Grim Reaper
Pairing: (Possibly?) Poly Team 141 x Female Reader / Female Reader x Her mental health
Content Warning: Mental Issues touched upon. Swearing.
Note: Your code names are either Grim Reader or Iron Maiden.
Words: 2502
Masterlist - Prequel - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine
Supernatural AU - Poem
Credit for Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics
Summary:
If you can’t be perfect at something, why bother trying?
If you can’t get it right the first time, why bother?
What would they do if you had forcibly removed yourself from the equation? Would they notice that you were gone? Would they care? You went numb because of your parents. The lack of care and the added pressure to remain at the top.
"Do me a favour and just leave me alone." You said. Telling them both to go away. To leave you alone. They had each other and you were alone. Death seemed better than whatever mess awaited you back home. You have worked alone for the longest time. You require no back up. Not only that, but you don't need any pity or assistance. Death is reward in a sea of endless nightmares.
“It's not like you can stop me.” You told him. Eyes narrowing at him. Picking up your duffle bag to head out the door. “Do me favour a leave me alone.”
If you can’t be perfect at something, why bother trying?
If you can’t get it right the first time, why bother?
‘Do me a favour and go back to ignoring me. It’s what you’re good for.’ You thought.
‘Let’s get going morons. I don’t have the patience to deal with my shit and yours. Lets go already’ you think during times where people just take too long.
‘It’s war. Stop celebrating it like it’s a fucking football match and go back to work, you ignorant fucks.’ You pondered, looking over the soldiers celebrating too loudly.
‘My feelings are not yours to discuss. I will not speak endless garbage.’ You continued to glare at team 141 from afar. ‘They talk too much. Talking more doesn’t make you smarter. Nor does it make you look smarter, either.’
You have an interest in MMA, Kickboxing, axe throwing and Electrical Engineering. Your still undertaking your pathway into Electrical Engineering in different ways like the mask you wear on your face. Covering it entirely. Leaving nothing to the naked eye.
You have a high pain tolerance. An excellent one-track focus. Almost unnerving, eery according to your superiors.
You are your superior’s grim reaper as your lone wolf behaviour serves them so well. They don’t want anyone else to have you. Ever.
Thus, you have no intention of bonding with them. Once the mission is over. You intend to disappear once they turn around long enough to let you disappear.
‘Imagine looking like that.’ You heard about you. You managed to overhearing from your parent’s mouths, your bullies and the people you thought were your friends. Why bother giving someone else that chance to do it all over again when all they’ll do is leave you broken.
Your face staring back at you in the mirror. The only reason you got into the military is because of the fact that you wouldn’t be able to afford to fix your teeth otherwise. It was mostly a health reason rather than because you were so keen on ‘serving’.
All of your snacks are stored inside of a body bag to prevent people from stealing them from you. It made you feel safe and have a way to eat something without relying on other people. Even while you were growing up.
Touching your face, neck or shoulders are a big no, no for you. “Get the fuck away. Next time you do that shit, I’m hitting you in the face.” You said instinctively as a warning to get them away from you.
“Bury me in a cardboard box on the side of a highway or some shit. I don’t care.” You said once. You were annoyed and overstimulated from the lights, sounds and the combination onslaught of senses. You didn’t want more. You wanted less. You wanted to stop feeling like you were going to choke yourself or someone else.
All because you wore the evil socks that day and everything went down hill fast from there.
"Not here." You said, hoping the knock on your door would disappear as you were meditating.
You were wrong. You were wrong in a way you wish you saw coming.
The knock persisted. It grew louder, more insistent. It was as if the very wood of the door was begging for your attention. You knew it was Captain Price. His heavy footsteps and distinct knocking pattern had become all too familiar over the weeks. With a sigh, you opened the door to reveal the stern man with the unlit cigar hanging from his lips.
'God. I should have taken the drive into the lake this afternoon if I knew I was going to be bothered again.' you thought.
Captain Price looked at you with a gaze that could cut through steel. "We have a mission, Grim. Get dressed, you're coming with us." His voice was gruff, the words cutting through the silence of your room like a knife.
"Pretty sure you have all the help you need this time Captain." you snorted.
Price just stared at you. That unlit cigar doing nothing to hide the frustration in his eyes. He knew you didn’t care for the camaraderie of the squad, but that didn’t change the mission. “It’s a solo job, Grim. You’re our best shot at this. No one else can go in there and come out without raising suspicion.”
'Great. This means more time I need to get rid of excess aggression. I want to fucking kill myself.' you thought as you got ready.
You grabbed your gear, the same gear that had seen more blood than most people had in their lives. It was a grim reminder of your purpose. You were the weapon of choice for when things got too messy for the regular soldiers. The government’s way of keeping their hands clean.
The mission briefing was short and to the point. Infiltrate a heavily guarded compound, extract the intel, and eliminate the target. A simple task for anyone else, but for you, it was just another Tuesday. The room was filled with tension as the team around you studied the layout, whispering strategies and potential escape routes. You remained silent, eyes locked on the map, your mind already racing through the countless scenarios that could unfold.
Your mantra, 'I don't need you. Just as you don't need me.' echoed in your mind as you geared up. You didn't bother with the usual banter or good lucks that filled the air before a mission. They were just words. Empty, hollow promises of friendship and camaraderie that you knew would crumble under the weight of reality. You were the Grim Reaper, not their buddy. 'I am what you see when death is on the table.'
"I tolerate you. I don't intend to do more Captain." You said once, your voice as cold as the Siberian night you once fought in. You had earned your name, Grim Reaper, not just from your silent and deadly tactics, but from the emotional vacuum you carried with you. It was like speaking to a wall, but they had come to accept it.
Though the amount of aggression you had pent-up was enough to fuel a small war, you knew that you had to keep it in check. You were confronted about it, though for the life of you, you had no idea why they cared. You were heading to the gym to get rid of the excess aggression from your system.
You walked into the gym to just get to rid of it. If it was particularly traumatising, she won't speak to anyone on the way there. The sound of metal clanging and the rhythmic thump of combat boots on the floor echoed through the space as you approached the boxing ring. It was a cage match in here, but not the kind that involved a referee or an audience. Just you and your inner demons. You slammed your duffle bag down on the bench, the thud resonating in the room as you began to unpack your gear.
One such instance was today, and you were interrupted, "Ask someone else." you said and continued on your way. "Ask Ghost to help. I'm sure he's far more willing for you." You had enough pent-up to fuel a small generator.
He didn't budge, didn't move and he certainly had no intention of taking his eyes off of you. You felt like a caged animal, and Price knew it. He was the kind of man that knew when to push and when to pull. His hand rested on the doorframe, his knuckles white with the effort of holding himself back. You knew he had more to say, but he remained silent, waiting for your next move.
You came back from the most recent mission and you didn't want to talk.
You had just gotten back from a mission that had gone sideways. The intel was solid, the target was eliminated, but the compound had been a veritable hornet's nest. Bullets had flown like rain, and you had danced through the storm like a specter. But even as you walked back into the base, the stench of gunpowder and death clung to you like a second skin. You could feel it in every step you took, every breath you drew.
The gym was empty, a rare luxury in this place. You climbed into the ring, the ropes groaning slightly as you took up your stance. The bag before you was your silent adversary, the only one who never talked back, never questioned your motives, never judged your scars. You threw a punch, feeling the impact resonate up your arm, the pain a sweet release. You had done this a hundred times before, but tonight it was different. Tonight, the bag felt like it was fighting back, each hit echoing the pain you felt inside.
Your sparring match made you look more like Iron maiden than Grim Reaper. Each punch and kick sent the bag swinging, the sound of impact a cathartic symphony in the empty gym. Sweat beaded on your forehead, mixing with the grime of the day’s battle. You were lost in the rhythm, the therapeutic dance of combat, until the sound of the gym door squeaking open broke your concentration.
You spun around, fists clenched, expecting an unwelcome interruption from one of the chattering squad members. But instead, you found yourself face to face with Captain Price. He leaned against the ropes of the ring, his eyes never leaving yours. He didn’t speak, just nodded slightly, acknowledging your presence without interrupting your solitude. He knew better than to approach you after a mission like that. The air was thick with unspoken words, a silent agreement that sometimes the best conversations were the ones never had.
He still remembers when you judo threw soap when he touched your shoulders. "Keep your hands to yourself."
You could see the look in his eyes, the concern and the curiosity. But you didn’t care. You didn’t need his pity or his sympathy. You were fine. You had to be fine. You had to be the one who could handle it all, because if you weren’t, who would they send instead? The weak? The inexperienced? No, they’d send you. And you’d die.
So you ignored him, turned back to the punching bag, and threw another hit. This one was harder than the last. The bag swung back and forth, the chains groaning with each impact. The sweat on your forehead trickled down your cheek, stinging your eyes. But you didn’t flinch. You never did. That was your job, to not flinch. To not feel. To be the one who did the dirty work while everyone else patted themselves on the back and told themselves they were heroes.
Price remained there, his eyes never leaving you. You could feel his gaze boring into your back, but you ignored it. You had to. You had to keep going, keep fighting, keep moving forward. It was the only way to survive in this world. The way to keep the darkness at bay. The way to keep from breaking down.
From them seeing you as the caged animal you are. Ghost only had to hold you back once, which even for him, remains to be rather difficult, it was to give you your anti-psychotic meds which you had no idea you had to take. Ghost said, "You're an unruly beast, aren't you? Hey, stop trying to bite me." You growled afterwards. You didn’t know how to handle kindness, so you lashed out. It was easier to push people away than to let them in, only to watch them leave when they realized what you truly were. A monster, bred for war.
Ghost called you a good girl and you grimaced instead of growling, taking the pill with a sip of water. "Thanks," you murmured, trying to sound sincere. But the word felt strange in your mouth, like a foreign tongue you hadn’t spoken in a long time. You didn’t know how to be good, not when all you knew was the taste of gunpowder and the feel of cold steel.
Ghost chuckled, at your reaction, "No need to thank me, Grim. We all got our battles to fight. Just remember, we're all in this together." His voice was soothing, a stark contrast to the brutal world outside the gym. For a moment, you felt a flicker of something akin to warmth. But it was fleeting, snuffed out by the cold reality of who and what you were. You nodded curtly, not trusting your voice to respond.
You slept without nightmares that night. Odd. Normally they were there.
The doctor's eyes widened slightly at your candidness, but he remained calm. "Grim, you can't keep going on like this. The mind can't handle this kind of stress indefinitely. It's not healthy."
You didn't say anything in response. The doctor 's words hung in the air, heavy and unwelcome. You didn't need a psych evaluation. You needed a mission, a target to focus on, something to keep the darkness at bay. To the doctor's surprise you allowed him to get closer. To him it was a sign of progress, to you it was just a way to get what you needed. He offered you a hand to help you up from under the table, and for a split second, you took it feeling like you were five again. Lost without your parents.
You were now on your way home. Even though you didn't want to.The doctor had convinced you, or rather, the fear of incompetency had convinced you.
You didn’t want to be seen as weak, as someone who couldn’t handle the pressure. So, you agreed to the leave, with the caveat that you’d be back as soon as it was over.
You packed your bags with the same precision you used for your missions, double-checking every item. The gym had become your sanctuary, a place where you could unleash your demons without consequence.
Now, you were being sent back to the real world, where those demons were born.