Found him. Mouth was… covered in blood. Whole place stank like it. And he…’ Dean stopped, chest tightening. ‘He was smiling.’
She stayed quiet for a second. ‘That’s… pretty awful.’
‘Yeah,’ he muttered, staring at the dark wall.
‘You think it means anything?’
Dean shook his head once. ‘Nah. Probably just my brain dredging up old crap. Had dreams like that back when…’ He trailed off, shrugging it away. ‘Not the first time my head’s been an asshole.’
Her fingers traced lightly over his arm. ‘Or maybe you just miss him. He’s been at college a lot lately, right? Whole weekends gone.’
Dean let out a huff. ‘Yeah. Maybe. Probably.’
She didn’t press him further, and he was grateful for it. ‘Sorry I woke you up. Let’s just get back to sleep,’ he said, shifting to lie back down.
She followed, and he glanced over his shoulder with a faint smirk. ‘Be the big spoon?’
That got her smiling as she curled in behind him, her front pressing into his bare back, arms wrapping around his waist. The warmth of her full breasts against his skin pulled an involuntary sound out of him.
‘Mm,’ he hummed in appreciation. ‘Better than a heated blanket. Be a hell of a lot comfier if you ditched the shirt.’
She chuckled, and a moment later he felt her tug her sleep shirt up, bare skin sliding against his back.
He groaned quietly. ‘Perfect.’
The smirk lingered on his face even as his eyes drifted shut, the last thing he felt before sleep took him again being the steady rise and fall of her breathing at his back.
⸻
You were in the library, rewriting all your handwritten notes on spells and wardings into your laptop. Across the table, Dean was on his own, flipping through local news and obits, but his focus wasn’t on the screen. Every couple minutes he’d check his phone, toss it down, pick it back up, scowl, and repeat. He was chewing his cheek raw, muttering curses under his breath.
After the hundredth throat clear, you gave up.
‘Okay, you wanna talk about it?’ You dragged your eyes off the screen to glare at him.
‘What?’ He frowned.
‘You losing your mind over your brother.’
‘What?’ he repeated, and that limited vocabulary was already grating.
‘Dean, come on.’ You crossed your arms. ‘You’ve been more annoying than usual ever since Sam called to say he wasn’t coming home.’
Dean leaned back in his chair, ‘Oh no, see, I can handle him being away. He’s a big boy. Needs his space, whatever.'
You arched a brow. Yeah, right.
‘But I would appreciate it if His Royal Highness sent a memo about when he plans on gracing us with his presence for dinner. I’m starving over here.’
‘Dean, you just ate a bag of chips and a donut.’
‘Yeah, well,’ he shot back, fumbling, ‘I need my protein, too, alright? These muscles don’t just happen, sweetheart.’
That finally broke you, laughter spilling out. Dean smirked too, pleased with himself for cracking you even while you’re annoyed.
‘Listen,’ you said, ‘I’m sure Sam is-’
The bunker door creaked, and heavy boots clomped down the stairs.
Dean’s head snapped up. ‘Well, look who finally decided to show up.’
Sam rounded the corner with that long-suffering look, but before Dean could get another jab in, he lifted a white paper bag. The smell of fast food filled the room.
Dean’s eyes narrowed, caught between suspicion and delight. ‘Are those… cheeseburgers?’
‘Yeah,’ Sam said, setting the bag down on the table. ‘Figured I’d bring some back.’
Dean leaned forward, brows raised high. ‘What, you feelin’ guilty or somethin’?’
‘What? No,’ Sam shot back too fast, too defensive. ‘Why would I feel guilty?’
Dean didn’t answer, just arched a brow even higher.
From your spot across the table, you caught it instantly, the hesitation, the dodge, the way Sam avoided Dean’s eyes. He was definitely hiding something.
⸻
Grease-stained paper bags sat open on the library table, the sharp scent of cheeseburgers filling the room. Sam unwrapped his food carefully, in silence. Dean, on the other hand, was tearing into his burger with a scowl, chewing like it had personally offended him.
Sam cleared his throat once. Then again. Dean’s eyes flicked up, flat and unimpressed.
You sighed, setting your burger down. ‘So… how are things at college?’
‘Fine,’ Sam said quickly, eyes darting anywhere but Dean. ‘Actually… I’ve been thinking about changing my major.’
That finally got Dean’s attention. His chewing slowed, eyebrow arched in a way that made Sam visibly regret opening his mouth.
‘From anthropology to forensics,’ Sam rushed on. ‘Feels like it’d be more useful for the job. You know, crime scenes, evidence handling, all of that.’
Dean swallowed his bite, leaned back in his chair, and gave a low hum that was half amusement, half snark.
You shot him a warning look before he could open his mouth. ‘Don’t even.’
‘What? I didn’t say anything,’ he said, too innocent, and you rolled your eyes hard enough to make your point.
Sam picked up his burger again, very clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation. But just as he took a bite, his phone buzzed against the table. His eyes flicked down, and without a word he grabbed it and stood.
‘I’ll… take this in my room,’ he muttered, already heading for the hallway.
The door swung shut behind him, leaving you and Dean in silence. Dean was chewing again, this time with way too much force. He didn’t say anything. But the suspicious glare he leveled at the hallway said plenty.
⸻
‘Dean, for God’s sake, just be reasonable, please.’
They were back in the bunker. Back in their room. Duffles dumped on the couch, boots kicked half-off after a ghoul hunt that had dragged on way too long and ended way too bloody. He should’ve been dead tired. Should’ve been sprawled out with her, winding down, letting her hands and her warmth pull the tension out of him.
But he couldn’t.
Not when his head was a mess with everything that was off about Sam.
The phone. Always on his damn phone. Ducking out of rooms, taking calls outside. Coming home late, with half-baked excuses. Hell, Dean had caught him sneaking out of the motel room one night, phone clutched in his hand. Dean had seen red, had a fit right there in the room until she got so fed up she’d snapped at him, told him to shut it and demanded they start getting separate rooms just so Sam could get some privacy.
Privacy. Right. That’s what she thought this was.
She didn’t get it.
Dean’s jaw ticked as he leaned against the dresser, staring at the floor like it might give him answers. She didn’t understand. Sam was hiding something. And that only ever ended one way…
‘You wanna tell me that guy isn’t acting weird?’ Dean snapped, finally lifting his eyes to her. ‘Sneaking off, taking calls outside, coming home late, dodging every damn question-’
‘Sure, it’s weird,’ she cut in evenly. ‘But I’m also willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and allow him some personal space.’
Dean barked a humorless laugh. ‘Screw personal space. He’s hiding something from me.’
‘Or maybe he has good reason. That doesn’t give you the right to go through his phone or his laptop, Dean.’
‘Hey,’ his eyes narrowed. ‘For my defense, I wasn’t expecting him to walk in on me, because I thought you had my back and were watching the damn door.’
Her arms crossed, unimpressed. ‘Yeah, I never agreed to that. And you were being an idiot.’
Dean ground his teeth. He wanted to snap back, but the words jammed in his throat. All that came out was the truth he hated saying out loud. ‘You just don’t get it. Sam’s hiding something from me. And it’s either some demon bitch pushing blood down his throat again, or he’s being possessed, or… or something. I know it. I just know.’
'Dean.' Her voice softened, but her eyes stayed firm. 'You don’t have proof of any of that. He’s acting weird, yeah. But that doesn’t mean it’s supernatural.'
Dean scoffed, but didn’t fire back.
‘Did you ever stop to think that maybe… maybe he has new hobbies? New friends? Or a girl?’
‘No,’ Dean shot back without hesitation, pointing a finger at her. ‘Because that’s not Sam. That’s not something Sam would keep from me. From us.’
‘Yeah, well,’ she sighed, ‘maybe he thinks you’d flip. Just like you’re doing right now.’
Dean didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look away. His voice came out low, but sharp as a blade. ‘I’m gonna follow him to college this weekend.’
Her jaw dropped. He saw it, the shock, the exasperation. But he didn’t budge.
‘I need to,’ he said, chest tight, voice rough. ‘I won’t let anything happen to that kid. Not again. So… you coming with me?'
‘That’s insane,’ she shot back. ‘He’s gonna know. You’re driving an Impala, for fuck’s sake. How is he not-’
‘You coming with me or not?’ His voice cracked sharper this time, desperate.
‘Dean…’
He clenched his fists at his sides. He couldn’t tell her what was pounding through his head… the image of Sam’s mouth covered in blood, or the memory of his little brother cold and still on a mattress, or how many times he’d woken in the middle of the night convinced he’d already lost him again. Couldn’t say that every time Sam didn’t pick up his phone, Dean felt like he was back at square one, with gut full of panic, old crap he thought he’d buried crawling back up.
‘Please?’ He swallowed, looking at her like she was the only thing keeping him standing. ‘I need you.’
That broke her. He saw it in her eyes.
‘Yeah. Okay,’ she sighed. ‘But only to calm Sam down once he finds out, so he won’t kill you.’
‘Thank you,’ Dean murmured, and meant it.
She crossed the room, arms slipping around him, her hand trailing up into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way she knew calmed him. He leaned into it without thinking, resting his head against the crook of her neck, inhaling her, letting her scent push back some of the storm inside his chest.
‘I’m just worried,’ he admitted, his voice muffled against her skin.
‘I know.’
Silence settled between them, heavy but not cold. Then her voice came soft, careful. ‘Do you… do you want me to make you more comfortable? You’ve been too stressed.’
For a second, the image slammed into his head. Her lips around him, her eyes on his. His blood spiked, hot and sharp, but he shook it off, squeezing her tighter against him.
‘Nah,’ he muttered against her neck. ‘My head wouldn’t be in it. And you deserve all of me, not half.’
Her lips brushed the side of his head, tender. ‘Movie, then? Something to distract you?’
Dean pulled back just enough to smirk at her. ‘Only if it’s scary. Need an excuse to get you snuggled up on me.’
Her laugh softened the room, and when she nodded, he let himself relax. Just a little.
⸻
Dean had it all planned out. He wasn’t about to just tail Sam straight from the bunker, too obvious. No, he’d let his brother get a head start, let him get good and settled before swooping in. Then, once they were sure Sam was in class, they’d roll onto campus.
You settled back into the passenger seat, the low rumble of the Impala under you, and couldn’t help the little smile that tugged at your lips. That sound never got old. If you were going to waste half a day sitting around chasing Dean’s paranoia, at least it was in a car you loved.
But subtle? Not a chance.
‘I hope you realize,’ you said, glancing sideways at him, ‘there is no sneaking up on anyone with this thing. She announces herself three blocks away.’ You smirked. ‘And if by some miracle Sam doesn't hear us, he’ll sure as hell hear those doors creak the second we open them.’
Dean glanced over, mock-offended, before turning his eyes back to the road. ‘That creak? That’s her voice. That’s her sayin’ goodbye when I leave, hello when I come back.’
Your brows lifted. ‘Directly to you?’
‘Damn straight.’
You let out a little laugh, shaking your head. ‘Totally healthy. No issues there whatsoever.’
It didn’t take long to spot Sam’s car in the lot. Dean’s whole body sharpened, hunter mode engaged, like you were staking out a vamp nest instead of a college building. He turned down another street, eyeing every curb and alley as if he was mapping out a battlefield. Finally he pulled into a spot half-hidden by a row of scraggly trees, with just enough angle to see the campus but not be obvious.
‘That’s it,’ he said.
You rolled your eyes, sinking deeper into the seat. ‘You realize how insane this is, right?’
‘Shh,’ he said, scanning the building like Sam might leap out a window at any second.
The hours dragged. Classes were long, Sam hadn’t left. The most excitement had been him walking out once to head into the building next door, only to come back with a bunch of books under his arm. Dean tracked his every step. And you were pretty sure your brain was melting.
‘I really should’ve brought something to read,’ you muttered, drumming your fingers on your knee.
Dean gave a sharp shake of his head, eyes still glued forward. ‘Nope. Can’t. You’re on a stakeout. You gotta be alert.’
You let out a disbelieving laugh.
‘You snooze, you lose. Rule number one.’
You tipped your head back against the seat with a groan. ‘You’re impossible.’
‘Yeah, well, impossible’s why I’m still alive.’
You rolled your eyes again and blew out a long breath. ‘Fine. Since I’m not allowed to read, how about we at least play something? Truth or dare? Or twenty questions? Something before I lose my damn mind in here.’
Dean finally tore his eyes off the windshield long enough to give you that look, half squint, half smirk, before shaking his head.
‘Sweetheart, if you wanna ask me something, just ask. We don’t need to turn it into some middle school slumber party.’
You shot him a grin, tilting your head. ‘Yeah, but where’s the fun in that? There’s no prize if you just spill.’
That got his attention. ‘Alright. Fine. We’ll do it your way. Questions. First one who refuses to answer? Loses.’
‘And the winner?’
He leaned back in the seat, stretching his arm across the wheel with deliberate smugness. ‘Winner gets the other one to do whatever they want.’
You raised a brow. ‘Anything?’
Dean smirked fully now, green eyes glinting. ‘Oh, you heard me. Anything.’
‘Deal.’
‘Deal.’ He shifted in the seat, suddenly looking way too ready for this. ‘But don’t say I didn’t warn ya, ‘cause I don’t lose.’
Outside, the light was slipping fast, campus walkways glowing under streetlamps. Dean gave the building one more hunter’s glance before turning his attention back to you.
‘Alright,’ you said, settling against the seat. ‘I’ll start. What’s the dirtiest thought you’ve ever had about me in public?’
Dean’s mouth curved instantly, wicked, but he leaned back. ‘Oh boy… Give me a sec, sweetheart.’ He tapped the steering wheel, pretending to think hard. ‘‘Cause I got a whole-ass list up here and most of it ain’t fit for polite company…’
His grin sharpened when he landed on one. ‘…That diner outside Wichita. Booth in the back, you had that tight top on, the one that makes your boobs look like a damn miracle. All I could think about was you under the table, on your knees, me trying to keep a straight face while you worked me over. Place packed, waitress checking in every five minutes, and me doing everything I could not to groan your name so the whole damn room knew what you were doing.’
Your face flushed hot. ‘You think you’d keep it together?’
His smirk deepened. ‘Baby, I’d make it look good enough to order pie.’
You smacked his arm, laughing despite yourself.
He leaned back smug. ‘My turn. What’s one thing you’d never want me to know?’
You groaned. ‘Oh, god, you really want to win this thing.’
‘Damn right.’
You peeked at him through your fingers. ‘…Okay, fine. You know I was a fan of the show, right? I mean, your show.’
He nodded slowly, suspicious already.
‘Well… I wasn’t just a fan of the show. I was a fan of you. And I… uh…’ You swallowed. ‘I read fanfiction. About you.’
Dean blinked once. Then his mouth split into the cockiest grin you’d ever seen. ‘Son of a bitch.’
You groaned again. ‘Don’t.’
‘No, no, this is good,’ he said, clearly enjoying himself. ‘What kinda stories are we talking?’ His grin turned sharper.
You glared at him, cheeks burning. ‘…You know. Stories with you and... women without names. To imagine myself being them.’
Dean let out a low whistle, eyes flicking back to the campus doors before settling on you again. ‘You know you just handed me bragging rights for the rest of my natural life, right?’
‘Shut up.’
‘Nope. Never letting that one go.’
‘Fine,’ you rolled your eyes. ‘Next question. Do you ever wish you’d left hunting for good when you had the chance?’
That actually sobered him. His jaw worked, thumb brushing over the back of your hand. ‘Yeah. More times than I’d admit out loud. Used to think it was just a fantasy, me running a bar somewhere. Pool tables, jukebox in the corner. Didn’t think that life was for me. But…’ He glanced at you, softer now. ‘…sometimes I let myself picture it. Us. Settlin’ down, you know. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day. For the first time, it doesn't feel impossible.’
Your chest ached. ‘Careful, Winchester. That almost sounded like hope.’
‘Yeah, well,’ he huffed, looking back toward the building. ‘Don’t spread it around.’
‘Your turn,’ you pressed gently.
He smirked again. ‘Do you ever wish you had a normal guy instead of me?’
‘Never,’ you said instantly. No hesitation.
Dean’s eyes flicked back to you, and for a second, those faint creases showed at the corners of his eyes, the ones that always gave him away when he was trying not to smile. Then his gaze swept to the campus again, like he couldn’t risk getting too soft.
‘Okay,’ you said, smiling faintly. ‘If you had to pick - pie or me?’
That earned a rough laugh. ‘That’s unfair as hell. Pie’s… pie. But,’ He paused, smirk tugging before fading softer. ‘Pie doesn’t curl up next to me at night. Doesn’t keep me from losing it. So yeah. You. Every damn time.’
You smiled, heart too full. ‘Good answer.’
Dean cracked his knuckles dramatically. ‘Alright. Best sex you ever had?’
You tilted your head. ‘…With you, or in general?’
His head snapped around so fast you almost laughed. ‘What?!’
You bit your lip. ‘I’m just clarifying-’
‘Clarifying my ass. You’re telling me there’s a competition?!’ His voice rose, incredulous.
‘Dean…’
‘Nope. Don’t Dean me. I swear to God, if you sit there and try to tell me some college pretty-boy or… or whoever was better than me-’
‘I’m just saying I had exes, you know. One of them was pretty serious…’
Dean’s whole face twisted like you’d kicked him in the gut. ‘Serious?!’ He was practically choking on the word. ‘You mean to tell me you… No. Uh-uh. Not having this. There is no world where somebody else touched you better than me. That’s not… that can't...’
‘Relax, I’m just messing with you.’ You tried not to laugh, though your shoulders shook. ‘What kind of question even is that, huh? I could’ve asked the same thing, but I didn’t. Because I know you’ve had more sex than I could even com-’
‘The first time with you.’ His response was immediate.
It hit like a bomb. Your breath stuttered out of you, eyes wide. ‘Wh…what?’
Dean just shrugged, like it was no big deal. His gaze stayed fixed out the windshield, not on you. ‘It was different. Nothing ever came close. ‘Cause right then, I knew… I felt something for you I never had for anyone else.’
Silence stretched, thick and stunned. He didn’t flinch, just kept staring at the building again like he hadn’t changed everything with a single sentence.
You were still trying to breathe when Dean straightened, elbow on the door.
‘Showtime,’ he muttered.
Your gaze followed his, catching sight of Sam heading across the lot toward his car. And just like that, the game was over.
⸻
Dean’s knuckles tightened on the wheel as he followed Sam’s car. They’d tailed him halfway across town, and the guy sure as hell wasn’t heading for a motel or the bunker. Nope. Sam finally pulled up outside some nondescript apartment building, parked, and climbed out with a package under his arm.
Dean’s foot twitched against the brake, his whole body leaning forward, ready to jump out right there and stomp after him. ‘That’s it,’ he muttered. ‘I’m going in.’
Her hand shot out, catching his arm before he could even reach for the door.
‘Dean. Wait. Just a little while. If he comes out, we’ll see. If he doesn’t… then you can go in. But don’t just charge into whatever that is.’
He narrowed his eyes, staring after Sam disappearing through the door. Every instinct in him screamed to follow, but… hell, he’d promised her he’d listen. He gave a sharp exhale through his nose. ‘Fine. Ten minutes. Not a damn second more.’
Silence stretched in the car, the Impala’s engine ticking as it cooled. Dean tapped his fingers on the wheel, glancing at the building, then at her, then back again.
And no matter how hard he tried to shove it down, his brain circled back to the thing she’d let slip earlier.
Yeah, he knew she had exes. Of course she did. She hadn’t been a virgin when they met. It wasn’t like he’d expected her to be. And hell, look at her, of course guys had wanted her. She was funny, smart, hot… fucking great.
But it burned anyway. Not because someone else had had her, but because he remembered the way she’d been at the start with him. Hesitant, unsure, like she didn’t even realize how worth it she was. And all Dean could think was, what kind of moron ever let her feel that way? If any asshole hadn’t made her feel like the goddess she was? He’d smash their faces in for the crime alone. Yeah. That was it. Wasn’t jealousy… Right?
Still, his mouth moved before his brain caught up.
‘So… about your ex.’
Her shoulders stiffened right away. ‘Do we really need to talk about this?’
‘You’re the one who started it,’ Dean shot back, eyebrow raised.
‘Well, it was stupid. I shouldn’t have.’
He narrowed his eyes, leaning a little closer, not letting her off the hook so easy. ‘So what, you forfeiting the game?’
She hesitated, biting her lip. Then she nodded, voice careful. ‘Yes. You win.’
Dean clocked the embarrassment flickering across her face, the way she couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Something was there, but he didn’t press. Not now. Instead, he let himself bask in the victory, a smirk tugging at his mouth as he leaned back in the seat.
‘Damn right I win.’
Her sigh was half-annoyed, half-affectionate. ‘So what’s your prize, Winchester?’
Dean’s brain spun with about a hundred filthy, selfish ideas, but one had been parked in the back of his head for way too long. He started to turn toward her, mouth opening…
Three heavy knocks slammed against his window.
He jumped, twisting his head fast.
Sam.
Dean barely had time to roll the window down before Sam’s face was right there, pissed as hell.
‘I knew it,’ Sam snapped. ‘I saw the Impala at campus. Real subtle, Dean.’ His glare cut past him to her. ‘And you? I expected this crap from him, but not from you.’
‘Hey, hey, hey!’ Dean held up a hand, instantly defensive. ‘Don’t put that on her. She was against it, alright? I asked her to tag along. But what the hell was I supposed to do, huh? You’re sneaking around, taking calls outside, coming home late, carrying weird packages in the middle of the night…’
Sam straightened, jaw tight, then lifted the package in his hand and shook it once. ‘This? It’s a bottle of wine. That’s it.’
Dean blinked, thrown off balance. ‘…Wine?’
‘Yeah. Wine.’ Sam’s eyes were cold. ‘You think every good thing in my life has to be something evil? Can’t I just date a girl without you breathing down my neck?’
The words hit Dean harder than a punch. His mouth opened, shut.
‘I…’
He glanced at her, saw her already dragging a hand down her face in a full-on facepalm. Heat crawled up his neck. ‘Oh. Oh, okay. Uh… I didn’t… sorry.’ He cleared his throat, fumbling for dignity he didn’t have. ‘Guess we better just… head back to the bunker then.’
Sam’s sigh was sharp, final. ‘Yeah. You do that.’ He turned on his heel, long strides carrying him inside without another word.
Dean stared after him, fingers flexing uselessly on the wheel. Slowly, he turned his head. She was just shaking hers, biting her lip like she was two seconds from saying I told you so.
‘Don’t,’ Dean cut in fast, starting the engine with a grumble. ‘Don’t say it.’
She pressed her lips together, silent, as the Impala rumbled to life.
⸻
The drive back sucked. No music, no talking, just Baby’s engine and him staring at the road. She didn’t say a word, and Dean knew damn well it wasn’t because she had nothing to say. No, she was holding it back, chewing on it. Dean kept his mouth shut, hands locked on the wheel.
Inside the bunker, they both went through the motions. Boots off, shirts swapped for sleep clothes. Dean tried to act like he was too busy pulling on a clean tee to notice her watching him. He should’ve known better.
‘So… wine, huh?’ she finally said.
Dean groaned. ‘Don’t.’
‘I mean, really top-shelf evil stuff there. Guy sneaks around with… a Cabernet.’
He cut her a look, scowling, but she only raised her brows, lips twitching.
‘Babe…’ he warned.
‘Just imagine if you’d barged in on them… Plotting.’ She laughed, shaking her head.
His face burned hot, embarrassed, and he muttered, ‘That’s not funny.’
‘It’s a little funny,’ she crossed the room, her laughter softening as she looped her arms around his waist. Up close, her eyes weren’t teasing anymore. They were warm.
‘You were worried about him,’ she said softly. ‘And I think you had a right to be. He was keeping that from us, and it wasn’t cool.’
Dean swallowed hard, dropping his eyes for a second. ‘…Yeah.’
‘But still.’ Her thumbs brushed over his sides. ‘Next time, maybe try talking to him before you, you know, turn into a spy.’
Dean didn’t answer. Just wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in, burying his face in her hair. She held tight, like she always did.
‘He’s gonna tear you a new one when he comes back,’ she muttered.
Dean huffed. He knew she was right. And Sam would. But right now, with her pressed against him, he didn’t care. He’d deal with that fight later.
⸻
The bunker felt heavier the next day. You tried not to pace, tried to work, but every little sound had you glancing at the door. When it finally creaked open that evening, Sam stepped in.
He looked… tense. Forehead creased, shoulders tight. He didn’t slam the door, but he might as well have.
Dean was on his feet in seconds.
‘Alright, man, I’m sorry for the whole… tailing you thing, okay?’
Sam was silent, avoiding looking at his brother.
‘But seriously, Sammy,’ Dean continued, ‘what the hell? Why didn’t you just say something?’
Sam dropped his bag, exhaling. ‘Because it’s good, Dean. Really good. And I didn’t want you stomping all over it before it even started.’
Dean crossed his arms. ‘…Good?’
Sam’s mouth twitched. ‘I’ve been seeing someone. From my classes. Met her in the library. She’s… smart. Funny. She makes me happy.’
Dean didn’t waste time. ‘And that’s it? You sneak off, keep secrets, and I’m just supposed to sit on my hands? Who is she? Can I trust her? Does she know what you do, what we do?’
Sam glared at him. ‘This is exactly why I didn’t tell you. Because I knew you’d react like this. With the third degree, interrogations, background checks…’
Dean threw up his hands. ‘Well, yeah, damn right I’m gonna ask questions! You don’t just hide something like this. Not from me.’
‘Dean,’ Sam cut him off, voice sharp enough to shut him down. ‘I want this to be… normal. I want to take it slow, build something real, without you breathing down my neck or waiting for it to blow up.’
Dean opened his mouth, ready to argue, but Sam didn’t let him. His voice dropped, steadier now. ‘Look, you already got your happy ending. With her. And I want that. So please… just let me try.’
Dean froze, the words landing heavy. His throat worked, but nothing came out.
You stepped in, gentle, before the silence stretched too far. ‘He’s right, Dean. He deserves this. So maybe, for once, don’t be the overprotective brother. Just… give him the chance.’
Dean finally glanced at you, the fight draining out of his eyes. His jaw was still tight, but his shoulders slumped, the weight settling instead of lashing out.
⸻
The two of you curled up in your room. Dean was stretched out on the couch, head in your lap, while you combed your fingers through his hair. With your other hand, you traced lazy patterns down his arm, feeling the tension bleed out of him inch by inch.
After a long silence, he muttered, ‘You know what really gets me?’
‘Hm?’
‘Secrets. Him keeping shit from me. After everything with Ruby, the demon blood, all of it… scares the hell outta me.’
You bent, pressed a kiss to his forehead. ‘I know. But this isn’t that. He’s okay. And you don’t have to carry him every second of his life. He’s allowed good things, too.’
Dean grunted, not quite convinced, but softer now. ‘…Still don’t like that he didn’t tell us.’ His hand slid over your thigh, squeezing gently. ‘But if she makes him happy… guess I’ll deal.’
You smiled faintly. ‘That’s all I’m asking.’
There was a pause. Then he smirked, not even opening his eyes. ‘Still gonna run a background check.’
‘Dean, no.’
‘Yes.’
‘Dean.’
His eyes cracked open, green and mischievous. ‘Hey, speaking of… you remember our little game?’
You froze, then tried to play it off. ‘I thought we forgot about that.’
Dean’s smirk widened. ‘Sweetheart, no way in hell I’m forgetting about you doing whatever I want. And what I want…’ He trailed a finger up your thigh, grin downright sinful now. ‘Is to watch you cook. Or better yet, bake. Naked.’
You burst out laughing. ‘Dean, that’s not safe. Or hygienic. It sounds like a really bad porn.’
Dean stuck his bottom lip out, then tilted his head, eyes dragging slow over you. ‘You baking with nothing on but my ring? That’s a fantasy worth getting messy for.’
You shook your head, still laughing. ‘I’ll… figure something out.’
Dean grinned, satisfied. ‘Can’t wait to cash that in.’
And just like that, with his head heavy in your lap and that dumb little smirk tugging at his mouth, the weight finally lifted and the bunker felt lighter again.
“What the—“ Buck says, looking down at himself— the pants not able to go past his crotch.
Eddie’s not good at flirting. In fact he’s pretty terrible at it but he can’t help but attempt to at that moment. “If you wanted to get in my pants so badly, you could have just asked, Buck,” he says, looking him up and down.
Buck is blushing redder than he’s ever seen him— his birthmark too. “I—“ Buck stutters out. He thinks Buck’s actually at a loss for words.
Notes:
heyyy, i'm back again heheh
lara (lestatmiamor on twitter) asked for someone to write a fic where buck puts eddie's turnouts on by accident and only realizes because of how small they are on him re: the hot ones video that came out today where oliver accidentally put on kenny's pants.
so i ran with it, hope you like this ♡
p.s. title from the song honey by taylor swift and swapped honey for evan
Fic Content Warning: violence, graphic violence, attempted murder, murder, body horror, physical and psychological torture, smut and fluff, hurt/comfort
Description: Leon Kennedy is a special agent tasked with countering bioterrorism in the U.S. So when he’s assigned to protect a high-profile witness in what should be a routine mafia case, he’s more than a little confused.
Kendra Mason is desperate to survive. Entering Witness Protection should be her safety—but her new bodyguard, Leon, knows next to nothing about her case. And neither of them realizes just how dangerous it really is.
The case is far from simple. Enemies lie in every direction, and not even Leon’s own organization can be trusted. Betrayal lurks around every corner.
The one thing he is sure of? He must keep Kendra alive. And he can’t let her fall in the wrong hands.
Chapter Summary: 4,457 words // whump, angst, heavy angst, hurt/comfort
Author’s Note: I was asked to post my fic here for easier access. I’m not familiar with formatting on tumblr, so pls bear with me. I try to keep a strict uploading schedule of every 5 days. Some chapters may take longer. I appreciate your understanding. There are currently 35 published chapters of this fic available on AO3 and Wattpad. It’s going to take time for me to upload all of them here, so if you like this and want to know what happens next, feel free to read on whatever platform is most convenient for you :)
Chapter One:
August 8, 2005 — Monday
Smoke and dust burned my lungs with every breath. Cold cement scraped my cheek as I shifted. Something warm and wet pooled by my mouth. The rusty scent of it told me it was blood.
Darkness smothered the room. My chest refused to expand, the crushing weight of something larger than me pressing me into the ground. Instinct screamed at me to get on my knees. But when I tried to move my hands, I met resistance.
What the fuck?
They wouldn't budge. Every movement made my wrists burn. Someone had bound my hands.
My breaths came shallow, the taste of iron coating my tongue as I inhaled the blood beneath me.
Now was not the time to panic. I needed to think. Why was I here? What had happened? Why couldn't I remember? I squeezed my eyes shut, writhing beneath the weight on top of me, trying and failing to free myself.
Pain thundered in my skull. Loud. Every pulse a bomb in my ears. And then it hit me.
An explosion.
It was hard to recall the aftermath. Everything had happened too quickly. But what had happened before?
A room. I could remember a room. The dim light of a lone bulb dangling from the ceiling. A man. No—men. Four of them. Maybe five. One face in particular.
The realization slammed into me and I jerked on the floor, the heaviness on top of me shifting sideways.
Antonio Delacroix. He caught me. He finally caught me.
The memory of headlights closing in on my car sent a jolt through my nervous system. The impact of an SUV slamming into my bumper. Glass shattering as my car rolled down the embankment.
I'd expected them to kill me when they yanked me out of my car. Instead, they brought me here. Tied me to a chair in this empty room. And waited.
Which could only mean one thing.
They knew.
Fuck.
That understanding sent me thrashing beneath the weight pinning me to the cement. I couldn't be here. I needed to get away. Before anyone found me. Before anyone realized I'd survived the blast.
Killing me was one thing. Capturing me alive couldn't happen. I couldn't let it happen.
I jostled my shoulders, maneuvering under whatever the hell was crushing me. The weight was at least equal to my own. Wood scraped concrete. Was it a wall? A door? Broken furniture? Who the hell knows. Who cares? I just needed it off of me.
Wriggling my body sideways, I slowly managed to slide out from beneath it. The wood slammed into the ground with a loud clatter, making me flinch. The ear-splitting crash sent a fresh spike of pain through my skull, but I could at least breathe again without feeling as though I was being crushed.
On my side, I pulled my knees to my chest, forcing my bound wrists down toward my hips. My joints screamed in pain as I managed to pull my arms over myself. It left me stuck with my hands under my knees. Still better than behind my back.
This worked in my favor. I folded myself in half, bringing my arms up. My legs were too long, so I ducked my head between my knees to shorten the distance. Every joint burned with the force. Then my wrists slipped over my heels—and I was free.
Better. Much better. My shoulders ached from the position they had been stuck in, but I ignored it, bringing the rope to my teeth. Using my canines, I pulled at the knot again and again until, eventually, the restraint gave.
Quickly, I clambered to my feet, my free hands brushing along the walls in the dark, searching for an exit. I found one. A narrow gap just big enough to squeeze through. The debris under my fingers told me a collapse or an explosion had caused the damage. The door wouldn't budge any further, blocked by something massive on the other side.
I grunted as I pushed my hips through the opening. On the other side, a sliver of light cut through the gloom. I scrambled to my feet and ran, pain lancing through my legs with every step.
The light grew brighter as I drew closer. I shoved the door open roughly, tripping into the open room.
There was a flash of movement to my left and the harrowing click of metal. I knew that sound.
A gun.
My heart slammed against my chest, fear spiking where desperation had just been. I pressed myself against the wall, hands raised in surrender. Almost too afraid to look.
Nausea churned my stomach as I lifted my gaze. A pair of cold blue eyes met mine, and the gunman's brow twitched.
"Kendra Mason?" My name slipped from his lips, the barrel of the gun dropping. Finding the ground instead of me.
I tracked the movement. "D...do I know you?" Every breath came ragged, but I tried to maintain my composure despite the small stutter in my voice.
He followed my gaze, holstering the gun immediately. The man said nothing to me as he brought his other hand to his ear, index finger pressing against a Bluetooth device. "I found her. She's alive."
Someone chirped something back at him and he returned a simple, "affirmative," before fixing his attention back on me.
"Are you hurt?" He asked, crossing the room and reaching for my face.
I flinched away from him, too scared to peel my eyes from his figure. This man just pointed a gun at me two seconds ago. No way in hell was I going to let him touch me. He could be one of them.
"Who the fuck are you?" I snapped, rubbing at my head only for my fingers to come in contact with something sticky and warm. Confused, I pulled my hand away, inspecting the crimson liquid that stained my fingertips.
When my eyes found the man's, he was watching me carefully. "Did you hit your head?"
He sounded concerned. Kind. I’ve trusted that before. That couldn’t happen again.
"I think so." I mumbled back, pressing my spine into the wall behind me. Ignoring the blood, I pinned my eyes on him. "Who are you? What's going on?"
He held up a hand, as if surrendering to me. "Name's Leon. Leon Kennedy. I was hired to rescue you."
"You're doing a great job." I said sarcastically. "I felt really safe with a gun pointed at my head."
What the hell am I doing? Now wasn’t the time to antagonize a man with a gun.
His expression flickered with brief surprise, then he blew out an awkward breath. "Yeah. Sorry about that. Not my finest moment."
My head pounded with pain and I dropped my face into my hands, trying to rub the sensation out of my skull. "Fuck." I muttered under my breath.
"You're hurt." His deep voice reached me, boots crunching through debris. "Can I take a look?"
"I'm okay." Though the strain in my voice promised I wasn't. "I just want to get out of here."
When he didn't respond, I glanced back up at him. His eyes washed over every inch of me, noting every injury. "How did you get away?"
I groaned, wiping my bloody hands on my jeans. "Leon... right?"
He nodded.
"Imma be honest with you, chief, I'm not entirely sure what happened"
His face pinched. "You don't know how you ended up here?"
I staggered sideways. "They fucking kidnapped me." Whatever energy adrenaline had lended to me was fading. My knees buckled and I sank to the ground. Leon was there a moment later, kneeling beside me. His hands brushed over my body gingerly, finding every cut in my skin. I stiffened, pressing myself into the wall, trying to decide whether I should fight or run. Doing neither.
He could hurt me. But he wasn’t. Not yet. I wasn’t sure where that left him. It either meant he truly wasn’t part of this—or he wasn’t yet aware of who I was. What I had done.
I swallowed, forcing myself to keep talking."But I—I don’t know—none of this makes sense." I tried to gesture toward the door I had barreled through only a minute ago. "I woke up back that way. Everything was destroyed."
"It was a bomb." He explained plainly, inspecting a laceration in my thigh. "It went off shortly after I got here."
"Who the fuck would blow up a mafia safe house?" I asked, bewildered.
"Oh good, so you do know who took you." He moved on to the next injury, ensuring I wasn't losing blood too quickly.
"It was Delacroix." I snapped, more harshly than I meant to. "He ran my car off the road. Brought me here. Left me tied up in that room back there."
I braced for his reaction. Watching his hands. Waiting for him to understand that it was…weird I was still alive.
Instead, a little huff of what could have been amusement escaped him. "You got out of that all by yourself?"
The smallest bit of tension loosened in my shoulders.
"As a matter of fact," I met his eye, smirking lightly. "I did."
He suddenly pulled my head closer and I flinched, fingers digging into the wall. He hardly noticed, parting my hair to examine my scalp. "Well, looks like you won't be as helpless as I expected."
My brows cinched. That felt... offensive. And slightly reassuring. "So happy my abduction exceeded your expectations." I mumbled.
He ignored me, looking back to the doorway across the dilapidated room. "We need to move. Before they catch up."
"Wait," I pulled away from him again. "They're still here?"
He tried to pull me to my feet, but I recoiled from his hand. A frustrated sigh tore out of him.
"They're still crawling around the building. I haven't seen any of the Delacroix family yet. Just their people. Everyone I've come across I've neutralized."
My gaze drifted past him. "You're a cop, right?" I paused, trying to hide the tremble coursing through my spine. "Don't you have a partner? Backup?"
He lifted his hands in an awkward shrug. "Sorry to disappoint."
"You came alone?" I hissed, panic crawling up my throat. Adrenaline sent renewed energy through my bones. "We need to go."
Desperation had me clambering to my feet. Despite my fear and need to flee, my legs shook and I stumbled, falling to my knees again.
"Slow down." He tried to catch me, but I was already grabbing at the wall, forcing myself onto my feet.
"Most of them must have evacuated after the blast." He tried to calm me. "That explosion was probably meant for you. They might think you're dead."
I laughed bitterly, though the sound was strained. "If they wanted me dead," I panted, bracing against the wall, "they'd have used a bullet to the back of my skull, not a fucking bomb."
Leon went still, only for a moment, mulling that over. Then he sighed and stepped closer. "Fair point." He looped my arm around his shoulders and dragged me against him.
I tried to pull away. "I can walk."
He snorted, keeping a firm grip on my wrist. "You almost ate shit."
"I'm serious." I tugged again, but he refused to relent. I pivoted my argument. "You're gonna need that gun."
"Let me worry about that," Leon said, steering me to the other side of the room. "I cleared most of the building."
"You know," a pained laugh escaped me. "That doesn't comfort me as much as you might think."
"No?" He almost sounded amused. "Well, emotional support isn't in my job description."
"And what is? Running into mafia houses alone?" I rolled my eyes. "What kind of cop enters a crime scene without backup."
"I never said I was a cop."
A shot of ice crawled up my spine. I clamped my mouth shut. Alarm bells went off in my head. Whatever he meant by that, I didn't like it. And every instinct in my body warned me to stop talking.
My entire left leg spasmed and I grit my teeth, glancing down to inspect the damage. Far more blood than I expected coated my thigh. Leon followed my gaze.
"Want me to take a look at that?"
"No." I answered quickly, loosing a heavy breath. "I want to get as far away from here as possible."
"And if you bleed out?"
"I'd much prefer that death over what's waiting for me." I muttered.
He huffed in annoyance. "Keep the pessimism to a minimum, Miss Mason. You're not dying on my watch."
Not dying. I clung to that reassurance. He doesn’t know who I am. Not dying. Not dying. Not dying.
I kept my relief well hidden.
"I don't appreciate the lecture." I made a face. "And you can just call me Kendra."
An amused breath left his nose. "Was just trying to be respectful."
"Well you're terrible at it." I laughed. "It makes me sound old."
"Are you always this sensitive?" There was a hint of laughter in his voice.
"Ah, yes, that is very respectful, Mr. Kennedy."
"The sarcasm is duly noted." He smirked. "Tell me, is dry humor your go-to way of dealing with stress, or am I special?"
"I'm not like other kidnap victims." I said flatly. "I'm funnier."
"Debatable."
"Fuck off." I almost laughed, limping beside him as we hurried down the ruined hallway.
"Is that any way to talk to the guy who just saved your ass?" He shook his head.
I scoffed. "I saved my own ass."
He pulled us to a stop in front of a broken window. "No gratitude. Story of my life."
Swiftly, he pulled my arm over his head, facing me as his hands found my waist.
"I'll save the gratitude for later. You know, when you actually save my ass."
Another soft chuckle slipped from his lips as he hoisted me onto the window ledge. "Alright... careful there. And maybe keep the commentary to a minimum while you're up there."
I barked a laugh, heaving my injured leg over the edge. "How do you think I got into all this trouble in the first place? I never could watch my mouth.” Teeth sank into my tongue immediately after the words left my mouth. Shut the fuck up, Kendra.
He shrugged, eyes tracking me carefully as I found my footing. "Noted."
His lack of humor left me uneasy. I’d said too much.
Silently, I dropped to the other side, momentarily losing sight of him. Seconds later, he landed beside me, solid and steady as ever.
With his grip no longer on my arm, I used the wall as support and began to hurry down toward the courtyard. Stones and branches littered the walkway, but I managed.
"Do you have any idea where you're going?" He took long strides to catch up with me.
"No. Why don't you be a good officer and take the lead?" I tossed him a playful look. Testing.
He huffed, shoulders tensing. "Why don't you be a good civilian and follow my lead?"
Another laugh, more anxious than before. "Struck a nerve there, did I, Mr. Kennedy?"
"You can just call me Leon." He shook his head, reaching for me. "No need for formalities."
I opened my mouth to respond when a popping sound shattered the serenity of the abandoned courtyard. Stones blew apart near my head moments before Leon shoved me to the ground.
He moved too quickly for me to track. Using his body to shield me. Gun already in hand. Firing toward the opposing wall. How he had tracked the origin of the gunshots, I didn't know.
There wasn’t enough time to think about the concern that had lodged itself in my chest. We were too exposed. He was shielding me. They were going to kill him. And the thought terrified me far more than it should have.
My eyes searched for cover immediately, finding a fallen tree trunk only meters away.
"Leon!" I called for him, jumping to my feet and hurrying for the solid barrier.
I caught his look of surprise just as I dove over the trunk. He fired off three more shots before following suit. As he crouched beside me, he loaded another magazine into his handgun.
"Gotta say, you're making this mission a lot easier than I thought."
I ignored him. "Please tell me you have a car ready or something."
"My partner is waiting by the entrance of the building." He nodded. "When I tell you to move, you're gonna run for that water fountain over there. Understand?"
Following the stone path with my gaze, I found the fountain he talked about, now shattered from the blast I had somehow survived. "Got it."
He pressed his back against the tree, carefully looking over the top of the trunk. Then he jumped up, firing four more times.
"Move!" He yelled down at me.
My body obeyed, ignoring every pain as I sprinted for the landmark. Gunfire followed me. I barely heard it over the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. Just as I reached the fountain, horrific burning pain exploded in my calf and I toppled to the ground.
I had never been shot before, but it didn't take a fucking genius to know what had happened. I rolled behind the fountain, using the momentum of my fall to find cover behind the broken stone.
Before I could react to anything else, someone was on top of me. A fist collided with my face and the back of my skull cracked against the hard rock path beneath me. My hands flew up to my face, desperately trying to protect my head from the attack. Instead, a hand closed around my fingertips, yanking them backward until I felt my wrist pop.
A scream of pain tore through my throat, my other hand clawing at my attacker's face. They snatched me by the wrist, pinning both arms to the ground above my head.
The daunting click of a gun’s hammer met my ears. I fought harder, desperately trying to throw his weight off of me.
The gun went off. Warmth splattered my face and I waited for pain, but nothing came. Then, the man slumped over, falling off of me.
"I got you." Leon's voice met my ears, a hand closing around mine and pulling me away from the dead man's legs.
I trembled, assisting Leon as he tugged me to my feet. The world tilted as I straightened. An unnatural coldness spread through my chest, head growing heavy.
"Can you walk?" Despite his hands being on me, he sounded far away.
I crumpled against him and he caught me, arm tightening around my waist. "No."
There were too many injuries. And no telling how many attackers. I couldn’t run out of here, and this coldness spreading through my body? This was death. I couldn’t explain how I knew. But I did. I’m going to die.
I’m going to die. That was better than the alternative. I should have been scared. Instead, I felt eerily calm.
"You need to go," I muttered, blood trickling down my face. "Leave me."
He ignored me, sliding his hands under my thighs and lifting me into his arms. "I already told you. You're not dying today."
"You can't shoot and carry me." I reasoned with him, my head lolling against his chest.
"Don't insult me." He mumbled, my body jostling with every one of his footsteps.
"You’re stubborn." I rasped. "They’ll kill us both."
"You’re right. You definitely don't know when to shut your mouth."
A soft laugh finally escaped me. "Told you..." I sang the words. Darkness ebbed at the corner of my vision and I squeezed my eyes shut. Every muscle in my body wanted to relax. And I wanted to give in. My head slid back, falling over his arm.
"Open your eyes."
I couldn’t obey even if I wanted to.
He shook me, the motion awakening the pain in my body. A soft moan slipped past my lips, all I could manage. The coldness in my chest was spreading, so very slowly. To every limb. To the ends of my fingers. Until there was no pain. No warmth. No anything.
"Leon." I called out weakly.
"I'm here." He confirmed, as if I had forgotten.
My breath came ragged. "It… it doesn't hurt anymore."
"We're almost there." He assured me, refusing to acknowledge what I had said. The calmness in his voice was a mask. His grip on me was tight, pressing me close enough that I could feel his heart hammering against his chest.
"Hey..." I mumbled, consciousness slipping like water through my fingers. "You... you did a... good job. It's not... it's not your fault."
"You're fine, Kendra. You're gonna be fine."
But I wasn't. Something was wrong. And despite my earlier reservations, it was unfair that he had come all this way just for it to end like this.
"It's not your fault." My words slurred.
The darkness consumed me. The coldness became unbearable. And then there was nothing.
~ ~ ~
Leon
Beige smoke curled into the air from the end of the Chief's lit cigarette. The hollows of his cheeks deepened as he took another drag. Letting out a long, slow breath, he fixed his gaze on me.
"How's the girl doing?" He finally asked.
With arms crossed over my chest, I dipped my head in some semblance of a nod. "She went into surgery a half hour ago. Safe and sound with the surgeons."
He pursed his lips into a thin line, stress lining every groove of his face. For a moment, he didn't speak. Then, he leaned back in his chair, eyes scouring over my clothing. "That's a lot of blood. Are you alright?"
"Not a scratch." Still, I clenched my jaw, my grip on my arms tight.
"I'm aware. But are you alright?"
My brows knit and I dropped my gaze. The sound of her shallow breaths haunted my memory. A nearly failed mission. The last thing she ever said to me was that it wasn't my fault. Which wasn't true. I told her to run for the fountain. I failed to ensure that exit was clear. And she suffered the consequences. All I could manage was a detached shrug.
"The girl’s alive. That's because of you, Kennedy."
I lifted my gaze to the window, staring emptily at the sun cresting the edge of the mountains. "Too close for comfort."
He nodded knowingly. "Get cleaned up. Change out of those clothes. Grab yourself some food. You've earned it."
I met his eye. "That's it?"
He raised a brow. "What else is there to say?"
"I almost failed the mission." My voice was gruff. "If I had fired my gun even half a second later, that girl would be dead."
The Chief hummed. "You want me to reprimand you?"
I adjusted against the wall. The dried blood in my shirt made the fabric stiff. Not entirely sure how to answer his question, I pivoted. "Those people are relentless, you know. I got the girl back. But how long until they snatch her again?"
He remained quiet, taking another drag from his cigarette. The silence stretched between us as he ashed the end, tapping the stick against the ashtray. "You should freshen up. We can talk after."
Rolling my shoulders, the tension in my neck only seemed to increase. "I have to get back to the hospital. The charge nurse told me they don't have the resources to keep a security guard at her room. The surgery won't last long."
A deep sigh hissed out of him as he released a lungful of smoke. "You'll scare her showing up like that." He nodded to my bloody clothing.
I almost laughed. "After what she went through, I don't think it's my clothes that are going to scare her.”
He gave me a stern look, but I didn't relent. Finally conceding, he dropped his gaze to the paperwork on his desk. "The U.S. Attorney General has approved her placement into Witness Protection. Officially."
"That's good." I nodded. "So they'll be relocating her, then?"
"When she's stable." He crushed the cigarette into the ashtray until the ember died completely. "On paper, this is about Antonio Delacroix. Powerful man. Long reach. The kind of reach that doesn't stay limited to his name."
I nodded once.
The chief leaned back, fingers steepled, eyes never leaving my face. "But men like Delacroix don't stay insulated for sixteen years without help. And they don't get cornered unless someone... decides to let them be." A pause lingered, the kind that made me wonder if he knew more than he was saying.
The room suddenly felt smaller.
"She's not just evidence," he continued. "She's pressure. And pressure has a way of forcing cracks where we didn't know there were any."
His gaze flicked briefly to the door, then to the one-way glass behind me. When it returned to me, it was sharper. Evaluating.
"Because of that," he said carefully, "she requires private protection."
I turned toward the window. "You want me to protect her."
"I want someone I know won't blink," he replied. "Someone who doesn't play politics. Someone who isn't easily swayed by money."
I glanced back at him. "You think someone here would." Did the truly chief believe someone here would take a payout and off the girl themselves? Surely no one was desperate enough to fold so easily for the mafia.
His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "I think if there is someone, they will have a hell of a time besting you."
I exhaled slowly. "So I'm insurance. That she survives."
"You're a question," he corrected. "One I'd rather ask now than after she's dead."
My brows knit. "I don't understand. My job is to prevent bioterrorist attacks on our people. I'm not a private bodyguard."
The chief bowed his head, salt and pepper hair falling into his eyes. There was a moment where he seemed to consider something. He straightened, combing his hair back. "Regrettably, this is no place for me to discuss anything in detail." His gaze dropped to the phone on his desk before flickering back to me. "I don't ask for your blind trust often, Leon. But I'm asking for it now."
The use of my first name caught me off guard. Something about the way he looked at me told me there was something else he wanted to say. Something he couldn't.
He cleared his throat, tapping a stack of papers against his desk until each of them were straight. "On paper, the DOJ wants her protected so she can give her witness statement for the murders she saw Delacroix commit."
There it was again. On paper. My focus sharpened and I tilted my head.
"And on paper," he continued, "this girl is at risk of being harmed or killed by the mafia." He waved his hand, dropping the papers. "The Attorney General has made quite the commotion about her importance. A flare of dramatics. Antonio is hard to convict. She's their only chance at a conviction. You understand."
"Right..." I nodded slowly. "And I'm being tasked with protecting her from... the mafia?"
He slid the documents on his desk toward me, tapping the tips of his fingers against them. "This is the official case. Everything the Department of Justice has on official record."
I nodded, grabbing the papers and thumbing through them briefly.
"If you have any further questions about the case, you should ask those outside of our organization." He looked at me pointedly. "After all, this is a case involving the mafia. It calls for other avenues. Discretion will be... appreciated."
Tucking the papers under my arm, I gave him a nod. "Yes, sir."
He mirrored me, nodding in dismissal. "Get rid of those bloody clothes, Kennedy."
The smell of smoke hung in the air as I stepped toward the door, the weight of everything he hadn't said settling on my shoulders.
