#every minute kills the last shreds of my mental health

[hannaxjo]

so i just started my first job, and it’s telemarketing. i have done it for one day, and my hatred for capitalism (which already was higher than average) just fucking doubled. because this is the most useless job made, and it exists purely because of capitalism. i work, because i need money, because that’s the only way you can survive in this shit ass world. but the whole thing is so fucking inhumane. for the seller and the customer. a society doesn’t need fucking telemarketing to exist. but because of this shitty ass system, we need money. i hate capitalism so much, and i hate this fucking job.

#capitalism #capitalism sux #i hate capitalism #telemarketing #job #first job #and it sucks #capitalist society #society #rant #capitalism rant #capitalism ruins everything #and like #i enjoy talking to people #but all these conversations are so fucking fake #and both sides just feel shit after it #if i get another job i’m so fucking out of here #text post #capitalism critique #every minute kills the last shreds of my mental health

[cryptidswitch]

Nothing kills me more than we businesses pay absolutely zero attention to how to handle employees with mental disorders.

I have anxiety among a plethora of other things, but most relevent in the situation is anxiety. They constantly are piling more and more work on me in an area I haven't been in for damn near four years and I can't accomplish what they want from me. They assign us a huge task list for a five hour shift and give us areas that are just absolutely wrecked and expect us to take a demolished area to 100% perfect.

Oh yeah except we have four areas in a five hour shift and the first hour is spent doing a completely different task. On top of that we are still expected to backup the cashiers when the line gets long and help fulfilment when the number of carts gets too high. Oh yeah and help guests and spend about half an hour to forty-five minutes pulling items from the back for our area.

Tonight, I was on my way to go to the bathroom (the first time I left my area all night) and the supervisor happened to catch me talking to a guy in tech who was telling me it was his last day. She then proceeded to chew into me about talking when I have stuff to be zoning and how I haven't had a night where things were good in my areas.

This causes me to panic...because I have anxiety and my shit 100% was not going to be complete, especially when the manager for the just dropped off a full cart of reshop from the front.

I then panic zone the rest of my shift, stay 15 minutes over desperately trying to finish my impossible task, and then I go to clock out defeated.

Same supervisor who chewed me out asks me if I'm okay, because at this point I'm hyperventilating (and with my absolute lung ripper of a cold is making every breath hurt) and then I just go into full blow panic attack

I'm violently sobbing and hyperventilating in the chair in her office and I'm pleading with her that I got as much done as I could and I apologized profusely

Fun fact, I have an absolute phobia of failure and I'm a people pleaser. These weeks of just being setup for failure every single night have just shredded my mental health and since I go straight from taking care of my two year old all day then into work I get no break.

I just wish people would have even a hint of common decency

And when I'm having a panic attack about not getting things done, don't tell me how I need to "See it from my perspective when I see you talking to people"

#rage #rant #if this job wasn't my insurance for me and the baby I'd quit right now

[thegreatestofheck]

dark of the night [A. Hotchner]

word count – 25,555 (its so long im so sorry) warnings - a lot, blood, torture, mentions (but no descriptions) of sexual assault/rape, murder, canon violence stuff, this is essentially a hurt/comfort fic so expect a lot of hurt to come before the comfort, also a slow burn. synopsis - an agent gets taken in the middle of an investigation. in a race against time, the team at the bau must find her by diving into her deepest secrets. when a video tape arrives with horrible images of the state of their friends, aaron hotchner realizes just how terrified he is of losing her.  tagging: @magicalbluepanther (i hope you don’t mind the tag lol) a/n – did anyone order an extra long aaron hotchner slow burn? Because here you’ve got one. so my mental health is declining again and that means I have to write a criminal minds one shot that involves a lot of hurt/comfort. also I gave y/n a name because i don’t really like y/l/n or anything, but you’re more than welcome to replace it with your own! please dont be mad at me. anyway, stay happy, healthy, safe, and groovy!

The moment Agent Hotchner realized that she wasn’t coming back, his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. It had happened once before, this feeling, the day he was in his car and he got that call from Foyet and heard Hayley’s muffled sobbing over the phone. Panic settled into his bones, unable to shake it away even as the terrified eyes of the rest of the team looked his way. 

“Did we just lose her?” Emily Prentiss asked, her words wavering ever so slightly as she tried to keep herself calm. 

At the sound of her voice, Hotch finally found himself able to look around the room. 

Morgan had shifted his eyes back to the door that his friend was supposed to come through. Reid stared at Hotch, wide eyed, lips parted. JJ was chewing on her thumb nail, waiting for Hotch to do something, say something. Emily was looking between the door and Hotch. Rossi was standing behind him, so he couldn’t see the look on his face, but Hotch couldn’t imagine he looked any different than the rest of his team. 

Agent Evelyn Caro had walked into the meeting, undercover, in hopes of baiting a serial killer into a quick and easy arrest. After three years of horrific killings, the BAU team was so close to catching him and Agent Caro was more than willing to be the one to take him down. 

Hotch knew this particular case was a sore spot for Caro, as all torture/murder cases were. But during this entire case, she had been far more on edge and far more eager to tear their suspect to shreds. He shouldn’t have let her go to the meeting, he knew it was too personal for her, even if she had never told him why. 

She had refused to take in a ear piece, said that the stories that would be told at the meeting were personal and their privacy was to be respected. Hotch trusted her. He agreed. They all stood outside and waited. The meeting should have been only two hours, Caro promised that she would be back with the suspect in less than three hours. 

But it had now been three hours and almost thirty minutes. The door hadn’t opened a single time since the last of the members of the meeting left, all except Caro and the suspect. 

She fit his physical appearance preference and possessed the confidence he appeared to have deep hatred for. It should have been an easy job. 

“What went wrong?” Hotch murmured out loud, more to himself. 

His words seemed to trigger something in Morgan, who pushed open the van door and unholestered his weapon before anybody could stop him. 

“Morgan!” Rossi yelled after him, but there was no slowing down, and once Morgan was running toward the meeting building, Emily and Reid were on his tail. 

“Hotch, what do we do?” JJ asked, turning toward him as Rossi hopped out of the car to go after his peers. 

Hotch ran through every single protocol that he knew like the back of his hand. They flitted through his brain like smoke, a flurry of useless words and numbers that meant nothing to him. Not a single one told him how to deal with this. Tightness squeezed at his chest as the rules and regulations he clung so tightly to began to fail him once again. 

“We find her.” 

Gun drawn, Hotch entered the building with JJ on his tail. His heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his composure about him. The same couldn’t be said for some of the others. 

“Evie!” Morgan called out, kicking down a door. 

“Evelyn?” Rossi’s voice echoed through elementary school. 

Hotch was seconds away from calling out her name himself, but he kept his jaw clenched tight. JJ followed every move he made. If he lost himself now, so would JJ. He needed at least one person on his side whose head was still level. 

They scoured the entire grounds, but they could find nothing. The room where the meeting had taken place was empty. Not even the leader was there anymore. This dark room was where the team met up after searching every inch of the grounds. 

There was silence for an eternity as they passed glances between each other, wordlessly asking if anyone had found anything. 

“There’s not even a footprint,” Morgan said helplessly, his eyebrows pulled together in concern. 

“I didn’t hear her scream.” JJ’s voice was weak and her eyes downcast. 

“None of us did,” Rossi replied. 

“We have to find her quickly,” Hotch said, finally trusting himself enough to speak. “He only keeps his victims for five days and if he knows she’s FBI, it’s probably less than that.” 

“I’ll call Garcia, track Evie’s phone,” Morgan said, pulling out his phone and turning away from the group. 

“We start from the ground up,” Hotch instructed. “Right now, Agent Caro isn’t our coworker but a victim and we have to treat her as such if we want to find her. Dig into her life, figure out what connects her to the other victims. Did he take her because she’s FBI or because she’s connected to the others. Morgan?”

“Her phone’s off,” Morgan said, pulling the phone away from his ear. 

“Tell Garcia to look for a connection between all of the victims. Dig and dig deep. Hold nothing back.”

Morgan paused for a moment. They all remembered when they had to do this very thing to him, when he was a suspect all those years ago. He knew what it was like to have his friends digging into a personal life he long wanted buried, how they looked at him differently after they knew, even if they didn’t mean to. He didn’t understand then, that they were trying to help, but he did now. There was no time to hesitate. This was Evelyn they were talking about. 

“Garcia, give me everything on Evelyn Caro that you can find. Dig deep. She needs us,” Morgan said. 

“Got it.” 

“Call me when you get anything.” 

“Yup.” 

She ended the call and Morgan turned back to the team. 

“Garcia’s on it.” 

“Okay, then we need to get back to the station and look at everything again. We have a name. We know it’s him. We just need to find them.” Hotch turned away from the team and started for the exit. “No one goes home until we find her.” 

___

Hotch meant what he said, but no one needed to be told twice. Red rimmed eyes scanned the same files over and over and over again as they waited for any amount of information from Garcia. 

“There has to be something here,” Morgan said with a frustrated sigh. “Something we’re missing.” 

“Why did he take her?” JJ asked as she set down her file. The woman rubbed her eyes before crossing her arms and looking up at the rest of the room. “I mean, what changed in that room that made him want her?”

“He found out she was FBI?” Reid suggested, leaning back in his chair. 

“How though?” Rossi piped in from his position leaning up against the wall. “Caro isn’t dumb enough to reveal herself, we were careful.” 

“She must have said something in that meeting that convinced him that she was a good target,” Hotch said. He could feel all eyes on him as he watched the ground, unable to meet any of their gazes. “Maybe this is how he finds his victims. At these group meetings.” 

“So we sent Evie into a death trap.” Morgan shoved his chair away from the table and stood, hands on his hips as he breathed heavily. 

“We have to figure out what connects her to the other victims,” Emily said. “Just like any other case.” 

“But this isn’t any other case is it?” 

“Morgan-” 

“This is Evelyn we’re talking about!” 

“Morgan, I need you to calm down,” Hotch said, standing from his place. 

“Don’t tell me to calm down, Hotch.” Morgan trembled with rage, his eyes glazed over with water. “You can’t expect me to sit here and-” 

“I expect you to do your job, Agent Morgan, seeing as that is the only thing that will get Caro back home.” Hotch struggled to keep his voice low. He curled his fists so the others couldn’t see how badly his hands were shaking. 

“You think we’ll get her back?” 

“If you do your job.” 

Morgan breathed in deeply and nodded his head. Before he sat back down, Morgan put his hand on Reid’s shoulder. The kid had his hand covering his mouth, his eyes glazed over like Morgan’s had been. 

Hotch knew how close Morgan and Caro were. Ever since she signed on to the team, the two had been nearly inseparable. Hotch wondered if it was something he needed to discuss with them. Every time that he seriously considered it, he had to question his motivations. Was it to keep complications out of their team or was it something else, something he wasn’t ready to admit? 

Turning his eyes away from Reid and Morgan, Hotch opened his mouth to address the team when Garcia stepped into the open doorway. They all turned to look at her only to see that her cheeks were streaked with tears as she clutched a file in her hands. 

“Garcia, what is it?” Emily stood and walked toward her, a hand out open for her. 

“You...you told me to dig deep so I did,” she stammered. “I...I did and I found...oh, God.” 

“Come in,” Hotch said, trying to smooth the furrow in his brows. 

Garcia took Emily’s hand and shuffled into the briefing room, sniffling through her tears. 

“Our poor baby girl,” Garcia said, setting the file gently onto the round table as if it was fragile. “She never told us-” 

“Garcia.” 

Garcia cleared her throat and nodded her head, flipping the file open. The team crowded around the table. Staring up at them was a picture of a young girl, her face purpled and bloody. Morgan clenched his jaw, Reid turned his face away from the picture. 

“Is that Caro?” JJ asked, her hand hovering over her mouth. 

Hotch had seen this picture before, attached to the file so covered in black redacted lines that he barely gleaned anything from it. But there were no more black lines. Everything about Agent Caro was there for him to read. Her life was an open book for him. This was his job, the only way to get her back, so why did he feel so dirty doing it? 

“When Evie-”

“Evelyn,” Hotch corrected. “She can’t be our friend right now.”

Garcia nodded, her eyes still glassy. 

“When Evelyn Caro was 12 years old, she was kidnapped from her front lawn. She was held captive by her...by her uncle for four years. He did...he did horrible things to her...I’m sorry-” 

Garcia choked, turning away from the file. Morgan put his hand on Garcia’s shoulder and gave her a reassuring squeeze. 

“She was held by her uncle,” Hotch continued, eyes scanning the page, when it was clear that Garcia wouldn’t be able to. “There were clear signs of r-pe and physical violence, even though she never spoke about it afterward.” 

“She was held captive by her uncle?” Morgan asked. “How did no one know it was him?”

“Police talked to everyone in the family,” Garcia said, turning back into the conversation. “He was never on their serious list of suspects.” 

“How did she get out?” Rossi asked from his place near the back of the crowd.

“She broke out,” Garcia said, her voice like iron even as her lower lip trembled. “She stabbed that son of a bitch the moment she got the chance and she ran until someone found her.” 

“She killed him?” JJ asked. 

Hotch let out a heavy sigh. Something like pride blossomed in his chest. Maybe it was vindication. He would have killed the bastard himself. 

“Why wouldn’t she tell us?” Reid asked, looking up at Hotch like a lost dog. 

“We all have secrets we’ve kept from each other,” Hotch told him, even though he was wondering the same thing. “Now we need to figure out if this is somehow related to why he took her.” 

There was a moment of silence hanging over the room. 

“Garcia, look into the lives of the other women again,” he continued. “See if there is any kind of connection.” 

“I’m on it.”

There was a new kind of determination in her voice, like a fire was lit underneath her.

“Videos of the other victims were sent to the families of the victims,” Hotch said, looking back at the rest of the team. “JJ, contact her brother, see if he’s received anything and tell him to contact us as soon as he is.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What about the rest of us?” 

Once again, all eyes were on Hotch, expecting him to have all of the answers. But he didn’t. He didn’t know anything. 

“Do your jobs.”

___

When the video was sent to her family, it wasn’t her estranged brother who received it. 

“Hotch.” Morgan’s voice was shaking as he picked up the yellow envelope on his desk. “Hotch!” 

As soon as Hotch saw the package he knew what had to be in it. He had seen four of them before all from the previous victims’ families. His heart constricted in his chest. He knew what they were about to watch. Their team member, their friend. 

Grinding his teeth together to keep his face straight, Hotch took the package from Morgan and started back for the briefing room. 

“Do you want me to round up the team?” Morgan asked. 

“You guys shouldn’t have to watch this,” Hotch told him. 

“You’re not watching it alone.” 

Without another word, Morgan went to collect the others. 

Once they were all in the briefing room, Garcia put the recording onto the big screen. 

“You don’t-” 

“We’re staying,” JJ said, her fingers laced with Emily’s. 

Hotch nodded once before looking over at Garcia and signaling her to start the video. 

As soon as Garcia hit the play button, Morgan put an arm around her shoulder and she put a hand up to her mouth. Hotch leaned against a chair, his knuckles going white. 

The screen was black for a few moments. When it turned on, Agent Evelyn Caro was sitting half naked on a cot. Bruises littered her body, her ribs on the left side blackened. A cut ran across a purple cheek with dried blood running down her face. One of her eyes was black. But Caro stared straight ahead of her, eyes made of steal. 

“Oh, baby,” Garcia breathed. 

The room was small, bland. It looked cold. 

A man stepped into the frame. Caro didn’t even look at him, she just kept staring straight ahead. Before he even said anything, he raised a hand and slapped her across the face. Reid flinched, but none of them turned away. Their attention needed to be on this video, gleaning as much information as they could to get her home. Hotch refused to let her suffering go to waste. He would watch every second of it, no matter how much his stomach burned with hatred. 

Caro barely reacted to the backhand, her head snapping to the side, but the rest of her body stayed in the same place, her hands clasped together in her lap. When she straightened her head, blood trickled down from her lip. She lifted a hand to wipe the blood away before looking up at the man. Her eyes carried the heat of a thousand suns as she looked at her assailant, almost as if daring him to touch her again. That was the Caro that Hotch knew. She would never back down, never give in. 

“What do you want?” She asked. 

Hearing her voice so raw sent a chill down Hotch’s spine. Everything about this was wrong. 

“I know what happened to you when you were young,” the man said, walking in front of her. 

Caro clenched her jaw and turned her face forward once again, seeming to pretend that he wasn’t there. 

“Does this feel familiar to you?” the man asked, spinning in a circle. “The room, the bed, the chain.” 

Hotch’s eyes shifted away from Caro and he looked more at the bed. There was indeed a chain attached to the metal of the bed frame. Caro’s jaw tightened again and Hotch watched as she ran a finger over a scar he had seen on her wrist a million times before but never asked her about. He could only imagine a young Agent Caro, chained to a bed. She carried that scar around with her and he had never even cared enough to ask her about it. 

“It’s exactly the same,” Caro said.

The man sat next to her and still Caro didn’t flinch. Not even her breathing changed. Amidst his anger and his fear, Hotch felt pride. Damn right she would not even acknowledge him. Hotch expected nothing less from her. Though he wouldn’t fault her if she did. 

The Unsub put his hand on her knee and Hotch’s eyes went red. His ears rang, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. He watched Caro look down at the Unsub’s hand and Hotch noticed a slight tremble in her body. Her shaking was rage, not fear. He knew her well enough to know that. 

“What do you want?” The tremor reached her voice. Hotch could see her holding back from killing the unsub then and there. Her restraint told him that her captor was the only way out of her room. If she killed him now, she would be trapped. 

The unsub sighed and tilted his head to the side, his eyes fixed on the ground. 

“I want to break you,” he said.

Hotch clenched his jaw, but still Caro’s face stayed straight. She didn’t even blink. The words ‘I dare you to try’ never even passed her lips, but it was a clear challenge in her eyes. 

The image cut and Hotch almost thought that was going to be the end. But then it suddenly clicked on. Caro was slowly sitting up from laying on the bed. The unsub was halfway in the frame, buckling his belt. Hotch heard a quiet ‘oh’ come from Garcia and when he glanced over at her, he noticed tears in Morgan’s eyes. 

Caro seemed stiff as she sat up. The chain that had before been only attached to the bed was now shackled to her wrist. Hotch watched her grimace as she moved her feet to the ground. Her toes curled, telling Hotch that the ground was cold. The entire room must have been freezing. 

A silence hung over the team as they waited for something to happen. 

“You’re tough, I’ll give you that,” the unsub said. Caro refused to look at him. “The other girls gave in at this point.” 

“And then you killed them.” Caro looked over at him, moving slowly and clearly despite the pain that was obvious settling into her bones. 

The unsub shrugged his shoulders, a proud smile on his face. 

“Some girls seem to think that death is better than what I did to them,” he said. “But maybe you kind of like it.” 

Caro pulled harshly against her chain, shutting her eyes and turning her face away from him. 

“Son of a bitch,” Rossi breathed. Hotch refrained from looking back at him. 

“How does she not strangle him?” JJ asked. Her words were tight from the swelling in her throat. 

“He’s her only way out of that room,” Hotch told her. “She kills him and she starves in there.” 

“Not if we find her.” 

They fell quiet again, just soon enough to hear a low rumble of a laugh from the man. 

“I see I struck a nerve.” The unsub said. 

Caro steadied her breathing and straightened her shoulders. 

“I’m not surprised you’ve lasted longer than the other girls, being an FBI agent and all. I wonder how your friends are doing.” 

Caro pulled against the chain again, her eyes squeezing tighter. 

“Ah, another nerve. Should we poke at that one a bit more?” 

The unsub stepped out of the frame. For the briefest moment, with his back turned on her, Caro’s eyes flicked toward the camera. 

“She knows it’s there,” Reid said. “She knows about the camera.” 

Caro sucked in a deep breath and gave a short nod of her head. She knew her taker’s MO. She knew about the videos and the envelope. She knew they were watching her, and she was telling them that she was okay. 

When the unsub walked back into frame, he was holding something in his hands. With his back to the camera, they couldn’t get a good look at what he was holding.

“I am aware that your brother is the only remaining relative of yours who will speak to you, is that correct?” The unsub said.

Caro breathed deeply in once, her eyes staring straight through the unsub.

“This is him and his wife, their two daughters. Beautiful family. When was the last time you spoke to them?”

Agent Caro’s eyes moved from the unsub to the object in his hand and her eyes immediately welled up with tears. The unsub clicked his tongue.

“It’s the shame, isn’t it? It eats you up inside. You can’t bear the thought of tainting your brother and his perfect family with your past.”

She closed her eyes and turned her face away.

“This is Penelope Garcia, yes?”

Garcia straightened her back, surprised at hearing her name.

Caro opened her eyes and Hotch noticed a drastic shift in her breathing. Once steady and calm, her chest now rose and fell at an uneven pace. Her eyes darted between whatever the unsub was holding and his face.

“Jennifer Jareau?”

The unsub tossed something onto the bed next to Caro. And then another.

“David Rossi?”

For the first time, Caro flinched as he flicked what Hotch was starting to realize was a picture in her direction.

“Emily Prentiss. Spencer Reid.”

Two more pictures were thrown at her and Caro flinched twice more.

“Derek Morgan.”

A fire lit in Caro’s eyes as she stared up at him again.

“Aaron Hotchner.”

Before he could even throw the picture her way, Caro jumped up from the bed and charged at him, pulling on the chair.

“If you touch them, I swear I’ll kill you,” she seethed.

The unsub shoved her backward onto the bed, but she scrambled up again. He hit her across the face, sending her back with a yelp. Breathing heavily, she turned to look at him, like a rabid dog.

“That’s a hard promise to make seeing as you are chained to a bed and I am not.”

“She has to know that he can’t hurt us,” Emily said, looking to Hotch for answers.

“She’s panicking,” Hotch replied. His knuckles tightened over the chairs.

“You think I won’t go after them?” the unsub said as he dropped a hand onto her shoulder.

Caro turned her face away from him and shook her head.

“You can’t,” she said. Her voice was growing weak, shaking more. “They’re FBI, you can’t just-“

She didn’t get the chance to finish before the unsub threw a fist across her face.

“I won’t even have to hurt them though, will I?” The unsub sneered, bending down close to her face. “I bet by now they know every dark secret about your past. Every skeleton in your closet. They know about the blood on your hands.”

Hotch had read her file that Garcia dug up a thousand times over in the last few days since she found it. Something in him told him he had to, though another part of him wanted to wait until Caro was there to tell him herself. But she deserved better than for her story to go unknown. She deserved to have someone know.

“No,” Caro whimpered.

“You really think they’ll accept you after that?” The unsub let out a laugh.

“Evie, we love you,” Garcia said as she took a step forward. “Evie-“

“Garcia, quiet,” Hotch said, putting out a hand.

“Sir, she has to know, she has to know.”

Morgan put his arm back around Garcia and pulled her in for a hug.

“She knows,” he whispered to her.

“You lost your family once because of what you did to your uncle,” the unsub said. “Now you’ll lose another.”

“No!”

Caro threw herself at the unsub once again, her fists flying. Hotch had seen her fight before. She was well trained, and she was calculated, confident. But this was animalistic. This was pure instinct. Her punches were weak and light, hitting the places of the unsub where very little damage would be done. The chain prevented any real effort from her, though the bed shook and rattled as she yanked against the metal. It didn’t take him long to wrestle her onto the bed, pinning her down by her arms.

Her face was clearly displayed to the camera. She breathed sporadically, panting and gasping for air. Sweat beaded down her battered face. Her eyes were wide and flitting back and forth, terrified.

“How would you feel if I paid one of them a visit, huh?” The unsub asked, his nose brushing against her cheek.

Caro struggled, a growl of frustration strangled in her sore throat.

“That Spencer Reid lives alone, doesn’t he?”

Rossi put a hand on Reid’s shoulder, who had suddenly gone pale.

“Don’t touch him!” She thrashed again, trying to throw the unsub off of her. She tried to kick her feet, but they were effectively pinned under her by the weight of the unsub. She grunted and groaned in the effort it took to try and get him off of her.

“I doubt it would take much to strangle that skinny neck of his.”

Caro suddenly stopped struggled. The sweat that pooled down her cheeks suddenly started to look more like tears as her body went still.

“Please don’t hurt them,” she said, her voice quiet.

“What, you don’t want me creeping into Emily’s apartment tonight, pay her a little visit?”

Caro let out a quiet sound, something that was almost like a sob.

“Please.”

“What will you do for me in return?” He asked, pressing still closer to her face.

Caro rolled her head back and forth on the bed and Hotch could see the tears that pooled in her eyes.

“Anything.”

“Anything?”

She just nodded her head, lower lip quavering.

“Don’t give up, baby girl,” Morgan whispered. Garcia clung tighter to his hand.

“Well, well,” the unsub said with a sigh as he sat up, releasing Caro from his hold. Her body sagged even further into the cot. He stepped away from the cot and bent down to pick up some of the pictures that fell to the floor. “There isn’t really anything I want from you just now, so I might go and visit one of your friends just to keep you on your toes.”

“No!” Caro leapt from the bed and attached herself to the unsub’s back.

He threw her against back against the cot. Hotch could see him lift his hand to deliver hit after hit to his agent, but he was grateful that the unsub’s back blocked the view of the camera. He didn’t think he could stand to watch her get beaten.

Caro was surprisingly silent as the unsub hit her.

It was over relatively quickly. The unsub straightened himself out, squaring his shoulders. Without a word, he turned to the camera and walked toward it. Caro let out a quiet groan just before the unsub picked up the camera and shut it off.

There was a heavy silence that fell over the team.

“What the hell did we just watch?” Emily asked, setting her eyes on Hotch.

They were once again expecting him to have all the answers, but he had nothing to say. His hands were cramping from how hard he was clenching onto the chair. It took all the strength in him not to throw it across the room. Caro should be here with them, not in that room, not with that man.

“Garcia, can you play the end again and turn up the volume?” Rossi asked.

“No offense, sir,” Garcia said, teary eyed. “But I can’t watch that again.”

“Just the very end, as he’s walking toward the camera. Agent Caro said something.”

“Did she?” JJ asked, crossing her arms.

Garcia pressed a few buttons on her laptop and the video returned. Hotch was almost tempted to look away. The audio was louder as the unsub heaved out an exhausted sigh and started walking toward the camera. And then they heard it, the quiet groan. But it wasn’t a groan at all. She had said something, just a quiet name.

His name.

Aaron.

___

Sitting at his desk, Hotch couldn’t seem to lift his heavy head from his hands. The window, which was almost always closed, was wide open. His office was too stuffy, too hot. He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t get the sound of his name from her lips out of his head.

A knock came to his door and he finally lifted his head. Rossi was standing there with his usual “something is wrong and I’m going to fix it” face. Hotch wasn’t sure if he was in the mood for this conversation.

“What can I do for you, David?”

“We have to talk about what just happened,” Rossi said.

“I don’t really think-“

“Aaron, listen to me,” Rossi said, walking into the room. “Evelyn needs you right now.”

“There’s nothing I can do that the team isn’t already doing.”

“She said your name.”

“I know that. You think I don’t know that?” Hotch’s tone was a little sharper than he meant it to be. He let out a sigh and stretched out his fingers.

Rossi sat down across from him.

“Why? We all know that she’s closest with Morgan, so why say your name?” Rossi asked. Hotch squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw. The exhaustion headache that was plaguing him wasn’t helping the fact that thinking about who Caro was and wasn’t closest with lit a fire in his gut. “And why your first name? She only ever called you Hotch, like the rest of us.”

“That’s not true,” Hotch said, memorizing the lines on his hands so he wouldn’t have to look at Rossi.

“What isn’t?”

“She’s called me Aaron.”

“When?”

“When she was angry with me,” Hotch said. The thought of it pained him. He could hear her sharp tone, the way she hissed his name like venom. When she thought he was too cold, too apathetic.

“Or….”

“Or what?”

There was another time when she called him Aaron. Three other times.

On the worst day of his life, when he held Hayley’s body in his arms, Caro had sat next to him on the floor. People were calling his name. “Hotch, Hotch, Hotchner.”

She sat there on the ground and whispered his name just once, “Aaron.” It was quiet, like a pin dropping during a storm. But still he heard her.

“Aaron, your son,” she said.

That decision, to stay with Hayley or go find Jack, tore his soul into pieces until she spoke again.

“I’ll stay with her.”

The second time was a few weeks after Hayley’s death. Hotch wasn’t handling it well, or at all. She saw right through the façade that he had put forward. He was at the office late one night and so was she. Even when he tried to send her home, she politely refused, saying there was a lot of work she needed to get done.

He spent hours in his office, the grief and the sorrow and the shame building and building and building until he was suddenly standing over his desk. Everything here reminded him of Hayley. The baseball, the picture of Jack, even the piles of papers that were stacked high, shaming him for not being there for her more.

The only way to keep himself from crying was to let the anger take over. Anger at Foyet, anger at the job, anger at the world, anger at himself. Forgetting where he was, Hotch had dumped everything off of his desk with one sweep of his arm.

Collapsing to the ground, Hotch didn’t remember how long he sat there, leaning against his desk, hyperventilating, until Caro walked in. She didn’t say anything to him. She just lowered herself to the ground next to him, letting out a long sigh. She just sat there, breathing louder than Hotch was used to her breathing, but he found after a few minutes that his breathing began to match hers. A calmness returned to his body, at least enough to breathe normally.

“Aaron?”

He turned to look at her, the edges of his eyes lined with red.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?”

Hotch nodded his head. He pushed himself to his feet before helping Caro to hers.

“I’ll drive,” she said, stepping around all of the things on the ground.

“What about-“

“We’ll deal with it tomorrow,” Caro had said. “Come on.”

She talked to him all the way back to the car. She asked if he wanted to talk about what made him dump all of his stuff on the ground. When he said no, she asked him about Jack instead. It felt comfortable to talk to her about his son, even though he tried to keep personal life and business separated. He had never really talked to her about anything other than work, except for the times when the team would go out to eat, back when Hayley would come with them. She would talk about her brother, his family, but very vaguely.

Now he supposed he knew why she was always so vague.

The third time she called him Aaron, they were on a case. Young girls being kidnapped, assaulted, and dumped. This was one of many cases just like it. Hotch couldn’t even remember what town they were in now. All he remembered was walking by Caro’s hotel room and feeling like he needed to go inside. Something pulled him to a stop outside her door that night and he couldn’t ignore it.

He knocked on the door, but didn’t wait for a respond before he opened in.

Caro was still up, even though they had left hours ago. She had skipped the meal they all shared together, which was unlike her. She sat at her desk, the lamp on but not the overhead light. The case that they were working was laid out in front of her. When she looked up at him, startled that he had come in, her eyes were red and he couldn’t tell if it was all of the reading or if it was something else.

“What can I do for you, Hotch?” Caro asked, one of her legs propped up on the swivel chair.

“I….” He hadn’t really thought this far ahead. “….wanted to check on you, see how you were doing.”

Caro’s lips pulled into an amused smile.

“You never check on me.”

“Maybe now’s the time to start.”

They were quiet for a few moments until Caro let out a sigh. She patted the bed, signaling for him to sit.

“These cases, the ones with the young girls, they’re hard,” Caro told him after he sat down.

Hotch felt like a foreigner sitting there and talking to her, awkward as he sat on her bed, like it shouldn’t be him here doing this. But she seemed so eager to talk, like she was just waiting for someone to ask.

“I understand,” Hotch said finally, looking at the carpet. “They’re hard on all of us.”

“Aaron.”

At the sound of his name, he looked back at her and he could see the tears in her eyes. He didn’t realize it then, but she had been begging him to understand so she didn’t have to say. She didn’t want to have to say it.

He couldn’t sleep that night and he didn’t know why.

“She called you Aaron when she was mad at you or….” Rossi’s voice pulled him back to the present.

“Or she needs me to listen.”

“So, what does she need you to hear?”

___

“He knows her,” Hotch said suddenly, startling the life out of the half sleeping agents.

“What?” Morgan asked, sitting up.

“The unsub knows her. There is no way that he learned all of this about her at the meeting they went to. No way he could have replicated the room that she was kept in when she was a child unless he had personal information.”

“He knew everything about her…and us…before he even took her,” Rossi said, his voice laced with awe. “Which means….”

“All those other murders were about getting her here.” Hotch felt his heart restrict in his chest. “This has all been about her. She was the piece we were missing.”

“Sir?” Garcia hurried into the room, meaning she had found something. “The link between all the victims, I think I found it.”

The team turned toward her.

“Evie is the link.” Garcia swiped up on her laptop, a couple different screens popping up on the big screen. “Sarah Jordans went to kindergarten with Evie. Paulette Bobin was the daughter of the police officer who found Evie after she escaped her uncle. Robin Everard was her high school drama teacher’s niece. Celia Hough was the sister of a woman she walked dogs for in middle school. They weren’t close enough to Evie for her to recognize them, but they were all a part of her life in some way.”

Hotch looked over at Rossi and shook his head.

“It’s been about Caro all along. All of it.”

“That means that the place she’s being held is about her too,” Morgan said. “More than just making the room look the same. He’s holding her somewhere that means something to her.”

“Garcia,” Hotch said, turning his attention back to the tech analyst. “Who owns the uncle’s house now?”

“You think he took her back there?”

“She said the room looked exactly the same. Maybe because it was the same.”

“The house passed onto his wife’s son when he died,” Garcia said.

“Where is the son now?”

“He is….” They all watched her carefully, waiting for the last piece of information. “…. He changed his name just after his father’s funeral to….”

Hotch turned back to the screen, where the picture of the unsub was plastered so none of them would forget it.

“Ralph Bennet,” Morgan said, venom in his words. “The unsub.”

“How did she not recognize her own cousin?”

“His father and mother got divorced when he was young. He didn’t even know he had a step-dad who was still alive until he was dead,” Garcia said.

“So, Ralph Bennet was the step-son of Caro’s uncle. He feels like he has to punish her for taking another father figure away from him,” added Reid.

“He wants her to pay. He wants to hurt her in any way possible.”

“He’s got her at her old house.”

___

Evelyn could barely see. Her eyes were weak and tired, partially from the crying and partially from the lack of sleep. She was terrified of letting her eyes shut, of letting her guard down. She needed to stay awake, to keep her guard up. But she couldn’t take her eyes away from the red stain on the floor.

The cot mattress was itching her skin. If she could ignore the itching, she would begin to feel the sting of the metal chain against her skin. She preferred the itching.

A thud from downstairs echoed to her room. The attic. Pretending like this wasn’t that room she had been kept in for all those years was the only thing that was keeping her from breaking down, but that wall between what she pretended was real and reality was growing thin.

Breathing in through her nose, Evelyn shut her eyes and imagined herself back in her apartment, safe and warm. In her hands was a cup of tea, chamomile with only one sprinkling of sugar. It was raining outside. Not too hard, but hard enough that she could hear it pattering against the window. Her dog slept at her feet, breathing softly. In her lap was-

Another thud from downstairs, tearing Evelyn from her fantasy. She opened her eyes and looked toward the door.

“Ralph?” She called out, voice hoarse. There was no response.

When the door burst open suddenly, Evelyn yelped and jumped backward, curling her legs in on herself.

Ralph stood there, his face red and sweat beading down his forehead.

“What’s going on?” Evelyn asked, curling up tighter.

Ralph let out a growl of frustration and started toward her.

“Ralph- no!” Evelyn kicked out at him, but he grabbed hold of her ankles and dragged her to the edge of the bed. “What are you-“

“Shut up,” Ralph snapped, unlacing the chains around her wrist. “We’re leaving.”

“What-“

“I said shut up!”

He tugged down hard on the chain, making it dig deeper into the wound around her wrist. Evelyn hissed in pain, but she quieted as he told her. There was another thud from downstairs and Evelyn snapped her head in the direction of the sound. Things were slowly starting to come together; Ralph’s shaking hands, his red face, the thudding downstairs.

Evelyn looked between Ralph and the door. She sat a still as she could while his trembling hands, waiting for the just right moment. As soon as the chains were loose, Evelyn slipped her wrist out of the chain, kicked Ralph over with as little strength as she had, and ran for the door.

“Aaron!”

Her cry echoed through the house just before Ralph grabbed her from behind, clamping a hand over her mouth.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” He hissed, dragging her back into the room.

“Caro?”

Evelyn gasped through Ralph’s hand at the sound of Hotch’s voice, trying to shout back. She struggled against Ralph as he pulled her back to the bed, thrashing her shoulders to try and break free.

“Agent Caro?”

I’m here, Hotch, I’m here.

Ralph threw the weak Evelyn onto the bed and backhanded her across the face so hard that her head started to spin. She stretched her jaw, blinking away the blackness in her vision.

“Evie!” From somewhere far away, she thought she could hear her best friend, Derek Morgan, calling for her. She opened her mouth to call back, but all she felt was numbness.

By the time she finally felt like she could see again, there was someone else in the doorway. At first glance, she thought it was Ralph, but he was still there in the room with her. The man in the doorway had a gun, the man in the doorway was Aaron Hotchner.

“Ralph Bennet, step away,” Hotch said.

Evelyn watched, head blurry as Ralph did as he was told, backing away from her. But he was going the wrong way. There was something wrong that way. Something she needed to tell Hotch about.

“You came for me,” she said, trying to smile.

“Are you okay, Caro?”

Evelyn could feel the headache behind her eyes begin to fade. She nodded her head once, letting her eyes close. There was something she needed to tell him, something really important.

“There’s something,” she said, shaking her head to try and clear it. “Over there-“

Before Evelyn could even finish, Ralph stepped forward and swung a bat at Hotch, the bat that Evelyn knew was in the corner. The bat that broke her ribs. That was what she needed to tell Hotch about. But now it was too late.

The bat knocked Hotch’s gun out of his hands and onto the ground. Hotch wasted no time in jumping into action, springing at Ralph without a second thought. Evelyn tried to shake herself out of her stoper. She would be no help to anyone weary. Even if malnutrition and the beating she got that morning were the cause of her exhaustion, she wanted to be of more help.

Hotch knocked Ralph backward, but Ralph held tight to the bat in his hands, using it to push Hotch backward. It was hard for Evelyn to follow the fight, her eyes not able of following every hit and swing. When her eyes finally caught up with what was happening, the ringing in her ears starting to fade, Evelyn found that Hotch was on the ground, Ralph standing over him with the baseball bat, ready to bash his head in.

Evelyn pushed herself off of the bed, her legs weak and shaking, and ran toward Ralph.

“Don’t touch him!” She growled, reaching up to grab hold of the bat.

“Let go, bitch!”

It didn’t take much for Ralph to throw Evelyn’s grip off the bat, but only by throwing the bat out of his hands as well. She hit the ground with a thud, the force rattling through her bones. Ralph immediately turned his attention back to Hotch, who was still on the ground but in a less vulnerable state.

On the ground with Evelyn were the bat and the forgotten gun, but they were all the way on the other side of the room. She didn’t know if she could make it there and back before her legs gave out.

She was laying on the ground by the edge of the bed, hearing Hotch and Ralph go at it. There had to be something that she could do. She had to do something. As she pushed herself up, Evelyn’s had grazed over the chain, the chain that had been used to keep her tied to this bed for days. Looking up at Ralph, Evelyn dug into all that bitterness and all the rage that she had been brewing for the past twenty years of her life and found some ounce of strength.

Strength enough to wrap her hands around the chain. Strength enough to pick to chain off the ground. Strength enough to stand.

With Ralph paying attention to Hotch, his back was left exposed to her. He didn’t think she had the strength left. He thought he broke her.

But she was unbreakable.

Wrapping the chain around one of her hands, she walked up behind Ralph and swung the chain around his neck. He let out a startled gasp, lifting a hand, but not before Evelyn grabbed the chain with her open hand and pulled. Ralph stumbled backward into her. He slapped at her hands. He tried to hit her with the back of his head.

But the adrenaline coursing through her veins kept her strong. She pulled tighter, tensing her hands.

Ralph gagged and Evelyn scrunched her nose. He let out a gurgling sound and Evelyn groaned as the muscles in her arms began to cramp from the tightness. But still she did not let go.

Hotch stood, his lip bleeding and his eye beginning to bruise. Ralph and Evelyn stumbled over; he fell to the ground and she landed on the bed, never once letting the chain go slack.

“Agent Caro,” Hotch said. “You can let him go.”

Evelyn only pulled tighter. Ralph smacked at her hands lamely, choking sounds gurgling from his throat. His legs kicked out, struggling in the same way that she had been. His legs kicked and his body twitched and his arms flailed out and he maybe felt an ounce of the terror that Evelyn had.

“Caro.”

Evelyn’s face twisted she breathed heavily, pulling tighter against the chain until Ralph’s eyes were rolling.

“Evelyn.”

She froze, looking up at him. All the tension in her face faded as her eyes met Hotch’s. She always used his first name when she needed him to listen to her, but now it was her turn to listen to him. Ralph gasped for the air that was slowly entering his lungs.

“You can let him go.”

Evelyn remembered that scared little girl she was all those years ago. There had been no other option then. It was just her, her uncle, and the knife in her hand. It was kill him or live the rest of her life in a prison. She felt like that again. Alone, terrified, trapped, cornered. There was no other way out.

“You’re safe now, Evelyn,” Hotch said. “You can let him go.”

She wasn’t alone anymore. Hotch was here with her. She wasn’t that terrified little girl with no way out. She was an FBI agent. She had grown and she had learned and she was no longer alone. Her team had come from her. Her family had found her.

She let go of the chain, pulling her legs onto the bed. Ralph heaved in lung fulls of air, but Evelyn kept her eyes on Hotch. He took a step toward them, pulling out his handcuffs. Evelyn flinched away, pulling her legs in tighter.

“These aren’t for you,” Hotch told her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Relaxing her muscles as best as she could, Evelyn nodded her head.

“I know,” she said. “I know.”

She sat there on the bed while Hotch roughly rolled a still coughing Ralph onto his stomach to handcuff him. Once the handcuffs were on, Hotch turned back to Evelyn, who was still staring at him. Her eyes were full of tears.

It was hard for Hotch to say that he didn’t enjoy beating Ralph into the ground. He shouldn’t want to keep beating the shit out of the man now that he was in handcuffs, but seeing those tears in her eyes made Hotch want to. He had been tempted to let Evelyn kill Ralph. She deserved that bit of closure. But he knew the guilt that she already carried, the guilt she would carry on top of that. He knew because he carried that same guilt.

Still, he wanted to see that monster dead. He wanted to wipe those tears from her eyes before they even had a chance to fall.

“Caro-“

“Evie!”

Morgan burst into the room, his eyebrows pinched together in worry. Evelyn tore her gaze away from Hotch at the sound of Morgan’s voice.

“Derek.” The relief in her voice as she said his name made Hotch’s stomach drop.

Morgan rushed toward the bed and dropped to his knees in front of it. He reached forward and pulled the tattered blanket on the bed up and around Evelyn’s shoulders, covering her. Evelyn just stared at him, the tears threatening to fall from her lashes. Morgan brushed hair from out of her face as a smile began to pull at his lips. His smile made her almost able to break a grin too.

When Morgan first put his arms around Evelyn, het body immediately tensed. She expected to be surrounded by Ralph’s smell, feel his clammy skin on hers. But it was Morgan’s smell; that expensive cologne she had bought for his birthday mixed with the laundry detergent he always used. He held her tight. Even when she opened her eyes, she wasn’t able to look down enough to see Ralph, which was probably Morgan’s intention. She would have done the same thing.

The adrenaline had succeeded in keeping her heart rate steady, but now that Morgan was holding her, her heart started to pound.

Hotch grabbed Ralph off the ground and hoisted him to his feet. Evelyn listened as he shoved Ralph down the stairs, Ralph grunting and groaning all the way down.

It wasn’t until they could no longer hear him that Morgan pulled away. She didn’t want to let him go, afraid that she would begin to crumble without him there. Morgan put a hand on her cheek and leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“Let’s get you home.”

___

The first worst part about walking down those stairs was remembering the last time she had done this. That red stain on the floor had been there for twenty years. Evelyn had left her uncle bleeding out on the floor while she stumbled down the stairs, dazed, terrified. She knew the blood was the same because she had been covered in it too.

The second worst part was when everyone turned to look at her.

JJ, Emily, Reid, and Rossi were all in the downstairs of the house. They had holstered their guns, but Emily still had her hand on hers. The stairs were too narrow for Morgan to walk alongside her, so he held her hand as he walked in front of her. She was almost hesitant to take that final step, terrified of how the others would look at her.

When they heard the stair creak, they all turned their heads toward Evelyn. She froze, her blood running cold. She expected the concerned stares, the pitied eyes, it was all she got last time. Tightening the blanket around her shoulders, Evelyn couldn’t bring herself to look them in the eyes.

JJ walked toward her, stopping only a few feet away.

“Can I hug you?” JJ asked.

Evelyn looked up to see that there were tears in her friend’s eyes, but a smile on her face. There was no pity, only relief.

Slowly, Evelyn nodded her head. JJ didn’t need to be told twice. She closed the distance, wrapping her arms around Evelyn’s neck. Emily was next, pressing a gentle kiss against the side of her head. Reid’s hug was awkward, shaky.

“If you ever need to talk,” he said quietly.

Evelyn nodded her head. She knew that he understood what it was like, to be taken and held against your will. She gave him a gentle smile that he returned. Rossi was the last to approach her. He had teary smile on his face as well. He didn’t hug her entirely, but instead put his hand on the back of her neck and pulled her toward him to press a kiss against her forehead.

“C’mon,” Morgan said. “Ambulance is out here.”

“I don’t need to go to the hospital,” Evelyn said, looking over at him and giving a shake of your head.

Morgan raised his eyebrows, a hint of a smile on his face.

“Same old Evelyn.” He put an arm around her shoulder, as he always did. The action was simple, but it was enough to make her smile, to make her feel normal. “But yes, we’re taking you to the hospital.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes but let him lead her outside to the ambulance. Hotch was already out there, talking quietly to the EMT. Ralph must have gone in a different police car. He was nowhere to be seen.

“I’ll meet you at the hospital?” Morgan said once she had a quick once over by the EMT.

“You’re not going to ride with me?” She asked. Evelyn hoped that the fear of being alone again that she was feeling didn’t show through in her voice.

“Hotch’ll go with you.”

Morgan dropped a hand on Hotch’s shoulder, who wore his usual scowl, his arms crossed. He turned toward Morgan, who raised his eyebrows and walked away.

“I’ll be right back,” the EMT said before turning and walking away.

Evelyn sat on the bed, still wearing the blanket Morgan had wrapped around her. Her stomach twisted as Hotch walked toward her. She kept her eyes at the ground, chewing on the inside of her lip. She could feel only shame as he looked at her. Maybe it was because he could see the bruises and the cuts and the blood. Maybe it was because she was at her lowest and he was her boss who should only ever see her at her best. Maybe it was because he had to talk her down from choking the life out of a man. Maybe it was some combination of everything.

“Are you okay?” He asked her, leaning up against the ambulance.

Evelyn nodded her head slowly. She would have responded with a decisive yes, but her mouth had gone too dry to talk.

“That’s a stupid question, of course you’re not okay,” Hotch muttered and looked down at his feet.

“I’m okay,” Evelyn affirmed. “I’m okay.”

When he looked back up at her, Evelyn was surprised to see his eyes were watery.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get you sooner.”

Evelyn shook her head as aggressively as she could manage.

“I knew you would come, Hotch,” she told him. “I don’t blame you. It’s not your fault.”

Hotch let out an almost bitter laugh.

“I should be saying that to you.” Hotch looked at her in such a way that made Evelyn’s stomach squeeze. “All this time, and you’re still looking after me.”

Evelyn gave him a small smile in return.

“Thank you for coming to get me.”

“Of course.”

The EMT returned, telling Hotch that they were getting ready to go. He pulled himself into the ambulance and the EMT followed after him.

“Lie back,” the EMT said. Evelyn did as she was told, feeling a suffocating feeling settling on her chest as she stared up at the white ceiling. The sting of tears returned to her eyes and she wasn’t sure if she had the strength to hold them back.

Her hands tensed at her side, clenching around the blanket of the gurney. Hotch, now sitting in the chair beside her, reached out and took her hand in his. She turned her head to look at him, sniffing in deeply.

“It’s going to be okay,” Hotch told her before giving her a sharp nod.

Evelyn nodded back at him, breathing in deeply. She let go of the blanket and shifted her hand around until her fingers were laced through his. She didn’t know how comfortable he was with holding her hand, but at the moment she didn’t care. She needed someone’s hand to hold. She needed his hand to hold.

She wasn’t in the hospital for very long, which she was grateful for. Garcia got there as soon as Evelyn was released and put a pair of shaking arms around her, already dissolved into tears. Evelyn laughed, grateful for her friend’s antics.

“I love you so much,” Garcia said, her tears watering Evelyn’s neck.

She had ditched the gross blanket and was currently sporting a wonderful hospital gown and Hotch’s coat.

“Are you staying somewhere? Do you need somewhere to stay? I’ve got some clothes and a warm bed and I can make you some tea-“

“I really appreciate it, Pen,” Evelyn said, “But Hotch offered me a bed already.”

Garcia stopped her rambling to stare at her, glancing behind Evelyn to where Hotch was talking to the rest of the team.

“Hotch offered-? Right, okay. That’s good. I still brought you some clothes to wear. Come with me.”

“O-okay.”

Garcia led Evelyn to the bathroom to put her in some clothes.

“As soon as they went to get you, I went home to grab you some clothes.” Garcia dropped her bag on the ground. Evelyn covered her mouth with her hand to keep herself from laughing. It was sweet of her friend, but Evelyn didn’t think she needed that many clothes for a few nights. “I hope it’s enough.”

“Thank you. It’s perfect.”

Evelyn stepped into one of the stalls and pulled a thin sweater on over her head and a pair of sweatpants. It wasn’t the cutest outfit, but it was comfortable, and it covered her ill looking body, so it would do.

Penelope was wiping tears away when Evelyn stepped out of the stall. Evelyn smiled at her and put her hands on her friend’s shoulders.

“I’m okay, Pen.”

“Evie-“

“I’m really okay. I promise.”

Penelope let out a heavy sigh and nodded.

“Can I have a smile? It’ll make me feel better,” Evelyn said in a sing-songy, letting her hands fall back to her side.

A smile tugged at Penelope’s lips and she turned away, letting out a little laugh.

“There you go. Now the world’s right again.”

Evelyn and Penelope left the bathroom and rejoined the group just as Hotch was finishing his little speech.

“Go home, everybody. Get some sleep. We’ll come back to work on Monday,” Hotch was saying.

“Thank you,” Evelyn piped up before they turned to go their separate ways. “For everything.”

___

Hotch opened the front door of his apartment. It was dark inside, only one of the lamps were on. It was silent, still. Part of it was reassuring, the stillness. Part of it was unsettling, the quiet.

She looked back at Hotch and he nodded his head, so she stepped inside.

It felt better once she was inside. It was warm, warmer than the attic.

She had never even imagined stepping into Hotch’s home. She expected it to be stiff and cold like his office was, impersonal. But it was lively, with pictures hung on the walls and décor covering shelves full of books. Evelyn wondered absent-mindedly how much of it was Hayley’s sister or if Hotch had a secret interior designer in him somewhere. The thought made her smile.

“You’ll sleep through here,” Hotch said, his voice in a hushed tone. Jack was probably already in bed.

“Your room?” She asked, keeping her voice equally as low.

Hotch nodded.

“I’m not going to displace you,” Evelyn said. “I can sleep on the couch.”

On the couch, there was already a blanket and pillow set up.

“No, Caro. I can’t let you sleep on a couch your first day back,” Hotch said, giving his head a shake.

“Hotch, seriously-“

“Agent Caro…”

Evelyn tilted her head down and raised an eyebrow.

“Now you’re using your boss voice on me.”

To her amazement, Hotch actually smiled. He was looser here, less uptight. Something about passing into his house must have been some kind of release. Domestic Hotch was very different than at work Hotch.

“Fine,” Evelyn said. “But only for tonight.”

“I’ll be out here if you need me.”

Evelyn nodded her head. She turned down the hall as Hotch walked toward the couch. Evelyn stopped, turning to say one last thing to him, but she decided against it. He sat with his back to her, taking off his shoes. She watched him let out a deep sigh and roll tension out of his shoulders. Evelyn couldn’t help but think that she was the cause of that tension and the sooner she was out of his hair the better.

It was strange, standing by Hotch’s bed. This would be the first warm, safe bed she would be falling in to and it wasn’t her own, it was Hotch’s. It felt wrong to touch. It wasn’t hers. Even if he had said she could, it wasn’t hers. This bed belonged to someone else. Hotch’s permission didn’t feel like the only permission she needed.

On the bedside table, there was a picture. Hotch, Jack, and Hayley, all huddled together and smiling. Evelyn felt herself smiling as she looked at it. Reaching out her hand, she ran a finger along the picture frame.

“I hope it’s okay with you,” Evelyn whispered, looking at the picture of Hotch’s late wife.

They’d met a few times in the past and she was just the gentlest woman. She loved Hotch and she loved her son. There she was, staring up at Evelyn and smiling. But the only image that Evelyn had of her in her mind was Hayley’s limp body, the blood that stained her shirt.

Turning away from the picture, Evelyn pulled the blankets back before she kept overthinking. She dropped the bag that Garcia had given her onto the ground, flicked off her shoes and socks, and crawled into bed.

The warmth of the blankets was strange to her. Even her own bed wasn’t as warm as this one was. Still trying not to over think it, Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut and rolled onto her side. She breathed in deeply and was overwhelmed by his scent. With a heavy sigh, she rolled back onto her back and opened her eyes.

“Get over yourself, Evelyn,” she whispered to herself.

Breathing in slowly and steadily, Evelyn let her brain relax. She went to that safe place in her mind, that place far away. She didn’t even realize she had fallen asleep, safe and warm in that room where no one could reach her.

It wasn’t until blood started to seep through the walls that she realized she was asleep.

She woke up to someone screaming. The sound echoed off the walls of the bedroom. Someone was crying.

“Caro. Caro.” Someone was calling her name. Someone close by. Someone far away.

“Evelyn!”

Her eyes snapped open, her heart pounding so hard she thought she might be having a heart attack. The room was still dark, but the bedside lamp was turned on. The blankets were half on the floor. She had been throwing them off when she kicked her legs. Hotch was sitting in front of her. Not just sitting in front of her, but holding onto her shoulders. He had been shaking her. There was worry on his face, his eyes wide. Behind him was Jack, tears rolling down his face.

He was the one who was crying. That must have meant she was the one who was screaming.

“You’re okay,” Hotch said. “You were just dreaming.”

Evelyn lifted her hands to her face to find that there were tears on her cheeks.

“I…I’m sorry,” she said, a scowl in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Hotch shook his head. He looked tired. She must have woken him up.

“Is she okay?” Jack asked and sniffled.

“She’s fine, Jack, go back to bed,” Hotch said. When Jack hesitated, Hotch gave him a smile. “It’s okay. Go back to bed.”

Jack nodded and shuffled out of the room.

“I’m sorry,” Evelyn whispered again, pulling her knees up to her chest. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Hotch said again and dropped a hand onto her knee. “You’re safe here, no one can hurt you here.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean….”

Her hands were shaking too badly for her to say anything else. She already couldn’t remember the dream, but there was blood, so much blood. And she remembered she couldn’t breathe, like there was a chain wrapped around her neck.

Evelyn shut her eyes and put her shaking hands up to her head.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said.

Hotch let out a sigh. He was frustrated with her. The thought made tears sting her eyes.

“It’s not your fault.”

Even with her eyes closed, the tears still managed to slide down her cheeks. Hotch reached out his hand and rested it on the back of her neck. The contact only made her tears fall faster. She moved her hands to cover her face, ashamed of her reaction. Hotch pulled her in toward him and the closer she got to him, the harder she started to cry.

He put his other arm around her and she lowered her forehead to his shoulder, the sobs shaking her shoulders. But Hotch held her tight, one hand on the back of the neck, the other on her back.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

She wasn’t sure what she was really sorry for. Sorry for waking him up. Sorry for sleeping in his bed. Sorry for invading his space. Sorry for getting kidnapped. For getting in the way. For making his life harder. For setting them back from work for days.

“It’s okay, Evelyn. It’s okay.”

At the sound of her name, she stopped her apologies. She heard her first name come from his mouth so rarely, she didn’t want to talk over him. She just wanted to hear him say it again. Finally letting her hands fall away from her eyes, she let her hands fall into her lap.  

“It’s not your fault, Evelyn,” he whispered, hesitantly letting his fingers lace through her hair.

She sniffed.

“It wasn’t your fault and none of us are upset with you,” Hotch told her.

Slowly, her breathing started to return to normal, sucking in short, gasping breaths of air, but they were steadier.

He pulled away from her, brushing her damp hair out of her face and resting a hand on her cheek. She wouldn’t look at him, still taking shallow breaths, tears still rolling down her cheeks, body still shaking.

“None of us blame you for any of it,” he told her, leaning down to try and catch her eye. “And there’s nothing that could have ever happened to you or that you could have possibly done that wouldn’t make us come for you.”

He brushed a tear off of her cheek as it slid from her eye.

“Evelyn, look at me.”

It took her a moment, but she finally managed to lift her eyes to meet his. They were wide and terrified, trembling like the rest of her body. Hotch tightened his jaw.

“We’re not going anywhere. I know your last family left you after what happened, but I promise you, we are not going anywhere.” Evelyn let out another shuddered breath and nodded her head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

It took a few more moments to calm her down and by the time she had stopped crying, her eyes were getting heavy.

“Sleep now,” Hotch said, slowly standing up from the bed. She was still sitting up, her head hanging and her hands in her lap.

“Aaron?” He paused at the door and half turned toward her. “Will you….”

She scowled and cleared her throat, shaking her head.

“What can I do for you?”

She breathed out heavily and looked up at him again.

“Would you stay, here, with me?” She felt stupid, asking.

But he wasn’t looking at her in pity or loathing. He nodded his head before walking to the other side of the bed.

Evelyn laid back onto the pillow, pulling the blankets up to her chin. She closed her eyes, embarrassed to see him, as if her request was ridiculous and gross. But she didn’t think that she could have fallen asleep if she was on her own.

She felt the other side of the bed dip in and the blankets rustle.

“Do you want the light on?” He asked.

“You can turn it off if you’d like.”

The light flickered off and they were shrouded in darkness.

“Goodnight, Evelyn.”

“Night, Aaron.”

___

When Hotch woke up the next morning, the other side of the bed was empty. He got used to the empty bed a long time ago, but there was a pit in his stomach this time. Evelyn should be there. She should be-

There was a smell coming from the kitchen. A pleasant smell.

Sitting up and stretching, Hotch made his way to the bedroom door. He heard laughing coming from the kitchen. When he opened the door, he had a direct line of sight to the kitchen. Jack was already awake, sitting happily at the table. There were usually only two chairs at that table, but Jack had pulled up a third.

Standing in the kitchen with a smile on her face was Evelyn. Jack was saying something to her, barely incoherent through all his laughter. Evelyn was just laughing along with him. Hotch shuffled through the hallway, leaning his shoulder against the corner of the and crossing his arms.

“What is going on here?” He asked with a smile on his face.

Evelyn and Jack both turned to him, both smiling.

“Eggs, bacon, French toast,” Evelyn said. “Want some?”

Hotch couldn’t help the smile on his face. He nodded, walking toward Jack and sitting down at the chair next to him.

It was strange, seeing Evelyn this way. She was generally serious at work, like he was. She would laugh and tease with Morgan and the girls and Reid, but Hotch was so used to her being solid, so stoic, so ready. But here she was, smiling and laughing and making jokes with him.

Evelyn walked over to the table carrying three plates of food and set them onto the table. She sat down, the biggest grin on her face.

“Dig in,” she said.

Hotch and Evelyn both knew that this happiness on her face went only so deep. Her suffering and her pain were just starting to bubble to the surface. But for now, she could eat this breakfast, laugh with Jack, pretend everything was okay.

“Would you like to watch my soccer game today, Evie?” Jack asked as they took the empty plates back to the kitchen.

Evelyn looked over at Hotch, hesitant.

“That would be great, buddy,” she said before looking back at Hotch. “Would you mind?”

“No, of course not.”

Jack’s grin was the brightest Hotch had seen in a long time.

Hotch knew of course about Evelyn’s competitive nature. They had been working together for years. He had seen enough games between her and Morgan to know that she liked to win. He still somehow didn’t expect that much competition to come out of her during his son’s soccer match.

She yelled from the sidelines, cheering for Jack and shouting at the ref and even exchanging glares with other parents. It was hard not to be distracted by her as Hotch tried to coach his team, trying to keep his laughing to a minimum. When the game ended, after Hotch had a word with the players, Jack ran straight for Evelyn. He stopped just in front of her, remembering what his dad had told him about not getting too close, and grinned up at her.

Evelyn put her hand on his head and ruffled his sandy blond hair.

“You were great out there, kid,” she said. “You got the most goals on your team.”

“We, uh, don’t usually keep score,” Hotch said as he walked over.

Evelyn looked up at him with the brightest smile.

“Well, I did and your team did a great job.”

One of the other moms walked over, her daughter and Jack immediately engaging in teasing and chatting about the game as they tried to kick each other in their still guarded shins.

“My name is Mary,” the mother said, reaching a hand out for Evelyn to shake. Evelyn startled, her heart rate spiking at Mary’s sudden movement. She recovered quickly, shaking Mary’s hand.

“Evelyn Caro.”

“Are you and Aaron-“

“We work together,” Hotch said.

Mary nodded her head.

“That explains the….”

She gestured toward Evelyn’s face before pausing and forced a smile.

“Right.”

Evelyn had forgotten how horrible her face must look. She had been absently rolling the scab on her lip between her teeth all day. Her bruised and cut cheek was sore, her other eye throbbing every now and again. The battered shape of her face hadn’t even crossed her mind while she offered to go to Jack’s game.

Evelyn looked over Hotch for assistance. His smile was still there, but thinner.

“Mary, how is your husband?” Hotch asked, clearly trying to direct the attention away from Evelyn. She was grateful for it.

She listened to their conversation with a smile until Jack walked back over to them and grabbed her by the hand. She turned to look at him with a smile. He beckoned for her to bend down and she did. Jack even stood on his toes so he could whisper in her ear.

“Can you ask Daddy if we can get McDonald’s on the way home?” He asked, his voice so quiet that Evelyn barely heard him.

Still, she let out a laugh and straightened her back.

“I can do that.”

Jack grinned and ran back toward his friends. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched him run away. She had met Jack only handful of times in the past, but he was such a light. He meant so much to Aaron that it was impossible for Evelyn not to love him, too. The poor boy had been through so much already.

“What did he want?” Hotch asked.

Evelyn turned back around to find that not only was Mary talking to Hotch, but three other unaccompanied women were hanging around as well. She resisted the urge to tease him about it right there. Teasing Hotch was also something new. She never would have done it before. Their relationship was strictly professional.

“Jack wants to go to McDonald’s on the way home,” Evelyn told Hotch.

“Ah,” Hotch said, his hands on his hips.

“The kids always do,” a blonde mother said, no ounce of amusement in her tone as she glanced at Evelyn.

“I suppose he thought you asking would make the likelihood of me saying yes higher?”

Evelyn shrugged. The other moms stood there, laughing joylessly, but Evelyn didn’t even see them.

They did stop at McDonald’s on the way home. Jack happily sang a song to himself in the backseat, munching on his apple slices and French fries. Evelyn was sitting in the passenger seat with one of her feet propped up on the dash.

“This feels like cheating,” Evelyn sighed, staring at the fries in her hands.

“How?” Hotch asked with a short laugh.

Evelyn shrugged, shoving the fries in her mouth.

“Something about it. They’re too good, I guess. There’s gotta be a downside.”

Hotch opened his mouth to say something but she held up her hand to stop him.

“You don’t have to profile my eating habits, Hotchner,” she said.

Hotch simply laughed.

When they got back from the game, Jack went to take a nap, leaving Evelyn and Hotch alone in the apartment.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I invited the team over to watch the game this afternoon,” Hotch said.

“Of course I don’t mind,” Evelyn said. “This is still your home.”

“Right.” Hotch nodded his head.

She dropped herself onto the couch, her eyes tired, but she had no desire to sleep, especially if the team was coming over.

But her eyes were beginning to droop against her better judgement. The apartment was quiet, she could barely hear Hotch moving around until there was the soft sound of music flitting through the room.

Hotch sat down at the table, trying to be far enough away from the sleeping woman on his couch to help her feel comfortable. Light music floated through the room as he sat, flipping through a book that he wasn’t really reading. It seemed like every three seconds, his eyes would move from his book to where Evelyn was sleeping. He justified it to himself, trying to tell himself it was just to make sure she wasn’t having another nightmare. Last night had been hard on all of them and he didn’t want a repeat. But there was something else that kept drawing his gaze to her.

She just looked so at peace. Like none of the thousands of terrible things in the world could touch her. Her breathing was short, but steady and there was almost a bit of a smile on her face. His hands were tense around the book, just waiting for her breathing to change to signal to him that she was going to a place in her mind where she didn’t want to be.

He was almost tempted to ask the others to not come to allow Evelyn the chance to sleep. But Hotch thought it was best to allow her the time to socialize with the people she loved. She needed to be surrounded by support at this time and Hotch knew he couldn’t possibly provide enough of it to be any help.

An hour and a half later, fifteen minutes before the others were due to arrive, Hotch walked over to where she slept on the couch. Again, he was tempted to just let her sleep. But he put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a light shake in hopes of rousing her.

“Caro,” he whispered.

She woke with a startled gasp, her eyes snapping open. Hotch was prepared for some kind of emotional response. He was ready in case she needed his help, but after the initial shock of being woken up, she sat up normally. Rubbing her eyes, Evelyn let out a yawn.

“Are they here?” She asked.

“Not yet,” Hotch said. “Soon. I’m going to wake up Jack. Will you be alright?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” There was a little bit of a scowl on her face as she continued to try and wake herself up. “Anything I can do to help get ready?”

Hotch was already halfway to Jack’s room, but he shook his head.

“Everyone else is bringing food. We’re off the hook for this one,” he told her before slipping into Jack’s room.

Evelyn forced herself off the couch, even though her bones were still stiff and tired. She straightened the cushions she slept on before rubbing her eyes again. She didn’t think she had dreamed, which was the first time she hadn’t in a very long time.

She was rubbing tension out of her neck when there was the first knock at the door.

Evelyn started and reached for the gun that should have been there but wasn’t. Her heart pounded in her chest, her hand still on her hip where her gun should have been. She wanted to move, but her muscles felt frozen. Eyes wide and body tense, Evelyn struggled to breathe. There was a tightness in her chest she couldn’t shake.

There was a knock at the door again, but she still couldn’t move.

“Caro, you okay?” Hotch asked as he came back from Jack’s room. “Evelyn?”

He stopped on his way to the door. She saw him standing there, staring at her, but all she could do was watch the door. Her body began to shake ever so slightly from the tension in her muscles.

“It’s just the team, Caro,” Hotch said, slowly putting his hands out toward her. “They’re not going to hurt you.”

Evelyn heard what he was saying, but something in her bones told her that it was a bad guy, someone who wanted to come in and hurt her, hurt Hotch, hurt Jack. She wouldn’t let that happen.

“Caro, I need you to look at me and just breathe,” Hotch was saying, taking a step toward her. There was another knock at the door and she flinched. “Look at me. Breathe.”

Evelyn sucked in one deep breath in through her nose before flickering her watery eyes away from the door and toward Hotch. He titled his head to the side, taking on a non-offensive stance. Her eyes strained to look at him.

“I’m going to open the door, okay?” Evelyn gave a sharp shake of her head, her body jerking forward but her feet not going anywhere. “I’m going to open the door. It’s going to be okay.”

He took a step toward the door and Evelyn shook her head again. Hotch turned away from her and kept walking toward the door.

“Hotch,” Evelyn said, her words just barely above a whisper.

When his hand touched the handle, Evelyn shook her head again, staring at the door unblinking. The door unlocked and the handle turned.

“Hotch-“

The door opened. Evelyn’s eyes widened even further, waiting for Ralph to be standing there on the other side.

But it was just Penelope and JJ and Emily, all grinning wildly.

Evelyn blinked her eyes hard and shook her head, dropping her hands back to her sides and relaxing her defensive stance.

“Come in,” Hotch was saying.

Evelyn forced a smile onto her face and went to greet her friends as they came in. She helped them set up the table with the food and drinks they brought.

“How are you doing?” JJ asked as she tore into the chips.

Evelyn sighed, still trying to smile.

“I’m doing okay,” she said.

“I might not be as good a profiler as any of you guys,” JJ said. “But I know you well enough to know when you’re lying.”

Evelyn turned to face her, leaning her hip against the table and crossing her arms.

“I am doing as well as you can imagine I’m doing,” Evelyn said. “But most of the time I’m doing okay.”

JJ put a hand on her friend’s arm and offered a small smile.

“If you ever need anything-“

“I know you’re always there for me, JJ,” Evelyn said. “I won’t ever forget it.”

JJ nodded and they turned back to the table. It was only a few more minutes before the boys arrived. After greeting Hotch and Emily, Morgan came straight for Evelyn, who was still at the table rearranging everything for the fifteenth time.

“I swear I’m going to lose it if you ask me if I’m okay, Derek Morgan,” Evelyn said, moving the napkins off the plates where she had just put them.

Morgan let out his signature laugh before throwing an arm over her shoulders.

“I know how you’re doing, so I don’t need to ask,” Morgan told her. “I just came over here to give you a hug.”

Evelyn let out a breath and turned toward him, eagerly putting her arms around his waist. There was safety in his arms. Her muscles were still tense from her moment before, and it felt impossible for her to relax and fall into normalcy with her friends. But with Morgan there, everything seemed to be at least a little bit okay.

“Keep fighting,” he whispered in her ear. “That’s how you win.”

Evelyn nodded her head. She pulled away and quickly swiped away a stray tear before wiping her hands on her jeans. She back at Morgan briefly with a strained smile, glad to see him smiling back.

“Let’s go sit,” Morgan said to her.

Evelyn sat herself on the very end of the couch, knowing how much her team loved to cram in together and not really feeling comfortable being stuck in between Morgan and JJ as they shouted back and forth at each other about their opposing sports opinions. She sat with her feet up on the couch and her knees pulled up to her chest.

Reid sat next to her, still and quiet.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hey, Reid.”

He didn’t say anything else. Evelyn didn’t really want him to. Still, she leaned toward him and put her head on his shoulder. Reid tensed for a moment, but then he relaxed.

“It’s good to have you back,” he whispered to her.

“It’s good to be back,” she whispered back.

A few minutes before the game had started, there was already yelling going on between Rossi and JJ about something Evelyn couldn’t really follow. Jack came out of his room, hair a mess and eyes looking tired.

“Hey, buddy!” Hotch said. “Come for some food?”

The newly awake Jack shook his head and hobbled over to Evelyn. She dropped her feet to the ground as he struggled to crawl into her lap. He dropped his head to her shoulder.

“You okay, kid?” she asked him, rubbing her hand up and down his back. He nodded and yawned.

A chip flew over her head that Morgan had definitely thrown at Rossi who sat in the chair next to Evelyn. Penelope was watching the commercials eagerly, shouting at everyone to quiet down. JJ had roped Emily into her argument with Rossi and Reid was telling Morgan something about some sports statistic that Morgan was desperately trying to refute.

Evelyn looked over at Hotch, who was watching them with a look in his eye that she couldn’t really read. She was usually good at reading Hotch, but every now and again, he’d get this look that she didn’t understand. When he noticed her looking, he gave her a smile and nodded his head.

Part way through the game, Jack left her lap to go and grab some food. She offered him her seat when he came back so that she could go over to the table for some food and a breather. Hotch met her there, scooping cheese dip onto his paper plate.

“Intense game,” Evelyn said, popping a grape into her mouth.

“Very.”

“Oh, come on!” Morgan yelled.

Evelyn laughed quietly to herself.

“If you need to step out-“

“I’m fine, Hotch, really,” she said, turning toward him. “Everything’s good. What happened earlier-“

“Was a completely normal reaction.” Evelyn was startled by his rebuttal interruption. “You’re allowed to have bad moments or even bad days.”

“I know that.”

“You’re also allowed to have fun.”

“I know that, too.”

Morgan stood up quickly from the couch, letting out half a expletive before remembering Jack was there and switching it up half way through.

“I really missed this, though,” Evelyn said through a laugh.

Hotch looked at her and then looked over at Morgan and let out a sigh.

“He was really worried about you,” Hotch told her, his hands tightening around the poor paper plate in his hand.

Evelyn nodded her head, looking down at the grapes in her hand.

“I thought I’d never see him again. I thought I’d never see any of you again,” she told him.

“You didn’t think we’d find you?”

“Oh, I knew you would,” she looked back over at him. “I just didn’t know if it would be soon enough.”

“Evelyn-“

“Evie, come look at this!” Penelope called, waving her over.

“Pardon me, Hotch.”

Hotch watched her walk away and kneel on the ground beside Garcia. They laughed about something. Smiling looked good on her, but he knew that it only ran so deep. He couldn’t wait for the day that smile would be real again. He just hoped he was there to see it.

By the time everyone left, the sun was almost down. They stayed long after the game, talking and laughing and throwing things at each other like a bunch of children. Penelope was the last to go, always asking for one last hug while Morgan waited for her just outside.

“I’ll see you soon, Pen,” Evelyn laughed, trying to push her friend toward the door.

“I hate leaving you,” Penelope said.

“I think I’m in the safest hands I can be.”

Penelope pulled away at that.

“You’re right.” She looked over at Hotch. “Hotch won’t let anything happen to you. You’re perfectly safe here.”

Evelyn gave her a smile.

“Exactly. Now, go. Morgan’s waiting for you.”

Penelope straightened her jacket and nodded her head.

“Right.” She turned and walked out the door. “Let’s go, Derek.”

Morgan offered one last wave, tossing an arm over Penelope’s shoulders. He sent a look Evelyn’s way that she read perfectly. If she needed anything….

Hotch shut the door and the apartment was silent. Evelyn let out a heavy breath.

“That was fun,” Jack said, laying on the couch.

“Time for bed for you, buddy,” Hotch said.

The team was generally good at cleaning up after themselves and taking the food that they had brought with them, but there was always a mess to clean up afterward. The few times Evelyn had one of these gatherings at her own place taught her this well enough. Hotch walked Jack toward his room while Evelyn turned to start cleaning.

“You don’t have to do that,” Hotch said, emerging from his son’s room as Evelyn pulled the full trash bag out of the trash can.

“I won’t be able to sleep knowing this place is a mess,” she told him.

It was these quiet moments when it was just the two of them that Evelyn felt the most exposed, the most terrified. Not that he would hurt her because she knew he never would, but just knowing that all of his attention was on her made her almost sick to her stomach.

“I’ll take the trash to the can outside,” Hotch said, walking toward her.

“Alright.”

She handed the bag off to him, his fingers just barely grazing over her hand. Evelyn elected not to look up at him as electricity crackled up her arm. She breathed in deeply and turned toward the couch.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said. He took a few steps away from her and Evelyn just nodded her head.

She didn’t look at him as he left the room. With a pounding heart, Evelyn sat slowly onto the couch, shutting her eyes and breathing deeply until she dropped her head into her hands.

What was wrong with her? She had always been able to keep her emotions under control around Hotch. Always. Even when he was talking about Hayley, even when he cared so deeply about people it made him rage, even when he did that thing with his eyes that silenced even the haughtiest narcissist, even when he gave her a look that put all other looks to shame. She had always kept her cool because that was what she had trained herself to do.

But now her training was backfiring on her. Her training was making her think danger was there when it wasn’t. Her training was making her question the movements of everyone she loved. Her training was taking her sleep from her. Her training was crumbling and slowly revealing that terrified girl that lay underneath.

Evelyn opened her eyes, hoping to think of absolutely anything else than the heat in her cheeks and the pounding of her heart in her stomach.

Maybe keeping her eyes closed may have been better because as soon as her eyes were open, they landed on Hotch’s bag propped up against the coffee table. Someone must have moved it during the game. Sticking out of the top was a file. There was no name on the file, but Evelyn knew it was hers, or at least from the last job they’d done, which was hers.

Instinct took over and she bent down, snatching the yellow folding from his bag. It was thick, thicker than she’d have liked. Laying it on the table, her suspicions were confirmed as she flipped open the first page. It was this last case and the very first picture on it was the one they took in the hospital when she first arrived.

Evelyn didn’t realize how terrible she looked until just then. She was thin, trembling. Her hair was matted with blood. She looked dirty, covered in blood and bruises. Evelyn gagged, covering her mouth with her hand. That was how all of her friends had seen her that day. The thought made her shiver.

The picture just underneath it was the one they had taken when she was a kid. The similarities in the pictures made her even sicker.

She shuffled through the files, eyes scanning the pages just like Reid had taught her, until she found Hotch’s report.

She pulled it out, hands shaking as she held it in front of her. She had always wondered how Hotch managed to write these reports, summing up everything they went through during the case in just a few short pages.

Her throat swelled as she read through the beginning. She read about the women Ralph killed, how they were assaulted and murdered, how the team discovered it was Ralph. She read through them deciding to send Evelyn into the meeting to find Ralph and lure him in. She didn’t know then that he was the step kid of her uncle. If she had, she wouldn’t have gone in there empty handed.

Then she read how they had found out she was missing and what they did to find her. Her heart plummeted into her stomach, dropping from her chest like a ton of rocks. She lifted a hand to cover her mouth, hoping swallow the sob that was threatening to come from her mouth. Sitting in that attic, Evelyn had wondered what the point of killing those other women was. She had spent hours pouring over ideas. She thought him running into her was an accident, pure coincidence. This case already put her on edge, seeing as it took place in the very same town she grew up in.

But the team had solved it. They had figured it out. All those women that Ralph had killed….

Tears clouded her vision, but she refused to blink. A quiet moan of distress came from her. She didn’t even hear the door of the apartment open.

“Evelyn?”

She didn’t jump at the sound of Hotch’s voice. Instead, she turned toward him slowly, those same tears gathered in her eyes.

“It’s my fault,” she said, holding the report in her hands. The tears dropped from her lashes, hitting her cheeks with the strength of a butterfly.  

“It’s not.”

“It is!” Hotch let out a defeated breath. “It says right here that-“

“That report says Ralph Bennet made the decision to assault and murder those four women.”

“Because of me!”

Hotch walked over to her and sat on the couch beside her, but not too close.

“Did you kill those women, Caro?”

“No, but-“

“No, you didn’t.”

“Hotch, he killed them because I knew them. He killed them because he knew it would lure me in. If I hadn’t-“

“What? If you hadn’t what?” She was quiet. “If you hadn’t killed your uncle? You did what you had to do to survive, Evelyn. No one will fault you for that.”

“If I hadn’t….” she trailed off, staring at the paper with her teary eyes.

“If you hadn’t come with us to solve this case? More women would have died.”

“I fell right into his trap,” she whispered, her hands tightening around the paper. “I didn’t even know he existed, and he knew me well enough to set the trap and just wait for me to walk right into it. I can’t believe I was that stupid.”

“Do you want to know what that tells me?”

She looked up at him.

“You returned to a town where you had been traumatized to help bring justice to these women. You went into that meeting trying to catch a killer. You stayed alive long enough for us to find you using clues that you gave us.” Evelyn sniffed, wiping the underside of her nose with the back of her hand. “You’re not stupid, Evelyn. You’re the bravest person I have ever met.”

She looked over at Hotch again, her lower lip trembling.

“They died for me,” she said and took in a shaky breath. A tear slid down her nose. “How do I repay them for that?”

Hotch was quiet for a moment and heaved out a sigh, just allowing him time to think of a proper answer.

“You live,” he told her. “You survive this and carry on for them.”

Evelyn closed her eyes. She was hearing him and her brain was telling her that he was right, but her heart wasn’t believing him. She couldn’t believe him.

Without saying anything, Evelyn pushed herself off the couch and made for the door, hoping to escape before he could see the tears that were threatening to run from her eyes again.

“Caro, where are you going?” Hotch asked, standing after her.

“I need some air,” she replied as she struggled with the lock on the door.

“I’ll come with you.”

“I need to be alone right now,” she said, finally getting the door open.

Hotch put his hand on the door and pushed it shut. Evelyn froze, keeping her hand on the doorknob.

“You’re not going anywhere by yourself.”

Evelyn turned around slowly. Hotch was looming over her, his hand still on the door to keep her from opening it again.

“Let me out, Hotch.”

“You’re not a prisoner here, but you’re not going out there alone.”

She stared at Hotch unblinkingly. Evelyn’s breathing started to speed up, her chest rising and falling rapidly, but it wasn’t anger or fear that made her heart rate spike.

“Why not?”

“What do you mean, why not?”

Evelyn knew she was poking the bear, but she felt like she had to. Poke the bear yourself, make it roar on your terms before it decides to do it itself.

“Why can’t I go out there alone? You think I can’t handle myself?”

“No, I know you can-“

“Then why won’t you let me leave?”

“Because I want you to be safe.”

The calmness of his voice made her even angrier. It made her want to poke harder.

There was a gaping wound in her soul and it was still gushing blood. Hotch was trying to patch it up, help her to heal, but he was getting too close to the only thing that kept her breathing. He was getting too close to the wound and she was terrified of the idea of him seeing her, feeling her, so she recoiled. She would snap at him until he left her alone. Until he left her wound bleed in peace.

“Why did you come for me?”

“Why did we come for you?” Hotch repeated, astounded by her question. “You’re part of the team. Why wouldn’t we come for you?”

“I’m not asking about the team, Aaron. I’m asking about you.”

Hotch straightened at the sound of his first name. She knew why. She’d done it on purpose. She needed to convince him she was angry. That was the only way to keep him at bay.

“I couldn’t just let you rot there; the team needs you.”

“The team?” She let out a bitter laugh before pushing past him and stalking into the middle of the room. “It’s always about the team with you, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“I could have died in that house, Aaron, and all you can come up with is the team needed me and that’s why you came?”

She hated the taste her words left in her mouth. She hated saying them. But she had to. She had to push him away if she had any hope for surviving. She had tied her heart to his and if she didn’t severe it now….

There was real anger in his eyes at her words. Finally, an emotion. A chink in his armor.

“If you had died in that house, I would have killed that bastard myself!”

Evelyn sucked in a sharp breath. It was so rare to see an emotion on Aaron Hotchner. In the last few days alone, she had seen more from him than she had ever seen in all her years working with him; fear, joy, grief, anger, relief. And it was mostly because of her.

“Enough with the team needs me bullshit.” Evelyn dropped the tone of her voice. “I’m going for a walk.”

She turned her back on him and walked toward the front door. She made it all the way there, her hand on the doorknob before Hotch spoke again.

“I need you.”

Evelyn froze, her hand glued to the doorknob as if it was ice and her hand was burning hot. Her blood ran cold and her heart stopped in her chest.

“What?”

“You don’t accept that you’re a vital member of the team as a worthy reason for us to come and help you? Fine.” There it was again, anger in Hotch’s voice. His dark eyebrows were pulled together. “I need you.”

Evelyn had started this argument because she needed to keep his hands away from the wound she was nursing, the wound that every breath seemed to tear open a little bit more. His kindness and compassion were just insult to injury. But his sincerity in this moment punched through every wall around her wound that she had been attempting to build up in the last few minutes.

He said it like he would say any other truth. He said it like he would say anything during a case; without a hint of uncertainty.

She turned toward him. For the first time in a while, she felt no shame as tears glimmered in her eyes.

“You mean it?” She asked, pulling on the edges of her sleeve.

“Have I ever lied to you before?”

“I mean when, Emily-“ Evelyn stopped herself and cleared her throat. “No. You haven’t.”

Hotch stood there, clearly not wanting to say anything else that would set her off. Evelyn bowed her head, let her hand fall away from the doorknob, and she crossed the room, putting her arms around his waist before he even realized that she was coming toward him.

Hotch was frozen for a second, her change in mood so rapid that he almost couldn’t register it. Evelyn’s eyes were screwed shut as she prayed that he wouldn’t reject her embrace, though she could understand if he did. But, eventually, he put his arms around her, pulling her in closer and she could finally relax.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, letting the tears stream down her face, fast and hot. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” he told her, his words just as quiet.

“Please don’t give up on me.”

“I won’t.”

“I’m trying.”

Hotch knew from the report what happened with her parents after she had escaped from her uncle. He knew how they turned their back on her in the following months. She had come back to them after four years, after killing her father’s brother, and she wasn’t the little girl they had lost anymore. They reported anger issues, lashing out, screaming and hitting and breaking things. They told authorities they couldn’t handle her anymore. They just didn’t know what to do.

But Hotch also knew that she was a child who was cut so deeply by someone she trusted and that she deserved to be loved and protected by her family no matter what. No matter how loudly she screamed, no matter the mess she made, they should have loved her. They should have fought for her just as hard as she was fighting to survive. He wouldn’t abandon her like they did.

“I promise not to give up on you if you promise me not to give up on yourself,” he told her.

Evelyn nodded her head.

“Promise,” she said.

___

The following months were hard. Moving back into her own apartment where it was quiet and the silence was deafening was the hardest part. When there was no one to wake her from her nightmares or hold her while she cried, when there was no Jack to make her laugh even when she wanted to cry, when there was just her and the mirror. She hated being back home. She wanted to back at the Hotchner’s, but she knew she couldn’t impose on them any longer.

There were days when her promise to Hotch was the only thing that kept her going. He had made her promise not to give up on herself and she would be damned before she disappointed Hotch again. So, she fought, tooth and nail, just to stay afloat. Some days, that looked like lying in bed and letting the tears fall. Some days, that looked like calling Morgan or Penelope and asking them to play a board game with her. Some days, that looked like running until she couldn’t breathe. Some days, that looked like dancing around her apartment at 3 am.

Slowly, she began to remember what it was like to feel alive. And she started to love it again.

The day she came back to work, the smile on her face reached deep into that wound in her soul. It wasn’t healed, but it was better. It didn’t hurt to breathe anymore.

The team acted like she knew they would on her first case. Hotch didn’t let her go anywhere by herself. Someone had to be by her side at all times. It was suffocating, but she knew it was for the best.

By the time the case was finished and the guy arrested, Evelyn almost felt like herself again. This is what she was meant to be doing. She wasn’t supposed to be sitting by herself in her room all day, wasting away. The field was in her blood. It was part of her.

They all went out to dinner that night and everything was right in the world again. Evelyn used to sit in her apartment, Hotch and Morgan and Garcia sending her updates as they went. She knew when she got the triple text that the case was over that they’d be going out to eat, celebrating, having a laugh to cope with everything they had seen. And she would sit in her dark apartment.

But now she was in the right place. They went to a pub downtown. She ordered fries and a coke with a little cherry on top. Morgan made fun of her for smothering her fries in ketchup. She stole a bite of Emily’s pasta as she talked to Rossi. Life had returned to normal, and it was just what she needed.

The next few cases went the same way. Hotch began to trust her being alone again, allowing her to have the space she needed to do her job. There were cases where she needed to step into the bathroom and cry. There were times when she stayed behind with the local police because she couldn’t even think about going in without panicking. And the nights in her apartment alone were the worst.

But as long as she was on a case with her team, things were actually okay. She could push away her fear and the anxiety that made her bones rattle and her muscles freeze. She could go back to be Agent Evelyn Caro, where she was at her best.

Almost a year passed. Evelyn knew that the anniversary fear was a thing, but she was determined to be fine. The case they came in for was the farthest away from anything that could remind her of what she went through. Men were being taken and killed. The pattern was easy to solve, the profile quick to figure out. Everything was going to be okay.

Until Hotch and Evelyn were hunting the killer on their own. Evelyn was walking through a suspect’s house with her gun drawn, knowing that Hotch was upstairs doing the same thing. There was a thud coming from the second floor.

“Hotch?” Evelyn called out. “You okay?”

There was no reply. Her heart started to seize.

“Hotch?”

Walking toward the stairs, her gun drawn, Evelyn told herself to breathe. She would be no help to Hotch if she was panicking. She took one step up the stairs before a sudden and sharp pain exploded against the side of her head, sending her into the wall, knocking her unconscious.

When Evelyn woke up, she was in a basement. Her head squeezed and ached, jaw stiff. She shook her head and forced her eyes open.

Sitting across the room from her, still unconscious, was her boss.

“Hotch!”

Evelyn scrambled over to him, barely standing at all before she dropped to the ground next to him.

“Hotch, hey, you good?”

She saw him breathing, so that was something, but he was unresponsive to her voice. She shook his shoulders, but still he slept.

“Please don’t fire me,” Evelyn whispered before pulling her hand back and slapping him across the face.

Hotch gasped and his eyes flew open, his body falling over to the side.

“Oh, thank God,” Evelyn breathed.

“Did you slap me?” Hotch asked her, sitting back up.

“You wouldn’t wake up.”

“So you slapped me?”

Evelyn shrugged as Hotch rubbed his jaw with his hand.

“Remind me to never piss you off,” he told her. Evelyn felt herself almost smile. “Where are we?”

Evelyn looked around the basement and let out a heavy breath.

“Not sure,” she said. “We got the profile wrong, didn’t we?”

Hotch nodded his head and used the support beam in the middle of the room to push himself upward.

“There was a woman. I thought she was hurt, but….”

“She got the drop on the mighty Aaron Hotchner? I’m impressed.” Evelyn teased, needed to joke about something before her brain exploded from the pain or the panic she felt growing in her bones took over completely.

Hotch looked down at Evelyn with a stern look that told her maybe joking wasn’t his favorite way to cope with being kidnapped. Evelyn pursed her lips and pushed herself onto her feet.

“Lions got me, I think,” Evelyn told him, using the support beam to keep her standing.

“So there are two of them and one of them is a woman.” Hotch breathed out a sigh. “How does that change the profile?”

“We know that the men were chosen because Lions wanted something they had.”

“Position, status, money-“

“A certain woman.”

Hotch turned to look at Evelyn, who was scanning the basement as if it would hold the answers. There were blood stains on the ground. This was definitely where the victims were killed. There was a door at the top of the stairs, but if these guys were any good at what they did, the door would be locked.

“You think his partner could have been the wife of one of the victims?” Hotch asked.

Evelyn looked back at him and shrugged.

“A wife, a girlfriend, a sister, a daughter. Maybe the person he wants to take her from isn’t even dead yet, but he’s the reason Lions is killing.”

“Why would she help him?”

Evelyn breathed out again.

“Maybe she feels trapped where she’s at and he’s got her convinced this is the only way to save her? If she feels completely dependent on him, she might just do whatever he says.”

“Even kill?”

Evelyn shrugged her shoulders again, but they both knew that the answer was yes. A woman caught in a corner was just as capable of killing as anyone else.

“Well, that’s good then,” Hotch said, putting his hands on his hips.

“How is any of that good?”

“It means I’m the one they want, not you,” Hotch said.

Evelyn’s eyebrows pinched together.

“That really doesn’t sound good, Hotch.”

“You can get through to the partner, Caro,” Hotch said, walking back toward her. Evelyn narrowed her eyes even further at him.

“Maybe, yes.”

“Good. That will get us out of here.”

He turned away from her again. He pulled off his blazer and loosened his tie and the temperature in the room raised about fourteen degrees. Evelyn had to shake away her imagination before responding.

“And what are you going to do?”

“What they brought me here for.”

___

“Please, stop!”

The female unsub, Rosalie, held tight to Evelyn’s arms, holding her back as the male unsub, Jeremy Lions, pounded his fist into Hotch’s face.

“You think you’re so strong,” Hotch laughed, taunting Lions. “Don’t you?”

Lions hit Hotch in the face again.

“You have to stop him,” Evelyn said to Rosalie. “No one else can get through to him.”

“He’s doing what he has to to keep us safe,” Rosalie whispered to Evelyn, but despite the strength in her arms, her voice was weak. “Your friend just needs to give in. It’ll be easier that way.”

Lions hit Hotch again and Evelyn cried out, pulling against Rosalie.

“Shut her up, Rose!”

“Shh, shh,” Rosalie whispered in Evelyn’s ear, holding her right from behind. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“No!” Evelyn struggled against the woman holding her, jerking her shoulders in hopes of breaking free.

“You really think that any of this will earn you manhood, Lions?” Hotch said with a laugh, turning the unsub’s gaze back onto him and away from Evelyn.

Lions hit Hotch in the face again.

“Stop it, damnit!”

Lions whirled around and backhanded Evelyn in attempts to get her to quiet down. Rosalie gasped and let Evelyn fall to the ground.

“Jeremy! You said we wouldn’t hurt her!”

Lions let out a growl and grabbed onto Rosalie’s arm, dragging her out of the basement and leaving Hotch and Evelyn behind.

“You need to get through to Rosalie, Caro,” Hotch said as soon as she took a single step toward him.

“I am,” she huffed. Hotch raised an eyebrow at her. “She doesn’t want me to get hurt, that much is clear. If she associates you getting hurt with me getting hurt, she’ll push for Lions to hurt you less.”

Hotch nodded his head once, stretching out his jaw.

“You trust me, right?” Hotch said.

“Of course.” Evelyn’s response was immediate.

“Good.”

That night, they slept in the basement on opposite sides of the room, even though it was freezing cold. Saying they slept was an over exaggeration. Evelyn could barely even close her eyes. It was the cold that kept her eyes frozen open, but it was also the reality of it all. She was trapped, once again. She was a prisoner, once again. She was at the mercy of a man, once again.

And Hotch was here but she had never felt more alone.

The door creaked open and Evelyn sat up with a gasp. She shuffled backward, away from the door, but it was just Rosalie walking down the wooden stairs. The woman locked the door behind her, but still flinched.

“Hi,” Rosalie whispered as she neared. There was a cup and a plate in her hand. She watched the sleeping Hotch as she walked by, only turning her attention back to Evelyn once she passed him.

“Hi,” Evelyn whispered back, pulling her knees up to her chest.

“I…I’m not going to hurt you,” Rosalie said. She lowered herself to the ground a few feet away from her. Rosalie set the cup and the plate down and scooted it closer to Evelyn.

Evelyn looked between the food and the woman.

“You need to eat.” Rosalie’s voice was soft. Kindly.

Evelyn straightened her back and lifted her chin, giving a slight shake of the head.

“I’m not hungry.”

Rosalie let out a sigh and turned to look over at Hotch, who still slept soundly.

“Saving it for him won’t do anything for either of you,” Rosalie said, almost sadly. “Only one of you is making it out of here. I think you know which one it’s going to be.”

___

“Here, eat.” Evelyn pushed the plate of cold potatoes and toast in his direction, the cup of water sitting on top. Hotch raised an eyebrow at her. “Rosalie came in last night. Brought us some food.”

“Did you eat?” He asked her, sitting up from his sleeping position.

Evelyn nodded her head.

“Caro-“

“I ate, Hotch,” she said, a little more harshly than she meant to. “You need to keep your strength if we’re going to have a repeat of yesterday.”

Hotch almost laughed as he hooked his finger over the edge of the plate and slid it toward himself. Evelyn watched, her stomach gurgling as he took a bite out of the bread.

“Stale toast is just ravishing, isn’t it?” Evelyn asked as she leaned up against the wall he also sat against. Hotch hummed his response. He ate slowly, took a sip of water.

“How are you?” He asked.

Evelyn rolled her head against the wall to look over at him.

“Just peachy, Hotchner. How are you?”

“I’m serious. How are you doing?”

Evelyn let out a sigh, looked up at the ceiling, and closed her eyes.

“Taking it one breath at a time,” she said. “I’ll deal with the aftermath once we’re out of here.”

Evelyn looked over at him again and attempted a half-cocked smile. Hotch wasn’t smiling. He was staring at her, staring right through her smile and her outer shell of calmness and straight into her soul where her wound was, her wound that was slowly starting to heal.

“I’ll be okay, Aaron,” she said, dropping her smile. “Promise.”

Hotch nodded his head and turned away from her.

“Don’t do anything stupid today, Caro,” he told her.

“Do I ever?”

___

“I told you not to do anything stupid,” Hotch sighed as Evelyn let out a hiss of pain.

“I didn’t realize that trying to stop you from dying was considered something stupid.”

“It is when you get put in harm’s way.”

Evelyn held a strip of her shirt against her bleeding nose. Hotch rolled up his sleeves.

“We’ve got two days left here,” Hotch said, pacing back and forth in front of Evelyn.

“The team will find us,” Evelyn replied. She lowered the piece of her shirt and scrunched her nose before stretching it out again.

“I don’t doubt it.”

The sun went down sooner than Evelyn thought it would, meaning she had slept longer than she thought she had.

“You should sleep,” Hotch said.

“I’m not tired.”

“He won’t hurt you, Caro.”

The dark concealed Hotch’s face from her, even though he was only a few feet away. Evelyn shifted uncomfortably.

“I know.”

“If I don’t make it out of here-“

“Hotch, stop. We’re both going to walk out of here just fine.”

“But if I don’t, promise to take care of Jack.” Evelyn breathed in deeply, ready to shake her head and tell him again that they were going to both survive this. “Promise me.”

Instead of arguing, which she knew would get them nowhere, Evelyn nodded her head.

“I promise.”

Hotch didn’t say anything else. Evelyn didn’t sleep. The change in his breathing after a while told her that he had fallen asleep.

She didn’t know how long it was before the door creaked open. Evelyn startled and sat up straighter, gasping in a breath. But it was just Rosalie, coming down with more food. This time, she didn’t say anything. She sat right next to Evelyn and set the food between them.

“You have to eat,” she said finally.

Evelyn reached out and took the cup of water and brought it to her parched lips. She drank some, but set it down before it was finished.

“You don’t have to save it for him.”

Evelyn turned her head to look at Rosalie.

“He’s my friend. I’m not going to let him starve.”

Rosalie was quiet for a moment.

“I think he’s more than that.”

“How did you meet Jeremy?” Evelyn asked. She thought she saw a smile on Rosalie’s lips.

“I lived with my brother and his wife as their live-in nanny of sorts. Jeremy worked for them as a gardener. My father kept me locked up my entire life and when he died, my brother took over. His sister’s keeper or something. But Jeremy he…. he made me feel free and alive and seen. And so, so loved.”

Rosalie stopped there, her smile lingering for a few moments before falling.

“But he changed, didn’t he?”

Rosalie nodded her head slowly, her lower lip curling and tears starting to run down her cheeks. Evelyn just let her cry for a few moments, until the woman collected herself. She sucked in a sob and stuffed her hands full of her dress.

“He took me from my brother’s house, brought me here,” Rosalie said. “Said he needed my help.”

“He used you to lure in men that he saw as superior to himself so that he could kill them.”

Rosalie nodded again, tears still rolling from her eyes.

“I never wanted to…I tried to tell him that I love him as he is…that he doesn’t need to-“

“Rosalie, listen to me. Nothing you could ever do will convince him of that because his issues have nothing to do with you,” Evelyn said, turning to face her.

“I don’t….”

“Jeremy Lions may love you, Rosalie, but he is very sick. He is not killing people to be a better man for you, no matter what he has told you. He feels inferior so he thinks he has to kill to be superior. That’s why he wanted Hotch.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

Evelyn heaved out a breath.

“Hotchner is everything Jeremy thinks he’s lacking. Confident, strong. He’s got a high-ranking job. He’s respected by his peers. He’s good looking and has a nice home and great friends. Jeremy doesn’t think he has any of this and he wants it, which is why he wants to hurt Hotchner.”

“To take something he doesn’t think he has.”

Evelyn sucked in a breath and reached forward to take Rosalie’s hands in hers.

“No matter what you do, Rosalie, you will never be enough for him, do you understand? He has you, he has love, but that will never be enough for him.”

“No, no!” Rosalie stood up quickly. “No. Once we’re married, everything will be okay. We’ll buy a new house. Live a happy life.”

“Rosalie-“

“No! You’re wrong.”

“Rosalie….”

“You’re wrong!”

Rosalie hurried out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Evelyn shut her eyes again. With a growl, she pounded her knuckles into the hard concrete ground.

“You okay?”

Hotch was barely awake, his voice gravelly and tired.

“I’m okay, Hotch, go back to sleep.”

He grumbled something and was soon asleep again. Evelyn could do nothing but sigh. Still, she didn’t sleep.

The next day went no better than the last. It was night again before Evelyn knew it. She sat on the ground, head between her knees. Hotch stood, leaning up against the support beam in the middle of the room.

“You’re not sleeping,” he said. Evelyn didn’t move. “Talk to me.”

“I told you, I’ll deal with it after we get out of here,” she told him, her words muffled by her knees.

Hotch walked toward her and let out a groan as he lowered himself to the ground.

“You can sleep,” he told her, his words even quieter than they were before. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

Evelyn lifted her head finally to look at him.

“That’s not why I’m not sleeping,” she said, which was partially a lie. She didn’t sleep because she needed to be aware at all times. She couldn’t risk nodding off and letting her guard down. But there was another part to it.

“What’s bothering you?” he asked her.

“I thought I was going to die alone in that house, Aaron.” Her voice was thick with tears. “Twice. I stay awake because I can’t stand the thought of dying alone. And if you die while I’m sleeping-“

Hotch reached out and took her hand in his. When she looked over at him, he was staring straight ahead, not looking at her. She let out a shaky sigh and let him lace his fingers through hers. It was all the comfort that she needed.

“You’re not going to die alone,” Hotch told her. “You’re not going to die here at all.”

Evelyn nodded and let a few of the tears in her eyes fall, grateful for the darkness to cover her face. She lowered her head slowly to his shoulder, damning all protocol to hell, if there even was protocol for maybe dying in a basement with your boss. When Hotch didn’t immediately pull away from her or shake her off his shoulder, she settled in and shut her eyes.

“You’re not dying here either,” she said. “Not if I can help it.”

For the first time in days, Evelyn slept.

She awoke to someone grabbing hold of her hand. Her first thought was that it was Hotch squeezing her in his sleep. But when she gasped and opened her eyes, she found that it was just Rosalie sitting in front of her. It was still dark outside. She thought that the woman had brought her more food, but she turned out to be wrong.

“We have to go,” Rosalie whispered. “We have to go.”

“What?”

“Shh, shh,” Rosalie put a shaking finger to her lips and pulled on Evelyn’s hand. “You were right. We have to go now.”

Rosalie pulled Evelyn to her feet, dragging her toward the door before she was even fully awake.

“Wait, stop,” Evelyn whispered, trying to shake herself awake.

“No, now! This is the only chance you have.”

Rosalie dragged Evelyn out of the basement doors and up the stairs into the house above. It wasn’t the same house that Hotch and Evelyn had been searching before, she could tell that even in the dark.

“Where are you taking me, Rosalie?”

“You have to get out of here, now! Jeremy doesn’t want to kill you, but he will,” Rosalie said, pulling her through the rundown and dirty home.

“Stop. Stop!” Evelyn dug her heels into the ground and forced Rosalie to stop. “I’m not leaving Aaron.”

“You don’t have time!” There was nothing but pure desperation in Rosalie’s voice. “Jeremy knows I left. He’s coming here. You have to go now or you’re not going at all.”

Evelyn wrenched her arm out of Rosalie’s grip.

“I’m not leaving him.”

“Jeremy will kill you.” Rosalie sounded desperate, terrified.

Evelyn shook her head and took a step backward.

“I don’t care. I’m not leaving him.” Rosalie’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “Go. Call the police. Tell them where we are.”

Rosalie nodded her head.

“Go.”

Without another word, Rosalie turned around and ran from the house.

Evelyn watched her go. Her heart rate spiked when headlights flashed through the front window. All she could do for Rosalie was hope that she found some place to hide until Lions entered the house. If Lions was here, this was it. He was coming for Hotch.

Evelyn ran back to the basement as quietly as she could. She shut the basement door, hearing it lock with a heart wrenching click, just as the front door opened. She hurried down the stairs and dropped to the ground next to Hotch, startling him awake.

“What’s going on?” Hotch asked, still sounding stuck in sleep.

“Lions is here,” Evelyn whispered to him. “Rosalie is gone, she’s calling the police.”

“How-“

“We need a plan and quick,” Evelyn told him.

“We don’t know how long it will take for the police to respond,” Hotch replied quietly, his voice surprisingly calm. This might be his last few moments on earth, and he wasn’t terrified or angry or anxious. He was just calm. “All of his attention will be on me. You can escape then.”

She shook her head.

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“This isn’t a time for heroics.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

Before Hotch could argue, Evelyn pushed herself to her feet.

“What are you doing?” Hotch asked, standing after her.

“Like you said, Lions’ attention will all be on you. He won’t be expecting me.”

“Caro-“

She sunk into the shadows just as the door of the basement opened. Lions trudged down the stairs, grumbling to himself.

At the bottom of the stairs, he turned toward Hotch.

“Where’s the girl?” Lions asked, his voice low and gruff.

Hotch was silent.

“Doesn’t matter,” the unsub grumbled to himself. With his back to her completely, Lions started for Hotch. Evelyn would make sure he never reached him.

She crept out from her shadows, walking toward Lions. The ever present ache in her head from when Lions knocked her out didn’t even stop her. She was silent as she moved until she was right up behind him. In one quick motion, Evelyn kicked the back of his knee, dropping him to the ground before wrapping her arm around his neck.

Lions struggled against Evelyn. He was strong and she was weak from days with little food and water as well as the head injury. But she held on as tight to his neck as she could.

Hotch ran to check the basement door, but Lions had closed it, leaving it locked.

As he did so, Evelyn was so focused on keeping her grip on Lions, that she didn’t see his hand moving toward his pocket. He pulled out a knife and rammed it into her shin. She cried out, falling back and away from Lions.

“Evelyn!”

Hotch turned away from the door and ran back toward her as Lions stumbled away. Evelyn fell back against the support beam, lowering herself to the ground as she pressed her hands against the cut on her leg.

Hotch ran toward Evelyn, but Lions intercepted him. Fire spread throughout Evelyn’s leg, dark blood seeping through her fingers. She clenched her jaw in hopes of easing the pain. Hotch and Lions tumbled, a blur of bodies that Evelyn once again couldn’t distinguish. This scene was all too familiar to her.

Hotch was trained, but he was weak. Lions relied mostly on his size and strength, but lacked any formal training. Evelyn needed to get back into the fight, that was the only way Hotch would win this.

With a groan of effort and a sharp stabbing pain shooting through her leg, Evelyn forced herself to stand. Using the support beam as her support as well, she allowed herself a few moments to breathe through the pain before lurching forward.

Lions had Hotch pinned against the wall, his arm across his chest to keep him there. Evelyn hurtled toward Lions, pushing through the pain in her leg and barreled into him. This knocked him off balance. Being unable to stop herself once she started, she and Lions tumbled over each other until they were both on the ground. Hotch started forward to help Evelyn to her feet, but Lions had an arm around her waist and the knife pressed to her neck before either of them could really react.

“Back off,” Lions said, his voice even more gruff than before. Blood dribbled down from a broken nose and he wheezed, telling Evelyn that Hotch had hit him enough times near the diaphragm to knock the wind out of him.

The cool of the metal knife pressed against Evelyn’s throat didn’t scare her. Especially when she met Hotch’s gaze. That dead calm he always put forward she now felt flow through her veins. Everything was going to be okay, she could see it in his eyes. Evelyn breathed as shallowly as she could, trying to keep her throat from extending too far into the knife.

Lions pushed himself off the ground and brought Evelyn up with him. The knife cut into the first few layers of her throat and Evelyn flinched, feel the cool of her own blood dribble down her neck. Hotch put his hands in the air, trying to show that he meant Lions no harm.

“She’s not a part of this,” Hotch said. “You know that, Lions.”

“She’s a bitch is what she is,” Lions snapped, pressing the knife harder against Evelyn’s neck.

Hotch flinched forward and Evelyn shut her eyes.

“You want me, Lions, not her.” This was the calmness that Evelyn had never understood before. Her negotiation skills had never been good. Hotch said that she was too emotional. She cared too much and it was too easy to read in her voice. But Hotch was too good at pretending not to care at all. “Let her go and I’ll go with you.”

“No, Hotch-“

“Shut up,” Lions seethed in her ear. “You don’t get to talk.”

“Is that how you treat Rosalie, huh?” Evelyn asked, her hands on his arm that held the knife to her throat. “You call her a bitch and tell her shut up?”

“Be quiet!”

Evelyn could feel blood soak into her shirt, weighing it down.

“Lions, look at me,” Hotch said, pulling his attention away from Evelyn. “You can let her go.”

Evelyn felt her wounded leg start to grow numb and her balance shifted. In not too long, she wasn’t sure that she would be able to keep herself standing upright.

The door behind them burst open and Evelyn let out a gasp. Lions flinched and loosened his grip on her just enough that she broke free from him and stumbled forward, right into Hotch.

“Jeremy Lions, drop the knife and put your hands in the air!” Emily Prentiss said, her voice deep and commanding.

Evelyn’s leg gave out, every ounce of weight put on it causing a shooting pain up and down her entire body. Hotch held her up by her arms, her back pressed against his chest. He was the only thing keeping her standing and she could barely even do that.

Lions didn’t turn around, but he put his hands up in the air.

“Rosalie did this,” he said, his voice deadly low.

“Drop the knife, Lions,” Emily said again.

“You turned her against me.” Lions shifted his angered eyes away from Hotch and onto Evelyn. “You did.”

“I don’t want to shoot you, Lions, but I will.”

“You turned her against me!”

Lions took half a step toward them, the knife now facing her. Hotch turned Evelyn away, preparing to step between them, but Emily fired a single shot, the bullet tearing right through Lions’ shoulder. He fell to the ground with a cry of pain, the knife falling out of his grip.

Evelyn, still unable to stand on her own, turned to Hotch, her neck still bleeding.

“Are you okay?” she asked him, noting the bruises on his face.

“Are you guys alright?” Emily asked, her gun trained on Lions.

“We need a medic,” Hotch said. Emily nodded her head, her eyes flickering down the cut in Evelyn’s shin and neck.

Emily relayed the information through her earpiece, as well as saying the offender was down. Evelyn stayed leaned up against Hotch, his hands clinging to her arms to keep her steady, as Emily took Lions away in handcuffs.

Morgan and Reid came running into the basement along with the paramedics.

“Evie,” Morgan stepped toward her and she just smiled.

“We’re okay,” she told him.

“Ma’am,” the paramedic said. “Let’s get you to the ambulance.”

The paramedics stepped forward, one taking hold of Evelyn. The other moved toward Hotch.

“How are you feeling?” the paramedic asked him.

“Can you make it to the ambulance?” the paramedic asked Evelyn, who nodded her head.

“I can carry you,” Morgan said, stepping forward. Evelyn let out a quiet laugh.

“I can manage on my own, Derek,” she told him. Still, he followed her and the paramedic, his hands out just in case she started to fumble.

They helped her up the stairs and she looked back at Hotch, to find that his eyes were still on her. He nodded her head and she smiled at him.

The pain that flared throughout Evelyn’s leg was white hot, but with the paramedic taking most of her weight and Morgan just behind her, Evelyn was able to make it to through the house and to the ambulance without letting a single tear fall from her eye.

Hotch came out of the house a few minutes later, the paramedic still trying to get him to sit for a moment while Reid filled him in on everything they missed in the case.

“I’d like to speak with Rosalie,” Hotch said.

“She’s over here,” Reid said.

Hotch tried not to look over at the ambulance where he knew Evelyn was. He still had a job to do and he couldn’t focus on that if all he could think about was whether or not she was okay. He knew she was okay. She was always okay.

Rosalie sat in the back of one of the cop cars, her eyes closed and silent tears running down her cheeks. Hotch popped open the door, but she didn’t look at him.

“Is he alive?” she asked.

“He’ll survive,” Hotch told her. Rosalie let out a shaky breath and slowly opened her eyes. “Why did you help us?”

“I didn’t help you,” she said, looking away from him and toward the ambulance. “I helped Evelyn.”

Hotch scowled.

“She loves you, you know?”

Her words startled him and Hotch felt ice run through his blood.

“What?”

“She loves you. I gave her food at night but she’d only eat part of it, saved the rest for you. And last night I came to take her somewhere safe before Jeremy came back to kill you, but she refused to leave. I almost had her out of that house, but she ran back in. For you.”

Hotch looked down at his feet. He didn’t really expect anything less of Evelyn Caro. She always put everyone’s lives above her own. He shouldn’t expect her to act any different toward him.

But anger still bubbled up inside of him. She could have gotten herself killed and for what? She should have left him there and ran to get help. She should have….

“You better be damn sure you’re worth it.” Rosalie’s words were venom and Hotch could feel their sting deep in his blood.

Hotch shut the door, leaving Rosalie to her silence and grief. He turned to look at the ambulance, just as Morgan was stepping into the back. The paramedic shut the door, closing Hotch off from Evelyn. The siren started to blare, and the ambulance rolled out of the driveway.

“They’re taking her to the hospital,” Prentiss said, walking over to him. Hotch nodded his head. “Lost too much blood to just let her come back with us.”

“She kept antagonizing him,” Hotch said as he placed his hands on his hips. “If she had just let me go with him-“

“Caro was protecting you, sir,” Prentiss said. He looked at her, scowl deepening. “She knew that as soon as Lions had you, he would kill you. She had to make sure that didn’t happen.”

Hotch watched the ambulance as it drove away, the sirens ringing.

He never got the chance to ask if she was okay.

___

Evelyn lay back in her bed at the hotel, staring at the ceiling. A bandage wrapped around her leg and it itched, making it impossible for her to sleep. There was something else keeping her awake. Her mind reeled, the last few days playing over and over in her head. Trapped in a room with Hotch for days on end was the perfect time to talk to him about all the things that were bothering her, but even then, she couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t even know where to begin because she didn’t even know what she was feeling anyway.

Sitting up with a huff, Evelyn glowered into the darkness. She threw off her blankets that were making her too hot, lowering herself onto the ground and landing on her good leg. She hobbled over to her discarded clothes and threw them back on.

Air was what she needed. A breath of fresh air. And then she’d be okay. She could go back to pretending that everything was fine and normal, like she always did.

As she pulled a coat onto her shoulders, she opened the door and froze.

Hotch was standing there, wearing a broken down version of his usual suit. His tie and jacket were discarded, his shirt buttoned up sloppily. She wondered if he had ever even gone to bed. And he was standing in front of her door, his hand not even raised to knock. He was just standing there.

He looked at her with wide eyes, shocked to find her there.

“Um, hi,” Evelyn said, dropping her hand from the doorknob.

“I just wanted to check to see how you were doing,” Hotch said.

“Hotch, it’s like three in the morning.”

He looked down at his hands. He was actually fidgeting. Something had made him motivated enough to come here, but nervous enough not to knock.

“I know. I can go-“

“No, wait.” He froze. “I never got to ask if you were okay.”

Hotch nodded his head.

“I’m okay.”

“Good.”

They stood there in silence. Evelyn felt her throat tighten every time she wanted to say something. Hotch wouldn’t look at her. The silence seemed to drag on for eternity before Hotch finally broke it.

“I talked to Rosalie, after everything, and she said something,” Hotch said. Evelyn finally put her eyes on him.

“What…what did she say?”

There were a thousand terrible things that Evelyn could think of that the woman could have possibly said to land her standing in front of her boss at three in the morning.

“She said that you had a chance to leave that house and you came back,” he told her. Evelyn straightened her back. This was going to be a lecture, she could just feel it coming. She just didn’t know why it couldn’t wait until morning. “Why?”

Evelyn scowled and looked at the ground, her hand still on the door.

“Why?” She repeated. “Because I couldn’t leave you there.”

“You should have.”

Evelyn felt her temper begin to rise. What was it with this man?

“A ‘thank you for saving my life’ would suffice,” she said, her tone harsh. “If I hadn’t come back, Lions would have killed you. From where I’m standing, I made the right decision.”

“And got yourself hurt in the process.”

“I’ll survive.” Hotch fell quiet again. “Listen, Aaron, if you’ve come to pick a fight, I think it can wait until morning.”

Evelyn took a step back and started to close the door, but Hotch lifted his hand and stopped it from closing. She looked over at him, jaw tightened, and found him staring back at her.

“I’m not here to pick a fight with you,” he said.

“Then why did you come?”

She could see the question rattling around in his brain, as if he had been asking himself that very same question ever since he left his room.

“I’m sick of this, Aaron,” she said finally, when he didn’t answer. “I’m sick of neither of us being able to say what we really mean. I’m sick of running in circles around each other. Just tell me why you came here.”

“I came to make sure you’re okay.”

“Mission accomplished then. I’m fine. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She started to close the door again and this time he didn’t stop her.

“Rosalie also said you loved me.”

Evelyn froze, the door almost shut so she couldn’t see his face anymore. Which was good because it meant that he also couldn’t see hers and the fear that was etched into every feature. Her breathing became heavy, like every breath took so much more work. She closed her eyes, and slowly started to open the door again.

“Rosalie said that?” Hotch nodded his head once. “Did you believe her?”

He was quiet for a moment, letting out a long but quiet sigh.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re a profiler. Tell me, what do you think?”

He took a while to answer.

“I think you’re a deeply compassionate person who cares for the team. I think you would give your life for any one of us in a heartbeat.” Evelyn looked down at her feet and Hotch tried to follow her eyes with his. “I know that you would never do anything to jeopardize the dynamics of this team because we’ve become your family.”

“Okay.”

“So, I don’t know how much of what you say and do is because the team is your family and how much is because-“

“-I love you.”

The words came from her mouth like any other fact would. She had known it for so long, never said it, not even to herself, but she knew it. And she managed to say it so casually. She was just completing his sentence after all.

Hotch stood still, as if trying to decide whether or not she was finishing what he was saying or confessing. He searched her eyes, but she stayed motionless. It was time he figured things out for himself, she decided. They’d both spent so long trying to figure the other out, it was high time someone just made the first move.

“When you were at Ralph Bennet’s house,” he said finally, “I had these horrible dreams about finding you there already dead. I was too late to save you.”

Evelyn could have sworn there were tears glimmering in his eyes.

“You did though, Aaron. You did save me.”

“But was I too late?” He asked. “Did I wait too long for…everything else?”

“What do you want, Aaron?” Her voice was just at a whisper, her hand still on the door.

It was the last time she would ask. This was the last time and then she’d let it go, let him go. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life, however short that might be, pining after one man.

Hotch surprised her then. He didn’t say anything else, he didn’t try to talk. Talking was clearly getting him nowhere. Everything he said somehow came out wrong. Instead, he took a step toward her, closing the distance between them. Putting a hand to her cheek, he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers.

His answer was clear. It took her a few moments to over come her shock, but when she did, she reached out to grab hold of his shirt collar, pulling him in closer.

She pulled him into her room and shut the door, leaving the hallway empty and quiet.

Her room was still dark as he moved her backward, his hands never leaving her. He thought he had lost her. But here she was, with him, and that’s all he needed.

“You,” he whispered against her skin. “Just you.”

Every raging fire that made up Evelyn Caro met the calm seas that built Aaron Hotchner, burning and boiling and soothing in every possible way.

He kissed her lips, her bruised cheek bone, her jaw. His hands rested against the side of her neck, gently though, so as not to irritate her wound. She tugged at his wrinkled shirt, trying to pull him closer.

Hotch knew this was breaking protocol. But he left behind every rule in the book when he left his room two hours ago. Every inch of contact with her made his stomach twist, every time her teeth grazed his lip made his heart pound. For so long he had wanted her and for so long he had pretended otherwise. He was so, so tired of pretending.

He was pulling off her shirt and she didn’t stop him and he didn’t stop himself, but he couldn’t. He just needed all of her.

Evelyn gasped, her intake of breath so sharp that Hotch pulled away. She breathed raggedly, her chest rising and falling.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, his eyes moving to her neck.

Consumed by her, he had forgotten the shape she was in. He couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her.

“I’m not that fragile,” she told him. There was a smug look on her face, her lips twitched up into a smile.

Hotch leaned forward to kiss that smile, soft and gentle. His hands dropped to her waist and he kissed her again. He intended to pull away, leave her be for the night, but every time he tried, he came back to her like a magnet.

Evelyn had just as hard as a time keeping away from him. His calloused hands were grazing over her sides, her waist, her stomach, her back. Her hands were trembling as she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. Her heart pounded like a drum beat in her chest, so hard that she could hear it in her ears and it made her hands shake.

She expected him to stop her, to realize what he was doing and take her hands a politely decline, but when the last button came undone, he pulled away from just long enough to take the shirt off himself.

Hotch put his lips back on hers as soon as he could. Evelyn smiled against his kiss.

As if she had burned him, he suddenly stepped away, leaving Evelyn leaning against the wall, heaving for breath. He stared at her, his own breath ragged, his dark eyes smoldering.

“Is something…did I…?”

Shame pooled in Evelyn’s cheeks, making them burn. There she was, completely and utterly exposed, barely able to stand well enough on her own to scurry away.

“You’ve had a very hard year, Evelyn,” he said.

She tilted her head to the side and looked at the ground, locking her jaw.

“Hotch….”

“And I can’t take advantage of-“

“Aaron!” She said with a laugh, forcing him to look at her. “I’m fine. This is fine, more than fine.”

“Is it what you want?” he asked.

She gave a small smile and heaved out a sigh.

“Aaron Hotchner,” she said. “Have I ever done anything I haven’t wanted to?”

Lifting a hand, she curled her finger, beckoning for him. He stepped toward her until he was just a breath away.

“I’ll tell you if I need to stop,” she said to him, just above a whisper.

Evelyn reached up and kissed him again. It took him a few moments to respond, but once he accepted what she said, he leaned into her.

He placed a hand on her chest, right over her heart.

And for once, in a very, very long time, that wound in her soul didn’t feel so gaping.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #ssa hotchner #aaron hotchner x oc #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fic #hurt/comfort #tw: abuse #tw: violence #hotch #ssa aaron hotchner #idk what else to tag this so that more people see it #because it took me three weeks to write #this is literally a quarter of a novel what am i doing with my life #anyway #i hope you guys enjoy

[nelllraiser]

hell’s true north | adam & nell

TIMING: current. LOCATION: hellscape number ??. PARTIES:  @walker-journal & @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: adam follows his compass home. CONTAINS: sibling death (brief references to the bea plot), mass poisoning (from inhospitable domain), parental death mentions.

Vines with the texture of withered leather fingers writhed under Adam’s feet as he stumbled out of a brackish puddle of ichor. Disaster response boots that’d been designed to weather fire, acid, and radiation had eventually yielded before the onslaught of otherworldly environs. Now the ragged soles barely clung to his feet, wrapped tight with bloody strips of bloody demon hide. The most cutting edge kevlar, environment-resistant tactical gear, breathing apparatuses, and deadly military firearms had been gradually ravaged into uselessness by universes full of chemicals and alternative laws of physics that Earthly science had never imagined. As the tactics, preparation, and martial science Adam had once relied on was stripped away in the nonstop battles with demonic flora and fauna, the title of Hunter had become brutally literal. 

Adam spelunked through caverns that formed from the innards of sleeping elder things, scaled cliff sides made of solidified light and shadow, jumped across archipelagos of bone islands floating in stormy skies, climbed up trees the size of skyscrapers whose fruits were embryonic sacks in which monsters gestated, hiked across the savannahs with rolling plains of scalpel-sharp obsidian grass, and tightroped across worlds that were just spider webs of tentacles stretched across abyssal gyres. 

Adam was now a ragged figure where a dauntless soldier had once been, the shreds of his tactical uniform stitched together with leather and pieces of chitin. Once the olympics-ready peak of health, the footballer’s veins were stained with dark lines across his skin and he stumbled across the landscape of grasping roots and tide pools of black blood. His breathing was shallow treks through world after world had wracked the Hunter’s body with alien toxins that even the mutant’s regeneration was failing to fight off. Adam’s vision was blurred with the edges and everything muscle in his battered body begged to just lay down in darkness. 

But the compass in Adam’s hand pointed the way across the hellscape of fire, floating islands of tentacled flesh, and geometric monoliths to old gods that's already sunk into dreaming torpor long before humankind had discovered fire. Adam fought back agony and followed the compass needles across the poisoned land. 

Everything had blurred together by now. Nell couldn’t even clearly remember how she’d gotten to this realm, just that she’d fallen through far too many holes in the ground, off cliff sides, or out of sky-hanging oceans to even begin to remember what world this was. The red skies she’d originally arrived under were long gone, barely a memory after all the worlds that had followed, and all the attacks she'd scrambled to come out of in one piece. Though perhaps calling herself one piece was being generous when she’d resorted to packing the missing chunks of her flesh with whatever she could find that didn’t instantly sting and burn at her open wounds. She didn’t know how long it had been since she’d slept, time still immeasurable in places like these— just that she hadn’t done it since the baykok’s attack. The lack of sleep meant she hadn’t been able to replenish a single shining grain of her magic after she’d been quite literally drained and fed from, her body having nothing but sheer determination to keep her wavering feet from falling out beneath her. 

Something was the very definition of fundamentally wrong with this world in terms of survivability. Nell could feel it in the way each breath felt sharper than the last, and the ugly coughs that had her spitting up black specks on the palms of her hands. None of the places she’d seen could have been described as friendly, but this one felt like it was digging her foot deeper into the grave with every second she stayed. She needed to find a way out if she wanted to make it another hour. Nell was far past the point of finding a way back to White Crest, ready to settle for a hellscape that wasn’t killing the witch with every inhale of her lungs, and go from there if she could manage to last that long. How long had she lasted already? How much longer could she last? She’d always been a fighter, refusing to go down without taking at least a part of her attacker with her. But how could she carve out a piece of a world? How was she meant to rage against an entire realm? Maybe sometimes there was simply nothing to fight against, the hand of Fate snuffing out her life whether she liked it or not. 

And yet she kept walking, limping along as the injury on her leg oozed with some otherworldly infection that promised to kill her if this air didn’t. There was no direction, no plan, just the foolish hope that she’d stumble into a place where she could properly breathe. She walked until she could barely make out a figure on the horizon, squinting her eyes against the bright green and dingy brown of this place while she wondered if this would be the final creature to kill her. But the figure grew closer, and despite her best judgement an uncontrollable wave of hope flooded her chest. “Adam?” she dared to utter, even though she knew it was far too good to be true. Nell and the hellscape had done this before in the form of a tikbalang sending her astray with the perfect illusion of her hunter. “We’re doing this again?” she asked the air in a tone that was resigned to the disappointment of finding another falsehood, the high instantly giving way to a low. “What is it? Another tikbalang?” But this Adam was different. He looked sickly, and past the point of battered— like he’d already knocked on death’s door only for death to tell him to come back in ten or so minutes. They’d call him when they were ready. Why would an illusion-caster show her this? 

Hallucinations had become ever more common as toxic environs and constant otherworldly stimuli wore down Adam’s nervous system. 

Sometimes it was dad, gently reminding him of past lessons as Adam fought his way through nightmarish creatures and tried to find his way through landscapes only possible in other realities. Other times it was James or Terry, come to chat idly about football and girls as Adam trekked across wastelands whose sloping yet flat contours didn’t obey the rules of time and space. Dave gruffly reminded him about knots and the perils of marine warfare as Adam journeyed through rivers that flowed up into the sky and seas of sentint poison. Regan gave pointers on splinting a broken arm with a demon’s bones all while primly reminding him she wasn’t that kind of doctor. Orion nervously recounted facts about obscure demon types as Adam ducked claws and spines while trying to find a weak point. Ariana punched Adam in the arm and reminded him to buck up and put on a tough grin when everything was just pain. Athena gave advice on slowing the poison’s spread through his body with her mixture of tenderness and steel. Kaden brusquely correctly Adam on his stances as the younger Hunter’s limbs trembled with neurological damage, before reminding him to stay alive. Mina kept him vigilant, pointing out dangerous movements and sounds even when every fiber of Adam’s body wanted to sink into oblivion. Morgan spoke gently to him when the horror became too much, her hand on his shaking shoulders when the mental strain of glimpsing elder things sent Adam into seizuring convulsions. Dani reminded him of duty and their ancestral oaths with a concerned smile when ancient deceivers whispered in Adam’s brain, offering easy miracles in his moments of weakness. Luce yelled at him to get the fuck back up and fight when Adam could barely stand and death’s release drew close. Beatrice demanded that Adam remember who he’d come her for, when poisoned dreams threatened to swallow reality entirely. 

So this was not the first time Adam’d met Nell and had to hold back tears when stabbing yet another shapeshifter to death or felt crushing emptiness when it turned out he’d only embraced only empty air. 

Adam looked down at the compass needle, pointing unerringly forward. 

“Hey Nell,” Adam rasped through cracked lips, taking a green stone with a hole through its center from a cord around his neck. He held out the Adder Stone in one hand, gory knife clutched in the other. “When’d you give this to me?” 

Nell looked to the Adder Stone held in Adam’s hand, her solemn resignation to the illusion disrupted by the flickering of uncertainty in her eyes. The compass was a new addition as well, though she recognized the daffodil bloom she’d carefully laid into the face of it, the magic and flowers they’d made together under a full moon. “But I didn’t- I was gonna give you that after the date,” she mumbled, already chiding herself for how easily a couple of emotional trinkets could sway her mind towards what the demon world wanted her to see. But the compass wasn’t what he was asking about. The Adder Stone. Of course she remembered when she’d given it to him- the first of many things she’d gifted in an attempt to keep him safe. 

“After Bea- after we...brought her back.” Nell had masqueraded the gift as a thanks for Adam’s help in bringing her sister back from the ether, but the truth had gone deeper than that. “I said it was for helping protect my family. But I just- the carachs had just given you those visions, and the somnivore thing wasn’t that far off.” It’d been nearly a year ago that she’d delivered the stone, nearly five months after their first meeting at the Ring, and by then she’d already gotten soft for him. “You were hurting and- I didn’t want you to hurt.” Taking the Adder Stone between her fingers, she swallowed hard as she held it before her face, already dreading the moment he’d disappear before her eyes. The motion sent her into a brief coughing fit, the heaves long and loud as her lungs desperately tried to dispel the poison in her system. At the end of it she finally raised the stone’s center to her eye, knowing this vision and her willingness to linger with even a false Adam had already shaved precious moments off the stopwatch that was ticking down the seconds until the poison got the best of her. “Let’s just- let’s get this over with.” It was silly, and she shouldn’t have said it knowing he was nothing more than an exhaustion or demon induced delusion. But she couldn’t help herself as the next words whispered from her lips, trying to find a moment of peace in a land that had never known it. “I miss you. I’ll miss you.”

Finally Nell looked through the stone’s center, still surprised at how solid it felt in her hands, wondering if that was another lie to be chalked up to feeling dead on her feet. Except Adam didn’t fade from view, didn’t disappear into nothingness as she locked her gaze onto his familiar and brown eyes. She gasped, still hardly believing it but reaching out nonetheless, letting the Adder Stone thump unceremoniously against his chest while its cord slackened and her hand found a gentle resting place alongside his cheek. Warmth. Perhaps a little too warm, as if he were running a fever. But there was the unmistakable feeling of life beneath her fingertips, and she didn’t hesitate a moment longer to close the space between them, slipping her other hand into his. Her knees grew even more unsteady, either from shock, barely having the energy to hold herself upright, or both— and for a moment she rested a little more weight against him than she probably should have considering his state. But it was impossible for her not to sink into the first safe place she’d found since the onychorror had snatched her. She’d finally found a place where she was safe in the hellhole. A place where she’d always been safe to crumble, to relieve her walls of their nearly ever-present duties. A place where she knew it was safe to fall because he’d never once stumbled when it came to catching her. “How- How did you- you’re real? Please- either this is a really good mindfuck or-” Or Tate had made good on his deal, and managed to get her hastily doctored sigil back to White Crest. Was it possible something had actually gone right? Had gone so right as to bring the man she loved to her side?

Adam let the knife fall from his hand onto the writhing ground and put his arms around Nell. There was a moment of tenseness, of resigned expectation. But she didn’t turn to mist, slip right through him, or boil up into some hungry thing. Tidal waves of relief and shock at something too impossibly good to be true collided in Adam’s chest. Nell was solid, real. Just a moment Adam couldn’t feel the heat of the burning sky or the poisons of alien worlds killing him cell by cell. 

“I’m real,” Adam assured holding her tight with what strength was left in him. “I’m really here.” He entwined the fingers of their free hands. “I don’t want any other life except one with you in it,” the Hunter confessed, wasting precious water as the tears slid down his bloody and battered face. 

“So uh...here I am.” 

Nell could feel her own tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, an avalanche of relief washing over her near-ravaged spirit, almost still waiting for this moment to break in a way that left her spinning. But the moment never came, and Adam was breathtakingly solid within her arms. For a long breath she savored the peace he brought, like a salve over an open wound. She wanted to bury herself against him, to hide from the world around them and pretend like it didn’t exist, but the fear that he’d disappear if she so much as looked away from his gaze was too great, afraid to even blink lest the break in their eye contact be the blip of time needed for him to dissipate from under her hands. 

She could feel her pulse gain a few extra beats while Adam made his declaration, heart in her throat while she ran his words on repeat through her mind. It was wrong. So wrong that such beautiful words should have to be uttered in a world as ugly as this one, spoken between the gasping breaths of a dying pair. Nell had always known that loving Adam wouldn’t be easy between his constant brushes with death, and the conditioning that often made him feel the need to put humanity’s welfare before anything else in his life. She’d done it nevertheless, having made peace with the fact that maybe he wouldn’t ever wholly be her’s, a part of him always belonging only to his mission. The pieces of him she’d been given had been more than enough. But that didn’t mean his admission didn’t tug at her heart, didn’t make it soar in a way that made a fluttering bloom in chest that had nothing to do with the poisonous air slowly killing her.

“Here you are,” Nell finally managed to repeat in wonder. Hadn’t he been the one trying to convince her to leave him behind should the demon apocalypse commence? He'd told her that she was a part of humanity’s hope for survival, that she should abandon him for the sake of the world. It was his own words that made her know the gravity of him choosing to come for her, to potentially sacrifice one of humanity’s hopes in the form of himself by searching for her in the endless worlds. And that was enough to keep her voice steady and sincere while she spoke. “I don’t want a life without you either.”

Part of Nell wanted to be upset with him, to scold him for being so foolish with his own life by following her into the portal, but she couldn’t manage to speak the words through the temporary moment of solace they’d found in the middle of hell— unwilling to break it. Unfortunately there was something else that needed to be said that would do just as good a job at shattering their moment of quiet. Something she couldn’t ignore. “There’s...something else I need to tell you.” Let her hold onto this shining feeling for just a few more seconds before she brought them back to reality.

Adam had grown up with the knowledge that his life wasn’t his own. It belonged to humanity’s destiny, a merciless idol that generations upon generations of his family had been sacrificed to appease. The abnegation of the self had been soothing in a way, it’d made him brave in a way. It doesn’t hurt to suffer and risk your life again and again if it isn’t truly yours to lose. He tried to never deceive the women in his life. Nobody deserved to be given only part of someone to love. 

Mom and dad had loved each other intensely, and Adam had seen the aftermath after the needs of humanity had demanded yet another sacrifice. At the time he’d thought he’d learned a lesson from Esther Walker’s sorrow, and was determined to never hurt someone the way his father had. 

But after three years of complete radio silence, Adam had spoken with mom and learned too late that he'd gotten it all wrong. As he’d grown, so had she, and neither mother or son were the same broken people that’d parted at Gehena 19. 

Penelope was a person he shouldn’t have loved. She practiced demonology, the very art that’d fucked up the world in the first place. She’d participated in human trafficking and slavery. She’d performed ritual human sacrifice. She’d hunted down bounties without any concern for morality or a higher cause. She aided and abetted supernatural criminals simply because of her personal feelings. When these actions reaped consequences, Nell responded with personal wrath and revenge rather than seeking resolution, splintering tragedy into ever more fractals of repercussion. 

Basically, by every standard he’d been raised to believe in, Penelope Vural was evil, and if she hadn’t been born human Adam would’ve been obligated to kill her. 

But that’s not what happened. At first it’d just been that she was a useful ally. Next it'd just been typical horndog Adam, thinking with the head in his trousers rather than one on his shoulders again. Physical attraction and wary partnership had explained things for only so long however. She was brave, self-sacrificing, vivacious, and free to act according to passion and her free will in a way Adam had never dared to be. Eventually Adam was sharing things with her that he’d never dreamed of telling anyone else. 

He wasn’t supposed to care about someone like Nell, to give her so much of what belonged to the mission. Adam could only love someone also sworn to fight the same war, no one else could understand the sacrifices necessary and what’d inevitably come sooner rather than later. Adam had been introduced to Huntresses his age with the unspoken understanding that eventually he’d find someone to fight alongside and raise children with to pass the sacred charge onto the next generation. 

Adam had drank, partied, and screwed his way into forgetting for a while. Until suddenly, he ended up loving the wrong person, someone who wanted Adam for just himself, war be damned. 

It wasn’t the right thing. 

But what if he just….did y’know?

What he just loved Nell like she deserved without holding back, fight for his own humanity for a change?

Adam just wished he'd had the courage to take that plunge earlier. 

Adam looked parted the embrace slightly so that he could meet her gaze  “What is it Nell?” 

Nell hadn’t planned to fall for Adam Walker, hadn’t even entirely noticed how close she’d let him get until she’d felt like she was on the edge of losing him, delivering the news that August Thompson had died a death far from peaceful— that Adam’s hand had been directly involved in the spellcaster’s demise. Of course she’d known he was one of the people she’d trusted most, one of the only people she’d ever let see her stripped to the core while he’d held her after Bea’s death. It was why she’d asked him to help in the first place. But she hadn’t realized just how much there was to lose until she was standing on the precipice. She’d been convinced that it would be the end, that she’d managed to ruin something before even really letting it begin, and that he wouldn't come back. It turned out she didn't need to worry about him coming back, because he’d never left in the first place. And he kept not leaving, something that had been rare in the life of a witch who had an overzealous temper and a reckless streak a mile wide. 

So when he’d done things others might condemn or draw the line at— killed a werewolf in cold blood, admitted his own bloodlust beneath a full moon, gone on a murder spree fueled by the same moon, considered a demon pact, left her on read in the middle of feeling as if she were about to lose him...there’d been no choice of whether or not she’d grant him the same loyalty, to stay with him just as he’d stayed with her. She’d just wanted him to come home. And he always had. Even now, after fighting his way through literal hell, he’d come home.

Selfishly putting off her bad news for one moment longer, she let months of feeling the sun on her face when he smiled fill her soul, holding onto that feeling as she tried to find the words for what she wanted to say. What needed to be said if they didn’t make it out of this hellscape, and what she should have said much sooner despite being scared. She’d been worried about what he might say in reply, always thinking of that part of himself that she knew he felt he couldn’t give, not sure if she wanted to hear the ‘I’m sorry, but’ that she might get in response. But the man who’d dived into hell for her deserved to hear it, and she wasn’t scared anymore. “You know I love you, right?” He didn’t need to say it back, she’d finally realized that while he’d been walking towards her, knowing loving words could never speak as loudly as his actions had. “I just wanted you to know,” she assured him, letting him know she didn’t need to hear it in return. It wouldn’t change anything. 

Now for the less charming of her news. “Not to...instantly bring the mood down but...the other thing I needed to tell you…” Nell glanced over her shoulder, as if the soul-snatching creature would be there even now as she divulged news of it. “There’s a...slaugh. I think it’s been following me.” Adam would know what it meant, that such creatures only went after those who were generally mere hours from dying, waiting to devour their souls. Nell had glimpsed it as she kept rubbing elbows with death in the hellscape, the being momentarily coming into focus while she’d barely escaped a demon encounter with her life still intact. The creatures were nearly as good at predicting death as banshees were.

Adam followed her gaze towards the burning horizon where plasma storms corrustated in lightning rainbows over living plains of crawling flesh. Slaugh were vultures of the spirit world. As a kid he’d been terrified of the invisible presences that set off his Hunter senses whenever there was a clash between militia forces around the Levant. It’d felt like a blizzard of dark wings, choking him with claustrophobia on empty arid plains covered in bodies shredded by shrapnel.

Mom had assured her son he wasn’t crazy. He could just feel the demons glutted humanity’s senseless wars against itself.  

Adam‘s mind went back to Regan’s prophecy and felt an iron dread settle in his stomach, adding bittersweetness to the joy and relief coursing through his enervated body. 

Adam let the future go and drew Nell close against him again, just letting this moment exist for as long as hell allowed. “We’ll figure it out when we get back to Earth ,” he murmured.

The tension in Nell’s shoulders melted as Adam pulled her back, savoring their togetherness for as long as she could, feeling true hope for the first time since...she wasn’t actually certain how long it had been, not even knowing how many days she’d been stuck in these hell-worlds. She drew a long breath while she was pressed against him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze to assure herself that he was still here- still real even though it seemed impossible that he was. When they got back to Earth. It seemed like a far off hope, like shooting for the moon without any of that bullshit optimism of landing among the stars. “Then you can tell me the plan when we find a place that’s not suffocating us.” He wouldn’t have come without one, right? It was one thing to condemn himself to death, and she wouldn’t be entirely surprised given his generally self-sacrificing nature, whether that had been taught, was natural, or a combination of the two. But it was another entirely to forfeit the life of her as well by diving in without an extraction plan. He wouldn’t have risked the person he was saving.

The slaugh was worrisome enough as an omen of death, but there’d been more to consider when it’s eating of souls was brought into play. Nell still wasn’t all that sure whether she’d want to be raised from the dead in the first place should she perish in the next twenty-four hours, but if the slaugh ate her soul...she wouldn’t have a choice to begin with. You couldn’t raise a body without a soul. 

Again Nell fell silent while she drank in as much as this as she could, the dread in her stomach a constant reminder of how far there still was to go. But with Adam- at least she stood a chance. With Adam they could at least sleep, taking varied watches. And then maybe some of her magic would come back and Adam could heal, and then...well then they’d at least have a fighting chance together, always stronger together. Nell used her fragile strength to bring herself to the tips of her toes, trying to press a gentle kiss to his black-veined cheek before feathering across his lips. “We’ll figure it out when we get back to Earth,” she echoed, recognizing it as another promise they could hold between them. They’d go back to Earth together in the same way they’d fought the dolorphage, the way they’d faced an unknown future beneath the full moon all those months ago, and the same way they’d taken on a demon cult and lived to tell the tale— always together.

#// DON'T LOOK AT ME IM EMOTIONAL #as alwAYS tapir just gives me a GIFT of a chatzy #wickedswriting #chatzy #ch:adam #hell's true north #sibling death tw #mass poisoning tw #parental death tw

[teenwolffanclub-me]

Season 1, Episode 12: Code Breaker

Hey there beautiful reader! If you’re new here, this is a series I’m writing where each chapter is an episode from the first season of Teen Wolf. If you’ve been here before, hey! I missed you! Previous and future chapters are linked at the end of each part if you want to catch up.

Pairing: Stiles x Psychic! Reader

Warnings: two very justified character deaths 

Notes: I feel like I blacked out and now we’re somehow on the last episode. Not sure how that happened so fast but here we are. Just prepare yourself bc this one is entirely too long but I didn’t want to do two parts 🤷‍♀️

Does anyone want me to continue with Season 2? Please let me know bc I won’t do it unless people are actually interested.

I also wanted to give a shoutout to everyone who has sent me nice comments and showed love on this series. It’s meant the absolute world to me!

Okay now let’s get some closure!

                                                    ————————

I walked through the hallways of the high school, using every ounce of willpower I could muster to keep my eyes firmly planted in front of me.

The pressure of dozens of curious stares weighed on my back as I made my way toward the lockers briskly. From the moment I walked through the doors a few minutes ago, all eyes had been on me. I squared my shoulders and forced my head to remain up high.

If people wanted to gossip, they could go right ahead.

My pace quickened as I heard the unmistakable sound of judgmental whispering behind me. I pinched my eyes shut tightly and tried my best to block out the irritating noise. I just wanted to get my books and go to class. At least there, I would see Scott, Stiles, and Allison.

Once I reached my locker, I shakily dialed in my code and popped the small metal door open. I instantly stumbled back, my eyes going wide as a shit ton of dirt came spilling out. I stood still for a few seconds, blinking slowly as I tried figuring out what the hell just happened.

With a frown, I wiped my hands against my jeans, which were now covered in the stuff. My eyes flickered down toward the pile of soil on the tiles in front of my feet, my brows furrowing in confusion.

How the hell did that much dirt get into my locker? How did any dirt get into my locker?

I glanced around the hall slowly, anxious to see my classmates reactions. I was already the weird girl after everything at the dance. I didn’t want to be the even weirder girl who keeps dirt in the locker.

A surprised breath left my lips as I saw that the halls were now completely empty. I turned all the way around, peering in both directions, but there wasn’t a single soul here with me. My head started pounding and I winced at the unexpected sensation before rubbing at my temples gently.

I swiveled back toward my locker, wanting nothing more than for this day to be over. Maybe everyone was right. Maybe I wasn’t ready for this yet. I instantly froze at the sight of a single purple flower sitting in the middle of the dirt pile. I was almost certain it hadn’t been there a moment before.

My heartbeat thrummed loudly in my ears as I reached a trembling hand inside the small space. I tentatively plucked the plant, which I easily recognized as wolfsbane, out of the soil. My eyes flickered around the purple leaves and long, green stem as my confusion only grew.

Just then, an ear piercing scream echoed through the halls. I whipped around, instantly going rigid when I saw that I was no longer in the school, but standing in the middle of the lacrosse field.

I glanced around the empty stadium, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Did I suddenly develop the ability to teleport? Or was I losing my damn mind? My eyes trailed downward as I felt cool air brush against my legs. My breath hitched as I saw that I was wearing my formal dress. The navy fabric was covered in blood and dirt, the strap on my left shoulder torn to shreds.

A bolt of fear licked up my spine as I heard rustling directly in front of me. My gaze slowly swept upward before landing on a pair of glowing red eyes that were illuminated in the shadowy distance. My eyes pinched shut as terror coursed through me when they started moving closer.

“It’s not real.” The mantra was a shaky whisper as my body trembled. “It’s not real. It’s not—”

Just then, my eyes jerked open on their own accord. I bolted upright with a harsh gasp, my throat constricting painfully as I sputtered and coughed a few times. One of my hands came up to clutch at my chest as I tried desperately to catch my breath.

Only a split second passed before Stiles flailed into a sitting position beside me. He whipped his head from side to side with wide eyes, as if searching for the cause of my panic. Once his attention landed back on me, he instantly pulled me into his chest and began murmuring lowly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” One of his hands rubbed at my back while the other cradled my head against him.

“Lydia...” I gasped, my breath coming out in quick, trembling spurts. The dream had been some sort of vision or clue...it just had to be.

“Lydia’s alright, okay? They’re gonna find her.” Stiles’ fingers threaded through my hair and massaged my scalp soothingly.

“What? What is it? What happened?” Scott’s head suddenly popped up at the foot of my bed, his hair so messy it looked like he’d been hurled through a tornado.

“Another nightmare.” I breathed, feeling my heartrate dropping back down to normal as Stiles’ hands continued rubbing against me gently. 

Scott sighed from the floor, his shoulders sagging in relief. One of his hands came up to massage the back of his neck and he grimaced uncomfortably. “Cool. Is it my turn on the bed yet?”

“You can curl up down here if you want, like a good puppy.” Stiles smirked at his own joke as one of his hands left me to point toward our feet.

“Scott, just go sleep in your own bed. It’s literally right there.” I gestured to my window, which faced his, and slowly pulled away from Stiles.

As much as I would love to stay in his arms forever, I had to learn to get ahold of myself on my own. They couldn’t keep babying me. Both of them had done nothing but obsess over my health from the moment I was discharged out of the hospital two days ago. 

Scott had refused to leave my side since I’d gotten home, other than the brief moments he made appearances in his own house so that his mom knew he was still alive. He insisted it was to keep an eye on me, and that was partially true, but he was also basically in hiding right now. 

Jackson, being the wonderful friend that he is, somehow found the time to tell Mr. Argent that Scott is the beta they’ve been looking for, kindly adding on to our reasons-life-is-currently-terrible list.

“And let you guys have all the fun without me?” Scott mumbled sarcastically and leaned back to lay on the pillow and blanket I’d set up for him on the hardwood floor.

This had been our routine for two days. Mom banned me from having any visitors while I recover, but that hadn’t stopped Scott from staying or Stiles from sneaking in after school. Each night, I could barely make it through a few hours of sleep at a time before jerking awake from yet another nightmare. Or maybe they were visions. I honestly had no idea.

My days had also been...weird, to say the least. Most of the time, it was hard to tell whether or not I was awake. My sense of reality was seriously fucked up. I was having almost constant visions and dreams, and they never made any sense. It felt like my subconscious was trying to tell me something, but in another language I had yet to learn.

Lydia was still missing, and I was beyond worried sick. Sheriff Stilinski and the entire police department had searched every square inch of Beacon Hills over the course of the last two days, and hadn’t found a single trace of her.

Aside from that shitshow, I also hadn’t spoken to Allison since the last time I’d seen her at the dance. No one had, actually.

Scott—when he wasn’t fawning over me—was losing his mind because apparently while I was being a dumbass and getting myself bitten, Mr. Argent somehow made him shift in front of Allison. Then, he shipped her and Kate off to an undisclosed location until further notice.

I’d sent her a few texts since being home, but she only responded once. The words had replayed in my mind over and over for several hours after reading them as I tried figuring out an acceptable response.

You knew the whole time, didn’t you?

I eventually decided not to answer at all. What could I say? I’d kept something huge from her, although it was never really my secret to tell anyway. She had every right to be pissed off. I wanted to address it in person and, honestly, didn’t have the mental capacity to worry much about it right now.

I blinked a few times, feeling myself come back from my dazed thoughts as Scott and Stiles’ voices fluttered back to my ears. I’d been doing that a lot, too. Getting lost in my mind for several minutes at a time, if not longer. I felt a curious gaze on my face and took in a slow, deep breath before lifting my head to meet Stiles’ eyes.

My heart clenched uncomfortably in my chest at the look he was giving me. It was the same expression that had been etched into his face ever since I’d woken up in the hospital. It was like he was afraid I would try to kill him at any given moment, while simultaneously worrying that I’d suffer a mental break or croak on the spot.

I heard the rumbling sound of snoring from the floor and knew that Scott was already out cold again.

“I’m sorry I woke you.” I sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted. I glanced at the alarm clock on my bedside table, noting with a regretful wince that it was three in the morning. He had school in only a few hours.

Stiles’ eyes inspected me tenderly, rounding with concern as he reached out to tuck a stray clump of hair behind my ear gently. “I wasn’t sleeping. You stole my pillow, so...”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. He apparently couldn’t sleep without the thing and had brought it with him each night. It was quite possibly the most adorable thing ever.

“I’m still sorry.” My voice was barely above a whisper as I looked down toward my lap and fidgeted with my fingers. 

Ever since I was bitten I’d felt...different. Like a burden. Out of control. It was as if my mind was warring with itself all day, every day. I had a constant nagging fear that I was forgetting something important. It was like it was on the tip of my tongue, but I just couldn’t remember.

Stiles leaned toward me slowly and cupped my cheek before placing a gentle kiss on my forehead. His fingers trailed down to brush against the side of my neck before tangling in the hair at the base of my skull. His free hand came up to the other side of my head and he pulled it down against his chest. My eyes fluttered shut as a sigh left my lips.

A sense of peace always washed over me when he was near. Despite everything going on, all it took was a small touch to quiet my racing mind. I felt myself relaxing, if only slightly, in his arms. A moment later, I leaned back to look at him again, my stomach fluttering at the intense gleam of worry shining in his caramel eyes.

“There’s something wrong with me, isn’t there?” My voice broke and I furrowed my brows as traitorous tears filled my eyes. I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to feel sorry for myself. I wanted to get better.

Stiles glanced fleetingly at the place where Peter had bitten me, but jerked his attention back to my face quickly, probably hoping I hadn’t noticed. “Whatever it is...we’ll figure it out.”

Somehow, his response wasn’t all that comforting. I didn’t doubt for a second that he’d be there for me every step of the way as I went through whatever this was. I’d watched how he helped Scott during the early stages of his transformation, and it was admirable. But I didn’t want there to be anything wrong. I didn’t want there to be anything different about me.

I just wanted to be normal.

“C’mere...” Stiles opened his arms and I couldn’t help but instantly fall into them.

He pulled me tight against him and leaned back, snagging his pillow from my side of the bed on the way down. My eyes fluttered shut as I laid there on top of him, my legs between his and my head resting above his heart.

I listened to the steady rhythm of his pulse, feeling it lull me to sleep within seconds.

                                                    ————————

I leaned back against my headboard, adjusting the book that rested atop my knees. My bottom lip was tucked between my teeth anxiously as I flipped another page. I narrowed my eyes as they swept over the words, urging my mind to comprehend them. I just couldn’t. I was way too distracted.

My eyes flickered up to find Scott lounging in my desk chair across the room. He was playing some game on his phone and it was making this annoying boing sound every few seconds. It was starting to drive me crazy, but it wasn’t the only thing causing my jitters. 

I glanced away from him to look out my open window and sighed heavily. It was already dark outside, and Stiles wasn’t here yet.

It wasn’t usually like me to jump to conclusions, but considering the state of our lives right now, it wasn’t a stretch to be worried. At this point, though, I was moving toward a full on panic attack. School ended six hours ago. What could he possibly be doing?

I opened my mouth to voice my concern, but never got a chance as Scott interrupted me before I could get even a single word out.

“He’s fine.” He said absently, his eyes never leaving his phone’s screen.

My eyebrows twitched up in surprise. “How did you know...”

“I can hear your heart racing.” He sighed and finally dropped his phone onto my desk before lifting his eyes to meet mine. “You either just ran a marathon, or you’re worried about something. That something is usually Stiles. And he’s fine.”

I rolled my lips into a tight line at the way he’d just read me so easily. “But it’s already—”

Just then, something thumped outside my window loudly. I stiffened at the sound, and Scott perked up in his chair, instantly on high alert. There was a low groan before a figure clambered through the opening. I instantly knew it was Stiles as I caught sight of his red flannel. He flailed to the floor spastically with a yelp and I slammed my book closed before bolting to my feet.

I rushed to his side, my arms wrapping around him as he struggled to get up. His chest heaved with ragged breaths as if he’d run the whole way here.

“Where were you? Are you okay? What happened?” I couldn’t stop the panicked words from tumbling past my lips.

My eyes trailed over him quickly to assess for any damage. His freckled cheeks were flushed and the top three buttons on his flannel were undone, exposing his white undershirt. He looked a little roughed up, but not hurt.

He finally stood up straight and his eyes widened when they met mine, as if only just then realizing that I was beside him. He gripped my upper arms sternly before walking me backward.

“What are you doing? Get back in bed.” I had no choice but to plop down onto the mattress as the back of my knees ran right into it.

“Don’t change the subject, Stilinski.” I frowned up at him and his eyes twitched in warning.

“Oh, God. Please don’t make me listen to another who’s more worried about who fight. I might seriously puke this time.” Scott practically threw himself onto the bed beside me, a look of feigned disgust taking over his face.

My eyes swept toward him and narrowed into a glare only briefly, as my attention moved back to Stiles when he started talking again.

“Moving on.” He sent a pointed look Scott’s way before continuing, his hands gesturing quickly in front of him. He was anxious, that much was obvious. “I had a uh...talk with Chris—”

“Who?” I interrupted, thrown off by the unfamiliar name.

Stiles’ eyes twitched at me in annoyance as he flailed one of his arms in a circle, signaling that we didn’t have much time. “Argent.”

“You call Allison’s dad Chris?” My voice rose in disbelief. Since when was that a thing?

“Oh my God. This is important, okay? He tried to get me and Jackson to tell him where Scott is and—”

Scott sprang upright on the bed, his eyes wide with alarm. “Why were you with Jackson?”

“Can I just finish? Is that alright with you two?” Stiles’ voice rose in frustration, his eyes pinching shut for a brief moment after he shouted.

Both Scott and I froze and he sighed before running a hand down his face. His gaze flickered to Scott as he extended a hand out apprehensively. “He’s literally planning to kill you. Tonight. Okay? So you can’t—”

Scott suddenly rose to his feet, his face tight with determination. “I need to find Derek.”

Stiles’ fingers curled into a fist, still hanging in the air, as he pursed his lips when Scott brushed past him. “Why do we keep going back to him? He’s like your abusive ex, okay? You have a problem. And did you miss the part where I just said you could be murdered by werewolf hunters at any given moment?”

“If the Argents are after me, he’s the only one who can help.” Scott braced his hands against my windowsill and turned to glare at Stiles over his shoulder.

Before either of us could ask him what he was doing, he doubled over with a low groan. I realized he was shifting and tentatively slid back on my mattress, not sure what was going on. I knew he would never hurt me, but I hadn’t seen anything supernatural since being bitten. It instantly had me on edge.

Then, he jerked upright and howled loudly into the dark sky. 

I winced at the deep, rumbling sound, feeling a painful twinge in my head. One of my hands came up to cradle my temple as my lips parted in a silent gasp. The noise was vibrating all the way in my bones, overwhelming every one of my senses. I felt myself slipping away from the present, my eyes wide but unfocused. I faintly registered an arm wrapping around my back as Stiles rushed to kneel in front of me. 

His free hand cupped my face, his lips moving rapidly as he tried to bring me back. I suddenly had the strong urge to close my eyes, so I let them flutter down slowly. Instantly, my breath caught as an image of Derek’s house popped into my mind. There were way too many things happening to decipher any of it. My brows furrowed as I tried making sense of what I was seeing. 

The clearest picture was the most gruesome. Blood. Everywhere. 

A painful spasm in my left shoulder had my eyes jerking open. They met Stiles’ wide, panicked gaze as he hovered only a few inches away from me. With a snap, his and Scott’s voices rushed into my ears. 

“What the hell did you do to her?” Stiles practically yelled, his voice tight with anxiety and a hint of anger. His hands were clutching my arms as he jostled me awake.

Scott appeared at his side above me, his face crumbled in horror. “I-I didn’t do anything! I didn’t mean to...”

“I think I know where to find him.” I interrupted breathily, blinking a few times to focus my eyes. I sat up with a groan, my head pounding harshly. Stiles tightened his grip on me as he tried to keep me steady. “His house. I saw it.”

Scott’s face dropped from beside me, his brows furrowing as his lips pulled into a frown. “So did I.”

We shared a long, curious glance. I had no idea what that meant, and judging by the glint of wonder reflecting in his eyes, neither did he. 

“So we’re just not gonna talk about whatever that was?” Stiles asked incredulously. He e took a step away from me and shrugged sarcastically with a tilt of his head. 

“We don’t have time.” I pushed myself up to my feet and strode toward my closet hurriedly. 

It was freezing outside by now, and I wanted to be prepared for once. I rustled through my sweaters until I found one I didn’t mind ruining. My shoulder protested each movement as I wrestled it over my head, but I tried my best to ignore it. I turned on my heel to face the guys and froze at the looks they were giving me. 

Scott seemed hesitant, but didn’t look like he was going to argue, while Stiles was very much unimpressed. 

“That’s funny.” He laughed humorlessly and pointed at me. “It looks like you think you’re going somewhere.”

I frowned at his demanding tone. “I’m sorry, are you my mother? No? Okay. That’s what I thought.”

I brushed past him to find a pair of socks in my dresser. If he thought he was going to start telling me what to do just because we’re dating, he had another thing coming. My eyes flickered up to meet his in the mirror as I heard rustling behind me.

“You can’t seriously—” His mouth opened and closed a few times as he tried to find the right words. I pulled out a mismatched pair of socks and turned to lean against the dresser as I slid them on. “Scott, tell her how stupid this is.” 

“Hell no. I’m not getting involved.” He glanced between us with wide eyes, lifting his hands in surrender. 

“If we don’t go now, Derek is going to die.” I forced the words out through clenched teeth, growing impatient. Somehow, I knew that’s the future we were up against, despite not having actually seen it happen. I just knew. 

“Since when do we care about that?” Stiles swiveled his head as his eyebrows rose in question. 

Scott stepped forward, suddenly looking pensive. “I’m not going to just let him die.”

“I’m the only sane one left...” Stiles muttered to himself, throwing his hands up in exasperation. 

After several more minutes of pointless arguing, a very disgruntled Stiles finally agreed to drive us to Derek’s. The three of us had barely made it a few steps outside the Jeep before he came barreling from the house, looking unpleasant as ever. 

“What the hell are you doing? None of you should be here right now.” His angry voice echoed through the trees as he continued stalking forward until he stood right in front of us. 

“Finally, someone’s making—oh my God!” Stiles didn’t have a chance to finish his thought as an arrow came out of nowhere and embedded itself into Derek’s shoulder. 

My eyes widened in shock and I whipped around just as another arrow came from the trees to land in his thigh. He crumpled to the ground with a groan, clutching at his injuries. 

“Close your eyes!” He shouted and tucked his face into his elbow. 

Long fingers clasped around my bicep and I was jerked to the side before another hand shoved my head into a warm chest. I screwed my eyes shut tightly, a quiet boom sounding beside us. Stiles and I separated quickly to see what it was, but my eyes landed on Scott instead. 

He was crouched down on all fours, blinking rapidly. He hadn’t been fast enough. He squinted into the distance and I followed his line of sight, but came up empty. 

Derek grunted lowly as he broke off the shafts of each arrow that still lay inside him. He stumbled to his feet and grabbed Scott by the collar of his jacket. “Get to the house!” 

Stiles and I didn’t hesitate to obey as we bolted in that direction, our hands tangled together. We only made it about halfway before Derek slumped to the ground behind us, exhausted. I staggered to a halt at the sound and nearly lost my balance when Stiles continued moving. 

His eyes flickered from me to the place where Scott and Derek lay crumpled on the ground in a moment of hesitation. With a grimace, he let me go and we both jogged their way. 

“No! Go!” Derek’s head popped up and he tried waving us off, but it was too late. 

I froze, partially crouched beside him, as a thin figure emerged from the darkness. She was stomping toward us with a huge bow slung over her shoulder. The dim light from Derek’s porch illuminated her face as she neared us, and my breath caught in my throat. It was the last person I expected to see.

“Allison, I can explain—” Scott immediately stammered desperately, still trying to get his bearings after being stunned by the flash bullet. I realized at then that it was the same type she’d tried out with me and Lydia the week before formal.

“Stop lying.” She barked, her voice tight with built up anger. Her eyes flickered up to meet mine, my chest tightening at the intense betrayal swirling inside them. “All of you, for once, stop lying.”

“I was gonna tell you the truth. I was gonna tell you everything at the formal.” Scott rushed the words out in a panic as he shuffled backward to match each step she took toward him. “Everything that I said...everything I did...”

“Was to protect me.” She finished with a humorless scoff, fingers tightening around the arrow she held at her side.

“Yes.” He instantly confirmed, pleading with her to understand. 

I knew exactly how she felt. Being kept in the dark sucked, no matter which way it was spun. Maybe she had been safer this whole time because she didn’t know. Or maybe all his secret did was create an irreparable wedge between them. She was bound to find out eventually, considering who her family was, and this whole mess was probably the worst way it could’ve happened. 

Allison’s eyes glistened as she peered down at him, her hardened mask of hatred cracking just slightly. Her voice trembled as a few tears escaped down her cheeks. “I don’t believe you.” 

“Thank God!” I jumped at the sudden voice from the darkness, and watched as Kate stalked out of the tree line with a roll of her eyes. “Now shoot him before I have to shoot myself.”

My heart leapt into my throat at her words. With Scott dazed and Derek seriously injured, there wasn’t much we could do to stop her from killing either one of them. The reality of our situation hit me like a ton of bricks. Stiles and I were utterly useless. 

“Y-you said we were just going to catch them.” Allison sputtered, head jerking toward her aunt in surprise. 

“Yeah, and we did that. Now we’re going to kill them.” Kate raised an arm absently and shot a bullet right into Derek’s chest as she passed by, not even sparing him a glance. “See? Not that hard.”

I gasped at the unexpected act of violence, my jaw going slack. He instantly fell against the damp ground, motionless. 

Holy shit. Oh my God. Is he actually dead?

Allison’s horrified expression matched mine, more tears coating her face as she stared at Derek’s lifeless body. She stiffened when her aunt joined her in front of Scott, who was still gaping from his crouched position.

“Oh no, not that look.” Kate mused, not sounding the least bit genuine. “That’s the you’re going to have to do it yourself look.”

She raised her gun toward Scott’s chest, a manic grin pulling at her lips. I moved without thinking, taking a big step in their direction. Allison instantly started freaking out and tried to put herself between them, but Kate shoved her away harshly. 

She tumbled to the ground just as a hand clasped around my wrist to stop me. I yanked against it, my chest tightening with panic. I had to get over there. I had to help. 

“Y/N! Y/N, stop!” Stiles yelled frantically from behind me, his hold falling loose as I continued struggling against him. 

I ran forward and staggered to a halt beside Kate, who was still pointing the gun at Scott, having no idea what to do now that I was here. She glanced toward me and sighed with a disinterested roll of her eyes. Before I even fully registered that she moved, I was already on the ground. She’d whipped the gun against the side of my face harshly, white hot pain instantly rippling through my head. 

“No!” I heard Allison shout in horror. 

A groan trembled past my lips as I shakily pulled myself up onto my elbows. My vision blurred as Scott jerked upright, about to rush to my side before Kate aimed the gun at his chest again. He froze, his wide eyes never leaving me. I brought a hand up to my temple and hissed when my fingers landed on a warm trickle of blood. 

“Ah, ah...” Kate tutted, amusement shining in her eyes as she glanced behind me, gun following the movement. 

I turned my head and saw Stiles freeze mid-sprint toward me. His eyes narrowed into an angry glare as his jaw clenched tightly, but he didn’t move an inch. I let out a huff, growing frustrated by this whole stupid situation, and swept my gaze back to Kate. 

“Just shoot someone already.” I barked, annoyed with her games. 

Was it stupid to taunt the person with the weapon? Yes. Did I give a fuck? No. At this point, I was more angry than anything. We’d spent months fighting and tracking the alpha—Peter—as he went on a bloodthirsty rampage through Beacon Hills. We’d nearly died in the school, and at the movie store, and in these very woods. Several times. 

Lydia and I had been bitten, and Stiles’ dad was close to a nervous breakdown because nothing in this town makes any goddamn sense unless you’re risking your life everyday just by knowing about the supernatural. And now, we had to deal with Allison’s batshit crazy family, on top of everything. 

I just wanted it to be over.

Kate huffed out a surprised laugh and pointed the gun at me again. “What poetic last words.”

“No! Leave her alone! I’m the one you want.” Scott shouted desperately, stumbling upright from his position in the dirt. 

An evil smirk twitched at her lips as she ignored him. I watched her pointer finger tighten on the trigger and held my breath as I waited for the inevitable. 

“Kate!” A deep voice boomed from behind me, making her pause. I instantly recognized that it was Allison’s dad. “I know what you did.”

The amusement dropped from her face at his words and her eyes flickered up toward the house for a brief moment. 

“Put the gun down.” Mr. Argent ordered, dried leaves crunching beneath his shoes as he walked toward us. 

“I did what I was told to do.” Kate jutted her hand toward me as she enunciated each word curtly. 

I stiffened, very aware that her finger, which still rested against the gun’s trigger, could set it off at any moment. My pulse hammered in my ears loudly and my entire body began trembling as my fear suddenly caught up with me.

“No one asked you to murder innocent people. There were children in that house.” 

My mind raced as I slowly pieced together what he was saying. The fire. It was Kate. But why? Why would she murder an entire family?

“Ones that were human. Look what you’re doing now, you’re holding a gun at sixteen year old kids. No proof they’ve spilled human blood.” He continued, his voice harsh and unfeeling. “Now, put the gun down...before I put you down.”

My eyes widened at his threat. Would he really kill his own sister?

Kate stared at him for a few long moments, her face crumbling in disbelief. Finally, she lowered her arm back down to her side. I let out a heavy breath of relief, but didn’t move from my crouched position in front of her. A loud creak from the house had everyone’s attention jerking toward it. 

The front door swung open slowly, nothing but darkness behind it.

“Kids, get back.” Allison’s dad ordered gruffly as he cocked his gun and aimed it at the decrepit structure. 

Scott stumbled to his feet, but didn’t make a move to run and hide as instructed. Allison joined his side a moment later, her bow and arrow cocked and aimed at the house. I heard quick steps behind me a moment before strong arms wrapped around my waist and hauled me to my feet. 

Stiles whipped me around to face him, and I winced as my head throbbed in protest. His hands came up to cradle the sides of my face, his fingers turning red as my blood smeared onto his skin. His wide eyes flickered around my body frantically, as if not fully believing that I was right here in front of him. 

He suddenly jerked me toward him and smashed his lips against mine, pouring every emotion he’d just gone through into the kiss. I responded instantly, my hands fisting the warm material of his flannel as I pulled him closer. It was over much too soon as he pulled back with a shaky breath of relief. 

“God, I’m so mad at you right now. I could literally kill you.” His eyes twitched as he continued inspecting me for any hidden injuries. 

“Wouldn’t that be a little counterproductive?” I chuckled despite the situation, and he just glared at me.

“What is it?” My attention jerked back to Allison at the sound of her panicked voice. I’d nearly forgotten what was going on outside the peaceful bubble that was Stiles. 

I turned back toward the house and saw Scott’s eyes flash bright yellow as he peered through the opened front door. “It’s the alpha.” 

At his declaration, a huge black mass raced out of the house, moving impossibly fast. It dashed around the area in a big circle before turning abruptly and knocking Mr. Argent right off his feet. He flew into the air before landing heavily, instantly passing out cold as his head slammed against the dirt. 

Allison cried out and made a move to help him, but quickly found herself in no better shape as the alpha rammed into her next. Only a second later, Scott was groaning as he lay in a heap beside her on the leaf covered ground. My heart slammed against my ribs painfully as my head whipped from side to side, trying to see where he was now. 

All the air rushed from my lungs as a powerful force shoved against mine and Stiles’ sides. His arms instantly wrapped around my waist, and mine around his shoulders. We held onto each other tightly as we flew several feet through the air. At the last second, Stiles shifted us so that he would take the brunt of the fall. He hissed in pain as his back slammed onto the dirt, and I quickly scrambled to get off of him. 

“Come on!” Kate’s angry voice echoed through the trees as she jerked her gun around in a circle. She was the only one left standing. 

I wrapped an arm around Stiles and helped him sit up. He waved me off, muttering something about being fine, and I huffed in annoyance. At this point I was convinced that he was physically unable to help himself from downplaying his own struggles. 

I was about to argue with him, but froze when Peter emerged from the darkness to stand threatening behind Kate. He snatched the arm that held her gun and wrenched it behind her with ease. She grunted in pain as he twisted it with a snap, two shots firing into the sky as they struggled. 

She had no choice but to release the gun. It landed on the ground with a dull thud as he gripped her by the throat and tossed her in the air like a ragdoll. She crashed onto the porch, a cloud of dust rising all around her as she shakily pushed herself up. 

Peter wasted no time in striding up the broken steps. He bent down and grabbed Kate violently before pressing her back to his chest, holding her in place with his claws at her neck. 

“No!” Allison suddenly shouted and sprinted toward them. 

My eyes widened in horror. What the hell did she think she was doing? I made a move to follow her, but Stiles wrapped both arms around my waist tightly. I pulled against him for a few seconds, but stopped when Peter’s voice echoed toward us. 

“She is beautiful, Kate. She looks like you, only not as damaged. So I’m going to give you a chance to save her.” My breath hitched as he addressed Allison and I started thrashing against Stiles again. I couldn’t let her get hurt. I couldn’t let anyone else I care about become one of his victims. “Apologize. Say you’re sorry for decimating my family, for leaving me burned and broken for six years. Say it, and I’ll let her live.”

A tense moment of silence passed as Kate seemed to weigh her options. Finally, she choked the words out the best she could. “I’m...sorry.” 

A small, satisfied smile tugged at Peter’s lips before he ripped her throat out with his claws. My jaw dropped as blood splattered across every nearby surface, my stomach churning at the violence of it all. Allison screamed, practically doubling over in horror as Kate crumpled to the porch with wide, empty eyes. Peter’s shoulders sagged as he let out a long sigh, a look of relief washing over him. 

“I don’t know about you, Allison, but that apology didn’t sound very sincere.” His amused gaze bored into her wide, glistening eyes as he stalked down the steps.

By the time he had one foot on the dirt ground, Scott and Derek were crouched in front of her protectively. I hadn’t even noticed that Derek was still alive, let alone completely healed, but I was more than grateful. 

“Run.” Scott grunted over his shoulder, and she didn’t hesitate to listen. 

She sprinted toward me and Stiles, taking her bow with her, and immediately crumpled into my arms. A harsh sob wracked her body as I pulled her in tight. I felt Stiles’ hand on my back as he guided us hastily toward his Jeep. A few animalistic growls and roars sounded from behind us, and I knew they were fighting.

“I’m sorry.” Allison cried, pulling away from me to wipe at her face. “I’m so, so sorry. I-I didn’t know what happened with you and Lydia, and now Kate’s gone and—oh my God. I’m the worst friend ever.” 

Stiles wrenched the passenger door open when we reached the car and I shoved Allison inside before crawling in behind her. Something snapped behind us, and I honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d just uprooted a tree or completely destroyed the house. 

“It’s okay.” I breathed, running a hand down Allison’s back as she continued blubbering. “We’re both terrible friends, honestly.”

“Wait.” She suddenly perked up, her eyes widening in horror. “My dad.”

Damnit. I‘d completely forgotten about him. 

I turned to peer out the window and winced as Peter picked Derek up by the ankle and tossed him through the air. He crashed into Scott, who was trying to pull himself upright a few feet away, bringing him right back down harshly. 

Peter snarled, seemingly losing control as he hunched over and shifted fully into a huge, terrifying beast. He roared loudly, baring his claws and stalking forward. He grabbed Derek by the throat and threw him into a nearby tree before turning back to Scott. 

“I have to do something.” Stiles suddenly spoke up from the front seat. My head whipped in his direction as he threw open the driver’s side door and clambered onto the ground. 

“What? No!” I immediately tumbled out behind him and watched with baited breath as he reached into the trunk. 

My brows furrowed as I caught sight of a huge beaker in his hand. I barely had time to register that here was a yellow liquid swirling inside before he hurled it at Peter. As it flew toward him, I realized it was a Molotov cocktail, like the one Lydia showed us how to make when we were stuck inside the school. Peter caught it easily, his glowing red eyes snapping our way with a ferocious growl. 

“Oh, damn...” Stiles instantly deflated and took a tentative step back. 

My eyes widened as I whipped back around to face Allison, an idea suddenly popping into my head. She seemed to know exactly what I was thinking as she reached for her bow and instantly nocked the arrow into place. After taking only a moment to aim it out the opened window, she fired. 

It hit the glass bottle dead center, and Peter’s left arm erupted in flames. He roared frantically and tried shaking the fire off, only managing to make it spread across his torso more quickly. Soon, his entire body was ablaze as he staggered around and howled in agony. 

After a few long, torturous moments, he slumped down onto his knees in his human form. Thick smoke billowed from his charred skin as he sputtered and gasped for air. We all stood impossibly still, gaping at him in horror. I don’t think any of us had the slightest idea of what to do next.

Derek suddenly emerged from the house, his face a tight mask of fury. He stalked toward Peter, who now lay on his back, and stood over him with clenched fists. 

“Wait!” Scott rose to his feet and stopped only a foot away from them, his eyes wide with panic. Derek’s hard glare never moved an inch. “You said the cure comes from the one who bit you. If you do this, I’m dead. What am I supposed to do?”

My attention snapped back toward him, surprised at his words. There was a cure? I had no idea what he was talking about, but it must’ve been important if he was this freaked out over it. 

Derek’s eyes pinched shut and his jaw clenched tightly. He hesitated for only a brief moment before raising a clawed hand in the air. 

“Wait! N-no! Don’t!” Scott's desperate plea fell on deaf ears as Derek brought his hand down to slash Peter’s throat. 

Allison gasped from beside me, and I just stared ahead with wide eyes. My breath caught in my throat as I watched yet another person’s life fade away right in front of me. It was almost hard to believe, that he was actually dead. We’d all been through so much. It didn’t seem possible that it could all be over, just like that. 

There had to be more.

Derek staggered to his feet and turned to glower at Scott over his shoulder. His canines elongated and his eyes flashed bright red before he uttered the words we were all dreading. The ones that would seal our fate for the foreseeable future. 

“I’m the alpha now.”

Episode 11 Season 2, Episode 1 (Part One)

#stiles stilinski #stiles x reader #teen wolf #teen wolf fic #teen wolf imagine #scott mccall #scott and stiles #allison argent #chris argent #kate argent #derek hale #lydia martin #jackson whittemore #stiles #stiles x oc #stiles x y/n #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf series #teen wolf rewrite #season finale #teen wolf season one

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 44

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @ocfairygodmother​

  He’s unsure of how long he’s been sitting there; on the bottom step of the pack patio, forearms resting on his thighs and file folder still in hand. Staring out at the beach and the water, yet seeing nothing at the same time. His attention elsewhere; not with the expanse of near white sand or the sunlight that catches the ripples in the ocean or the brilliant blue sky. Instead focused on a city thousands of miles away. Mahajan sitting in his cramped and dirty prison cell; his power and influence extending far beyond those brick walls and barbed wire fences.

The rage is building; sitting heavily on his chest, gnawing at his stomach, tightening the muscles in his shoulders. What had started out a low, slow simmer is not threatening to explode; all patience, every ounce of empathy, every shred of humanity and compassion quickly evaporating. The edge is back. Those rough and ragged pieces that all fit together to make something savage and uncontrollable. An intensity and and a fury that is impossible to rein in; a merciless and powerful need for vengeance. For the opportunity to right Mahajan’s wrongs, one drop of blood...one body...at a time. He knows if he looks in the mirror he’ll no longer recognize himself. That all he’ll see staring back at him is darkness. Anger.  That the man who was there a month ago, a week, even a day ago, is long gone. He doesn’t know how he feels about that; if he’s terrified that his old persona has returned or if he’s actually relieved. Maybe it was there a long time  ago. Maybe the old Tyler has ALWAYS been there; just thriving under the surface.   Maybe he’s just been ‘faking it until he makes it’ for the last six months; relegating himself to a kinder, gentler, more patient person when in reality all he really did want was his previous life back. Maybe this..his former self...is who he’s supposed to be.

Who he’s MEANT to be.

In an hour he’ll feel different. It will make him sick to his stomach that he even allowed himself to think that way. Realizing that he’s far better off with the life he has now; happier, calmer. No longer relying on booze and meds to numb unimaginable mental and physical pain.  He’ll regret ever slipping back into his old ways, cursing himself for being weak and not fighting back hard enough to stop it from happening. Disgusted that he ever slipped that far down and let his old self resurface. He’ll remind himself that THAT isn’t who he is anymore. He’s not the same guy that went into Dhaka seven years ago to rescue a drug lord’s kid. He’s not even the same person who’d gone to Ireland after being conned by Michael McMann. Or who’d walked from New Zealand without even a look back. He’s better now. He has a life. A good life. He’s someone’s husband and someone’s father and his existence matters to them. He has people that love him. Depend on him. And they deserve so much better than the ‘old Tyler’.

Except the folder in his hand reminds him that that’s exactly who they need. The names concealed within, the faces, capable of taking everything away from him. His wife...his kids...they NEED the old Tyler. Even if that means the new one never makes it back.

He wants a drink. It’s far beyond a craving now. It’s a necessity.

“Tyler?”

He’s vaguely aware of her voice, of her walking towards him  through the sand.  His heart hammers in his chest; he can almost hear the rush of blood in his head. All he can think of is that he needs to protect her. At all costs. He needs to keep her and the kids safe, no matter what it takes. And if that means he has to walk into another apartment filled with hostiles and take them out one by one, he’ll do it. This time he’ll like it. This time he wants to see the holes that open up when he puts bullets in their heads or chests. He wants to hear the cracking of bones as his hands wrap around their necks. He wants to see the blood that pools underneath them and taste his own sweat as it drips from his forehead and settles on his lips. He’s never wanted any of that before; killing out of necessity, not enjoyment. But now?  Now he’ll do it for both.

“Tyler!”

The tone of her voice and the touch of her hand on his shoulder snaps him out of it. Just like that he’s back where he’s supposed to be. At home with his feet in the sand and the smell of salt hanging heavily in the air; wind keeping the stifling humidity at bay and the sweat from gathering on his skin and the telltale sound of the tide rolling in.  And he feels the release as he looks up at her; the tension slipping away, his jaw unclenching, shoulders loosening.

“Are you alright?” Her hand moves from his shoulder to side of his neck, thumb brushing against both the tattoo and the scar that reside there. “You were really spaced  out there for a few minutes.”

He gives a reassuring smile. “I’m good. I was just thinking about something.”

“Well whatever you were thinking about must have been really intense,”  a frown tugs at the corners of her mouth and she glides the pad of her thumb over his lips. “I called you five times and you never even reacted. You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sure. It was just something Anil said before he left. About not taking things for granted and making the same mistakes he did. That I’m a lucky guy. That I have a beautiful wife and kids.”

“He called me beautiful? He really said that?”

“Why would you be surprised? You don’t think other guys look at you? They even check you out when I’m with you.”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “It’s nice to be called beautiful.”

“I call you beautiful all the time. You just never believe me.”

“Husbands are supposed to call their wives beautiful. It’s in the vows, you know.”

“I don’t remember that part. I remember ‘through sickness and health’ and ‘for rich or for poor’ and something about not fucking anyone else.”

“The minister did not say ‘don’t fuck anyone else’. He said forsaking all others.”

“Same goddamn thing. I remember all of that but I do not remember having to promise to tell you you’re beautiful even if it’s bullshit. I would have remembered that.”

“You don’t even remember what you had for breakfast this morning,” Esme teases.

“Okay, good point. But it’s my short term memory that’s fucked since Dhaka. Not my long term memory. So I would definitely remember if that was part of the vows.”

“You were supposed to read between the lines.”

A grin pulls at the corners of his mouth, and he places his hands on her hips. “Was I now.”

“It was in there. In the fine print. Right next to ‘I promise to always clean the toilets and take the garbage out and get all the spiders and snakes out of the house. And rub your feet when they’re sore’.”

“I didn’t see any of that in fine print but I still do all those things.”

“It was there,” she insists, and reaches under the collar of his shirt to pull out the necklace he wears underneath; a braided leather cord that holds a flat titanium disk engraved with their respective zodiac symbols. “It said ‘I promise to call my wife beautiful even when she looks like shit.’ I saw it.”

“You never look like shit.”

“Even when I'm in three day old pajamas and I’m covered in baby puke?”

“Not even then. You might smell like shit but you don’t LOOK like shit.”

Smirking, she lays both hands on the sides of his face; thumbs pressing into his beard. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I am. And I tell you you’re beautiful because it’s true. Because it’s what I think.”

“Your brain works very well sometimes,” she teases, then kisses him. He likes when she takes charge sometimes, allowing her to strip him -at least momentarily- of his control.

It happens now; enjoying the way she kisses him with the same intensity that he usually kisses HER with. Her tongue slipping between his lips and pressing against his teeth; body leaning into his and her hands moving to her ears as he opens his mouth to her. His hands leaving her hips and settling on the backs of her thighs. sliding up the hem of her simple cotton sundress. Frowning and then laughing when his fingertips come in contact with spandex.

“What?” she asks.

“Are you kidding me right now? Shorts?”

“The dress is too short. I never tried it on before I bought it. When I bend over you can see my ass. Not very visitor friendly.”

“Take the shorts off and you can bend over in front of me all you want.”

“Don’t you get tired of seeing my ass?”

“Never.”

“You don’t ever wish for a different ass to look at?”

“Nope. I like yours. Why would I want a different one? And you let me do things to yours, so…”

“Don’t be a pig,” she scolds, and then perches herself on his lap; sideways with both legs dangling over his thigh and an arm draped across the back of his neck; pressing a kiss to his temple before resting the side of her head shoulder. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Stop asking me that.”

“Don’t be grumpy.”

“I’m not being grumpy. It just annoys me when you keep asking me that after I’ve told you I’m fine. And I am. Fine.”  He circles her waist with both arms, clasping his hands together and resting them on her hip. “That was nice by the way. You usually don’t kiss me like that.”

“I kiss you all the time.”

“Not like THAT.”

“Now you’re complaining about the way I kiss you?”

“Definitely not complaining.  I like the way you kiss me. I especially like it when you kiss me like THAT.”

“Well you’re very kissable,” she reasons. “So it’s not a burden to do it. If you were a bad kisser, we’d have issues.”

“Yeah, you’re pretty good too.”

“Just pretty good?”

“Your mouth is pretty talented,” Tyler confirms. “My dick says eleven out of ten.”

“You’re almost forty one. Why is your mind always in the gutter?”

“There’s worse places it could be, trust me,”

“Now that’s true.” She nuzzles the tip of her nose against his ear, then kisses it.

“You’re okay?”

She grins. “Oh, it’s your turn now.”

“Esme…”

“Tyler...”

“Don’t be difficult.”

“I’m fine,” she assures him.

“You’re sure?”

“Don’t YOU start.”

“I worry about you too, you know.”

“I know you do. But I think I get so caught up worrying about you, that I don’t realize you’re worrying about me. But I am. Fine.  Honest.”

He places a kiss on her shoulder. “Even after this morning?”

“It was a fight, Tyler. Couples fight. Unfortunately when we fight, we tend to say a lot of hurtful, stupid shit to each other. And that has to stop. Because I hate how I feel afterwards. I hate that I can be such a bitch to someone who loves me as much as you do.”

“Everything you said was true. I needed to hear it. I do keep pushing you away. I don’t even know if I realize I’m doing it. I don’t MEAN to do it. Because that’s the last thing I want. To push you away.”

“I know you don’t mean to do it. That it’s just something that’s ingrained in you. That it’s a defensive  mechanism when you feel like someone’s getting too close.”

“You're not just someone,” he gently argues. “You’re my wife. The mother of my kids. Which is I don’t know why I do it. How can I stop something I’m not even aware of?”

“I can always tell you to fuck off when you do it,” she teasingly suggests. “That can be the code language for ‘get your shit together’.”

“I’m being serious here.”

“We’ll figure something out. Some ways to get you out of it. Goddamnit you’re a tough nut to crack, Tyler Rake. If I’d known you’d be this much of a challenge…”

“You would have left me on the bridge.”

“Umm, no. That is not what I was going to say and we’re not even going there. I would never...ever...think that, let alone say it. So get that shit out of your head. I was getting you off that bridge, no matter what it took. And you would have done the same thing if the roles were reversed. You wouldn’t have left me there.”

“Not in a million years,”

“We’ll work things out,” she assures him. “I know things are hard right now. We’re stressed and we’re overwhelmed and we’re taking it out on each other. And it sucks. Huge. And I hate when we do it. I hate when we fight when you hurt feelings and…”

He removes one of his arms from around her waist and places his hand on the side of her head, lips pressed to her temple. “I don’t mean to.”

“I know you don’t. But it still hurts. And I don’t mean to hurt you, either. You’re the last person on earth I want to hurt. And I’m sorry. For being such a bitch lately.”

“Just lately? What about the last seven years?”

She laughs. “You’re the one who married me, knowing what I was like.”

“You were a good girl when I married you. You were nice.”

“I’m not nice now? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“You’re a little...difficult.”

“Oh that’s rich. Coming from you. The man who loves to make my life difficult. Who’s responsible for all my gray hair.”

“Excuse you?” Tyler scoffs. “I have way more gray hair than you do and they all have your name on them.”

“I give you gray hair and possibly an ulcer, but you’d miss me if I weren’t here.”

He nods, then presses a kiss to her shoulder. “You have no idea how much.”

“Can we not get all up in our feels? Normally I’m okay with it, but I think things are going back to normal and I’m PMS'ing and I’ve cried enough today.”

“If things are going back to normal, that means…”

“We’re not discussing the baby thing right now. We agreed to talk about  it in six months. What’s this?” she asks, and reaches for the folder that sits on the step beside him.

“That’s one of the things we DO need to talk about.”

“Okay…”

“Without fighting,” he adds.

“No more fighting. I promise not to even raise my voice. As long as you promise the same,” she pulls back to look at him. “Deal?”

“Deal,” he says, and places a kiss on the tip of her nose. “I haven’t even looked at it.”

“What is it?”

“The names of the guys that Mahajan has working for him. The ones that have been making all the threats.”

She sets the folder on her lap. “They’re all  in Mumbai?”

“As far as I know. I don’t think any of them have made their way here. Anil would know about it. And I know for sure he’d tell me. He seems to know what he’s doing.”

“Do you trust him?”

“I don’t know him well enough.”

“What do your instincts say?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t listened to them in a while.”

“That’s not like you. You SHOULD listen to them. You have amazing instincts. You always have. I trust them. That should be enough for YOU to trust them again.”

He nods.

“It’s okay you know,” she says, and runs a fingertip along the scar across the bridge of his nose. “To be the old Tyler too. You don’t have to keep him locked away. Especially now. I kind of need that Tyler right now. So do the kids.”

“I know. I just worry. That if he comes back…”

“You can be both. You have to be both. There’s no other choice. You have to be the old Tyler right now. Job Tyler. The second you decided to get back into things...before we even knew about all this craziness...you knew you’d have to be him again. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Being him when you NEED to be.”

“And what if I can’t get the other one back? What if the old one sticks around when I’m off the job too?”

“That won’t happen. You won’t let it happen, I know you. I trust you.”

He smiles, and she leans in to place a kiss against his forehead.

“Why haven’t you looked at it yet?” Esme asks. “I thought you wanted to know who these people are?”

“I do.”

“But…”

“But…” he softly rubs her thigh. “...there’s a catch.”

“I heard the catch. Anil wants in. He wants to help in Mumbai. He wants to be the one to kill Mahajan. I just figured you’d say yet to that.”

“I did. But that’s not all he wants.”

“Oh God,” she groans, and drops her forehead onto his shoulder.

“It’s not that bad. It’s not bad at all, actually. But it involves both of us. About the business.”

“Alright. How…?”

“Let’s go inside,” Tyler suggests, kissing her cheek and then sliding her legs off his thighs. “There’s something I need to show you.”

***

Esme sits on the couch with the leather folder in her lap; concern clouding her eyes and furrowing her brow. And she glances up when he emerges from the kitchen and stands alongside her, holding out a mug of tea.

“Is there booze in it?” she asks. “Are you trying to get me drunk? I may need to be drunk for this. Or tipsy at least.”

“If there was a booze in the house, I would have been drunk hours ago. Probably days ago.”

She frowns. “That is not what I wanted to hear, but I do admire your honesty. How bad is this? Whatever you’re about to show me? Are these stills from some unearthed sex tape you made with one of your old pieces of ass?”

“Only sex video I have is the one on  my phone. That I  made with you.”

She grabs one of the throw pillows and swats him with that. “I told you to erase that!”

“No one is going to see it. Relax. It’s been four years and it hasn’t gotten out yet.”

“I am so going in your phone later and deleting it. What is wrong with you? Keeping that?!”

“It’s my help,” Tyler reasons. “When I have to study alone.”

“I am going to kick you right in the ass. You don’t even have a lock on your phone. What if Ovi picks it up and goes through your gallery?”

“I’ll beat him for snooping in my phone.”

“Never mind him. What about one of the kids? When they’re using your phone to watch surfing stuff on YouTube or when they’re playing games? That will be great. If Millie goes to school and tells her teacher she saw a video of her mom and dad making babies.”

“It's in a locked folder. Relax. I’ll prove it to you later. Can we get on with this? Why are talking about sex tapes?”

“Because I’m nervous and I ramble when I’m nervous. You know this.”

“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” Tyler promises. “I already said it’s nothing bad. Just look at it.”

“What is it? A detailed history of all your conquests? Instead of a little black book you have a whole damn folder?”

“Esme…”

“Sorry. You’re making me even more nervous standing there like that. You’re kind of intimidating. I see why people pee their pants around you.”

Sighing in exasperation, he takes a seat alongside her. “I think you just gave me fifty more gray hairs and made my ulcer worse.”

“You don’t even HAVE an ulcer..”

Tyler stares at her pointedly. “Not yet.”

Scowling, she directs an elbow to his ribs and then takes a swig of tea before giving him the mug to hold. “Okay before I start, at any point am I going to want to punch you in the dick?”

“Nope. My dick is safe.”

“Alright…” she sighs. “...I swear to God, if you sold me to Saju’s brother…”

“Wait..” he lays a palm against the folder, keeping it closed. “...is that an option?”

Her eyes narrow.

“He did call you beautiful.”

“Your dick might not be as safe as you think it is, Tyler.”

“He couldn’t afford my asking price. No one could.”

“Fine,” she dramatically huffs. “That’s a good save. I’ll spare your dick. For now. What exactly is this?”

“Just read it.”

“What is it?”

“A business proposal. Shut up and read it.”

The frown on her face intensifies; brow furrowing. But then the creases disappear and her expression softens as she reads. “Is this for real? This is what he proposed?”

“Part of it,” Tyler confirms.

“He wants us to provide him with mercs? And that…” she points to the figure printed out...in bold type...on the page. “...is what he’s willing to give us?”

“To help get things off the ground. There’s a lot we can do with that kind of money. That would cover a lot of supplies, a lot of technology.  We could build another garage...a much bigger one...and use that as an office to run shit out of. We have the property; we can do what we want with it. Build whatever the fuck we want.”

“That’s a lot of money.”

Tyler nods in agreement. “He’ll also give us a hundred and twenty five grand for each guy we give him for a job.”

Her eyes widen. “Each individual job or…”

“Each job.”

“Holy fuck…”  she breathes. “That’s..wow...that’s…”

“Intense?”

“I was going to say insane, but that works too. What about the payout? What do the mercs get?”

“Way more than I ever saw working for Nik,” he says and reaches out to flip the page over.

“Jesus Christ!” Esme exclaims. “I never saw that after two jobs, never mind one! And travel expenses and any medical if needed? This guy has money to throw around, I guess. He must be the filthy rich brother.”

“He must be. I wonder what he’d pay for you.”

“I’m going to ignore that.”

“I’m joking, I would never, ever sell you. Not for all the money in the world. I might rent you out for the night…”  he chuckles when she glares at him, then wraps an arm around her shoulders; pressing a kiss to the side of her before pulling her tight into his side.  “What do you think?”

“I think you’d be crazy not to accept it.”

“I’m not accepting anything. We are. We’re in this together, remember? Stronger together than we are apart.”

She gasps dramatically. “Are you telling me that you held off on making a life altering decision until you could talk to me? I am so proud of you! Progress!”

“Don’t be a smart ass.”

“I’m teasing. And I AM proud of you. Before you have just agreed to this all on your own. But you didn’t react emotionally; you reacted logically. And that IS huge for you. And it makes me love you even more. Which I didn’t think was even possible.”

“Well I love you more every day, so…”

“It’s not a competition.”

“I know. But if it was, I’d win.”

“Oh, you think so do you.”

“I know so.”

“Do you want to do this? Pretend there’s no catch. Pretend this is being offered without those names being dangled over your head. If he’d just come to you with this proposal, would you take it?”

Tyler nods. “I would. This is good money. This is fucking amazing money. Our kids will never, ever, want for anything. We can give them everything we never had growing up. We can pay for them to go to college. They won’t have to take out loans or say ‘fuck it’ and join the military. We can avoid all that because we can afford to send them to school. And we can put money away...huge money...for each of them. So when they are grown and leave home, they can start off on the right foot. They won’t end up like we did after Dhaka,”

“Those were extraordinary circumstances,” Esme reminds him.

“They won’t have to struggle. If they run into hard times...even if it’s half as bad as what we went through...they won’t have to worry like we did. Because I remember what that was like. Not knowing how the hell we were going to pay the rent and put food on the table on top of getting ready to have a baby. That fucking sucked. And I felt like a hue failure. I had a new wife and a kid on the way and I couldn’t even work. Not even some shit minimum wage job so I could feed you and buy diapers.”

“You’d just gotten out of the hospital,” she points out. “You were recuperating from being shot in the throat. Among other things. Those weren’t just average times, Tyler. Those were shitty times. And none of it was your fault. You almost died. Saving me and Ovi. You’ve never been a failure.”

“I felt like one. And those times were shit and they did suck.”

“But they weren’t your fault. None of that was your fault. And if I have to remind you of that every day for the rest of your life, I will. Because you’re a good man. Whether you think you are or not.”

“You make me want to be a better man. And I’m trying. I am.”

“I know you are. And you’re doing a good job. You’ve come a long way in seven years. Maybe you can’t see it, but I can.”

Smiling, he lays a hand on the back of her head and kisses her brow.

“I think we should do this,” Esme says. “I think we’d be insane not to. And with this kind of deal, you can be home more than you’re away.  You won’t need to go out into the field as much because you can afford to hire some really good, experienced guys on top of who we already have. And that’s what we want, right? What YOU want? To be in the job, but not IN the job?”

“It is. It’s actually what I want.”

“So our minds are made up then. You tell him we’ll do it. We’d be foolish not to do it.”

He nods.

“Holy shit,” she reaches up to lay a hand on his cheek, turning his face towards her. “Are we actually agreeing on something? Mark this date down! I think the last time we agreed on something was when we decided to get married. Or when we decided on what to name Millie.”

“We’ve agreed on other things since then.”

“Like what?”

“We agreed to come back to Australia. We agreed on this house.”

“Good point.”

“Last night we agreed on pizza for dinner.”

“But you didn’t agree on toppings because you and your daughter both like pineapple and us normal people think you’re gross.”

“Okay. Well, this morning, we both agreed I’m an asshole.”

“Stubborn asshole.” she corrects. “We agreed on stubborn asshole. But you’re my stubborn asshole. So…” she turns her body sideways, tucking herself tightly into him, placing her head on his collarbone. “...now you have to call Anil and tell him we’re taking the offer.”

“I will do that,” he says,  combing his fingers through her hair and then resting his hand on the nape of her neck. “He wants to have dinner. Thursday night. The four of us.”

“Four of us? He's got a lady friend?”

“I think he means Allison.”

“But she’s with Kyle. Or so I thought.”

“I don’t think it’s a double date. I think it’s just business partners going out to dinner together.”

“Only I get benefits from MY business partner. That’s better than any hourly wage. I’d rather be paid in orgasms when you’re the one in charge of handing them out. You’re pretty good at it. You’ve got some skills. No wonder if you had so many happy ladies in ports all over the world. I wonder if they miss you. If they wonder if you’re still alive. I bet they’re disappointed you don’t call anymore.”

“I dunno. But I know my other wife is disappointed I spend all my time here.”

“See! I am your favourite.”

“You are. You always have been. Even when you piss me off.”

“Which isn’t often.”

He snorts.

“Okay, so maybe I piss you off a lot.”

“It’s not THAT much. Just, you know, every couple days.”

“But I make it up to you,” Esme points out.

“Yeah, You do. I can’t deny that. You’re pretty repentant. In certain ways. Although I don’t think when a priest says ‘get down on your knees’, he meant like that.”

She giggles. “I must have misunderstood. Lucky you. A lot of husbands wish that they had that problem.”

“Oh believe me, it’s not a problem. I am NOT complaining.”

Sighing, she nestles her head into his chest, fingers fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt. And it’s several minutes before she speaks again. “Tyler?”

“Yeah?”

“I like when we’re like this.  How we are when we’re alone. When there’s no one around to bug us or interrupt us. We’re different then. In a good way.”

He nods.

“It’ll be good for us. To get away for a few days. To just be alone. We deserve that. We NEED that. Especially before you leave. Because I know it’s a sure thing now. You’re going to Mumbai. And I need that time with you. Just you. Before you go.”

“I need that too,” he says. “That time with you.”

“I really want you to come home. I NEED you to come home.”

“I will,” he promises, and tightens his hold on her. “I’ll come home.”

“Alive.”

“I didn’t think I needed to stress that I’d be alive when I got back.”

“I feel better knowing that Anil is going with you. He wants the same thing you do: revenge. And neither of you will stop until you get it. And that should scare me; that you won’t stop. But it doesn’t. It makes me love you even more. Does that make me a horrible person?”

“Why would it?”

“That I want my husband to kill people for me? For my kids?”

“I either kill them or they kill you. Which would you rather?”

“I want you to make them pay,” she says. “I don’t care how you do it. But you make them suffer and you make them pay for ever threatening our kids.”

“I’ll make them pay,” Tyler vows.  “In the worst ways I know how.”

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #extraction #best part of me #chris hemsworth character

[megalony]

Detox- Part 7

This is the last part to my Roger Taylor series, I hope everyone has enjoyed reading this.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @luvborhap @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac

Series taglist: @killerqueenbucky @the-ridge-farm-raven

Warning: Mentions of drug overdose/ long term drug abuse.

Series masterlist

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roger tried to commit the scene to memory.

He wanted this memory to be engraved into his mind, he wanted it burnt into his head so he wouldn't be able to forget it. Roger allowed his eyes to slowly wander the room as if his mind was making a home video and his eyes were the camera. Taking notice of the way John wasn't as laid back as he normally was at the studio but that was nothing out of the ordinary. The bassist was sat in one of the swivel chairs, headphones slung around his neck as he was in a usual pair of shorts. His instrument resting on his legs as his frame was stooped over so he could watch the chords he was mindlessly strumming.

Brian was standing in the recording room, his top half slightly leaning back as he played, a usual stance he took up when playing. His chin was tilted down almost pressing into his chest as he bit his lip in concentration, working his skills on his guitar to play a rhythmic but fast-paced solo.

Freddie was sitting in front of the controls, his feet propped up on them, one leg crossed over the other making him look so casual. So important, radiating energy and authority as if he was the only person who had the right to be there. He held a pen in his right hand even though he wasn't writing anything, tapping the pen up and down against the air in time with what Brian was playing as he nodded to the beat.

This whole look was just so Queen. It was them, this was what it was like when they weren't giggling like school children or getting off track or when they weren't arguing over a change in lyrics or the music tempo, beat, quickness or who should play what. This is what they were all about, this was Queen at heart and this was the image that Roger wanted seared into his mind so that every time he closed his eyes and thought of the band, this is what he would see.

Roger debated whether he should say something.

Maybe it would be better to announce that he was going home now, or maybe he could just tell them he had another appointment at the hospital as not to cause any suspicion or gain any unwanted comments or questions. But then this image in his mind of the band would add an extra part on that he didn't want. He would see them joking around with him or questioning him or looking concerned and Roger didn't want that. The silent debate was decided that nothing should be said after all.

The drummer continued to keep the recording of this moment in his mind play out as he quietly latched his fingers around his jacket. Being careful not to make a sound as he noticed Brian was still mesmerised by his instrument, John was much the same, engrossed in the quiet sounds strumming from his bass. Miami was sitting with Freddie at the controls checking the tape was rolling and Freddie was perfectly content with the way Brian was playing for once. None of them were even glancing in Roger's direction, which was what he needed in order for him to have a silent exit from the studio.

His frame silently retreated down the hall before he turned left, feeling like a child who didn't want to wake his parents during the night as he started going down the stairs. Keeping his heels in the air and his weight light on his toes so his shoes didn't make a sound even though the band wouldn't hear him anymore.

Peering his head around the door on the ground floor that led into one of the quiet rooms, as they called them. A room that held sofas and chairs and food and drink for when they took a break.

Roger had found just the opportunity that he had been looking for all morning. The drummer knew Robbie very well, and if Roger had learnt anything about the small, silent exchanges they did when he used to buy drugs from his friend, it was where Robbie kept them. When Roger had been desperate and turned up out of the blue begging for a fix, Robbie had taken a small sachet out of his wallet. But the rest of the time when they had prearranged or Roger had asked and had gotten it later in the day, Robbie kept it in a small pocket on the inside of his black trench coat.

The exact item that was now laying like a prize on the blood-red sofa resting against the wall. And Robbie was nowhere in sight. Roger kept his steps light as he quickly but silently pulled one half of the coat to reveal the pocket on the inside. His finger and thumb carefully opening the zipper as his mind started to pray that Robbie had kept something on him today.

His prayers were answered when his fingers latched around the thin plastic that he knew all too well. Slipping the bag into his back pocket, Roger stuffed a twenty-pound note into Robbie's jacket before letting it go, seeing that it thankfully looked untouched.

Roger didn't want to stoop this low as to steal from one of his friends who had been someone who truly understood Roger's pain. Maybe Robbie had acted as if he understood just to get Roger to score some of his heroin, maybe he needed the extra cash or just wanted the drummer to feel the effects of getting high. Roger couldn't be certain, but Robbie had seemed genuine enough and that was all that mattered. It mattered that Robbie had been someone who didn't chide Roger for taking drugs for his pain, Robbie never looked at Roger in a disapproving way. He never said anything or tried to curb Roger's addiction or tell him he was doing something bad or wrong.

He asked what it was for and he got the answer, he didn't seem shocked or worried or nervous for Roger. He told the drummer how much to take to either take the edge off or reduce all his pain and symptoms without taking too much. He told Roger how much would be safe for his level of pain and his body and he never asked again. He never treated Roger like an invalid, he simply handed him what he needed with a nod of his head and then acted like it hadn't happened.

As bad as it had been, that was what Roger had needed.

Now Roger had to revert to stealing what he needed from his friend because Robbie had been placed under strict orders he didn't dare go against.

Freddie, Brian and even John had talked to Robbie in private and had made it clear that Roger was not to be given any drugs because it could kill him and it wasn't good for him anymore. They knew Robbie was a friend who was trying to help but at the same time, he had given Roger the drugs no matter if they had helped him or not. Robbie was not to give Roger anything or he would lose his job if they found out and they would have no trouble calling the police on him because this was Roger's health and life on the line.

But Roger needed the heroin and he wasn't begging Robbie for it only to have the band find out and take things into their own hands again.

Slipping out of the room unnoticed, Roger headed out of the studio into the carpark at the back so he could make the twenty-minute drive back home. The longer the seconds dragged on, the more guilty Roger started to feel as the heroin in his back pocket started to burn a hole through his jeans.

This was Roger's choice to make and it was the only one he could think of that would have an effect that he wanted. Roger didn't want to have the shredded muscle in his back removed, he didn't want to risk blocking out the signals in his nerves in his back and the injections in his spine were going to do next to nothing for him.

The morphine injection had worked just as he thought and just how he wanted, it gave Roger the freedom to perform to one of Queen's largest audiences ever and he did that with one very weak burst of pain in his back. He got through the night with no problems at all, he had felt alive, free and he felt like Roger again. But the injection wore out the next day and Roger was back to being the hollow shell of who he used to be, shrouded in pain he was not allowed to shed like a second skin. Morphine was a one-off and he had too much pride and knowledge to dare beg the doctor for another. If he had another he would have to wait at least a month for another injection and he couldn't live by waiting each month for an injection that only cured him for one day. Especially when they would eventually cut him off.

If they weren't going to give Roger anything stronger even when he gave them permission to do so, then Roger would do it himself. He had gotten the heroin that could damage his system and he was prepared for that. He was ready to take a fair amount and feel like himself or just feel free because he couldn't continue with a life that was made of pain.

Roger felt oddly calm when he walked into his shared home, already knowing before he had pulled up in the drive that he would be alone which is what he needed right now but not necessarily what he wanted. Even though his thoughts were running at a mile a minute without even taking the drugs yet, Roger felt a sense of serenity that calmed his mind down and seemed to send him into a trance. Despite the pain that was now a throbbing sensation that he was blocking out because he knew what he was going to do.

When Roger sat down and looked at the small sachet of white powder in his hands, he tried to formulate a plan in his mind.

He had options, so he put them on a mental scale to see which one outweighed the rest so he knew what he was going to do. It didn't take too long to cut down his ideas and options. He could do further treatment, endure that pain and see if it worked. He could ask Robbie or find someone else who could supply him with a drug other than heroin and take the chance of his body either tolerating or rejecting it. He could take heroin in very small, dragged out doses and see what happened that way. He could live a life of pain on the dull painkillers he was given but that was something Roger would never be able to do.

Or, he could take all of the heroin in his hand and let it be.

The band and (Y/n) were the only things that came to mind but sadly, they couldn't outweigh this option enough for Roger to rethink it. They meant everything to him and that was why he knew he had to do this.

Who would Roger be if he tormented their lives with his growing depression and state of mind and body? They would never see him as a burden but he would. He would drag them down to his level of pain because he seemed to be beyond the point of help and he couldn't change that if there were no options left. Roger would not deteriorate in front of them, he would not make them feel sad or upset or angry or anything of the sort because of how he was feeling. Doing this would undoubtedly harm them as much as it would harm him but he had to.

He knew that eventually, they would understand. Eventually, they would see that Roger held no other choice but to take a form of escape that wouldn't have a return ticket. Roger wasn't sure, maybe he didn't have enough in his hand to top himself, maybe it would send his system into overdrive but he would miraculously come out of this better off. Maybe an overdose of heroin would do the trick for his back. Maybe if given the time, it would take away the pain and if he came out the other side, it would leave him better off.

Roger knew that was very much wishful thinking to hope that he could come out of this unscathed, or even come out of this at all. But he was hoping that because of those around him. He was going to be selfish and he hated that his act of selfishness was for his own benefit but that it would affect them so much. He hoped for them but he thought rationally for himself.

He had to set himself free.

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger x reader #imagine #queen band #freddie mercury #john deacon #Brian May #detox

[themoonbee0107]

Us.

29/09/2020 I’m not good with face-to-face confrontation or difficult decisions... I’m sorry yesterday hurt us both. I will never ask you to forgive me or talk to me because I wouldn’t talk to myself either after everything we went through. I’m writing this because I know you will read it once you’re ready. The date was June 14th, 2016 the first day I ever talked to you. I remember it clearly. We went on a trip for school for dinner. I couldn’t help but notice you because while I transferred buses in the morning I would watch you get on the bus and I remember feeling scared of you or that you needed a hug. The night we all went to dinner I noticed you again and we talked on the bus home about the guy I was dating; your childhood best friend. Turns out he was shit and that night I wanted to make it my goal to get to know you better.. Fast forward to graduation you were standing in front of me in a suit. You looked rather handsome and I wasn’t going to lie my boyfriend was waiting for me at a table that night but for some reason I felt more intrigued about the fact you wanted to talk to me. I told you I was nervous. I walked the stage after you and I was a hot mess. We took swigs of whatever the other people graduating with us smuggled in. We talked about that night... Fast forward to you going to Kamloops that year.. we spent three hours on the phone or more talking about how my biological father messaged me. I didn’t even know you but I hoped to god you wouldn’t make me feel awkward about spilling my guts to an absolute stranger... turns out I was wrong. You made me feel welcomed and this is how our friendship grew after that. You didn’t really know my family and I couldn’t blame you for that.. I miss the late night drives to town and sitting down the road from my house so I didn’t have to go home yet. I made sure I could spend every minute with you that I could because in that short time I realized I actually was falling for you..  Once we had a three year friendship not even I told you I had a dream about you kissing me and I was scared our friendship was going to end. You put up with my shit because you cared... I remember the day you told me you had a dream about me killing myself and how it ripped you to shreds,  We started something the night I got dumped a guy that didn’t deserve me. I felt lonely and lost... I was hurt and a mess. You picked me up that night and we drove back to your house blaring music. That night I will never forget because that was the night I fell for you completely. That night we sat on the couch for hours watching Scary Movie until we cuddled up and there it was; you kissed me and made the first move. We talked about sleeping arrangements and I dozed off on your chest or lap.. later I woke up to tell you I decide to sleep on the couch but that wasn’t my intention I craved your touch.. I told you I didn’t want to sleep alone and we slept in the same bed.. The next year was mixed with emotions.. First it started with loving ever so deeply and then I couldn’t take a joke. I got mixed up with my sexuality. I thought for so long you were going to leave me because I prefer girls over guys. It hurt a lot and took a toll on my mental health. I began questioning things and then I started smoking more, you were looking out for me and trying to help me quit I took it as a threat to my individuality. You told me that if I didn’t quit smoking you didn’t know if the relationship would go further. Here I am still smoking. I thought I was going to loose you and anytime I took out a smoke I knew I felt I let you down. I tried but kept failing. Things got worse. we argued a lot about stupid tiny things that shouldn’t have mattered.  I felt so insecure about myself and our relationship I vented to friends and family about us. It wasn’t their business. Technically, this blog shouldn’t see it either but it’s the only way I can express any emotions right because all I want to do is smash my face against a wall.  I let small comments get to me because I was scared of letting someone back into my heart and soul. It may be too late now to turn back. I have so much on my mind. I shouldn’t have ever got upset with you trying to help me better myself. I should’ve listened to you when you needed me... I should’ve loved you unconditionally when I had the chance. I’m afraid I made a mistake. I made a mistake with leaving you. I made a mistake putting you through everything I let our insecurities get the best of us. I should’ve never pushed you away. All that’s left in my mind is memories of us.. I can’t look myself in the eyes in the mirror knowing that I probably just lost the only person who could give me love I’ve never had.  I watched myself slip into a deep depression and never wanted to tell you because it bothered you when I felt this way or complained about a lot. We both stepped boundaries. You had ever right to not be happy with my mother and the way she treats me and I never should have took your voice away from you because that’s when it all went downhill...We played a question game of truths and that’s when everything hit me that I wasn’t happy with who I am or didn’t know who I was. I thought taking you out of the picture but it didn’t help. It caused me pain and a lot of it. I can’t forgive myself for what I’ve said or done to you. I can’t ever ask you to kiss me or cuddle me at this very moment when I need you the most.. I want it all back but I destroyed it. I feel like I have no one who understands me more than you do. It hurts like fucking hell because you are most wonderful person I have ever met. The sunshine in my life. I thought this was going to last forever.. I thought it would never end but I made a decision to better myself and you.. we needed time apart. I needed time apart but I’m now realizing I shouldn’t have done that.. I should’ve talked to you. I have a clear sense of who I am with you and without you I am completely lost. I will never forgive myself for this.

[lavenderglassgirl]

749 pm tues dec 10

I was thinking about self harming this evening, considering it. Considering what i could do in lieu of it. Thinking about my parents. It reminded me of something

I remember when my mom found all my cutting supplies one time she searched my room. I had a bag full of blood soaked paper towels and my journal with the blade i used taped inside. My mom found the bag and asked me what i used to cut with. I showed her the blade, and she got so mad because it was rusted. I got a lecture because it could have killed me. I went to therapy and I don’t think i got grounded, i may have already been grounded at this point too I don’t recall. THis was sometime in middle school so chances were high that i was. But regardless, I didn’t get into any more trouble for this, yet I remember feeling like i was. I remember feeling like my parents were angry at me, they didn’t trust me, they were ashamed of me, they felt i was being over dramatic, just an emotional teenager.

I was talking to Scott today, NPD fresh on my mind from some research for Jesse (will get to that aha) and i went over my lack of privacy. They read my diary when i was 16, brought it to my while i was in the hospital for suicidal ideation. As part of the leaving process for this facility which i was desperately trying to leave (nothing spurs your will to live than prison- er mental health facilities) I was told that i had a session with my therapist (who i had had one 30 minute conversation with) and my parents, whom she had advised per program protocol to search my room. So they searched. They pulled out the half smoked blunt and i got some generic mark lecture about drugs and his house and this that and the other, and words from Laura regarding how it impaires your brain growth and depression and blah blah. Of course what they didn’t bring up was that after this session they would both go home to smoke it off while i went back to my plastic cot where i was allowed to keep a book and my blanket and a pillow from home. After i spent Christmas surrounded by strangers who treated me kinder than my parents in a place that felt like a prison.

And they read my journal. They pulled quotes like it was fucking Shakespeare- we don’t understand why you hate him so much, we don’t understand, we think youre using this as a way to make yourself more upset, we think this is too triggering, were not giving it back.

They kept my diary. My mom had it in the back of her drawer for a long time before i had the nerve to ask for it back, maybe a couple years.

Do you wanna know how they justified all this? What started it?

My biological father got in contact with me again after my 17th birthday. He got the date wrong and I’m pretty sure he thought i was 18 and that’s why he did it. He found my number on facebook, and texted me some bullshit.

My parents allowed me to have a relationship with him- on their terms. I was texting him too late into the night, and too much at school. It was not to interfere with sleep or my school work.

Why? Because my parents didn’t want my grades to slip. No, not because it was causing any actual problems. I was doing really well in my classes, they were just watching my texts and keeping tabs on when i was texting him. They told him and me the same thing, and the next day he texted me while i was between classes and i messaged him back during my free periods, lunch, etc. Genuinely following the heart of the rule which I hadn’t before (i snuck my phone during class) and figuring it would be fine.

Got home, Mark asks if i talked to Eric (should have known he knew) said no, he said i have proof of 36 messages, give me your phone. Really? Yeah.

I handed it over and v o w e d to not say a single word to my parents. It was almost Christmas, and i was grounded for an indefinite amount of time (i think they sat me down after and justified it somehow and i got a month. A month. For texting my biological father. Lmao) They were concerned about our relationship but rather than addressing their concerns in a valid way i just got punished for continuing it. SO i was completely silent for two days. I figured 1) there wasn’t a damn thing they could do to make things worse. They’ve already taken everything before, and i usually cave and kiss ass for the last three weeks because it makes my life more pleasant and fuck them they did not deserve that for this and 2) if they were going to not let me talk to Eric i sure as shit wasn’t going to let them hear from me.

The head came when my mom wrote some trash apology letter to me (i wish i still had it but i shredded it as soon as i read it) that was really an attack on me disguised as an apology that she took no real accountability in. I felt so disgusting, so alone, i saw no way out. Genuinely in that moment i wanted to bleed out in my tub and i wanted Laura to find me. I took a shower and sliced my wrists, a lot. Not the long way, but deeper than i ever had, more than i ever had, and with every intention of getting to that point. I sat in the shower for a long while just watching my wrists bleed and then just kind of came to. THere was this brief panic that over took me and i went into my room and dressed in my giant sweats and sweatshirt and she came in and I showed her my wrists and we went to the er and i got hospitalized.

Yes, i was still grounded when i got out of the hospital. They gave me one day that we celebrated Christmas then they took all my presents until my grounding was done.

This is on par with my 18th birthday. I’m trying to remember why i was grounded this time. Probably weed. I got really smart about almost everything, and i feel like weed was one of them... I had my own car so it wasn’t fucking up theirs... I genuinely W I S H i could remember but honestly I don’t even know. But i was mid grounding on my birthday and they gave me my present, and then left me alone all night, so i figured out how to assemble it myself and cried most of the time.

They grounded me for a month for shaving half my head. They also came into my room while I was sleeping to shave the other half of my head. I refused. They haven’t ever crossed a physical barrier. I would have had them then. I think they might have known that...

I feel broken. Like, a scratched DVD. Like i feel like I’m just skipping at the part where i figure out how to process this shit.

It’s hard its really really hard. I mean talking about it makes it less hard, and I’m glad i was able to talk to Scott. He didn’t seem to really get it until i told him about the diary thing. It’s different for everyone, the part that makes it click when i share my story. It’s usually something they understand personally for one reason or another.

But its hard. I don’t think anyone really gets it, like I don’t think this sort of stuff is fit for conversation with anyone but trained professionals and myself.

My finger hurts and my tummy hurts i think because i had soda and I wanna be more stoned but i also just... wanna not. I thought writing a little might help me feel better but its just making more depressed.

I guess that’s the mood.

Jesses going into a really rough period. He’s having a really really hard time, and just i wish I were in a better space for him. I so so wish i was better at handling my jelousy and insecurities. I’m just trying to feel good about myself. I’m trying to be supportive and kind. I just want to be open and honest. I just want to be helpful and useful. And i know i am those things really often but right now i feel like a nagging annoying ugly morbid monster with a rotting smile and scaley skin and two bellies like a fucking cow. I know i know i know it doesn’t matter if i do but like... it feel like that on the inside. I feel like, there’s just nothing i can do to fill that void, like i feel purposeless right now i guess. I don’t know why I’m here I don’t know what I’m doing nothing makes me feel full i just feel like I’m distracting myself from the empty and i know i know i know i just need to keep pushing forward and taking care of myself but sometime i just don’t want to. I wonder who I’m doing to for.

It should be for me but often i feel like I’m living just because there’s nothing else to do. ANd that’s true but its not a great way to feel. It keeps me going. I know ill get to the good moments again, and probably a lot sooner than i think. I’m just still having a hard time. I’m still struggling to process. I still need to find a therapist among a million other things.

My stomach really hurts UGH.

I wish i had more to share but I don’t. I just hurt and everything is making me sad and I’m just GAH

I wish i knew something to try I wish i had something new i wish there was a way to turn it off for like ten minutes to just remember what it feels like to exist.

AND NOW MY HEAD HURTS

Boi. Ruin m e

In conclusion, i really want to kill myself, but i wont, i really want to cut myself, but i wont, and I’m really sad and i want more coping skills and some serotonin.

Goodnight 😴

#fuckin kill me #i cant do it #but if someone else does thats okay right #oof #tummy is killing me im never having soda again #crying #sad night #sad #BIG SAD #TW suicide #TW self harm

[natsspammityspamspamham]

Dino Rant (Nov 27 + Other Side Tales)

My siblings are currently mad at me. Here’s what went down. Tagging: @akaskira​ @ce-la​ @caratheillustrious​ Who are all practically my spiritual online older sister/sage advice givers and @lizard-in-the-rain​ who can be an idiot along with me.

For context:  Ate = Sister Kuya = Brother * My dad and I have a rocky past because he’s very old-fashioned, hasn’t been always supportive about my mental health, and is really old and out of date (especially about LGBTQ, feminism, HK protests, etc.) * My sister also has a rocky past with me but has since calmed down a little thanks to old age (she’s 23) * My brother is constantly busy with school (and stressed), is still mourning his breakup after a few months which continues to salt his wounds (not because his ex is crappy but she’s really nice. He’s having a bit of trouble still.), and is a very sensitive person (more sensitive than my sister)

Further in, you can see what happened at the orchestra concert on Saturday. For context, you can check out a previous rant.

Me: Dad got some bad oil burns. I was in the family room as he was yelling “[MOM NAME x 3] WHAT DO I DO WITH OIL BURNS?” Mom was upstairs and didn’t hear They are kinda big He’s upset

Ate: What the why didn't you help him call mom???? did you??? yike oil burns are no joke bc they hurt for longer bc water just steams away but oil sticks and keeps burning and the scars are worse

Me: Uh... I was scrolling on tumblr? I don’t know. I thought he already put ice.

Ate: smh

Me: But looking back, I heard the water running for less than a minute.

Ate: LOL

Me: And never heard the freezer open

Ate: water won't help unless you use soap anyways

Me: So I thought he did that but he was really just yelling for mom He didn’t even ice it. He said he ran some water over it.

Ate: make sure you help if someone yells for help next time even if you think it's handled bc if a person is panicking/in pain they're likely not thinking straight to help themselves speaking from experience

Me: Mom tried to give him advice now and he just walked away going “uh huh”

Ate: even I know to put my hand under cold running water and ice it but I've definitely not done that when I've burnt myself before I would be pretty choked too if there were 2 other people in the house and neither of them came to help me when I got oil burns

Me: Mom was upstairs and couldn’t hear. I thought he was crying wolf as usual.He yells for mom around three times on a daily basis

Ate: fair but fr next time take the 5 seconds to check bc sometimes bad things happenesp if all you hear is a thud

Me: “[Mom Name x 3 again] I CANT FIND THE [blank]!!!” Mom: it’s been in the same spot for over a decade. Look with your eyes.

Me: Mom does that once every other day (has a big thud) usually because something broke. When I heard the yell this time, I thought it was because he knocked something over. Dad is always yelling He even asked mom how to make the rice And didn’t make it because she didn’t answer fast enough Dad is a drama queen. That’s where we all get it from.

Ate: I mean

Kuya: Tf is this situation How can you ignore someone in need of help Regardless of who it is Doesn't it hurt to see someone suffering

Me: I didn’t see anything

Kuya: Unless you hold extreme animosity Like they killed your mom or something I have to hand something in by 10 But I find this quite upsetting

Me: I didn’t see anything, and the last thing he yelled was an oil burn, and the only advice I had was water and ice which I thought he already did.

Me (in response to animosity): Not extreme, but living with him with only me as the child has screwed a lot of things up.It has taken a toll on my sympathy for people (or whatever is left)

Ate: Same but he's still our dad?

Me: Eh, I honestly thought it was a small thing until I saw it.

Ate: I have only shreds of respect for him left but idk if I would go as far as to just overlook "oil burn" and figure "oh, I can't help so I'll ignore him" like that's a lil funny

Me: Again, when someone is constantly yelling, there’s a point where you don’t listen fully to what they’re saying. It only registered later that his burns might actually be serious and more than putting your fingertip on a hot pan. I also have little sympathy due to how he’s treated me during my past situations so honestly, I’ve little tolerance.

Afterwards, my mom called my sister who was absolutely hysterical and screaming on the other line to the point where my mom had to pull the phone away from her ear.

________________

Some Stupid Orchestra Stories:

Things I have said to my orchestra cohorts that might’ve scared them:

*sees me bump my instrument* Trumpet: Ouch Me (walking away): Snitches get stitches and end up in ditches, and dead men tell no tales. Doug: What?

*sees me bump my bow* Doug: Ouch Me (tired because I was just excluded from the conversation today because no one would listen to what I had to say): I’m going to stab you Doug: Pat, protect me!

Me: *tells anything about school* Everyone: MAJOR CONCERN (Examples: Kid said that this guy could have sex with his friend before she turned 21 by slipping a drug into her drink, kid saying he was going to hit a girl with a metal bar from the desk, kids smoking out back, kids make noise downstairs which causes the room I work in to shake, kids throwing stuff out car windows, kids brawling, my science teacher from regular school failing me for practically no reason)

More of an annoying incident from me: Hannah: Who’re you messaging? Your girlfriend? Sean: Yeah Me: YOU’RE STILL TOGETHER?! Sean: (sheepishly) yeah

To be fair, I get weirded out whenever they flash their privilege as semi-well off rich kids.  “Remember those special trips you get to take with your school to learn more about science? // Remember those international trips you take with your school club?” Me: ...no?! I’m not poor, I just dropped out of school before I could even go to my nearest McDonalds for a field trip.

But Doug is a little dumb sometimes. He doesn’t get my sense of humour (understandable), but he’s a little ignorant towards not-privileged people. 

He literally said he goes to sleep at 9:30pm, got into university (this is a semi-prestigious one) first try with 90s in all of his classes (at least), has a girlfriend, has friends, and doesn’t understand why anyone would stay later than that unless they had poor time management. His words, not mine. My brother stays there until around 12am studying. He was not happy to hear that. Doug is first year so my siblings are making fun of him saying he will perish in a year’s time. My parents saw him stealing kisses from his girlfriend in a parking lot during the day of our last concert. I seriously though the girl in his profile picture was his sister and not his girlfriend because they were both seriously white. Whiter than a bowl of milk I tell you.

He also doesn’t know what a period app would be for. I was a little annoyed. My brother knows about this well enough because we all know my sister and mom would not let anyone in this family live if they did not know the ins-and-outs of a period. Doug was like, “Why would you need to track that?” I responded, “Because they’re irregular.” He looked a little puzzled and I said, “Douglas, you’re a science major. There’s sex ed in school.” He responded that he is going into research (not sure what that has to do with menstrual ignorance) and never paid attention during sex ed (since it’s never for marks). I then got a little more pushy and said, “Well, if you ever want a girlfriend, maybe you should learn.” To which he said, “I have a girlfriend”. To which I gave him a look of:

Stories from the orchestra concert:

I did tell the bass instructor about this so maybe it’ll get sorted out but I did this “tell the teacher” thing twice where it backfired terribly. Let’s hope university kids are a little more grown up.

My messages from that night: Pat told me it was cute when I played in the wrong spots. It was genuine like she said it was cute. But it was like ??? I was having a panic attack. My brain left my body. I don’t want to play anymore. Then she put up her bow to make sure I wouldn’t flip the page Then she hit her bow on her bass. I really don’t want to play anymore. (She also repeated the same thing twice knowing from a previous talk that I have bad anxiety. She has anxiety as well.)

Me: Then Hannah and Patricia were commenting on my shoes. I like wearing my orthotics. They make my feet feel not in pain. Ate: tell them that Me: I did They told me to take off my shoes “They can’t even see my feet” I’m all the way in the back behind people “Then take off your shoes” “But then I’ll be in pain” “But you sit” (I have one foot on the ground) “So take them off. It’s for dress code. People can see you” Ate:  but it's literally a medical thing Tell them to actually fuck off hoh my god it's like asking a blind person to put their stick away bc people will trip on it or that you can't have your service dog with you like????

#dino rant

[askalfendilayton]

Writing drabbles from 7/9/17

I was at the airport for 8 hours overnight with no sleep or food, so I asked you guys to distract me with some writing prompts. All of them can be found below!

Just be aware that these are short drabbles written while I was very tired. I’ve edited them a little, but they’re really just snapshots of the characters’ lives and not meant to feel complete.

Katrielle does appear, however there are no spoilers for Layton’s Mystery Journey!

 @calvioloki said: Placid and Potty talking to one another after a case.

--

Dabbing at the fresh scar on his arm, he gritted his teeth a second before he grew accustomed to the stinging, exhaling softly.

“That was close,” Placid muttered. “Too close for my liking.”

It happens.

He expected Potty to mock him, to sneer that their work was dangerous, that he was a fool not to be prepared, but the insults never came. Continuing to tend to the wound, the silence was strange but welcome in the empty office.

Still, he was tired. It was long past four in the morning, and it was their first large case in months. To make matters harder, Lucy had not been with them, and they’d grown used to her contributions.

“You… you did well back there,” Placid added. “When he revealed the knife, I just froze, and it would have ended much worse for us if you hadn’t stepped in.”

As soon as the bandage was firmly around his arm, he leaned back into his chair, his hair shifting to crimson.

“And you too,” Potty muttered, eyes closed.

What?

“When he was insulting us. I was ready to tear him to shreds, but it wouldn’t have gotten us anywhere. Ignoring him made him think that he’d won, and he got sloppy and revealed new information.”

His head was silent, until something close to a laugh sounded.

Was that a compliment?

“An observation.”

Of course.

@lilacandgray said: How about this: Katrielle tries to play matchmaker for Alfendi and Lucy! (I'm holding out for the 3DS release of Lady Layton, but this seems like the kind of thing that she'd like to do!)

--

“It’s her, isn’t it?”

“Shut up.”

“Not an answer.”

“I’m warning you, Katrielle.”

“Ooh, I knew I was right!”

It was all he could take not to pick up the nearest object and aim it towards her head, like when they were children. Sensing the incoming attack, she picked up a cushion and hid behind it, laughing.

Biting his tongue, Potty allowed Placid to come forth, who scratched the back of his neck and sunk his head so low that he was inches from disappearing into his sweater. Pity may be his last defence.

“Please, Kat, don’t push this,” he begged. “It’s an awkward topic, alright?”

Her eyes softened, and she tapped her chin. “Alright, but one last question: why haven’t you told her?”

Shaking his head, he sighed. “You can’t possibly think Lucy returns my feelings. Not a word of this to anybody, please.”

“I promise.”

--

Getting to know Katrielle Layton had been one of the more interesting friendships of Lucy’s life. On occasion, it was also one of the most frustrating.

Ice-cream. It was just supposed to be ice-cream at Katrielle’s favourite shop, and it had turned into an interrogation. The other woman hadn’t even touched her dessert.

“Are you still going on about this?”

Eyes gleaming, the younger Layton nodded. “You know I don’t give up until the case is solved.”

“This weren’t a case t’begin with!”

“It certainly is!” Katrielle bounded in front of her, pointing her finger in her face. “You, Lucy Baker, are guilty as anything! Tell me the truth!”

Leaning back to avoid the attack, she almost fell backwards. “Come on, Katrielle, you’re hardly the person I’d come to about this!”

“You could have just said no, and it would all be over. But you didn’t, and that’s the guiltiest plea you could have made.”

Lucy groaned, head in her hands. There was no escaping it. Katrielle had cornered her.

“Aye, y-you’re right. I like t’Prof. But you’re not going to tell anybody, Katrielle, especially not him. Got it?”

Grinning, and nearly beside herself with excitement, Katrielle finally licked her ice-cream. “I promise.”

--

Oh no, she hadn’t told a soul.

Not when she slipped the movie tickets onto Alfendi’s desk before work.

Not when she’d dropped off a handsome blue hair ribbon at Lucy’s flat, with a note of which outfit it would go nicely with.

Not when she’d slipped Dustin a fiver to recommend a nice restaurant by the Thames in casual conversation.

And certainly not when she’d spied them on one of her leisurely night strolls, hand in hand, close, then closer, until their lips met.

No, Katrielle thought as she sat atop a bridge, her legs dangling freely. She was quite happy to keep those secrets to herself.

@justsayinghi5 said: What if there’s a superpower au but it’s small stuff like lie detection that needs prolonged eye contact or smoke breath and object repulsion, basic but not useless. What do you think everyone’s powers would be?

--

It hadn’t always been this way, he was certain.

The theories varied. Some believed that each person gifted with a power already had it inside them, to a much smaller degree. Others proclaimed they were now able to do things they’d never dreamed of.

Alfendi didn’t care much either way. The origin was irrelevant when the power was present and at his disposal, but what he did know was that interrogating suspects had become a little more interesting.

Potty had prided himself on knowing people’s weaknesses. He needed to in his line of work, where it was hunt or be hunted. Whenever he spoke to new people, his mind would absorb their every word, putting together a puzzle that told him what threat would scare them most, what they were afraid to lose.

Now all it took was a few seconds of uninterrupted eye contact, and an idea would float into his mind.

His children, he’s worried what would happen to them if he gets exposed as a thief.

Her mother, who is sick and doesn’t need the stress of her daughter’s arrest.

Himself. He’s just worried about himself.

It was more streamlined, certainly, but he sometimes missed the challenge of the affair. At least knowing their fear in itself did not solve the case; there was still that.

True to their nature, Placid’s gift was nearly the polar opposite. While Potty sought to disrupt their peace, Placid had learned how to soothe their suspects in just a few words. He’d always been easy to talk to, Lucy claimed, in part because of his natural awkwardness that made him relatable. Now, she believed there was something singsong in his voice that made it hard for her to stay away.

It helped him to calm heartbroken widows and grieving parents. It also helped him to lull their murderers into a false sense of security, which Potty would then shatter upon one mention of the mistress you have two streets down, I wonder what she saw the night your rival was killed?

The powers weren’t only mental in nature, however. Lucy had always been a strong shot, her physical capabilities being what got her through the Yard’s entrance exam in the first place. Since the powers had emerged, she hadn’t missed a shot once. Surrounded by half the Yard with bets placed both for and against her, she smiled and shot five targets dead in the centre, from a distance of fifty meters. Each one was met with thunderous applause.

And then there was Florence Sich.

It was almost a cruel irony, he thought, but of course it was going to be that way for her. She’d come back from a hospital visit, lips pressed together and silent. After some gentle prodding – Placid didn’t mean to use his gift, really – she revealed that everybody in her ward – her friends for years – had been discharged due to a rapid improvement in their health.

Assuming that they’d all received health powers, her theory was shattered as every sick person at the Yard, upon passing through the labs, would be better in minutes. Colds, fevers, aches, gone as though they’d never existed.

Meanwhile, Florence herself would sneeze a little more often, would complain about feeling sorer than usual.

Nobody needed to say it; she’d been gifted the power of healing. Or rather, the power of exchange as she would take on the illnesses of others, adding them to her over-flowing cocktails of conditions.

@theceftictank said: Young Al trying to teach a tiny tot Kat how to be a detective

--

“Look at the evidence, Katrielle, and tell me who did it.”

Alfendi was met with a pair of large blue eyes, staring up at him. There was a great deal of wonder within them, but he also saw confusion, and perhaps a little bit of boredom.

Her room had been transferred into a crime scene, her dolls lined up against the wall. A cup and saucer had been placed on the carpet – not broken, Father wouldn’t have approved, but she needed to pretend it was broken, he’d explained. That was the crime, the case of the broken teacup. He’d wanted to go for something a little more interesting, but he supposed that being her first case, he ought to make it easy.

Finally, Katrielle looked away, reaching for a cookie.

He took the plate and lifted it high above her head. “No. These are for when you succeed.”

Pouting, she looked down at the dolls. “Did they see what happened?”

He smiled. “That’s a good question, Katrielle. How about you ask them? Remember that they might not be telling the truth.”

She stared at each doll, before she pointed towards one with red hair. “Did you break the teacup?”

He did his best to make his voice high pitched. “Oh no! I didn’t do it! I wasn’t even in the room at the time.”

“Oh?” Her hands folding across her chest. “Where were you?”

“Ahhmm… sorting through the mail!” It was the first excuse that came to his mind.

She nodded, pointing to a blue haired doll. “And you?”

“It wasn’t me, or the doll with the red hair. We were together the whole time, honest!”

“Hmm.” She seemed to think about something before moving on to the last three dolls. Alfendi grinned. This was where it would get tricky. He’d hidden a small contradiction among them that he was eager for Katrielle to find.

She only listened to their stories once before looking up at him. “I’ve got it!”

“Already?”

Nodding, she lifted the first two dolls and put them next to the teacups. “These two.”

His heart fell a little. He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to tell her she was wrong. “Well actually, not qui-”

“Because,” she continued, “the red-haired doll said she was sorting through the mail, but today’s a Sunday. The blue-haired doll was just making up a lie for her, so she wouldn’t get in trouble.”

It was indeed a Sunday. He was so surprised that he didn’t even protest when she reached for the plate of cookies, taking two that disappeared in seconds.

Not the direction he’d expected, but admiring his younger sister, he felt that she would make a good detective yet.

#Professor Layton #Layton Brothers #Mystery Room #Layton's Mystery Journey #Katrielle Layton #Alfendi Layton #Lucy Baker #Florence Sich #Mod

[judedoyle]

Magic and Mentions

Well: The baby and I survived our first run-in with the Chapos. 

I kept my pregnancy secret from the Internet -- not a very well-guarded secret, granted; my friends knew, my co-workers knew, the people who attended the multiple readings and shows where I was hugely, visibly pregnant on stage knew; hell, I did things like Tweet about my iron-deficiency anemia and post “just wondering” polls about baby names, so I’m pretty sure a ton of my followers knew -- for several reasons. 

One was pure superstition. Thirty-four is relatively late in the game for a surprise pregnancy. Her father and I weren’t exactly trying to avoid a baby, but I figured that at my age, we’d actually have to plan one. Instead, we followed time-honored Irish Catholic tradition, in that we got married and I was somehow knocked up within five minutes of leaving the reception hall. For Lulu to just happen, after all this time, and for her to be healthy on top of everything else, felt unreal. Every time we went to get an ultrasound, I’d be possessed by this sudden, irrational fear that the doctors wouldn’t find anything. They’d have to tell me it was all a misunderstanding, I wasn’t actually pregnant, the previous tests were all false positives, this almost never happens, it really did look like a baby last time we did this, so sorry for the mistake. I mean, I was worried about that in the third trimester, when I could feel her skinny little back thumping against my abdomen every time I moved. Lulu felt like magic to me, and magic is delicate. So I didn’t brag about my pregnancy. I didn’t want her to turn back into a pumpkin when I wasn’t looking. 

But the other reason to stay quiet, the more practical reason, is just that I attract a whole lot of Internet creeps, and I’ve attracted a record number of them in the past two years.

It’s not a unique problem. Any vocally feminist woman on the Internet gets her fair share of Internet creeps, especially if men get in trouble as the result of things she’s written; my Creeps largely come from a few disgruntled “comedians” I wrote up in the Rape Joke Wars of ‘13, plus a couple of Bernie Sanders fan podcasts. Which, since one of the Sanders fan podcasts is run by one of the rape-joke comedians -- and the other is run by that comedian’s roommates -- is a group with more overlap than you’d think. 

I wanted to wait the creepage out. I had hoped that by the time Lulu was born, people would have worn themselves out on having the exact same Sanders/Clinton fight over and over. And yet, they evidently haven’t, so a large percentage of my Internet Creeps are still obsessed with “punishing” me for... something. Disagreeing with them on the Internet, I suppose. Not subscribing to their podcasts. Talking. Breathing. The kid was, inevitably, going to be drawn in to that, for the same reason that my hospitalization for an illness that nearly killed me got drawn in; it’s a vulnerable spot, an easy way to hurt me. These people tend to get so excited about the prospect of hurting me that they rarely pause to consider how they might hurt someone else.

This time last year, when I was getting married, it was not uncommon to go in on my husband. He’s never gotten involved in the Sanders/Clinton debates -- being both very well-adjusted and very unlike me, he believes arguing about politics on the Internet to be stupid -- but they’d still send him the same “funny” threats they sent me, or screencap and send around his Facebook posts to fuel drama, or post thinly veiled anti-Asian stereotypes about how emasculated and “timid” and submissive and unmanly he must be to put up with a big hairy feminazi like yours truly. (The anti-Asian stereotypes, of course, also had the benefit of being anti-feminist stereotypes about how I must be a castrating shrew and needed A Real Man to dominate me and Put Me In My Place. Hurrah for intersectionality!) Or, you know, they’d just call him a ch*nk. It wasn’t because of anything objectionable my husband did or said. He literally didn’t do or say anything. My husband’s first post explicitly acknowledging the harassment campaign was in December 2016, and he acknowledged it only because he was posting to warn our shared social circles not to engage with Jeff Kunzler (Jeevesmeister), a former friend who had been part of the campaign and was facing rape allegations. My husband didn’t bring this on himself or pick a fight or post a “bad take” or whatever excuse these people use to justify targeting someone; he just loved me, so they tried to hurt him. 

None of that really got under his skin -- like I say, he’s a stoic kind of guy -- but it got under mine, the same way it got to me when people would be harassed just for being friends of mine, or RT’ing me too often, or whatever. And I was going to be an especially soft touch due to the pregnancy hormones -- at a Trainwreck reading in Portland, I spent the entire day crying because I’d lost touch with a college friend who moved to Portland -- so I decided I would keep my magic baby to myself. Every day I spent growing Lulu, I’d actually be thinking about Lulu, and not about what some toxic sinkhole of a human being said about Lulu on Twitter. They wouldn’t be able to insult her, or threaten her, because they wouldn’t know she existed. 

It worked for nine months. But I couldn’t go through life with a secret child. I mean, I seriously considered it. But what was I going to do, teach her to flee from the sight of iPhones? Lock her in the attic like the first Mrs. Rochester? I had to let people know about her eventually. I had to let the world in, for better or for worse. 

The first e-mail telling me Lulu would be mentally disabled and ugly and that she should be taken away from me by Child Services came within 48 hours of the birth announcement. 

I have to let the world in. But I have to raise her in a world that has evil in it, and I’m still trying to find some way to accept that. 

In the days leading up to Lulu’s birth, I started letting myself tune out bad news. I didn’t want to know anything about Trumpcare, for example. Nothing about NICU babies or pregnancy as a pre-existing condition or lifetime caps that made babies lose their coverage before they were a week old, nothing about what could or might or would go wrong. The murder of Charleena Lyles shot across my social feed. I picked up the key words -- pregnant, mother, mentally ill -- and put the story to the side, telling myself it would be all right to read it when every word in that constellation wasn’t viscerally terrifying. 

The urge was at least partly white fragility -- I am not Charleena Lyles, I do not face the same injustices or dangers Charleena Lyles did, it is undeniably selfish of me to process Lyles’ story in terms of its impact on me -- but the pain and fear were real. Whatever challenges I face with my mental health, or with sexism, I also have substantial privilege. Women who get sick without the safety net of whiteness don’t end up with platforms to combat stigma or fight back against misrepresentations of their health. They don’t wind up like me. They wind up, an awful lot of the time, like Charleena Lyles.  

And Lulu will not have white privilege. I mean: She won’t be a black woman in America, either. Neither of us can appropriate Lyles’ story. But Lulu, unlike me, will face racism. When she meets her first bully, when she comes home from school crying for the first time, I don’t know what she’ll be crying about; I don’t know whether it’ll be something I’ve experienced and can talk her through, or some form of cruelty that is new to me. Or, worse, whether it will be something I’m implicated in as a white woman -- something I do, or have done, without realizing it. Something I can’t even try to fix without making the situation worse. 

This train of thought is not exactly linear. But in the days leading up to Lulu’s birth, when I was getting hit with huge surges of hormones every few hours, I wasn’t thinking in linear terms. I felt half human at best. I kept remembering the pregnant barn cats I used to see out on my cousins’ farm, frantic and raw and instinctively, protectively vicious; I remembered them pacing, hissing any time one of us got too close, shredding cardboard, hiding under the porch, and I wanted to do any or all of those things, all the time. Any piece of bad news would spiral out of its proper context and into the terror of Something Happening To The Baby, get swallowed up by that weird animal frenzy of impending labor. And I just couldn’t handle it, hearing about the horrible things the world does to its girls. I couldn’t stomach the thought of sending my baby out there, with a mind at least partly like mine, and none of the safeguards I took for granted. 

Yet I can’t tune it out forever. It’s my job to keep track of terrible things being done to women -- a job I’m working my way back up to now, even as I find that my beat increasingly looks like a list of horrible things that could happen to my daughter: ‘90s celebrity found running sex cult for underage girls. President Trump. Newspapers leak nude photos of actress to punish her for taking a traditionally male role. President Trump. Man with several dozen rape allegations not convicted at his rape trial. Beloved progressive journalist repeatedly tried to force female coworkers to give him oral sex because “it’s funny.” President Trump.

President Trump.

President Trump.

The horror is less the violence itself than how the world keeps rolling on regardless. If we really felt what the world is doing to its girls, we would be in the streets, howling at the sky. We couldn’t parse a single one of these headlines as anything other than an atrocity. But we live in this world, where most of these incidents don’t even alter the course of conversation. We live in a world with evil in it, and most of us are used to it by now. 

So I spend a lot of time thinking about him, that first bully. Or her. Whoever the first person to make my daughter cry will be. I spend a lot of time worrying about how I can be ready for the attack -- how I can anticipate all the angles, unlearn all my blind spots, have a good defense ready, without being some clueless overcompensating white mom. It’s what I do, instead of howling at the sky. I get ready. 

Because every little girl gets bullied, sooner or later. Every little girl is a light the world tries to put out; to make smaller, meeker, quieter, less alive, less assured. What matters is who you come home to. Whether they find a way to protect the light in you or just quietly let you know that it would be a lot less trouble, for you and everyone else, if you let yourself go dark. 

There’s another level to all this. I didn’t come into the world under ideal circumstances. I’ve talked about it and written about it; I honestly thought that I was over it. Then I got pregnant, and it all came back to life. 

I don’t think I’ll ever fully understand my father’s violence, but I know it started when I was born. He didn’t like having children. He didn’t like how it took my mother’s focus off him; “he wanted,” my mother says, “to be the baby of the family.” I can’t imagine that the actual work of a child -- the diapers, the crying, the feeding, the constant need to keep hands or eyes on them; having to re-train your reflexes so that you can force yourself to get out of bed instead of grabbing five more minutes of sleep, having to keep your voice and your gestures calm and sweet when they’ve been fussing for hours and you want to jump out a window -- made things easier. It was just a big dose of adulthood, all at once, and he couldn’t take it. So while my mother cared for their newborn daughter, my father got into bed for a few months, didn’t get up except to grab himself more beer when he needed it, and then, when he felt properly rejuvenated, expended all that newfound energy on doing a bunch of cocaine and beating up my mother. He got better. She got pregnant again. He got worse. We had to leave the house before he killed us.  

So that’s it, my origin story -- one that has probably been told, at this point, only slightly less often than Spider-Man’s. I came into this world having to fend off the temper tantrums of a self-absorbed, abusively entitled baby-man, and thirty-five years later, I have not run out of baby-men yet. It has occurred to me, more than once, that I started dealing with men’s bullshit the day I was born, and that I will probably be dealing with it on the day I die. I’ll be in the nursing home, stroking out, hearing some male nurse scream about what a bitch I am for not listening to his podcast. It is my calling.  

But you can’t fight fate. You can only make them sorry they didn’t manage to kill you the first time around. Which, for the most part, is what I do. Or did, until I was pregnant. At which point, everything scared me. I was scared that my husband would leave, hate me, hate the baby, lose his mind. Or that I’d get drunk once the baby was born, drop her, forget her, sleep through her crying. Or we would have to leave, the baby and I, we’d have to live with my mother -- that’s what we had to do, when my mother left my father; we lived with her parents -- and there would be no money, just like there was no money back then, it would never stop, we would never have enough, we would always be in the act of losing everything, running in the night and in fear to a cold, strange place where we were poor. 

They say one of the strangest things about trauma is how it creates an eternal present. The traumatic event never gets entirely integrated into the narrative of your life, never becomes something that happened. Instead it gets stuck in the present tense; the traumatic event is always still happening, somewhere in your brain. You just have to avoid that part of your brain. I didn’t fully understand this, until I was walking around with my conscious mind in 21st-century Brooklyn and the rest of me stuck in Mississippi in 1985. 

We live in a world with evil in it. A world where people hurt each other for no reason and to no great end, where people hurt the most harmless people they can find, or the people they’ve sworn to love and protect; a world where men hurt women for power, for attention, for control, for assurance that they are the most important person in the room. I know that; I’ve always known it. It was probably the first thing I ever saw. 

The challenge, for me, is not believing in the existence of evil. It’s believing in anything else. It’s letting myself think that my trauma ends with me. That my daughter will be allowed to have a different story. 

Which brings us, I suppose, to the past few weeks. 

The actual particulars of the latest Chapo pile-on are pretty banal. One of the hosts went off on some ridiculous supervillain monologue about how, in order for the Democratic primary rifts to heal, all Democrats must kneel, KNEEL BEFORE CHAPO; the supervillain monologue was quoted in a magazine article, the magazine article was screencapped in a Tweet, and the Tweet then floated through my social-media feed, at which point I made a blowjob joke, because men really shouldn’t yell into microphones about how badly they want people to get on their knees if they’re not prepared for someone to make the association. 

Anyway, they took it about as well as fearless free-speech warriors usually take any mild joke at their expense; thus, I’ve spent the past few weeks hearing about how I am a wicked identitarian feminazi who makes False Rape Allegations, and also a rape apologist who makes Rape Jokes, and also, of course, fielding hilarious jokes and/or serious suggestions to the effect that I, myself, ought to be raped and/or murdered for my lack of proper reverence to their podcast.

I stand by my joke, for what it’s worth; it didn’t posit rape as fun or trivial, it didn’t posit being a rape victim as shameful, it wasn’t even necessarily about rape so much as it was about some dude being unattractive. It did, admittedly and intentionally, posit “being a dude who demands other people get on their knees for you” as shameful, which it is, which is why the Chapos were upset. But, more importantly, I doubt it’s worthwhile to debate the finer points of tasteful and appropriate humor with folks who not only explicitly defend their friends’ rape jokes, but have mocked actual rape survivors for talking about their rapes online. 

I mean: Everyone knows Chapo turns people’s lives upside-down for criticizing them, and at this point, everyone knows what the victims usually look like, too. Parker Molloy gets told that she should have her skull crushed by a Nazi. Alana Massey gets called a geriatric bipolar stripper. Arthur Chu gets doxed because people find his divorce funny. I get accused of making False Rape Allegations. (I’m a survivor, by the way. Life is not kind, and the story that started with my father didn’t stop with him.) Everyone who pays attention to Chapo knows this; the only real question is whether they think it’s a bad thing. Because it’s pretty impossible to keep insisting that it’s an accident or a coincidence, when it’s happened this many times. 

So the point is not what I said; the point is not even, really, what they said in response. The point was forcing me to deal with them once again. Anyone who obsessively scans and screencaps my feed like the Chapo crowd does would have known that I’d just given birth. They probably would have known that I’d had a complicated labor that required some pretty major surgery, that I was still in a lot of pain, that I was sleep-deprived, and -- given their obsessive focus on my mental health history -- that I was at relatively high risk for post-partum depression. “the craziest shit is she literally had a baby last week,” one of them posted in a forum during the pile-on. The others then began digging for nasty things to say about the baby. The most common line, so far, is that I don’t love her. Lulu is “the baby [Sady] openly resents for having caused her physical pain with its birth.” Another gentleman concludes that “[Sady] may not actually hate her baby, but she sure as shit wrote a lot of words” denying it. After I posted an old death threat aimed at my potential future children, one dude chimed in to say that he’d combed all the articles I wrote, and had found one article in 2010 that made it seem like I didn’t want children; “if you think the person who wrote that piece liked kids and wanted one, you're deluded,” he chided my followers. 

So that’s what it’ll be. It’s an entirely logical sequel to Castrating Shrew Sady and her Submissive, Henpecked Asian Husband -- Selfish Career Woman Sady and her Neglected, Resented Baby. (Or the more virulent version of the same story, Devouring Monster Sady and her Abused Baby That Someone Should Take Away From Her, who shows up in my e-mail from time to time.) Both are stories about how I’m not woman enough to love somebody; both, just under the surface, are stories about how love for women means being dominated, about how women who refuse to be subjugated or erased by their family responsibilities are refusing their proper place in the world, and passing up their only chance at happiness. The tropes being deployed are classically sexist, like something you’d see in a shitty alarmist magazine piece from 1980 or 1960 about “working women” -- something you’d see, to be quite honest, on Breitbart today. But they’re also describing me, a real person, and my relationship with the baby I longed to protect so much that I refused to speak her name, lest the wrong person repeat it.

It’s evil. What makes it more evil, somehow, is that it is so, so pointless -- it’s not police racism, it’s not the rise of fascism, it’s not my father beating his pregnant wife. It’s just small, useless, playground-bully evil, trying to convince the world that a mother doesn’t love her children because she made fun of your favorite podcast. Frankly, it’s the same stupid, petty, pointless bullying many of us heard in that “bend the knee” monologue -- the assumption that you should run the show, that everyone should do as you tell them, and that if they don’t, you are entitled to do or say absolutely anything you can think of, in order to shut them down or intimidate them into compliance. 

It’s not the worst thing in the world. It’s silly to even get upset by it; for the most part, it’s background noise, wasps swarming in a pale ugly nest in your backyard. You walk around the nest. You put it out of mind. You hope not to get stung. It’s been going on so long that I more or less take it for granted. But it matters right now, just as a reminder of what I’ve been dreading: No matter what, the world will always have bullies. And despite what we tell our children, those bullies don’t necessarily go away or get better once they’re all grown up.

Lulu knows nothing about the evil in this world. She knows very little. She gets the boob, and she gets a nap, and she gets to wake up when it’s time for the boob again; she likes it best when the cycle is continuous, where she can just fall asleep on my chest while she’s eating and let me know she’s woken up by opening her mouth again. So we do that for most of the morning, me holding her curled up on a little breastfeeding pillow and reading from an iPad I’ve propped up on the arm of the chair. I’m trying to learn to type with one hand, so I can take advantage of the down time. I’m okay at it. Not great. Let this post bear witness to my progress on that front.

She also spends more and more time awake without being hungry, these days. So we read to her -- you have to read to them from the time they’re newborns, it creates a positive association with books; so far, she’s read Everywhere Babies and Green Eggs and Ham and some back issues of n+1 her father meant to get through before she was born -- and we do Tummy Time on a little orange mat we inherited from our friends. There’s a bunny-shaped rattle attached to the end of the mat, to give her something to work for as she learns to crawl, so I sit there and watch her push her little legs around, and Mr. Bunny dances and delivers his various encouraging monologues about how Baby is made of desserts. (”Mommy had a raspberry ice cream, and a rose-flavored ice cream, and a macaron, and another macaron. And the doctor said, stop! You have to make that baby out of healthy foods! And then Mommy had fifty almond croissants. Lulu is a sweet little almond croissant baby...”) She’s very strong for a baby her age, apparently. She flipped herself over on her first try. Which they shouldn’t be able to do for a few months, so we have to check on her in her crib periodically to make sure she hasn’t done it in her sleep. 

The thing about babies flipping themselves over is that they can get stuck that way, like a turtle. They can flip from back to belly and forget how to reverse it, choke to death on their own bedsheets. There are just so, so many things to be afraid of, with a baby. Loving someone this much, when they’re this helpless, is just one long exercise in fear. 

I don’t know who will make her cry for the first time. Some bully at school, someone on whatever terrifying version of social media her generation winds up using, or one of us -- her father or I, losing patience, saying something she won’t forget. So I sit over my baby and applaud her as she works her arms and legs. So strong, so strong, mommy has such a strong girl, I say, in my happiest voice. And I don’t say the other thing. That she may actually be too strong; that being this strong might kill her. She’ll figure that out on her own time. Girls always do.

And I look at the news. All the terror, all the bullies, all the men harming women to convince themselves they’re the most important guy in the room. It happened the day I was born, it will be happening on the day I die. I left my father. But somehow, as I’m sure any decent therapist would tell me, I chose a career and a way of life that guaranteed I would always be screamed at by some emotionally catastrophic man-baby who behaved just like my father. I left him without leaving him. As long as these guys are calling me an ugly castrating bitch with a fucked-up nose whom no-one could ever love, the experience of living with my Dad is still very much ongoing. 

It got to be the worst it’s ever been, right before I had this little girl. In the Hero’s Journey, Joseph Campbell says, the midpoint of the story is always the most dangerous moment. The hero has been called into another world, tasked with finding something so wonderful it passes comprehension -- something that could change the world, or save it. But he must earn it. He must undergo a form of suffering precisely as terrible as his reward is wonderful. So, at the very midpoint of the story, his worst fear, or his oldest enemy, rises up and nearly kills him. Sometimes, it actually does kill him, and he has to find a way to resurrect himself in order to proceed. He has to pass this test, walk through the underworld unarmed, before he can get his reward and go home. 

So that’s what I do. I sit here, looking out at the world, the evil in it; podcast hosts and Presidents and whoever will use the information here to send me some horrifically personal string of insults through my Squarespace page. I look into the eyes of my hundred-headed father; my original death, which I escaped without escaping. And I say the only three words that matter.

You missed, asshole. 

Because he did. Because they always do. Because I’m still here, and I will be here until their aim gets better, and I do not plan to shut up or become more convenient or submissive until that day. For now, it’s enough to meet the demon on the threshold and keep walking. And so I take my reward, my magic baby, who will grow up with a whole new story about how the world treats girls, and she and I go home. 

[donnerpartyofone]

I've found myself looking at my relationship with my sister in a new light and wondering how to deal with drawing a line. I get along better with her than anyone I've ever met, but it really struck me how her anxiety reaction really conditioned me in a way that makes me walk on eggshells and focus on accommodating her above all else. I feel bad because I can't blame her for her anxiety but she can get somewhat abusive when she can't communicate what she needs and I don't know how to help her.

that’s really rough, thanks for talking about it. that definitely sounds like a situation you truly can’t do much about, if anything, it’s just a test of your character. i admire your perseverance. this might be way beyond your means, but it seems possible that some kind of joint counseling might be in order, to try to help her develop some better communication skills, and help you figure out how to put your foot down in a healthy productive way. i’m just speculating, though, that sounds really difficult.

i hope you won’t feel offended when i downshift into something much more casual. i’ve been obsessing over it and can’t think of what to do but vent. i’m struggling with this situation where i guess i COULD just say “you know what, i love you, but being friends with you takes away more energy than i get back.” i’m just kind of unwilling to do that, yet, and i don’t have a lot of experience separating from a friend in whom i still have a lot of emotional investment. ordinarily, i cut difficult people out way before they’re close enough to me to cause even slight problems; the only really dramatic rifts i’ve ever co-created were in romantic relationships. i’ll probably delete this in a bit, since it doesn’t really serve anything here, but for now i my erupt.

this dear friend of mine has really serious ADD and a complex of other problems for which she is medicated and sees several different mental health professionals. almost every time we interact, i have to think very deliberately about how she’s not ignoring me or taking me for granted or being argumentative or making laborious requirements of me on purpose, she has legitimate problems focusing and prioritizing, or noticing when she’s being destructive. we BASICALLY get along great; she’s extremely lovey dovey with me to the point of adulation, and we’ve shared a lot of hard times and personal secrets, so i know the relationship itself is real, even during the times when i can’t seem to get her respectful attention. it’s curious because she’s really pretty successful due to her genuine talent and charm, but once in a while she’s so disorganized and demanding that i think HOW COULD YOU HAVE POSSIBLY GOTTEN TO THIS PLACE IN YOUR LIFE.

here are a couple of good examples of what it can often be like to know her:

- she cuts my hair. i pay full price, as an actual customer, for this service, and it’s invariably complicated and maddening. i don’t want to stop going because she’s the only stylist i’ve ever been satisfied with, and also it would definitely cause emotional problems between us. but, she rearranges her schedule on me constantly, up to the very last minute, to the point that i’m standing around her neighborhood killing time and watching my phone to find out if and when i’m going to actually be seen. most recently, to try to avoid the usual problems, i emailed her more than two weeks in advance of the 26th, by which date i NEED to have my hair cut for a wedding. she told me to text her instead. i repeated the question via text, and she asked me repeatedly if i’m available saturday. i reexplained that, no, that would be a week and a half too early, i need it as near to the 26th as possible. she told me she’ll be out of town around then, but she’ll give me her latest availability. i never heard back. a week later my fiance texted her to ask if she can fit us both in for an appointment close to the 26th. she told us that she’s “waiting on a confirmation” from someone else (even though i had asked her a week prior), and then offered us “wednesday”. he asked if she means the 17th or the 24th. we didn’t hear anything for the rest of the day, even though the 17th was in less than 24 hours. at midnight she finally replied that she meant the 24th–exactly what i asked for in the first place.

- the following event, which could have taken two minutes, took place over about two weeks: she was working on a writing project. i offered to read it and give her some friendly feedback, if she wanted. she passionately insisted that she could NEVER take advantage of my talent for free, that she MUST pay me. i reminded her that i’m not a real editor, and i was just being friendly, but she INSISTED. so i say ok, what would you be willing to pay for this? she said she CAN’T decide what to pay me, I HAVE TO decide what my services are worth. i suggested that we could just trade for haircuts, but that was deemed to be too unprofessional for this imaginary reward she thinks i deserve. inventing a rate was difficult because i don’t deserve a professional rate, and i don’t even know what it would be. so, hypnotically embroiled in this stupid conversation, i did all this research and this fake math, and came back to her with a rate. she dramatically declared that she CANNOT afford it, and is therefore unworthy of my illustrious services. at this point i’m sitting there thinking…how the fuck did i get into this? all i did was offer to read her thing if she wanted a fresh pair of eyes. now i’ve spent two weeks negotiating and doing this pointless research project, just to build myself up to something that i’m not and don’t want to be, only to have her like sort of grovellingly fire herself from the situation because she’s so undeserving or whatever. of course, she wound up trading me haircuts. once the writing finally started, any time i gave her notes, it was a nightmare. if i was critical, she wouldn’t really buy my suggestions. if i was encouraging, she’d borderline call me a liar, as if i were ripping her off, and angrily insist that i be “brutally honest” and “tear her to shreds” etc. at that point, i would re-remind her that i’m not an editor, and it sounds like she knows what she needs–a real editor. eventually she let me off the hook, but almost only because she backburnered the project indefinitely while she works on something else.

this makes it sound like all i have to do is not get involved in anything vaguely professional with her, but it’s more pervasive than this. like, i’ll ask if she wants me to bring anything when i come over, and she’ll ask for a couple of small snacks, but then when i show up with them, she spins out into this thing about how i’m SO WONDERFUL and she feels SO BAD that she MADE ME bring her food, and her solution is to try to force me to keep the food, which was very cheap and which i don’t even want. i’ll have to argue with her about it intermittently for the rest of the night, and there’s nothing i can do to convince her that having this insane fight, about something i volunteered to do, is a much bigger inconvenience than the $3 i just spent on cliff bars for her. i suppose i could simplify all this by saying she’s the kind of person who will ask if you’re mad at her or something, and you say you’re not because you’re not, and then she’ll ask you again and again until you really ARE angry, at which point she thinks she was right all along. my fiance has noted that she doesn’t behave this extremely with him, and we often suspect that she’s instinctively recreating dramas that took place between her and her mother, or her and her ex-girlfriends or something, and i just happen to be a really good proxy for whatever the story was there. being tolerant of her makes her suspicious of me, but if i get aggravated, then i’m being untrue to myself, and getting wrapped up in some sort of mythology that isn’t actually about me.

she is fundamentally an exciting and affectionate person; she has tons of admiring friends, and interesting people always want to support her projects, for good reason. i value her friendship, and i don’t THINK i really want to part ways with her. however, i also don’t think she has the emotional stability to have a constructive conversation about her behavior (especially when she really craves for me to hate on her or something), and i haven’t seen her demonstrate an ability to change and control her behavior anyway. being the kind of person i am, i constantly fantasize about tying her to a chair and describing all the stuff that she does, how it doesn’t help her, and how it negatively impacts our relationship (and i’m sure many of her other relationships), and just totally deprogramming her with my brilliant logic–but of course that’s all complete nonsense. since i’m the one with control, i think i just have to train myself to stop getting so wound up and trying to envision how to “fix” her. i don’t even have to see her more than once a month, sometimes not even that often. i gotta get a grip.

[brainfoodgp]

Brain Food Garden Project Blog February/2017

“If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need.”  –Cicero-

Reading has been important to me from my earliest childhood memory. My grandmother taught me to read when I was very young and gave me my first “big boy” series of books, 9 lovely stories of early prairie life starting with Little House in the Big Woods, as a gift when I graduated kindergarten. My first and lasting literary memory is of a little Laura Ingalls playing a game of throwing a hot pigs bladder, like a ball with other children, after the seasonal slaughter and preserving of the pig of course. Now that’s a memory you want sticking with you for the rest of your life…right?

When you are bullied as a child for being different or not behaving exactly the same way everyone else behaves you look for any means of escape. You don’t at eight years old identify diving with the Nautilus for deep sea adventures or escaping pirates on Treasure Island as a “wellness tool.” However, at 44 when you are waving your wand around at a Death Eater for let’s  hypothetically say the millionth time, reading the Harry Potter series, it is probably time to make the connection…OK!

All joking aside, the importance of reading for me is one of my most important wellness tools. And that is why this month’s feature section is a short list for some of the books that keep me going or informed me in some way or that I discovered at that perfect moment in time. In “Notes From The Resistance” this month, we continue to share some important and relevant news stories about the current state of our democracy. And who says a healthy meal can’t be decadent. One of or BFGP gardening family members brought this Cauliflower Crust Grilled Cheese Sandwich to our attention. Every time I make it I’ll thank Ruth Gendreau Bennett and trust me when I say you will too. Whatever you read in the coming months I hope you are entertained, educated or inspired to change the world to make it a better place. Happy reading.

The BFGP Feature:

So many books so little time. These are a list of books that I have been reading since the election in November until now. Next month I will bring back the “What I’m Reading” section but all of these books listed in this feature are books that literally have helped keep me focused and have worked their magic to keep me mentally healthy.

In A First-Rate Madness: Uncovering the Links Between Leadership and Mental Illness by Dr. Nassir Ghaemi a book I read several years ago that I picked up and started  re reading after the outcome of the election. This amazing read helped to prepare me for what was to come with the new leader of the free world being a fascist authoritarian. Dr. Ghaemi breaks down the leadership styles of many historical figures to showcase how their mental health concerns, if there had been such a diagnosis in their time, contributed or hindered their leadership styles. It is a fascinating read that covers Lincoln to Kennedy and Gandhi to Hitler.

Long before my hero Khizr Khan offered to loan the fascist his copy of The United States Constitution at the Democratic National Convention in Philadelphia. I myself have been carrying around my own copy of the Constitution for years. There is no better sword for fighting ignorance in those that probably haven’t read the document since high school government class. You want to argue why our founding father’s wanted to build a “Christian nation” let me slap you down with their own words. You don’t understand why the fascists contempt and suppression of our free press is Unconstitutional please let me introduce you to Amendment 1 of the Bill of Rights. You think all Americans should have the right to bare semi-automatic weapons let me introduce you to the actual second amendment. I can’t help but feel if more Americans carried around a copy of the US Constitution instead of a gun we all might be better off for it.

Books have always had this magical way of finding me just when I am at my lowest and always in the most unexpected ways. In this scenario picking up a book from my mother’s bookshelf that I had never read and sent her as a Mother’s Day gift. Relationships between mothers and sons can often be challenging even difficult. However, add a Christian fundamentalist mother to a gay, bipolar activist son and life is often combustible. The Rainbow Comes and Goes by: Anderson Cooper and his mom Gloria Vanderbilt entered my life at the perfect time. Although their story is far different than my mothers and my story. It made me realize that even the best mother and son relationships have limitations. It is how we deal with those limitations that make us stronger.

The Book of Joy By: His Holiness the Dali Lama and the Archbishop Desmond Tutu was a gift from a friend waiting for me after the long holiday break. Reading their discussions and breakdown of the 8 pillars of joy helped me through a growing depression that could have gotten much worse. The four pillars of the mind: perspective, humility, humor and acceptance and the four pillars of the heart: forgiveness, gratitude, compassion and generosity continues to heal me every day. One of the books greatest teachings that I am still processing is you cannot truly have forgiveness unless you are fully capable of total acceptance of things you have absolutely no control over.

Gardening as everyone reading this blog knows is one of my greatest wellness tools it is the very foundation that Brain Food Garden Project is built on. Starting my first two Farm School classes in January and February—Food Justice and Botany opened up many lines of questions for me. The reading material that accompanied each class opened my eyes to new ideas and concepts that I had been thinking about for a long time but provided answers in a completely different context. Beyond the Kale: Urban Agriculture and Social Justice Activism in New York City By: Kristen Reynolds and Nevin Cohen, Symbiotic Planet: A New Look At Evolution By: Lynn Margulis, Botany for Gardeners By: Brian Capon and A Botanist’s Vocabulary By: Susan K. Pell and Bobbi Angell. I am grateful to the teachers that provided these resources, answered my questions and inspired many more questions that only I can answer for myself.

One of the reasons I love gardening so much is its ability to make us all more mindful. I have been revisiting a book I read many years ago in preparation to introducing the material to my garden club members this season at ACMH. The book Digging Deep: Unearthing Your Creative Roots Through Gardening By: Fran Sorin. This lovely book with wonderful exercises helped me to envision my best self at a time I needed it most. Now I’ll see if Sorin’s message will inspire others.

Reading has brought me greater empathy for others, a deeper understanding of my true inner self and immense joy and pleasure throughout my life. During dark and difficult times books have lifted me up making it easy to embrace reading as a cherished tool for recovery. If any of the books I discussed here find their way onto your reading list drop me a message and let me know about your thoughts. I started this writing with the line so many books so little time. I plan on getting through as many wonderful books as I can before I take my final breath! Reading truly brings me infinite joy.

Notes From The Resistance:

So we are 15 weeks in and the fascist authoritarian party (formally known as Republicans) have been busy. They have enacted an un Constitutional ban on Muslim immigrants and citizens in many cases. They have ended protections in schools to stop bullying and keep our Transgender kids protected. They are working overtime to kill The Affordable Care Act taking vital insurance or limiting resources for some 20 million Americans. These are some stories from the front lines over the past month. We must never normalize any of this hatred we must keep fighting and resist.

1.)  The regime still continues to attack science any way they can… Click here

2.)  Many of us living with mental health concerns cringe a little when we hear people refer to the fascist leader as mentally ill. This article sums up those feelings… Click here

3.)  The protests over the fascists police state immigration round up continues as “detention” camps and private prisons profit… Click here

4.)  The big Agriculture farmers that voted for the fascist are starting to have doubts over his leadership… Cick here

5.) Guns let’s put them in the hands of our most vulnerable citizens sound like a good idea?… Click here 

Healthy & Delicious Recipes:

When I curl up with a good book on a rainy afternoon nothing makes the day even more perfect than sipping and munching two of my childhood favorites a cup of tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich! You know cauliflower is one of my favorite brain foods and this recipe for a Cauliflower Crusted Grilled Cheese Sandwich is going to become one of your favorites, trust me.

Ingredients

Makes 2 grilled cheese sandwiches

Cauliflower crust “bread” slices

1 small head cauliflower, cut into small florets (should yield 3 cups of cauliflower rice)

1 free-range organic egg, lightly beaten

½ cup / 1.7 oz / 50 gr shredded mozzarella cheese

½ teaspoon fine grain sea salt

¼ teaspoon ground black pepper

Grilled cheese

1 tablespoon butter, room temperature

⅓ cup / 3 oz / 85 gr sharp cheddar cheese, grated/shredded, room temperature

Directions

Cauliflower crust “bread” slices

Preheat oven to 450°F (220°C) and place a rack in the middle.

Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and liberally grease it with olive oil. Set aside.

In a food processor rice the cauliflower florets (it should be evenly chopped but not completely pulverized).

Transfer cauliflower rice (about 3 cups) to a microwave-safe dish and microwave on high for 8 minutes, until cooked.

Place the cauliflower rice in a tea towel and twist it to squeeze as much moisture as you can (I usually squeeze out over a cup of liquid). This is very important. The cauliflower rice needs to be dry, otherwise you’ll end up with mushy dough, impossible to use as slices of bread.

Transfer the cauliflower rice to a mixing bowl, add egg, mozzarella, salt and pepper and mix well.

Spread cauliflower mixture onto the lined baking sheet and shape into 4 square.

Place in the oven and bake for about 16 minutes until golden.

Remove and let cool 10 minutes before peeling them off the parchment paper (be careful not to break them!)

Assemble cauliflower crust grilled cheese

Heat a pan over medium heat.

Butter one side of each slice of cauliflower crust bread (preferably the top part).

Place one slice of bread in the pan, buttered side down, sprinkle on the cheese and top with the remaining slice of cauliflower crust bread, buttered side up.

Turn the heat down a notch and cook until golden brown, about 2 to 4 minutes.

Gently flip and cook until golden brown on the other side, about 2 to 4 minutes.

[itonlyhappenstome]

Coronavirus Lockdown UK homeschooling day 7

I have noticed that the things that we find funny or interesting are changing, and my bar has certainly lowered for humour and amusement. When making a Thai red curry for dinner last night I cut the ginger into this amusing shape purely by accident and had to take a photo of it giggling. It actually isn’t that funny at all in the cold sober light of day. But last night after 4 drinks and a really boring day it was strangely a high point.

We knew when we woke up at 10.48am this morning that Day 7 was not going to be the most productive and “get up and go” days of the quarantine — it had already “got up and gone”. Although a strange feeling of satisfaction and consistency in missing every single one of the 9am work outs, and being able to sleep a solid 10 hours. We have marked it as biology morning to boost the immune system.

I could tell by the strange crunching noise from downstairs of cereal underfoot that the boys had gone and made themselves a nice breakfast of Coco pops. Almost half of the milk and cereal was in the bowls, bless them! Already ahead of the parenting game with survival skills and home economics before I had even got up!

First thing in the morning (before even putting the ice cube bags and tonic in the fridge…) we now subject ourselves to a form of compulsive and probably mentally damaging torture that leaves you with a sense of self loathing before you have even made it down the stairs. This event is the morning weigh in. Not on normal scales that you can just twiddle the dial of, or say they are off, or lean on the windowsill so you are lighter. On no, that would be too easy! These are on the new scales that Derek has bought so we can plot our improvement (or not…) of health during the quarantine. The App really helpfully bings at you to weigh in if you forget and try to dodge it for the day in a bid to curb the depression slightly. And when you give in and step on it then tells you that you should take your shoes off (my shoes are off you bastarding wanking sarcastic scales, I am just fat and have layers of hard skin on my feet alright!?!? SO FUCK THE FUCK OFF!)

And it weighs you inside your body and outside your body, and gives you graphs to also emphasise in different mediums how fat you are — should you still have a shred of self esteem left in you. Rather than being motivational they invoke a mixture of feelings that I will also need therapy (as well as a. nutritionist apparently) to work through. It is complicated. I can’t NOT just stand on them.

You would think this would give motivation for us to do some keep fit, maybe set the alarm for tomorrow for the 9am gym class, eat less… Well yes, that is an option, but if it was as easy as exercise and eating less then everyone would be healthier! So we chose to just put sports clothing on whilst baking cakes — so we could eat cakes as we were so pissed off about getting fatter. I feel we are kind of halfway there though. It’s the thought that counts.

We did add some health and safety in and tried to explain to Alex why you should not put your head into a food mixer. I would rather not go into how that lesson turned out in print in case it can ever be used against me in a court of law. But it did lead us seamlessly and with relevance into our First Aid in the home section of home schooling….

We sort of lost momentum then and all dispersed to our own activities, I had to go for a lay down with an eye mask on just to stop the noise in my head. All of a sudden it is like the walls are closing in on me and I need to use what little freedom of movement I have to take myself off somewhere else in the house. I like to class that as meditation and self discovery.

The boys did a few token minutes of maths on the computer just so we could say we did “something”. We face timed my brother in Spain, who also has guinea pigs and we thought they may like to see each other — the Guinea pigs really didn’t give a shit, Janet can be a little aloof at times.

And we thought we could possibly train the Guinea Pigs to come to their names when called, or have them working out a maze, or maybe even race them and spend the lockdown days cheering on the alpha pig, maybe having a league table — in years to come introducing relay races with little carrot batons! We could travel the world! Team work! United Goal! Epic fail actually… but it killed a few minutes!

The entrants were not keen, Janet just wanted to sniff Captain Americas Bottom. Everyone decided to call it a day then, Alex asked me “Is school finished for the day now?!?” And was very excited when I said that it was so that he could continue to hide under a blanket and wait with excitement to see if we would forget he was there and sit on him thinking he was the sofa (like I said, the bar for things we find funny, amusing and interesting has DEFINITELY lowered quite a few notches!).

And Emily has helped me set up a Tiktok account — it seems to be the current thing to do. I am apparently a “Boomer” which means “Old person” in Tiktok speak, and she has excitedly told me she will throw me a line and like some of my videos as she has lots of followers. And that Boomers ALWAYS get popular really quickly with pity votes as “normal age” tiktok users think Boomers are so cute and sweet trying to give the young people technology a go, and are all “Awwwwwww! Bless” about us. Which now puts the pressure on as I can only imagine worst than a popular boomer is an unpopular boomer and I could bring angst into my daughters online world!

Although I have been banned from posting anything until I can work out the filters, and understand that this is NOT the beauty filter that I originally thought it was.

It was a good day today, eating cake and burnt biscuits in my sports kit, cheering guinea pigs on, cleaning cake mix out of a 6 year olds hair, sleeping. And that leads us neatly onto Gin o Clock! In my sports kit! So exciting!

Stay safe everyone!!

#homeschooling #staysafe #lockdown #lockdownhell parenting covid #lovelife #parenting #parentinghell #lockdownhell #covid2020 #covidparenting #covidparent #keepdrinking #mummyblogger #mummylikes

[verticalfrontalsomething]

I want to be petty or dead and I’m not sure which way I’m leaning right now lmao

who am I kidding I know exactly which way I’m leaning and it’s “why not both?” 

I’ve got his parents’ phone numbers too, I could call them, since he decided it was necessary to bring my parents into this shit

I’m tired I’m fucking exhausted of being The Only One Who’s Done Anything Wrong Here when one of those people (lied) took me to the er when I needed to go last christmas and, funnily enough, talked like there was shit I needed to work on but like maybe I’d be okay

and my own emotions have been rapid-cycling so fucking quickly that there’s literally only one thing I want to do at this point and it’s walk off an overpass it’s not like anyone’s going to be hurt by that, obviously I had and continue to have no redeeming qualities, regardless of anything I try to do to apologize, to make up for, to give space. apparently (since I wrote a fucking five page apology at like four in the morning when I was half asleep) I turned everything back on him and he wouldn’t let me get a fucking word in edgewise, so he called in the fucking troops so someone else who seems to think I’m only capable of being shit could join in the “kick ‘em while they’re down” party the fuckers decided to have. 

seriously at what point do you decide you’re better than someone because their brain is doing shit they don’t understand? oh, no, wait, I figured that out, nevermind.

the fucking worst part of this, the part that’s leaving me broken and destroyed and the reason I take the number of sleeping pills I take? I want this to be fixable. he told me it could be fixable. instead, he’s more or less blocked me on most of the social media stuff we followed each other on (god forbid I planned to send him a picture on facebook or anything) and the only time he’s spoken to me, he pulled his bullshit “I’ve never done anything wrong so I don’t know what you want from me” act. I can’t imagine what it’s actually like to be an outside party, watching someone you allegedly care about be torn apart by their own mind. now, yes, part of the reason I don’t get it is because he treated me like I was the only lifeline to reality he fucking had, but when shit turns around and goes the other way, things that we could’ve talked about and cleared up sooner, no, we had to take care of him first because he was clearly the only important one and I exist to be used and nothing else.

I love him. still. I’m broken, badly, but I’m trying, and I am so, so, SO FUCKING EXHAUSTED of being alive. 

someone who was a pretty fucking major part of my life has decided to show me, and tell me over and over and over again, that it’s not worth it for me to get better. anything he ever needed, all he had to do was ask. I could get vicious right now if I really wanted to, I have his parents’ phone numbers, and he made it a point to call mine and tell them I was their problem.

the only times we ever talked about shit that was wrong with me was the middle of a fight. so if there was something I needed to be told, like, for example, that my moods were cycling way too fast to be healthy and I should really talk to someone about that, or that I can be absolutely fucking vicious when I want to b - and I want to, fuck, fuck, I want to. 

this is someone I changed things about myself for. I was never quite this fucking needy with tony. I mothered him too much, I know that, it’s not like it hasn’t been discussed, but the levels I’m willing to go to for a mulligan on the last 12 months? 18 maybe? no hesitation. no doubt. if I thought it might bring him up to the hospital, I’d grab the 12″ chef’s knife or whatever it is and plunge it into my heart. fuckin’ things’ broken and useless anyway, just like the rest of me.

I’m tired of waking up in a bed I shared with someone, with the love of my life, I’m tired of stifling every violent and aggressive thought (towards myself or anyone else), and I thought, maybe for a minute, “damn, it’s nice to be good enough for someone” but I guess that couldn’t have been too much further from the truth. I don’t think you can say “I would blame myself if you killed yourself” then turn into your mother because something wasn’t exactly what you thought you were owed. almost a full year, I think that’s how long it’s been. since everything fucking fell apart on me. I went to therapy a little, to at least start, because that’s what you do, right? why would it have been just completely unreasonable to throw me a “hey you’re doing good” every once in a while? 

why is your mental health more important than mine? years, literal actual YEARS I stayed up with you, asked you to patch up wounds, walked you through talking to your parents and to him and anything else you needed. I know you’re not going to read this, why the fuck would you, but some sadistic little part of me wants you to, for you to think about it, actually think about it, and see how heavily you were leaning. this is a little bit of a childish metaphor, but do you know what happens if you take an unsteady stack of jenga blocks and push them to the side just a little? total destruction, chaos, ruin. 

I woke up nearly sobbing this morning, you want to know why? I had woken up for a minute in the middle of the night, and for some reason, I thought you were on your spot on the bed, like you weren’t close to me, but you were here. I’ve been letting my meds fuck me up (no point in keeping my brain together, if it kills me, who cares) and I woke up and I thought you were here. we didn’t talk, we just went back to sleep, until I made a move to get up and clashed hard down to the floor. probably bruised my back and my shoulders, but that told me that you weren’t there. I am broken, I’m empty, I’m not enough, I’ll never be enough, and while I absolutely do deserve to suffer for the things I’ve put you through, if you were never going to let me be better, why tell me you would? I don’t even need to talk often. just... fuck, a “hi” or a picture of the dog every once in a while or something... 

I knew I should’ve done this before christmas, now I have to wait until after my dad’s birthday in february. 

if you cared... hell, maybe I’d call he coaching line like I’m supposed to, or the 741741 text thing... 

I know I made you afraid of a monster. I’ve got half a strand of hope keeping me somewhat tethered to this reality, but that’s not going to last long. it won’t matter what I say to you because you’ll say something to her, and she’ll make me look more desperate, or say I just want what we physically had back, and that’s not it. I let myself be open with someone. we both found out how far that dark streak in me runs. you were the only thing keeping my head above water. 

and I can’t hear that I have to “do it for myself.” do you know how fucking hard that is? the friends you have, the family you have, the groups I now can’t even go to because you work there and it wouldn’t be fair for me to show up- I have nothing. I have this room that I’m in now, enough medication to do serious, serious harm... and no reason not to.

here’s what I’m going to do, just for tonight. take as many of these as I want, or think will help, put fiddler on the roof back on... and hopefully snap my fucking neck if I get up to go to the bathroom or something in the middle of the night. the best part is that nobody’s going to do anything, like maybe one person will poke at me on discord, but that’s all. a pretty sizable chunk of my inner circle (which is the only fucking circle I had to begin with) thinks I’m nothing more than a monster. thinks the only thing I can do is hurt. 

i want my morphine and i want to go to sleep that’s all i want i want the hurt to stop and nothing’s going to stop it i want it to stop i want it to stop i want it to STOP i know i’ve been a monster i’ve been abusive i yell i threaten i scream i provoke fear i’m the worst i know but i was doing better you were worth that to me that i was at least getting fucking better but who gives a shit it wasn’t fast enough for you ive never been enough i was just an easy enough foothold for you to climb 

if i hallucinate the sight of you again tonight it’s going to break me 

do i text you to tell you goodbye? you’ve already said it to me, fair’s fair, right? no, you’ll think I’m just being manipulative. trying to be controlling. I can’t see you in my dreams and wake up to an empty bed. 

you know what the worst part of this is, to me at least? I want to get better. I’m making the efforts (fuckin showed up to therapy today before realizing therapy is tomorrow), I try to watch what I say, I try to think before I open my mouth because that’s how fucking stupid i am maybe if I’m really good for long enough maybe something good will come out of it

who the fuck am i kidding the only good thing to come out of this will be that no one has to try to put the pieces back together again

if i had a bit of extra money right now i think i’d get myself one last piece of ornamentation

“I don’t wanna die, sometimes wish I’d never been born at all”

goodnight. I know you’re not reading this, but jeg elsker deg. with every shredded, broken, battered piece of my black little heart. at least you won’t miss me.

I know however many I take isn’t going to be enough to kill me but god do i fucking wish

all I ever wanted to be was enough and all i’ve ever done is let down every single person i’ve ever met, I took someone who loved me and distorted and ruined that, my family can’t even really give me reasons to hold on anymore. my mom looked like she didn’t really want to leave me here when they brought be back the other day. and i know it’s because she’s afraid but i’m so broken and so empty and so hurt I don’t want to do this anymore, I can’t, what’s the point of me suffering alone, really? why should I? all I can do is list off people who’d be better off if I was dead. family who won’t have to wait for that phone call anymore. people I’ve hurt letting out a sigh of relief that their tormentor is gone....

I’m going to take my meds and watch my movie now. I’ll post something in the morning if I make it through the night.

#tw #tw self harm #tw suicide #i've got a block full of butchers knives at the end of my bed too those would help