Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was strange, seeing as it was his own blood spilling across the leaves behind him. He couldn’t even feel it anymore, but when he looked back there were chunks of his own flesh missing from his legs, gaping wounds spilling blood over fallen leaves, scattered with fallen bits of his legs.

The cave was slowly, slowly fading away. Sunlight burned his sensitive eyes, despite the decent cloud cover and rain, which burned at his wounds.

He didn’t look back often. He focused his energy on dragging himself forward, inch by inch. None of the shock or pain he should feel made it to his brain. His legs were bleeding profusely, the black scales on his hands have turned to gray-hell, his skin is a little gray-and most of the fluff near his neck has fallen out. He’s almost certain he’s about to die, but he doesn’t care. He can’t care.

Exhaustion was clouding his eyes, dark spots slowly burning into his vision. He wants to sleep. Of course, that probably means he’ll never wake up.

The numbness of his mind softened for a second, and the reality that was holy shit, I’m actually dying hit him like a bus. He was twenty-five! Ideally, he hadn’t planned on dying for like, fifty more years. Surrounded by family, not alone in a forest. His breath quickened, black spots swimming in his vision growing slowly.

“I-I don’t wanna die!” His voice was barely a whisper, an effect from two days worth of dehydration. Hell, it was shocking he could speak at all. His arms were shaking, and he was only able to drag himself underneath a tree before his arms gave out.

“No, no, please no…” The pain was hitting him all at once, so hot and gut-wrenching that he had to immediately turn to vomit up nothing but acid. He could see the trail of his blood painting a nauseating streak across the fall leaves, leading to his broken and bloody body. Maybe someone would find him if he was lucky. Maybe they’d be able to save him, even if it was no question that his legs would never recover.

He didn’t have enough energy to sit up that much, but he could still see the remnants of his calves, mostly composed of tattered flesh and sinew that barely held his foot to his leg, and a distinct whiteness of visible bone. His shoulder wasn’t much better, he couldn’t move it without another stream of blood making its way down his arm as his body shook with pain.

There were two crossed slashes deep into his chest, not as deep as anything else, and he couldn’t remember how he got them. Hell, they could be closed up for all he knew, every piece of clothing on his body was crusted with dried blood or soaked in fresh blood, essentially dying it red.

           Exhaustion rose victorious over him He fell harshly, collapsing onto his injured shoulder. Pain screamed at him, but the feeling was draining from him for the second time, numbness filling every limb. He was going to die. Blackness was swimming across his vision as the white-hot pain slowly, but surely, faded.

One last pathetic whisper of “help” escaped him, before his eyes were too heavy to keep open. Darkness closed around him.

This was it.

...Nothing hurt anymore.

           But he hadn’t gone numb again either.

His eyes slowly opened. Not only did nothing hurt, but he felt strangely energized. His tongue no longer felt like sandpaper, and he no longer felt like his stomach was trying to digest itself.

He felt, for the first time in more than a year, completely fine. Actually, a little better than fine.

Something had to be up.

           He pushed himself to his feet. His legs didn’t give out or break the moment he did so, a good sign. He steeled himself and looked down.

           Well, he wasn’t losing large amounts of blood or missing any large hunks of flesh, but he wasn’t wearing torn jeans either. And he nearly vomited again when he’d realized that he could see the forest floor through his own body.

           Subconsciously, his brain decided there was no reason to sugar coat it. He was dead. He’d died under that tree, and now he was a ghost. No point in denying it.

           Knowing he was likely unable to stomach the scene behind him, he turned and started walking. To where, he had no idea.

           He inspected his unexplained change in wardrobe as he walked. Was that a normal thing to happen when you died? Did most people wake up in a loose white dress shirt that the fluff of his mane frilled up around, gold vest, and long, so dark-it-was-almost-black tailcoat long enough to drag slightly behind him as he walked? Or did it have something to do with his ...abnormality?

           That was a crisis for another time.

           A lake laid in front of him after several minutes, disturbed by the pelting rain. Peering at his reflection, his yellow eyes stared back at him. He looked healthy, skin no longer gray and stretched tightly over his skull due to starvation. Only a slight stubble littered his face, a stark contrast from the messy, matted, tangled thing that might have been a beard from his more than a year in the caves, chained to the wall, half starved.

           He collapsed onto the shore, running his fingers through the sand. He could feel it, but it was like a layer of fog around his hands, suffocating the sensation of grit and sand between his scaled fingers.

           Bringing his knees to his chest, he stared across the lake. ...What was he supposed to do? Keep on living, just alone in a forest? He couldn’t just march into the normal world like this.

           Now that he thought of it, that might be exactly what he needed to do. He was strong enough to build himself something, even if the only way he could cut trees down was literally burning through the stumps. He could construct himself a cabin and live off the land. No point in just sitting here, he should get moving. He could learn how to defend himself from the cultists. He was done with being manipulated and abused.

           Approaching the five-floor, beige building, plain cardboard box in hand, Jeff was relieved to see a familiar face. As absurdly tall and scruffy-haired as he had been last time Jeff had seen him, Austin, his best friend throughout all of high school, who he was now lucky enough to remain in contact with and be roommates with.

After high school, Austin and Jeff were lucky enough to keep in touch, texting almost daily and meeting up often over breaks. When Jeff finally left community college, he applied to the same college as his friend and managed to get in, and one of the benefits of that was that Austin’s dorm had an unoccupied room.

“Do you want me to take that for you?” He asked, jogging over.

“Thank you!” He set the box into the other’s arms, rushing back to his car to grab another.

Several minutes of box transferring later-Jeff had been able to take most of the boxes into the apartment several days ago-Austin leaned against the wall and admired their work. “Well, you could start unpacking, but where’s the fun in that?” He smiled. “I could show you around campus and we could catch up over food?

“Sounds great!”

The tour wasn’t adequately thorough, to be honest. Austin was much too distracted by stories of things he’d witnessed going on in these locations to actually explain anything. Jeff didn’t really mind; he was given a map for a reason and it was still enjoyable to reconnect with an old friend.

Friendship didn’t stop them from being incredibly broke, so they indulged in the luxury that was Wendy’s.

“I don’t know if it’s just me, but this town-“ Jeff motioned to the window. “-Is excessively foggy!”

Austin looked out at the landscape. Thick gray clouds prevented anyone from seeing clearly, a semitransparent blanket over the town. “Oh yeah! It’s like that a lot of the time. It’s always rainy or foggy here. The entire town is a bit weird. It has a strange history.”

“What, is there some ghost story I should know about?” Jeff joked.

Austin's eyes widened and he tilted his head, mouth falling open. “How did you know?”

Wait. Seriously?

“I was joking…”

“Oh. Yeah, you wouldn’t know about the Snatcher.” He mumbled.

Jeff looked up. “Who now?”

“Don’t worry about it!” Austin said quickly. Too quickly. His eyes darted around, avoiding Jeff’s gaze, fiddling with his hands. “It’s nothing to think about!”

Which, Jeff knew, having spent enough time with Austin to know what he really meant, was him really saying it’s a huge deal and you should definitely worry about it. But it also meant that it was probably a bad idea to try and force details about it.

Quickly changing the subject, the pair continued to talk.

As they returned to the apartment, it was slightly less empty. Despite the fact that yes, there are chairs, a younger looking student was sitting on the table, an open laptop on his lap. There were three cans of soda next to him, two of which were empty, and had a look of an absolute crisis on his face.

“Jimmy, are you… okay?” Austin sounded hesitant to ask.

“No. Nothing is okay. Nothing will ever be ok. Death is imminent.”

Austin looked him over again. “Did you finish an assignment one minute after it was due again?”

“Life loves nobody.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I need a drink.”

“Alcoholic or otherwise?” Austin asked.

“Alcohol is the only way to cope with this pain.” Jimmy sighed. “But I am not 21. At least there’s the party tonight…”

Austin looked suddenly uncomfortable. “There’s a party…?”

“Don’t try to pretend you don’t know! I’m not going to make you go, but everyone you know has been talking about it.” Jimmy finally got off the table, picking up the soda cans and tossing them into the trash can.

Austin stared at him incredulously. “Don’t tell me you’re going?!”

“...Why wouldn’t I…?” A look of realization crossed his face. “Oh yeah, I forgot you were still afraid of the ghost-man.”

“Any one of us could die if we stay around there long enough.” Austin’s eyes were wide with fear and disbelief.

“I don’t know why you worry so much.”

Jeff’s eyes flicked back and forth between the two. “Is anyone going to bother to explain what that was about?”

Jimmy looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. “Oh, you must be Jeff. He’s mentioned you a bunch.” He waved a hand in Austin’s general direction. “And to answer your question, no. Bask in your obliviousness for as long as you can.”

Jeff gave a frustrated sigh. “I am going to get nothing out of you two, aren’t I.” It was more of a statement than a question.

Jimmy smirked. “Yep. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a party to get ready for.” He approached the hall, but stopped and looked back. “Jeff, you’re welcome to go with me, if you want. It would be good to meet people other than Austin.” He looked at Austin. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

Jeff shrugged. “You know what? Why not.”

Chapter Text

Oh god. Oh fuck.

Why the hell did he think that just because he was no longer alive that the universe would stop torturing him every step he took?

His gaze darted in every direction. As far as he could see, there was nobody to his left or right, but he could still see the black cloaked figures charging after him, slightly obscured by trees, like a pack of wolves on the hunt. And he was the prey.

He was much too lost to get home even if he wanted to, though it was probably a terrible idea to lead them to where he hid. Why did all trees look the same? They were all brown and rough and had branches. And they were his one chance to escape this, even if he was still pretty shitty and climbing them.

Locating what seemed to be taller tree with thick branches, he rushed forward. One, two, three powerful steps later, he hit the ground with both feet and propelled himself into the tree. He pulled himself higher and higher, struggling through branches and leaves until he rested upon the thinnest branch he trusted to support his weight.

The black cloaked figures stopped along the roots of the tree. They circled the tree like hounds, nothing on their minds but the hunt.

“Come down and we promise we won’t hurt you.” One spoke, a growling edge to his voice, filled with anticipation and cruelty. “Or maybe we will. Maybe it doesn’t matter people think you don’t feel anything anyway. They say you’re a psychopath. Maybe it would be a welcome change.”

Fear clenched around his heart. Something told him that he wasn’t the psychopath in this situation.

“We don’t have all day! If you won’t come down peacefully then we’ll burn the fucking tree down to get to you!” A feminine voice this time.

He did not doubt the seriousness in this. The cultists were about 10 feet below him and 3 feet in front of him. Maybe. He didn’t know if it was accurate. If he made it to the end of this branch-well, as far as was possible for him- and jumped for good measure, he could make it several feet past them. After that, he could run for it, and if he absolutely needed to, in the worst possible case scenario-his gaze flicked down to his hands on the bark. A familiar dark color was spreading across the bark and he jolted his hands back, heart skipping a beat-he could fight them.

And so he began crawling.

He leapt, he fell, he hit the ground running.

He heard screams of anger behind him, but this time he didn’t look back. The sounds of footsteps were farther away this time. Still pounding and getting slightly closer, but he might be able to get away. Maybe.

The steps were now too close. Way too close. He could feel them right at his heels, no more than three feet away. It was only a matter of time before-

A pair of arms wrapped around his torso and he tumbled to the ground.

He was barely in control of his actions over the next minute. It turned into a blur in his mind, just flashes of struggling and punching and kicking and rot spreading wherever his fingers touched. And screaming. Screaming that was not his voice.

The pounding in his ears faded, the blurriness of his vision dissipated, and his senses returned to normal. There was a dead weight on his chest, but when he rolled over it shifted and fell off his body. Yellow eyes wandered to his left and this time the screaming was his voice.

The woman was barely recognizable. Her clothes had aged in a second the amount you’d expect something to age in an attic unattended for seventy years, and her skin was black with decay along her neck, jaw, and cheek, framed by the black cloak. Bulging eyes were set deep into her sunken face. She was dead.

And he was the one who’d killed her, even if on accident. Even if she was trying to hurt him. Even if she was one of the cultists. He had ended her life.  

His gaze travelled the area, looking for a sight he’d been unfortunate enough to see too many times. Sure enough, what seemed to be a heap of shadows with a humanoid shape lay in a heap on the grass, curled in fetal position. He approached it slowly as if it were a trapped animal.

The shadow backed away from him, hitting a tree, the two gold pinpricks that were in the place of eyes fixed on him.

“I’m sorry.” He stretched out a hand. “I-I didn’t want to kill you. Y-you’re the first person I’ve-You’re the only person I’ve killed. I’m sorry. Please let me keep you safe. It’s the only thing I can do to repair this.”

The shadow accepted his hand hesitantly, allowing him to guide it.

The stories probably mentioned him having some huge-ass castle, not a log cabin tucked away in the woods. But a small, secluded area to live in was the only way he could be comfortable in his surroundings. The cabin was two floors and likely larger than average, but he could admit it wasn’t the most well constructed thing in the world.

He guided the shadow into his home, where, predictably, several more were standing around. Dark, human shapes with dots of color for eyes, some sitting at the table, waiting near the door, doing who knows what around the room.

“They’re people.” The answer to the question he knew the shadow was wondering the answer to. “Dead people. People who your fellow cultists killed and cursed to eternity stuck here. Nobody who dies here leaves.”

It hesitantly took a seat at the table. He pushed a paper and pen towards it. “Write down your name.”

A blink, and then it took the pen, pulling the paper towards it.

Nancy Green

“Okay. Nice to meet you, I guess. I’ll protect you.”

New discovery-When you are Jeff Fabre, whose one (1) companion at this party came here to drink, you get to be designated driver whether you like it or not.

But, of course, Jeff Fabre is a responsible adult who recognizes leaving a child (Jimmy had to have come here young, he’s so small…) at a party filled with not good things is a bad idea. So he sticks around and keeps an eye on the drunk college student.

Or he did. Because the gremlin child is nowhere to be found. What the fuck.

He’s checked the place where all the cars are parked, mostly dominated by stoners, the old rusty playground where people are drunk and making out, and the vague grassy area where all the designated drivers are on their phones and there is one car parked there for some reason.

He sighed, heading towards the bonfire out of desperation. Heaven let that disaster be there.

“Hey!” Before he can turn and find it, one of the people sitting on the hood of the lone car called out to him.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. Are you lost?” A blonde man is sitting on the car hood, red solo cup filled with a liquid much too clear to be watered down beer.

Jeff shook his head. “I just lost track of someone.” He responded truthfully.

“Who?”

“Jimmy…” He paused. “...I don’t know his last name.”

The student smiles slightly. “Whetzel? Jimmy Whetzel? Young looking, light brown hair?”

“Uh, yeah? How’d you know?”

The other brings the cup up to his face and takes a sip. “I know Jimmy. He’s probably drunk as shit and running through the woods to see if he can get a picture of our resident snatchy boy to spook his roommate with.”

What…?

“What…?”

The blonde looked perplexed at his confusion. “The Snatcher…?”

Jeff shuffled his feet awkwardly. “I don’t know who that is.”

“Did you just move here?” He asked, as if the question would clear up everything.

Jeff nodded.

“Okay, yeah, that makes sense. You wouldn’t know about our crazy little ghost.” He pats the car hood beside him. “Sit down. It’s a long-ass story. Oh, and I’m Sam by the way.”

“I’m Jeff.”

“Nice to meet you. So, nobody’s told you about the Snatcher yet?” Sam asked. Jeff shook his head and he continued. “Well, you’re probably going to think I’m crazy, but I’ll swear to you that it’s real. Everyone here believes it and tons of us have seen him.”

“That’s ominous.”

“Oh, shut up, it’s more fun this way.” He began the story. “In the early seventies, a homeless kid, he was like, 19, showed up in town when some pastor took him in, ‘cause the kid’s parents threw him out.” He muttered something under his breath that sounds like he probably deserved it before the blonde man continues.

“He started getting close to the dude’s daughter, they started going out, whatever. Got engaged after a few years, whatever. But then this lady shows up to the police crying and shows them these patches of rotting flesh up and down her arms and claims the dude did it to her. Turns out, she wasn’t lying.”

“They found the dude and arrested him. He didn’t even put up a struggle, they say he was eerily calm. He let them take him in and told them she abused him.” Sam paused, taking a sip from the mandatory red solo cup as Jeff sits in silence. “Fucking liar. The desk literally rotted away at his fingers as he spoke. They have photos.”

“They found all the weird deformities that he’d hidden for the past four years. Weird feathery shit around his neck, scales on his hands and under his eyes, yellow eyes-well, people knew that one- and everyone basically concluded the guy was a demon. He got 14 years of prison, but they didn’t want him near other prisoners so he was gonna be in solitary the entire time.”

A strong wave of illness overtook Jeff. This dude is disgusting, and it doesn’t take a genius to know where this is going. He shoved down the tiny shreds of empathy and curiosity of if it’s not that simple and continues to listen.

“He served a year. Some dumbass bailed that fucking monster out of prison. He disappeared. A year and a half after that, they found his dead body in those woods. Fucking psychopath deserved it.”

“People see his ghost, though, in these woods. Hell, I’ve seen him! Drunk me was just too much of a dumbass to get my phone out on time. College students always throw parties here because they like to get drunk and hunt him down.”

Jeff stared at him. “People hunt down a psychopathic ghost for fun around here? Isn’t there like, laser tag or something?”

Sam shrugged. “It’s no big deal, there are trails everywhere in there and nobody’s gone missing or died in years. I’ve been like a dozen times.” His casual tone contrasted the fact he’d just admitted people had died-or been killed-in those woods. “You could go tonight just to prove it’s not dangerous! Just go as far as you’re comfortable with, steal a leaf off a tree to prove you did it, and never have to worry again. You’re sober enough!”

“If I do, will you never make me do it again?”

Sam smirked. “Probably.

Jeff gave in. “Fine, but I’m stopping wherever I decide in there,”

“Deal.”

Chapter Text

Shouting. Screaming.

Long blonde hair. Light blue eyes.

Light blue eyes filled with rage, straight white teeth gritted in anger.

Standing there, listening to her shout, unable to do anything. Run, fight, hide.

He couldn’t.

Trapped. He was trapped.

Long nails dug into his palms, a quiet punishment for talking to someone she didn’t like.

Isolation. Always alone. Alone with her.

Never safe.

Chains dug into his wrists.

Nothing but darkness.

Small bursts of light burned his eyes.

When was he last eaten? When was the last time he’d had clean water?

Red droplets rolling down his jaw.

Along his forehead.

Down every inch of his body.

His stomach tore itself apart.

His entire body tore itself apart

Looking down at his own dead body.

Gray skin.

Torn, bloody legs.

Sunken face.

Visible bones.

Empty eyes.

Unseeing eyes.

His own empty, unseeing eyes.

In a tree.

Head in his hands.

Ragged uncontrollable breathing.

Tears falling down his face.

That he refused to acknowledge.

Shaking.

All because of a hiker.

A blonde woman.

Not her.

It’s not her.

He was safe.

It’s not her It’s not her It’s not her It’snotherIt’snotherIt’snother-

He woke up in a cold sweat. His eyes darted around the room, desperately trying to ground himself. The room was close to empty, but there was the huge log he used as a table, the small stack of books he’d managed to somehow get ahold of, and the small heap of blankets he slept in.

Blankets. Log. Books. These things were real. His nightmares weren’t. He was safe. He was at home. He wasn’t in his old apartment. He wasn’t in the caves. He wasn’t hiding in the branches of a beech tree. He was home. He was in his cabin.

In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. He was okay. He was safe. He was fine.

He didn’t know how long until the sun rose, but he did know he wasn’t falling back asleep for at least 18 hours. Or maybe 24. Or maybe 36. Or maybe until his fear of the nightmares wasn’t as powerful as his exhaustion.

Who the fuck decided ghosts needed sleep anyway? This sucked.

He grabbed the black pouch he slept next to every night and navigated the floor strewn with black humanoid shapes. The shadowy beings didn’t need to be awoken because of his night terrors. He could waste time on his own.

It was early morning, but before sunrise. The time of the morning when light was beginning to cascade across the forest but the bright colors of the sunrise weren’t yet blended across the sky. The landscape was a blend of dark and light, shadowy but everything was visible. He liked this early morning. Nothing diurnal was awake yet and everything nocturnal was asleep.
He was alone in being awake.

He was safe.

He strapped the black pouch to his arm, the one he’d found forgotten at a campsite several months ago. In it was a set of six sharp, glinting throwing knives, thin steel blades he’d promised himself only to use in case of emergency, due to the fact he wasn’t very good and didn’t want to cause unintentional damage to anything.

Eyeing the log he used as a target, he drew a blade out of the pouch. The cold weight of metal and the feeling of he smooth blade was smothered by the strange fogginess that always seemed to cover anything he touched.

He brought the knife up to his ear and brought it down swiftly.

Thunk.

Well, it least it pierced the wood this time. Not very accurate, but it actually hit it. That was progress.

About an hour passed of the same. Knives repeatedly embedded themselves in the edges of the log.

Snap.

He jumped, spinning around as shaking hands pulled a knife out of the case, blood pounding in his ears. Fear immediately seized around his chest as he frantically searched the area with his eyes. Someone’s there. Cultists. Her. Someone’s there to hurt him.

The fear only unwound from his chest when he saw the shadow. Hands still shaking, he lowered the knife.

“Don’t-don’t sneak up on me like that.” He gasps out. He’s safe. He’s safe. He’s safe.

The shadow gives him a look. Pinpricks of light flawlessly express what the shadow is thinking, but dark hands begin to move anyway.

“We can’t talk. You know that.” It signed at him.

He willed his trembling hands to still. “Then I need to get you all bells, Amy.” He has learned all their names and how to recognize them.

Her hands move again after his response. “Good luck with that. I don’t think anyone’s going to leave a pile of dog collars in the forest.”

“I am being sassed by my own children.” She rolled her eyes.

The pounding in his chest slowly calms down and he wiped sweat from his face, hands still insisting upon shaking. The sun is rising now, and he had things to do. He needed to get himself under control.

“Are you ok?” Her hands flashed again.

“I’m fine.” It was to convince himself just as much as to convince her. He was fine. He was safe and unharmed. There were no cultists and she wasn’t trying to hurt him. He was fine. “I-I just need to take a walk.” Seeing his home would help him. The forest was real and was happening now, unlike his nightmares.

“May I join you?”

He smiled. “I’d love the company.”

Jeff was sticking to the trail, as he was told to. He could admit some skepticism towards the existence of this ghost, and risking his life going through a thick forest to find it seemed like a flawed strategy. Not to mention being murdered by said ghost wasn’t really on his bucket list.

It was dark, but he had the flashlight on his phone to light the path and the sounds of cicadas humming and crickets chirping as company, along with the occasional owl. It wasn’t that scary to be here alone.

Okay. He lied. It was a little scary.

But he was okay! All he had to do was find a branch and turn around when it got too unsettling to be here alone!

A twig snapped.

Maybe that time was now.

His arm involuntarily jerked in the direction of the noise, and the light from his phone illuminated a silhouette, with a distinctly feminine shape and what seemed to be shoulder length hair, covering their eyes at the sudden light.

Not the Snatcher, but likely another student. He called out to them with a simple “Hey!”

The figure turned and bolted down the trail, each step kicking up pebbles. Jeff had no idea what else to do but follow them, sprinting after them like there was no tomorrow.

The path widened as he ran, and the figure refused to slow, keeping their head low, running as if Jeff catching up would be their doom. Suddenly, they made a sharp turn and Jeff barely had time to think before ropes swept up around him.

One moment he was running, and the next he was suspended, upside down, above the ground in a net so large it could likely hold three people.

The second he registered what was happening, a 10 inch flat blade severed not one, but two of the ropes holding him up, and he fell back to the ground, entangled in the net.

Jeff would have liked to say he had remained calm and collected, but instead he panicked, flailing around like a caged bird until he managed to get himself upright, and only then did he manage to finally calm down slightly and take his surroundings in.

Tree. Shadow. Tree. Bush. Vines. Big rock. Tree.

Glowing yellow eyes staring at him from a tree.

His phone was still on the ground, beam of light illuminating the net and the area in front of it, enough to make him able to see the dark silhouette of a man with a long coat and a strange mane around his neck. And glowing yellow eyes. Standing perfectly upright on a branch of a tree. Almost cinematically, he stepped from branch to branch until he dropped to the ground, fear growing within Jeff with every step.

Eventually the light from his phone illuminated the face of the man he knew could only be the Snatcher, dark hair well maintained, light stubble across his defined jaw, yellow eyes containing emotion he couldn’t decipher but contradicted the expression on his face, one that was threatening, eerie, and definitely slightly crazy. He noticed that he could see the outlines of trees behind the Snatcher through him. He barely noticed that the figure he had been following was standing only several feet behind him.

The ghost began to speak.

Chapter Text

There was a newspaper caught on a tree branch. 

A pair of black scaled hands gently plucked the paper from the branch and turned the slightly torn paper in his fingers until the front page faced him.

February 4th, 1979.

He’d been here for four years.

The attempts from the cult to get him back were no less frequent. He was just better at dealing with it. He’d been working hard to get stronger, faster, more flexible in order to fight. He trusted himself with his knives enough to use them effectively without it being lethal. Hell, he could hold his own without them. 

He’d figured out a few things. He could get stronger, build muscle, gain flexibility, and he could still bleed and scar, but it healed quickly. He didn’t need food or water, but for whatever reason he needed sleep. 

This whole ghost thing was weird. 

He flipped through the paper. Stocks, comics, politics, the norm. His eyes stopped on one article. On one picture of a woman with long blonde hair and blue eyes. 

Time froze around him.

That was her.

He could barely read the newspaper through the trembling of his hands. Reading through the tears he begged not to spill, the words whispered to him something that made an indistinguishable cloud of emotion flow through him.

She was dead. 

She had been hit by a car and she was dead.

He dropped the paper, turning around and stepping away from the newspaper as if it were the center of all the darkness and evil in the universe. 

His first feeling was relief, which was soon overcome by a feeling of sickness. How could he be relieved when someone had died? It didn’t matter how badly she had hurt him, someone had died! 

But this meant he was safe now. She was gone.

Pressure was building in his head, the onset of a headache.

He stumbled back to his home, the world twisting around him. He felt lightheaded and sick, his mind active with memories he’d wanted to forget. Blood pounded in his ears, his breaths were short and quick. He fiddled with his hands which were stunningly sweaty, nails digging into his hand.

Just like what she used to do.

He dropped his hands to his sides, willing them to stop shaking. 

It didn’t work.

The day that had once been cloudy and darker than normal was suddenly bright enough to make his eyes burn. His entire body felt too hot and too cold at once. It felt like someone was slowly driving nails into his skull, blades of white hot pain that made it impossible to think. He had no idea if he was even heading back home.

He barely made it to the cabin. His entire head burned and his limbs refused to listen to the few orders he managed to give them through the pain. He didn’t even make it to the door before he collapsed, dragging himself to the edge of the building that was covered in shadow, relieving his eyes slightly.  

He curled into a tight ball, arms protectively over his head. He was crying now, unashamedly sobbing into his arms. It hurt. It hurt so much. All because he’d seen a picture of her. 

The next time he managed to open his eyes, he was in the cabin. How had be gotten here? He still felt like there were nails being driven into his skull, but his eyes burned less. He was in the pile of blankets he usually slept in, and several were pulled up over him. 

...He was exhausted. His eyes and brain hurt less when he had his eyes closed. Sleep seemed like a good option.

He exited the cabin wrapped up in a blanket. Most of the symptoms had left him, and the throbbing pain in his head had left to a degree that he could think.

Three shadows were sitting on the grass, small piles of reed fibers sitting next to them, weaving them into nets. He had gotten pretty good at recognizing the shadows, which he was proud of. Nancy Green, Robert Castro, and Neil Andrews. 

He approached the three and sat down quietly behind them on the soft grass. “I was going to do that myself, you know.”

Neil turned and puts down the net to reply. “We wanted to.” His hands flow smoothly between gestures. “You were having a migraine, you weren’t going to finish it, no matter how hard you pushed yourself.”

He doesn’t reply. He knows that he would do that. He knows that he couldn’t. He knows that they’re right.

“Thanks, you three.” He slumped over. He doesn’t even bother to try and not look exhausted. Before that nap of however long, he hadn’t slept in three days. He avoided sleep most of the time. Nightmares.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

The next on a long list of lies.

Robert looks up at him and blinks, as if he is just now realizing something. “We don’t know your name.” He signs.

“Yeah. T-That's on purpose. I don’t trust people with it anymore. I’m sorry, I want to trust someone enough to tell them, but I can’t.” He laughed a humorless laugh. “It’s stupid, I know, but lots of people used it against me a few years ago.” He wanted to hear someone say it. He wanted to trust someone enough to give it to them. But that was unachievable when he couldn’t trust.

His eyelids were heavy. That meaning, seeing as his eyelids were always heavy with exhaustion, it was harder to keep his eyes open than usual. 

“I-I’m gonna head in. It’s a little cold.” Another lie. It wasn’t that cold, he just didn’t want to admit how tired he was even after napping for that long. He needed to work, so he could work inside. If he wasn’t working and he wasn’t getting the bare minimum amount of sleep, he was being lazy, and that couldn’t stand.

“Stand up.” 

Jeff scrambled to obey, slipping and falling to the ground more than once before successfully pulling himself to his feet, back to the tree. He stared, wide eyed, at the Snatcher, trembling with fear. “Are you gonna kill me?”

The ghost let out a short humorless laugh. “Kill you? Oh, I would, but luckily for you, I happened to be missing a braindead servant. So guess what? You get to live!” 

The Snatcher reached into his coat, pulled out a roll of old looking paper, and allowed it to unravel, one scaly, clawed hand remaining on one end of the paper. Jeff stared at him, confused, until the ghost sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Read it.” Came the impatient command.

It seemed to be a contract. Carefully written in neat cursive, outlining in great detail how he would do whatever work the Snatcher needed from him and in return, Jeff would not be killed, followed by a long list of the ways Jeff agreed to whatever danger or near death experiences may happen due to whatever he was ordered to do.

“...If I don’t sign this?” 

The Snatcher scoffed. “Are you some kind of idiot?” A second passed and Jeff found a knife identical to the one embedded in the tree pointed at his throat. Jeff stumbled backwards, forced to stand by the knife at his throat, hyperventilating with wide eyes as the ghost looked at him with an unprompted and unadulterated hate. “ I kill you or you sign this.” He spat. 

That should have been obvious. 

“...Where’s the pen?”

The ghost seemed to display an oddly forced smirk at his victory, and Jeff was handed a cheap pen that, from reading the side, Jeff realized came from a Marriott hotel. Okay, now that he thought about it, the only shit this dude had was shit people left around here. Hotel pens might not be completely unreasonable.

He took the pen hesitantly. Jesus Christ, the man really did have black scales covering his hands. And claws! There were tiny curved points coming from the tips of his fingers, the pale silver contrasting against the scales, which, now that he looked, seemed to be the tiniest bit purple.

He signed quickly, swallowing his growing dread. He did not like half the ideas of what might happen to him that his mind was cooking up. Actually, he didn’t like any of them. At all.

“Well, now that we’re doing business, why don’t we have a little orientation! I can show you where you’ll need to do your shit so I don’t have to waste any manpower getting someone to babysit you!” The knife stayed uncomfortably close to his neck as the Snatcher forced him to walk, barely giving him time to pick up his phone.

“Manpower?” He was hesitant to ask anything, anxious that the ghost would get angry for whatever reason, but he idiotically asked anyway. 

He simply motioned behind him, and it took Jeff several seconds to make out that standing behind him was the figure he was chasing. But, looking at it, all it was was the silhouette he was chasing. Just a shadow with no distinguishable features other than dots of color for eyes.

“What is that?” Jeff asked, voice trembling. 

The spirit flashed him a glare. “They’re dead people, and you better get used to it. There’s a lot more where she came from.” 

They, after what felt like more than a silent hour stepping through trees, came across a log cabin with dimly lit windows. It seemed to be a little old, or maybe it was just constructed in an old-fashioned manner? Whatever the answer, he could see shapes moving around inside. 

“This is my home. You will be here at exactly 10 o’clock at night to exactly 5 o’clock in the morning every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Understand? If you lead anyone to where I am or tell anyone what is happening I will not hesitate to make you suffer. Understand?” The tone made it clear he was not bluffing in the slightest. 

“Yes, sir!” He fearfully replied as quickly as he could.

The Snatcher continued to drag him around his forest, showing him the locations of his more mundane tasks-digging around to see if campers left things behind didn’t sound so bad-to the tasks he really hoped the Snatcher wasn’t serious about making him do. Hiking along an abandoned, constantly soaked gorge path doing whatever he wanted him to do didn’t sound fun. Or safe.

The gorge was half a mile west of his cabin, the campgrounds were a mile and a half south of his cabin, the caves the Snatcher forbade him from coming near were three and a half miles north of his cabin, and the area where the party had been was about a mile east of the cabin. Fairly simple. He hadn’t memorized every hiking trail but he knew how to get to the cabin.

That didn’t stop it from being close to five AM by the time the Snatcher allowed him to leave. 

“Repeat to me when you will be here.”

“10 PM to 5 AM on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays!” Even after all these hours, with the threat of violence hanging in the air, Jeff was still terrified. His hands hadn’t stopped shaking and he was sure he wasn’t any less pale than when he had first laid his eyes on the ghost. 

The Snatcher gave a nod of vague approval. “Good. Now get the hell out of my forest.”

Jeff did as he was told and ran off. It didn’t matter that he had no idea how to get out of here. He had a feeling the ghost wouldn’t give a damn.

There was also the part of him certain he would be being watched every step he took home.

Chapter Text

His head was a mess.

In the-Six? He was committing to Six-years he ́d been here, there had been so few nights he hadn't woken up after being plagued by nightmares. 

But he didn't have time to worry about his lack of sleep. The number of shadows was slowly increasing. Which was absolutely terrifying, now that he thought about it. An awful lot of people were dying in this forest. Was the cult still active? That didn't really make sense. She was dead so reasonably they should have stopped. ...He was too much of a coward to investigate anyway

For him, that meant that he had a ton of shit to do. Maintaining what was growing into a small town ́s worth of houses on your own and trying to keep the people who are trying to kidnap you away from your home were both full-time jobs that there were not enough hours in a day to have time for. And that meant that he missed sleep even not while fully intending to do so. Yes, he needed sleep. No, he was not going to do so unless he physically could not keep his eyes open.

Keeping himself busy with work or sleep stopped him from thinking about what he could remember. Or rather, couldn ́t remember. He was capable of admitting to himself that he ́d gone through some shit and had a pretty decent heap of traumatic events and that he almost definitely had PTSD.

The point was, he had gaps in his memories. His brain had blocked out his memories of some of his life because subconsciously he knew he would not be able to function if he remembered. Nevermind the fact he could barely function anyway. He just wished he could remember, know what happened in the spaces in his mind so he could accept it. And move on.

But he can ́t remember. And the only time he ever remembered was either just after he had a nightmare. Real helpful, brain.

It was hard to open up. Opening up required trust. Trust did not go well when you were him. The last time he ́d trusted had resulted in nothing good and nothing he wanted to realize about himself. But the shadows that had been around for a lot longer were easier to talk to.

¨I just-It's harder to accept that the things that happened in my life happened if I can ́t ever remember this shit.¨

Having a conversation this serious while one party, the one who was admitting their trauma, was dangling upside down from a tree, was a tad bit untraditional, for lack of a better word. Although, it was a conversation between a ghost man and a mute shadow permanently bound to the earth after death, so it wasn't really the weirdest thing here. 

̈ Okay, so you only remember stuff after nightmares, correct?¨ He nods in response. ̈ Maybe you should write it down.¨

He almost laughed. He's a ghost known for being psychopathic and has had seven murders pinned on him. It's not exactly easy for him to waltz into a Walmart to buy himself a journal to write his feelings in.

̈ Yeah, and where am I gonna get the shit to do that?¨ He realized after the fact his words were a combination of tired and aggressive. ̈ Sorry, that came out wrong.¨

¨We ́ve found stuff that got left behind at campsites here. Maybe there's something that you could write in?¨ The shadow stood, motioning for him to follow

.

He swung himself off the tree branch, landing gracefully. ̈ You guys need to stop trying to do stuff for me. You all died before your time, you don't need to work.¨

She seemed to roll her eyes. ̈ As if we ́re going to sit here and let you work your ass off for us.¨

He couldn't help but smile. ¨I really do appreciate it, by the way. What you guys do to help me.¨

̈ Don't worry about it.¨ She signed. ¨How about I go see if there's anything you can use and you go check on the others?¨

̈ Yeah, I probably should. Thanks.¨

That night, he returned home thoroughly exhausted. A small package sat on his desk, wrapped in brown paper and tied together with string. Untying and unfolding the package carefully, he set aside the wrappings and took a look at the two slightly worn notebooks with several pages missing. Flipping through, he found all blank pages.

He sat down and started writing.

̈ Jeff, me, Jimmy, and a few other people are gonna go get pizza tonight, you wanna come?¨

Jeff was about to reply affirmatively but hesitated. Today was Friday night. He was going to be… busy, for lack of a better word. Being out too late to get to Subcon in time wasn't really something he could risk. 

̈ Sorry Peebs, I ́m gonna be a bit busy tonight.¨ 

Austin ́s face fell. ̈ Oh, okay.¨ Within seconds, he perked back up. ̈ Next time we hang out, do you wanna come? I feel like you'd really like them.¨

̈ If I ́m available, then sure!¨  Austin seemed to be satisfied by that.

It was lucky for him that he didn't go, and that both Jimmy and Austin were out when he left. Avoiding having to think of an excuse for as long as possible was something he probably needed to do.

He was also lucky to find his memory held up when it came to getting to the Snatcher ́s cabin. If a decent wager was placed on the ghost not being at all sympathetic to him forgetting his home ́s location, Jeff would take that bet. 

The Snatcher answered within 10 seconds when he knocked, gestured for him to enter and simply handed him a piece of paper. Jeff gave him a strange look before he thought, realized that might be a bad idea, and snapped his head down to read the paper, old, brown, and slightly torn, eraser marks littering it.

¨...What is this?¨

̈ Directions.̈ Terrifyingly monotone.

He hesitated. ̈ ̈To where?¨

̈ There are a bunch of campsites around here. We can't exactly go on shopping sprees to get shit so we use what people leave behind. We take what he can get when we can get it.”

That made sense.

“Any questions?”

He shook his head and the ghost waved his hand in a sign he was dismissed, prompting Jeff to leave the cabin. 

It took about 25 minutes to get to the first campsite, a small area filled with cleared spots of woods and tiny fire pits surrounded by stones. Poison ivy and poison oak filled the area and trees were scattered around, obscuring much of the area. The forest floor was littered with leaves and mulch, and on occasion, questionable rotting food items.

About two hours passed,.Jeff got through quite a few campsites and finding absolutely nothing. To be honest, Jeff was not trying his hardest. Please do not blame him for half-assing something like this, it´s fucking midnight, he´s a college kid who has better things to do like sleep. And study. Probably study. Self-care? Never met her.

He could hear footsteps approaching quickly. Running. He turned, the flashlight illuminating another one of the shadows that just walked around here. Actually, the same one he ́d been following when he met the Snatcher, a bright red notebook, the kind you could buy for about fifty cents tucked under her arm. 

̈ Oh, hey.¨ At his words, she flipped open the notebook and began writing frantically.

“Hi. None of us can speak, and I don ́t think you know sign language, so I brought this to be able to talk to you. I’m Abigail, the one you were following when you met Cardinal.”

“Cardinal?”

She seemed to hesitate before writing again. “That's what some of us call who you call the Snatcher.”

“...Why don’t you just… call him the Snatcher? Or his real name?”

“He doesn’t people knowing his real name and we’d rather not call him that.”

He paused. “What are you?” His eyes widened and he backtracked. “Oh crap, that sounded rude.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t mind. We’re all dead people. I don’t know why Cardinal is so much different from us but we’re dead people, stuck here forever.”

“Oh.” 

We’re dead people, echoed in his mind. He’d seen quite a few shadowy beings around here. They were all dead. The only cause of death he could think of popped into his head. Had the Snatcher killed them? Why would they stick around? Were they being imprisoned? Was it some sort of Stockholm Syndrome?

He ́d been working with the Snatcher for about two weeks before the itching started. The skin of his arms began flaking and it was hard to control the impulse to scratch it constantly, resulting in his arms now being constantly red and flaky, and just a tad bit swollen.

And, to be honest, sometimes Jeff forgot to not scratch the skin. Especially when he was busy trying to be a good student and paying attention to lectures. 

So that's what was happening right now.

It was actually a pretty interesting lecture, surprisingly, and Jeff managed to get immersed enough that he only noticed he was scratching the flaky skin of his arm when it started to hurt. A lot. He snapped out of his focus to look down and-

What the fuck.

What the fuck. 

There was a small patch, about an inch by an inch on his forearm where the skin had completely torn away to reveal a tiny patch of tiny, dark blue scales that were tinged green, the area around them bleeding slightly. 

His chest felt tight with panic. What the hell was happening? Was he developing some sort of skin condition? What the fuck?

His eyes darted around, and the panic intensified when he realized he didn’t even have a jacket or something to cover this with. So, not knowing what else to do, he quickly shoved all his things into his bag and left as quickly as possible.

“-Keep him inside until I’m back. I don’t care how much you need to stall, but I’m not risking them getting to him.”

That was what Jeff heard when entering the cabin on the start of his third Saturday. He hadn’t gotten his scales checked by a doctor, honestly because he was too poor to do so and it wasn’t harmful yet, as far as he knew, and that was enough for him. 

A tall, now familiar ghost entered the room, expression all business and somehow more threatening than usual. “I ́m going out. Just, clean shit. If you don’t know where something belongs, ask one of the Subconites.”

Jeff watched the Snatcher leave. What the fuck was that?

“What the fuck was that?” He ended up asking Abigail as she helped him find the broom, her notebook still under one arm. 

“That happens pretty often. Don’t worry about it too much; I don’t think Cardinal would like it too much if I told you why.”

“Yep. I’m definitely not going to worry about it now.”

The Snatcher’s cabin didn’t take too long to clean. It was sparsely decorated, lit by a fireplace and a few candles, both electric and half used real ones. There was an average amount of furniture of varying levels of quality, which Abigail told him the Snatcher had built himself, and other objects that Jeff could tell had been made from materials found in the forest, including but not limited to a chessboard, three sets of seemingly infrequently used plates, cups, bowls, and cutlery. There was also a small bookshelf holding the most varied selection of books he'd ever seen in his life- the Third Harry Potter Book, three Marvel comics from starkly (ha) different years, a DSM 4 (who the heck left mental health textbooks in random forests?), some YA novels he'd never seen, the second Twilight novel (he suddenly felt very bad for the Snatcher), a manga he'd never heard of, and a copy of The Old Man and The Sea. 

Then he entered what he thought was the ghost’s bedroom. A desk with a pile of notebooks and a heap of blankets covered in desk were all that was in there. He approached the blankets, shook all the dust out of them to the best of his ability before folding them.

His eyes rested on the notebooks as he was about to leave. On the one hand, he would like to respect most people's privacy, on the other, it would be good to know more about what the ghost liked to get on his good side.

He picked up the notebook on the top of the pile, small enough to shove into his admittedly pretty big pockets. 

From outside the room, he heard the front door open, and he impulsively shoved it into his pocket.

He exited the room to see the Snatcher, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, leaning against the door. 

“You’re bleeding!”

The spirit touched his forehead and winced. “Yes, I am.”

“What happened?”

“None of your business. You can leave now.” He responded shortly.

“But-” Jeff protested

The Snatcher growled. “Why do you care? Leave .” 

The force with which the last word was said made Jeff snap his mouth shut. The door was opened by the ghost and Jeff left, walking stiffly. He looked back to see the Snatcher, expression conflicted, turn, and walk away, closing the door behind him

Chapter Text

Jeff stopped at a Wal-mart on his way home. It was quick, in and out, before drove home and he vanished into his room with nothing but a “Hi.” to a very confused Austin. 

He collapsed into the warm embrace of his bed after that, falling asleep in his clothes.

He awoke at noon the next day. Listen, could you really blame him? It wasn’t laziness, it was the fact he’d been up all night. Hell, it was still under the 8 hours of sleep he technically needed. Technically. 

He fished his phone out of his pocket to scroll through Twitter, part of his regular morning routine when his hand brushed against the other, larger, thicker, stiff rectangular thing in his pocket.

Right. The journal. The Snatcher’s journal. That he stole. Maybe.

He shrugged and pushed himself slightly more upward, and flipped through the small book, wondering if he'd find notes or doodles, or vivid drawings of wildlife. He had taken this in hopes of finding out what the ghost liked and to get on his good side. Instead of either of the above, he found words. 

Okay, so he wrote stories. Reasonably, if he was trying to semi-befriend the ghost, maybe he should read it?

Yeah, probably.

I really don't know where I should begin. 

Well, reasonably I should start at the beginning. Not that I know how much I’ll be able to remember. That’s the whole reason I’m doing this. Because I can’t remember. I’m trying to get the timeline in front of me so I can process my mess of a life.

Okay. Maybe not a story. Okay, well, it was a story, but it was his story. The story of the Snatcher, told from the point of view of the Snatcher.

...That actually might be more helpful….

So I guess it actually does help to start from the beginning. 

I wasn’t born like this. A freak, to put it lightly. That happened when I was six and then I lived in the attic of my family’s house for the next twelve years. 

The room was dark. The stuffy hot summer air flooded the room, making it hard to relax. The bed was too small, and it was hard not to focus on how much he had to twist himself to fit onto the mattress. ▓▓▓▓ had been staring at the wall for several hours and he was no closer to sleep, just closer to going mad.

He squashed down the rising frustration. He could not get frustrated. Repressing his emotions kept the people around him safe. 

He rolled over to stare at the other wall, blank other than a year-old calender and a clock to make the attic seem like less of a prison. 2:43 AM. There was a snowball's chance in hell anyone was up.

It wasn’t the first time he’d snuck downstairs. He’d been confined to the attic for 12 years. 12 years since he began developing all this. 12 years since his parents had faked his death. You couldn’t expect him to sneak downstairs every once in a while, just to get water. 

And that's what he was doing tonight, dodging the stairs he knew from experience creaked, quietly stepping through the house to the sink to grab a glass, drink quietly and quickly, wash the glass in the near silent manner he’d close to mastered and left everything as if it hadn’t been touched in the first place. 

Reversing his silent climb towards his room resulted in passing the rooms of everyone else in his family. So he stopped when he heard a voice say his name.

“▓▓▓▓ is becoming a danger to himself and others. I don’t want to do this either, but I think we need to.”

His heart stopped. 

“He’s our son! We can't do that!”

“We might need to. For his sake and for the safety of our other children. It is a matter of time before he hurts someone.”

Fear instantly swept through him. No. Please no. 

He couldn’t help but run. He scrambled desperately back to his room, collapsing back into bed. No, no no no. They didn't want him. Nobody wanted him. Because he couldn’t control himself. He ran desperately back to his room, collapsing back into bed. No, no no no. They didn't want him. Nobody wanted him.

He knew what caused this though. ▓▓▓▓ hurt people when he was scared or upset, or really any negative emotion.

Reasonably, he needed to keep himself from feeling that. Push them deep down, wind it around his heart so he wouldn't hurt anyone. If he never let himself feel anything he would be making them hate him less. He would be loved if he refused to let himself feel bad. It was for the sake of others. He would be fine. 

He didn't fall asleep that night. He didn't speak much that week. When something rot in his fingers he hid it, he didn't let anyone find out he still wasn't in control. He needed to be in control, and if he wasn't, they didn't need to know. They never needed to know. This was the only way he could keep himself safe. 

Keep himself safe. That's why he was up here, in the attic. That's why his parents faked his death. But they wanted to abandon him. They wanted to hurt him. 

So he was the only one who could keep himself safe.

One week passed. Two weeks passed. Maybe they weren't going to abandon him, he thought, just before going to bed on the fourth day of the second week.

Waking up the next day, something told him something was up. It was silent. No clatter of people getting ready for the day downstairs.

He analyzed the room. Nothing was different.

Other than the tiny envelope on the floor.

They left me behind. My entire family up and left me in the middle of the night because I couldn't control myself. I couldn't control my emotions. I grabbed what I could get my hands on and I ran. I become homeless for almost three years. I walked from town to town and worked where I could, living off what I earned and the money they left me to live off of.

I got picked up by some Pastor for a room for the night after those years. He offered to take me in and help me get back on my feet. I accepted. I wish I hadn’t. 

I don’t want to think about her right now. But I should keep writing. 

I guess I’ll talk about Joseph.

“Brothers and sisters! The time is soon when we will be called upon to bring the world to righteousness.”

            ▓▓▓▓ was really, really trying to pay attention. He promised. But it was incredibly difficult when there was a certain kid he found extremely... easy to stare at? Right in front of him. 

          “The world is falling prey to Satan’s temptations.  Greed, gluttony, and lust. A new threat, slowly rising in our society, despite the government and the good people opposing it? Homosexuality.”

           He’d zoned out long ago. The sandy-haired, tall, muscular, blue eyed boy in front of him was much too distracting. 

           He sighed, hoping the woman sitting next to him-who he supposed was supposed to be his girlfriend now-wasn’t aware of where his attention was trained. 

           Joseph Green. 

           Was it weird to like him like that? Even if ███████ would never allow him to be friends with him, part of him would be willing to risk whatever punishment ███████ would cook up for him to get closer to that man. 

An icy glare was shot at him from his right. She’d noticed. He winced, hoping whatever she did wouldn’t be too severe. It wasn’t too big of a deal, right? But then again, her definition of “severe” had proven itself to have no pattern. 

           He swore to pay more attention. 

           Or stare more subtlety. Probably that one. People thought his eyes were weird, it probably would look bad to stare at him either way. And most people didn’t take staring from another person of the same gender too well. 

However, ▓▓▓▓ was 100% straight, so that wasn’t an issue. Right?

███████ had dragged him over to meet her friends. ▓▓▓▓ usually walked home after the meeting ended, lack of friends meant lack of a reason to stick around. A group of gossiping women, several of whom’s eyes went wide at the sight of the two of them, ███████’s hand firmly around his. He couldn’t escape if he wanted to. 

“Oooh! We finally get to meet the boyfriend!” Wait. Finally? “It’s been a few months and we’re only meeting him now?”

           “Yeah, I’m glad I talked him into it.” Talk him... clearly this was no mistake. ███████ had been deliberately lying about their relationship. Conflicting emotions ran through him. Should he talk to her about this? No. She’d probably end up angry with him. 

“Well, he sure is handsome.” They were talking like he wasn’t there. 

The girls went on, speaking of whoever they found attractive of the young men of the congregation. He was almost certain he saw several sneak glances at him.

▓▓▓▓ masked his discomfort and stepped back slightly. ███████ shot him a look he could translate as “You have my permission to leave, but don’t go too far.” 

He shifted his way out of the circle, making his way to the back corner of the room. Significantly more comfortable where there was a decent distance between himself and most people, he took to observing. 

The Pastor was speaking animatedly to an older couple near the base of the pulpit, and his wife stood nearby, laughing with a group of middle aged women. ███████’s gossip circle had seemingly decided to leave for the lawn. Various unfamiliar people stood chatting in groups of a variety of sizes and in the back stood both the first and the last people he’d want to have staring at him. 

Joseph and his friend group. Had they noticed his staring earlier? 

Well, they had noticed he had noticed them, at the least. Joseph in particular made eye contact, waving him over. ...What did they want with him?

He cautiously made his way over, feeling slightly less anxious as he was greeted by a series of smiles. “Hey, you’re ▓▓▓▓, right?”

“Yes...” He trailed off awkwardly. How was one supposed to be sure of how to talk to people? “Why are you asking?”

“You usually don’t stick around afterwards.” One observed. 

He shifted. “No. I’m not good at... people.” He winced at how long it took to settle on an honestly pretty terrible word. “I usually just walk back.”

“You live with the Pastor, right? Why’s that?”

Hoping they didn’t press any further, ▓▓▓▓ answered. “I don’t have anywhere else to go, so...” He shrugged, trailing off. 

“You’re homeless? Wow, I thought only middle age people were. What’s that like?” Well that sure was blunt. The words from the dark-haired one to Joseph’s left caught him slightly off guard.

Somebody behind the speaker muttered something about not being rude, and ▓▓▓▓ had a sudden feeling that some, if not all, of them just pitied him. 

“Uh, you work, I guess. Or I did. Went around doing odd jobs. I guess I still do, I just don’t sleep on the side of the road sometimes.”

The dude smirked, and ▓▓▓▓ had a sudden feeling that the guy was trying to make him uncomfortable. “Reaaally? Did your parents kick you out for the same reason you have yellow eyes?” 

His face burned. He was pretty sure Joseph flashed a glare to his left and mumbled something about not being a jerk, but he had tuned it out a bit. “It’s a genetic disorder.” The usual response tumbled out of his mouth. Of course, that’s a little accurate. His throat felt tight. 

He froze, an arm had found its way around his shoulders. “Leave him alone, Humphrey!”

The guy laughed. “Aw, Joseph, don't be like that! We were just messing with him.”

Joseph gritted his teeth. “No, you were harassing him. You didn’t need to bring that up. He’s clearly uncomfortable.”

He scoffed. “It’s a free country! You can’t stop me!”

Joseph guided ▓▓▓▓ away, seemingly still fuming at Humphrey’s words. “I’m sorry about him. He can be rude; he always acts like freedom of speech is his excuse to say what he wants without a filter.” He winced. “I swear, they’re not all like that.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” He mumbled. His heart was beating much too quickly, and he was hoping Joseph would dismiss his red face as embarrassment. Which it mostly was. “I’ve heard ten times worse.” 

From across the room, ███████ motioned to him. She seemed to be... glaring. She’d caught him. 

“Sorry, I have to go...” He backed away.

Joseph smiled. “See you next week?” 

“Yeah! Definitely!” He said, hurrying over. 

Chapter Text

"I'm glad I finally got you to come hang out with us!" 

Austin was basically prancing beside him, genuinely glad to have him along. 

Jeff grinned at his friend. "Yeah, sorry I've been so busy. 

"Don't worry about it! At least you're here now!"

The redhead, Mai, grinned. "Yeah, we've been hearing a LOT about you!" She winked at Austin as she spoke.

What was that about?

Austin definitely blushed, and Jeff brushed the odd interaction off. The former held the door open for the group.

The workers did not appear to be the most thrilled about a goddamn small army of college kids arriving to overthrow their arcade, but mostly they just looked resigned to their fates. Which, fair enough.

Mai's eyes lit up at the sight of a long wall of claw machines and she grabbed the hand of her smaller girlfriend.

"Hana! Look what they have!" Mai grinned. "I'm going over there and winning you something like a good girlfriend!"

"Mai, you don't have to-"

"Nope, I am. Let's go!" The two disappeared.

And where the hell had Jimmy gone?

...So, Jeff guessed it was just him and Austin for now.

Austin laughed a bit. "Well, I guess we're on our own!"

"Yeah. Hey, do you wanna stick together? I don't know what here is fun."

Austin's face immediately lit up. "Yeah! There's a game here I know you'd love."

-

Jeff lost track of the time very quickly. It was an hour past noon before he and Austin were tracked down by the others and the group ended up at the fairly tiny snack bar. After ordering their food, they sat down and were instantly thrown into a conversation.

"-I heard that one of the professors was a cult leader about a decade ago! But he got caught after three students went missing."

"I'm genuinely scared about how calmly you're talking about this."

Mai shrugged. "None of us are really sure it happened. Just that three people went missing and a professor got arrested. The cult is completely plausible though, due to resident spook man."

Jeff hoped nobody noticed the strange emotion that overtook him at that second before he was able to force a smile and laugh awkwardly. They mentioned the Snatcher. Of course

The Snatcher.

The Snatcher.

Oh god, the Snatcher.

Snatcher, he's so sorry. Snatcher, you didn't deserve it.

He did know the expression probably similar to pity that crossed his face after that was noticed. 

"-Jeff? You alright?" He snapped back to attention to see Austin's face filling most of his vision, looking worried.

"Yeah. 'M gonna go to the bathroom." He mumbled, rushing away. 

He can't help but feel bad for the Snatcher. Okay, Jeff still thinks he was guilty of those murders, but all that shit that the ghost had been through... 

He feels awful.

He shouldn't have taken or read the fucking journal, even hearing the Snatcher mentioned makes him feel ill from what he read later in the pages.

He rushed back to the table, forcing a smile onto his face.

The entire group ended up in the same general area, trapped between a few claw machines and a few retro looking arcade cabinets. Hana and Mai ended up taking turns at one as Jimmy easily climbed the leaderboard of another. Austin was trying his hand at one of the claw games, and Jeff just ended up chatting to him. 

"Jeff! Look!"

He turned. "Oh hey, you won!"

"Yeah!" Austin's expression suddenly changed; he looked down and his cheeks becoming slightly pink. "Uh, do you want it?"

Mai squealed and Jeff could feel Jimmy's smirk without looking but ignored it. It was a friend thing. It wasn't like Austin liked him or anything. That was stupid, Austin was just being nice.

"You sure?" Jeff asked.

"Yeah, of course, I am! You're my friend, I wanna do something nice for you!"

"Okay, but if I take it..." Jeff darted towards another machine. "I'm winning something for you, too!" 

"Jeeeeff! No! You don't have to!"

Jeff looked up from where he was, on the floor shoving dollars into the machine. "Well, I'm gonna!"

"What's the point then?" Austin half-whined.

"Sentiment! The sentiment, Austin, the sentiment!" Jimmy said, still smirking. Jeff nodded along. 

"Yeah, that!"

Austin blushed and spluttered in reply, but he didn't protest again.

"Snatcher?" He paused to take in the ghost's appearance. "...Are you okay? You look exhausted." He cursed himself mentally. Of course, he's not okay. 

"I'm fine," The Snatcher snapped, and Jeff flinched. 

"Sorry-!" 

Something like guilt flashed across his face. The ghost sighed. "There's a hiking trail really near here, along a river. I've been informed that weird shit is going on, and I want you to look into it. I have other shit to do, and I'm not putting any of the Subconites in danger, so..." The Snatcher waved his hands in Jeff's general direction. 

Jeff shuffled his feet awkwardly. Okay, he couldn't help but think the Subconites were still people he killed but he still felt so goddamn bad. "Do you want me to go now?"

"Yes." The single word came with a touch of finality.

"Okay." Reopening the door, he looked back at the spirit. "...Are you okay?"

A humorless laugh came in reply. "You're the only person to ask. I'm fine."

Jeff stepped carefully among the rocks composing the trail. The stones were smooth and slick from the constant cascade of water, and he, reasonably, was cautious about slipping. Especially considering the lack of walls or any sort of barrier between the trail and the water.

It seemed like the area would be really pretty in the daytime, with what he could see from his flashlight, with the thick vines and shrubs occupying the area and the occasional patch of tiny flowers. The area was nice, very nice.  

Of course, it was the middle of the night, in a forest occupied by ghosts and weird shadow demons and who knows what else? And that made the entire thing extremely unsettling. 

The sound of the rushing river drowned out the cicadas and crickets. He was unable to hear much else other than the water, and it made him more cautious, to be honest.

...If he came back in the daytime or didn't do this at all, would the Snatcher notice?

Probably.

The flashlight illuminating his area lit up something else, and Jeff couldn't help but have a bit of deja vu. Another dark figure in Subcon forest that might lead him to something.

Of course, that might be another Subconite, and Jeff didn't want to make another mistake like that again. 

"Hello?"

He took several steps closer to the figure, who had frozen. The light began to illuminate it more, and soon he could make out a cloak, hiking boots, and-fuck, that was a real person.

The person bolted. 

Okay, that was suspicious. Definitely, the type of thing Snatcher would want to know about.

He ran after the person.

Fuck, it really was slippery. Not too slippery, though...

How the hell were they still running?

The cloaked figure, turned, and Jeff could make out a jawline before they turned and began moving again.

...Were they slowing down? They were slowing down.

He was getting really close. Maybe they wanted to talk? It might seem hostile to run at them like this.

The hooded figure darted, moving faster than Jeff thought was possible, and he realized that fuck, he wasn't going to be able to slow down in time. 

Before he knew it, he had fallen into the rushing, deep river.

Water engulfed him, filling his ears and muffling sound to nothing but the bubbling of the river. Water soaked through his clothing in mere seconds and the cold liquid hit his skin. Before he knew it his lungs were begging him to breathe and he wasn't thinking before-holy shit he could breathe.

Why the hell could he breathe?

The current was still tossing his body with ease and carrying him downriver. He needed to get out quickly. He twisted his body and did his best to begin swimming, shocked to see he could move through the river with relative ease. He noticed his hands and had to do a double-take.

What. The. Fuck. 

The scales that normally littered his forearms had seemingly overtaken both his arms, covering both with dark blue semitransparent scales, layered over each other. His hands had become webbed, each finger ending in a dull, clawlike point. Two fins had suddenly begun to grow from his forearms. Looking down, his legs were similar, feet extending into long fins, and fins similar to those on his arms on the back. 

Panic and fear rose within him, but he pushed them down for the moment. He needed to get out of the river. 

It was easy to cut through the water like... this, and he made it to the surface in several minutes, and to the shore in another minute, instead of struggling against the river like he'd expect to.

He dragged himself back onto the path, and let the fear and panic bubble over. 

What was happening to him?!

Jeff began hyperventilating in less than a minute, looking down at his body in nothing less than horror. He couldn't go back like this? How had this happened? Why had this happened? What the fuck?

Hours of nothing but panic passed, and he realized that it was gone. Everything. Just scattered scales on his arms, and, to his horror, the slits of gills on his lungs. Fuck. That was proof enough that he hadn't gone crazy. It had really happened. 

At least he was considerably less wet, just sweaty as fuck. 

"Snatcher?" Jeff asked, wincing at how much his voice shook. 

The ghost turned, taking in the pale, wet, terrified mess in front of him. "What the hell happened to you?"

Jeff laughed awkwardly. "Well, you know what you told me to do?"

All he got in response was a nod, the Snatcher's yellow eyes trained on him making him want to dig a hole to bury himself in.

"Well, I was walking, and I saw someone."

The Snatcher snapped to attention, "Describe them."

"I couldn't see them very well. They were wearing a long black hooded cloak, though. And hiking boots. That's all I could make out. Sorry."

That seemed to be all the information the Snatcher needed. "Fuck!" He growled, turning, but not before Jeff noticed the pure fear that flashed across his face. 

"Sna-"

"Go home. You are no longer needed for the day."

"But-"

"Why are you complaining?" He snapped. "You're getting to go home and rest early, this is a win for you."

"You seem-" Jeff started.

"Me? Why should you care about me?" He snapped. "Go home, Fabre."

Jeff nodded slowly. "O-okay." His voice shook again.

Chapter Text

“Run this by me again.”

‘Seriously, Bailey? It’s a foolproof plan!’

“A plan made by a fool, more like.”

Dean huffed, scrunching his eyebrows in frustration. With unnecessary emphasis, he repeated his, in his eyes, perfect plan. ‘I disguise myself with magic, we go into town, borrow-’

“Steal.”

‘ Borrow a horse, which we will then give back afterward. We take the horse, ride to the forest, I visit the… I visit what I want to visit and then we go back and boom, the horse is returned, no crime has been committed.’ Dean sat back, smugly watching his familiar. 

Bailey was not pleased. “You’re going to commit a crime in a disguise, tame and ride a horse in a matter of minutes, take it back to a location you haven’t been to in hundreds of years, visit something that will most definitely upset you - and by extension, me - and then come back and pretend nothing happened?”

‘Yep!’ A cheerful nod, a wide grin, and Dean hoped to get Bailey on board via sheer optimism and stupidity. 

“No offense, but that…” he trailed off, sitting more upright, ears twitching.

‘Are you-’

“Shh! Shut up!” Bailey hissed, crouching low. 

‘Wh- Bailey, I literally have no idea what you mean. Why?’

A crunch of leaves. Voices - incomprehensible words and sounds, but voices nonetheless. 

“Damn humans and their weak ears…” Bailey grumbled, eyes thunderous. “We need to go back-”

He was promptly cut off by the bushes surrounding them rustling and two faces appearing in the gap. Bailey blinked twice, vaguely recognizing them from… somewhere. Bailey moved immediately, darting off into the underbrush, expecting Dean to be following. To Bailey’s concern, however, Dean did not move. The voices continued, gaining a worried tone. Dean was just sat there, staring at the two people, a horrified look on his face. 

“Shit.” 

All previous faux-grumpiness and amusement gone, Bailey leaped into action, emerging from the foliage and grabbing Dean’s sleeve with his teeth, tugging hard. “Dean… come.. on…” he growled, yanking harder. The tug on his wrist seemed to be enough and Dean shook his head, almost as if waking from a trance. The two faces were closer, emerging, one with a hand outstretched. They were people, but their language… 

“No time! Let’s go!” Bailey turned tail and ran, darting in the direction of the cottage (he may have not been as much of a dumbass as Dean was, but he still had his moments of negligence. Strike one - leading the opposition to the house), Dean directly behind and the two strangers on their heels. One of them, the shorter one, broke immediately into a sprint, arms still outstretched, calling something in the unknown language. The taller one, Bailey noted, hesitated for a moment before pursuing. 

It was only when they were nearing the cottage that Bailey realized his mistake and switched directions in a panic, heading towards their second safe spot. The clearing. 

Maybe Bailey wasn’t too different from Dean, after all. 

---

Dean arrived before them- for that, he was grateful. It gave him just enough time to have an entire breakdown and then compose himself. Nice. He heard the footsteps of his pursuers just in time for him to scrub his face fiercely with a sleeve and spot Bailey lying in the shade of a statue - to an outsider, the cat was sleeping, but Dean saw the stiffness of his body and the slight gleam of his eyes. Bailey was keeping watch. 

The footsteps ground to a halt. He didn’t know much of the modern language, but he knew just enough to know that the first words out of the two people’s mouths were “What the fuck.”

Dean turned around, looking apologetic, and shrugged. ‘Art project?’ he winced, knowing how he stumbled over the words, and clearly, it had not been something that appeased the two.

To be fair, Dean would probably also be pretty freaked out if he pursued a stranger only to find statues of himself and Bailey in a random-ass clearing.

… If he was being real, the word “stranger” hurt more than it should. It was the truth - an objective fact. But… Dean couldn’t help wishing they remembered him as he stared into the faces of Jeff and Austin.

Jeff and Austin, alive and well. Jeff and Austin, hanging out together like they’d wished they could. Jeff and Austin, who viewed him as a stranger. Jeff and Austin, who Dean had watched die centuries ago.

Frankly, it was like a large wound being reopened, and he didn’t even need to look back to know that Bailey was feeling it as well.

Jeff opened his mouth and spoke, but the words were unfamiliar. If he concentrated, Dean could probably pick out “what” and “the” and “fuck” showing up, but that was it. 

‘I’ll be real,’ he interrupted. ‘I have no idea what you’re saying, Jeff.’

Evidently, by the horrified looks they’d donned, Jeff and Austin couldn’t understand him either. 

Dean drummed his fingers on his knee, trying to work out what Jeff was signing. They’d tried maps - no luck, Dean had no sense of orientation and he didn’t know the modern world enough to identify any landmarks - and tried basic translations which also was a bust. There was also this weird little rectangle thing that Jeff had been extremely dismayed was black. Whatever. Now they’d gone onto… charades? Dean, quite frankly, had not a fucking clue. A point to him, then to Jeff’s forehead, then a gesture to the two sat in front of him. Maybe You know us?

He nodded, then shrugged, pointing to Jeff and Austin and then conjuring, in the simplest terms, a sort of timeline. The line gleamed gold in the air, and both men seemed entranced for just a moment. With the simplest “illustrations” he could muster, Dean attempted to show them. At the end nearest his left hand showed a group of seven figures, with Dean, Austin, and Jeff highlighted. Then, shortly after, a red X over Jeff’s face. The real Jeff paled, glancing a tad uncomfortably at Austin for a moment. Dean continued- showing a dark figure and then, with trembling fingers, he drew a blood-red X over Austin’s face. 

His hands fell into his lap and he glanced away, unable to bear the looks given by Austin and Jeff. It was… pity, mixed with horror and apprehension. 

There was a beat of silence; Dean glanced up to see Jeff scanning the statues. His eyes landed on one - if Dean tried, he might work out which one - and Jeff seemed to clam up, eyes widening a fraction. Then, the two turned back to Dean and the awkwardness returned.

Austin and Jeff spoke with one another, still completely incomprehensible to Dean, carefully and slowly. They seemed to be coming to some realization, and as Dean watched Jeff point behind him briefly, he thought he might know.

They turned to him and Jeff began to sign again. Dean squinted, watching his former friend’s hands move to form a couple of shapes. We… help… you? Oh! Yes!! Dean almost lit up with excitement, glad he’d finally gotten through to them. ‘Bailey!’ he called, cheerfully, beckoning his familiar over. Bailey got up, stretched luxuriously, and padded over to sit beside Dean, watching the two men with cautious eyes. They stared back. Austin said… something… and Jeff nodded in agreement. Then they watched Dean expectantly.

Well.

How would one even sign “I want to visit your graves”? 

A clicking broke him out of his thoughts and he saw Austin clicking his fingers, before pointing to himself and saying something. Repeating the word. Ohh, he’s saying his name in their language, I suppose. Pointing at Jeff, Austin repeated the process. Better have a try. Dean pointed at Austin and attempted to recreate the sound as best as possible, and again for Jeff. Despite the looks, it seemed he’d been relatively successful, and the two chatted a little bit before Dean decided to try and teach them his name. ‘My name is Dean. Dean.’

What he didn’t get, however, was how Austin immediately doubled over and began wheezing with laughter, or why Jeff said (sort of. It was a tad butchered, but c’est la vie) his name with such incredulity. He just sat, mildly amused, watching them calm down and talk a little more. ‘Bailey? You okay?’ The cat had been surprisingly quiet the entire time, tail twitching in annoyance. 

“... Fine. Just concerned.”

‘What- why? They’re my friends, they’ll help us.’

“That’s just it. They’re not your friends, are they? They’re… look-alikes. Dean, you can’t get attached to them-”

‘-Please stop.’

“Dean…”

‘I said, stop , okay? I know they’re not actually… I know they’re not my friends. But just let me try with this. If anything, it breaks up the monotony.’ Dean growled, hands balled into fists. 

“I… fine. I’ll support this. But if anything happens, Dean, I swear to the Nether you’ll regret dragging me along.”

It had taken… a while, admittedly. But finally, Dean had gotten through to Austin and Jeff - sort of. He wasn’t entirely sure if they knew what he meant, but they seemed to understand that he wanted to go back with them. Now just to follow them into the town, find their horses and go back to the forest he’d started in. Great.

However, when they left the forest, Dean found himself disoriented. This was nothing like what he remembered - where previously this town had been paved with loose stones and houses built with wood, it was now industrialized. Being that it was midday, Dean expected people to be bustling, busy at work. But it was surprisingly quiet - doors shut, windows locked, and not many people around. Those that were out and about gave Dean weird looks before walking away, and Dean began to feel quite uncomfortable and out of place. 

Jeff and Austin, however, were very at ease, walking and chatting, occasionally making motions back to him or Bailey (who was walking sullenly along). They were completely chill with the strange metal masses that lined the streets, but Dean tried to keep his distance. Who knew what they’d do. 

Then, they stopped, pausing outside one painted in blue. Jeff pressed a button on… something (where had that come from??) small and the machine clicked alarmingly. Dean flinched back, expecting it to come to life and… well, he didn’t know. Attack?

Jeff and Austin, however, seemed to find this incredibly amusing, sharing looks.

2 hours before

‘Hey, man, wait up!’ Jeff called, reaching out a hand and racing after the figure. Austin hesitated outside the borders of the forest - this forest, while lighter and better tended than the one back at home, still reminded him of… the legend. Jeff was surprisingly enthusiastic when entering, Austin mused. Still, he joined his friend in the pursuit. 

Within minutes, Austin was thoroughly out of breath. Jeff, however, seemed fine. 

They’d seemed to have lost the man they were chasing - why are we even doing this? This guy seems to want to be left alone - but then Jeff came to a halt at the edge of a clearing. The stranger had his back to them and was scrubbing at his face with one sleeve. The cat was sleeping in the shade of a statue. The statues… “What the fuck.” Jeff deadpanned, staring. 

There were six of them; four strangers - a woman wearing a half-dress, half-suit, a man with long hair, another man with a bat of sorts and one guy that Jeff seemed to be actively not looking at. The other two… The other two looked just like himself and Jeff, albeit in older-style clothes. 

The strange man turned around, smiled awkwardly and said something - his accent was awful and he clearly did not fully grasp the language. ‘Art project?’

There was silence. The man seemed to be thinking about something; he looked pained.

Jeff shifted and then began to speak. “Okay. right, what is even going on? Who are these people and why the fuck do you have statues of-”

The man interrupted, but the sounds from his mouth were frankly incredibly disturbing.

A mix of eerie calls, short and long sounds like screeches, occasionally sounding almost musical. Both Jeff and Austin stared at the man, horrified. He blinked awkwardly and turned back towards the cat for a moment. 

They were all sat down, trying to communicate. Austin had tried to show the man a map, but he didn’t seem to understand map reading; they’d tried basic translations but it wasn’t in-depth enough to convey anything meaningful. Trying to show him a phone ended up in the phone dying almost immediately - “It was on 70%!” Jeff cried when the screen went black - and now Jeff was trying to play charades. “Okay. gotta make this easy.” He pointed at the man, who’d been fiddling a lot, then at his forehead, and then at himself and Austin. 

The man seemed to light up, nodding enthusiastically and gesturing to them both, before backtracking and shrugging. He waved his hands in the air and a thin golden stream appeared - for a moment, both Austin and Jeff were transfixed. They may have lived in a town where magic was common, but they didn’t typically see it that often, especially not in yellow. At one end, 7 small figures, looking like the statues. Then, as the line progressed, the figures were split apart, with red X shapes appearing over their faces. The man hesitated before showing Jeff’s - and Jeff immediately felt the blood drain from his face. Uncomfortably, he glanced over at Austin, who looked similarly distressed.

The line progressed until it was only Austin and the man’s figures left. With a shaking hand, the man drew an X over Austin’s face and dropped his hands, looking away. The resounding silence was deafening. 

Jeff made a sympathetic noise, before turning away from the statues - Austin hadn’t even realized he’d been looking at them again - and towards Austin. 

“I think...” Austin began, talking carefully, worried that any wrong or rushed sound would scare the man, “That we might just so happen to resemble somebody that this guy knew.”

Jeff, to his surprise, did not contest this. Instead, he nodded severely, watching how the man reacted to them talking. “I don’t think it was just a resemblance.”

“You’re saying?”

“I’m saying that we actually knew this guy. Whenever that style was in fashion-” Jeff indicated behind him with a thumb. “Was when we interacted with him.”

“So we knew that wacky language he’s talking in?”

“I guess so?” Jeff looked confused for a moment, before turning his body in an attempt to sign again. Clearly, the man (a friend of theirs?) did not understand sign language. However, some simple signs… An indication to them, joined hands, (he decided to forgo the actual sign for help) and then pointing to him. The man seemed to understand, to his surprise, and lit back up. He whistled something and the cat stretched, padding over and sitting next to them. The eyes of the cat were surprisingly human. In fact, they seemed to match the eyes of the man. “We really need to learn his name,” Austin commented, surprisingly calmly.

Austin clicked his fingers to ensure he had the man’s attention and then pointed at himself. “I’m Austin. Austin,” he said, making sure the man knew exactly who he was pointing to. Then, he pointed to Jeff. “This is Jeff. Jeff.” Jeff stared at him incredulously for a moment, but to both of their surprises, the man seemed to catch on. He nodded, pointed at Austin, and said ‘Oz-tan,’ then at Jeff ‘Yeth.’

They exchanged a look before Jeff shrugged. “Close enough, honestly. I’ll take Yeth.”

He then proceeded to point at himself, getting both Austin and Jeff alert. The sound was… a little incomprehensible, if they were honest. ‘Detch’ he said. 

“Wh- Ditch?” Jeff asked, staring blankly as Austin broke into laughter. “Fucking Ditch .” 

It took Austin a good two minutes to stop wheezing. 

“Y-y’know what?” he said, mainly to himself after he calmed down. “That’s fair enough. Ditch isn’t the weirdest name I’ve heard.”

“We do go to college.” Jeff conceded, chuckling a little. To his credit, Ditch - that was probably a mean nickname, but in their defense, it was the only name they had for him - seemed unperturbed and sat patiently while they laughed. 

They’d have to get used to the name.

Ditch turned to his cat and… began speaking? “Okay… fair enough, I guess some people do talk to their animals.”

“Yeah but the animals don’t typically talk back.”

“What the fuck.”

“Dude, it’s just like those wizards on the other side of town, right?”

“Hmm. True.”

They watched as the talk seemed to escalate a little and then calm back down. “Uh… Sweet. You good now?” Jeff flashed Ditch an awkward thumbs up. 

After a minor shock with the sound of a vehicle in the distance (seriously, this guy never seen one before?), they finally reached Jeff’s car. 

Ditch gave it a strange look. He picked up a stick and began drawing in the dirt. The two approached to find a simple drawing of a horse in the dirt. 

“He… still thinks people use horses?” Jeff stooped down and began trying to draw a response. Ditch just gave a confused look in response to the diagram. Jeff just sighed, then tossed Austin his keys. “Start it.”

Ditch nearly jumped out of his skin when the car started. He stared, wide-eyed, and began hurriedly talking to his spotted cat again - said cat seeming similarly alarmed.

Jeff opened the back door and motioned for him to get in. Ditch just stared again. Jeff sighed, and got in, motioning at Ditch afterward in hope that he would understand what he was trying to communicate.

The latter got in hesitantly, clearly cautious and unsure of how to approach the situation. Jeff reached over and closed the door after the cat thing hopped in with a suspicious look in Jeff’s direction.

“Austin, please start driving.”

The car began moving and Ditch straight up started screaming.

“Thomas, we need your help.”

“Hi Jeff, nice to see you, Jeff.”

Jeff sighed and motioned to Ditch. 

“Oh. I see.”

Thomas turned to Ditch and they began conversing in what must have been the language of hell itself.

-

‘Thank god, finally! Someone who can actually understand me!’

The guy, who had introduced himself as Thomas Sanders, smiled a little sympathetically. “Yeah, languages change.”

“So, you’re a mage too?”

“Yeah. I’m probably not as old as you, but I’ve been around for a while.” Thomas squinted at him. “How haven’t you caught up on the English language? Have you been in a cave for the past 600 years?”

Dean laughed awkwardly. “Actually, that’s pretty accurate.”

“ Oh. ” A long, awkward pause. “Do you want to be able to understand Modern English?”

“Yes. Very much so.”

-

Thomas had offered to give him a couch to sleep on, but that wasn’t what ended up happening. After Thomas and one of his familiars - he had five - had figured out a spell enabling Dean to be able to talk to people in Modern English and be able to understand it, Dean had… clarified some things and insisted upon heading into the forest he’d been looking for the whole time.

Austin and Jeff seemed very different types of anxious at that statement, but he brushed it off.

He was here to visit the damn graves, he was going to visit the damn graves. 

-

“Are you sure you’ll be able to find the graves? They’ve been unmaintained in a forest for 600 years, I don’t think it’ll be easy to seek out.” Bailey meowed, tail twitching uneasily.

“Yeah, that would be true,” Dean replied. “ If it were a normal forest. The entire area has magic saturated through it because-” His face fell. “Well. You know why.”

He did his best to regain his composure before continuing. “They’ll be easy for mages - more specifically me - to find. The area was marked with magic.” 

Bailey rolled his eyes and the duo stepped into the forest.

The change was immediate - the atmosphere grew cold and heavy, and a scent of death and something… something wrong, something unnatural, mingled with the more natural smells of a forest. Bailey’s fur immediately spiked, which normally amused Dean to no end (great teasing opportunities when your familiar’s tail could puff up to the size of a feather duster). But now… it just worried the pair. Dean frowned slightly, set his face and steeled his nerves. “Let’s go.”

Dean really wished he had faster reaction times - he’d stepped on something that felt uneven; a split second later Bailey leaped back, yelling about a trap; and before he could move Dean had been yanked up by a rope trap. 

“Whh-aaAAH!” He cried, trying desperately to rebalance himself, hands flashing golden with magic that was rapidly formed and put out. He could faintly hear Bailey, still on the ground, hissing and growling at something. Then, getting his bearings, Dean’s hands flared to life again, glowing gold, burning the bottom of the trap just enough to fall. 

He ended up falling roughly to the ground. Fuck, I didn’t think that through. The distinct feeling of wrongness around the area intensified. 

“What the hell…?” He muttered. He tried to run, but before he could make a second step a throwing knife was embedded in his sleeve, deep in the trunk of a tree. He tried to tug it out but it was buried too deep into the tree. Dean prepared to take it out using more forceful measures but-

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you unless you want another one embedded in your throat.” That voice was too familiar. 

He turned.

Holy shit.

He knew that person. This was the third person in a day. He knew his name, and he spoke it, begging the universe to let him have just this. 

“ How the hell do you know my name?!”

How had he become like this? All he could read from him was anger and hate and fear. A shocking amount of fear. 

But that was the man he knew, sure, dressed straight out of the victorian era, eyes not blue but a glowing yellow, and a bit transparent, but still the same person he’d buried beside Jeff and Ian.

The gold eyes went wide. “You’re… You’re the guy in the memories that aren’t mine.”

He remembered.

Holy shit, he remembered.

“You remember,” He spoke the name again. It was clearly his, and god damn it, Dean just wanted him to know Dean knew him. 

To his horror, he visibly flinched when Dean spoke his name. 

“I think,” He growled. “You need to explain to me who the hell you are, and why the hell I remember you.”

Chapter Text

“Listen. You are clearly trying to hide something from me. If you don’t tell me why I’m supposed to stay here, I am going to go out there and find him whether you like it or not.”

Jeff may have been acting like a bit of an ass, and he had to shove down the shreds of sympathy for the clearly anxious shadow. Because, frankly, he was done with this shit. Whenever he works in the cabin, it is usually only tasks that he knows are bullshit and the Snatcher always comes back looking a bit worse for wear. And looking exhausted.

And he’s done with this bullshit. Just tell him, okay? If it’s something genuinely concerning, Jeff would probably stay inside.

The shadow protests in a whirl of hands for a moment before pausing. It looks resigned for a moment before quickly scrawling into the notebook.

“The cult.”

His blood froze in his veins. “The what?!”

“They operate from the caves he told you to avoid. Try to kidnap him. Active for the first few years. An attempt at least once every few weeks. Went inactive for years until two years ago. Only went after him once every month or so. Regular raids again. He’s protecting us all.”

Jeff’s stomach twisted itself into knots, and it felt as if a black hole opened in his heart, sucking in all the warmth inside and leaving his entire body cold, yet still sweating. His mind was on double time, adding this cause for mistrust and fear and trauma to the list of things he knows about the ghost. 

And then the realization hit him like a goddamn bus. That’s where he is. Right now. Alone. Dealing with this.

“Why aren’t you all helping him?!” The distress was obvious in his voice but he can’t fucking help it. Snatcher could have a small army behind him but he’s alone. Fighting the people who fucking killed him, which is likely pretty emotionally taxing.

The Subconite raised a hand, and for a moment Jeff thought they were going to slap him. Which they did. But he couldn’t feel it. The semitransparent black hand passed through his face with ease. 

Oh. 

They couldn’t help. There was literally nothing any of them can do.

“Oh.” He whispered. There was nobody who could help.

Except for… maybe…?

He bolted for the door, not stopping when he heard the thump of the Subconite tripping behind him. He threw it open, and ran, stopping only to fumble out his phone, turn on his flashlight and find the footprints of the Snatcher before continuing to run. He frowned. The prints seemed oddly intentional. As if Snatcher had meant to be tracked. 

...He wanted to get the cultists to a specific place.

The trail of prints leads to a clearing, scattered with tree stumps, rocks, and sticks. No doubt a hazardous area to be in.

Before he can take in any other details, a weight suddenly slams into his side, sending him sprawling to the ground, and all he can take in are brightly glowing yellow eyes, wide with shock and fear.

Snatcher.

But before anything else could happen, a small group of black-cloaked people-just like the hooded man when that bullshit went down-rushed into the area. Jeff saw a flash of fear in the glowing eyes before the ghost turned and cleared the hollow in two incredibly graceful leaps, covering what must have been at least 18 feet. 

He couldn’t do anything but watch as the ghost kicked ass too incredibly to be anything less than mesmerizing. It was a series of twists and dodges and acrobatics that shouldn’t be possible on their own, let alone improvised and using trees of all things. He almost forgets its fighting and not dancing until the ghost straight up throws a whole ass guy over his shoulder in a move that definitely shouldn’t be as attractive as it was. 

Even outnumbered, he clearly had the upper hand.

That was until one of the cultists noticed Jeff in his spot sitting there and not being at all useful.

The ghost’s upper hand ended in a pointed finger and a “Look! He brought a friend!”

Because suddenly there were three cloaked beings rushing towards him. 

He did the only thing he could think of, grabbed a stick and hoped that it would be good enough against a group way better armed than them. 

It wasn’t.

He swung, hitting one who seemed more annoyed than anything. The one beside her grabbed it at the stick went up in flames.

A mage. Shit. He was fucked.

“Snatcher!”

There was no sight more relieving than a pair of yellow eyes in that moment.

The ghost drove the mage one off him with a few well-placed punches, before turning to the others. But Snatcher seemed to have forgotten about the whole mage thing.

Several dozen tiny silver spikes formed at the cultist’s fingertips, and Jeff didn’t have enough time to react before the soft fabric of a suit jacket and the abnormal texture of what appeared to be someone’s weird-ass hands enclosed upon him, jerking him out of the path of most of the spikes.

Most of them.

An uncontrolled scream of pain tore through his lungs as some tore through the flesh of his arm and hand with ease. 

The Snatcher pushed himself off Jeff, wincing. He froze at the sight of the silver points; his eyes narrowed before he leaped after the cloaked figures with a howl of rage. 

The next thing he heard was a scream of pure pain tearing through the woods. He twisted his head to see, whimpering at the new hot flashes of increased pain that came with it, and nearly vomited when he saw it.

One of the cultists had a huge hole in his cloak, frayed and moth-eaten at the edges. Underneath it was an expanse of raw rotting flesh, with dark edges exposed to the world and torn and shredded tissues of shockingly darkened muscle exposing a tiny amount of shockingly white bone.

The cultists took several fearful looks at the ghost, slumped over on the ground, and ran for it.

At that moment it hit Jeff that it was that spirit who had done that, who was somehow able to cause flesh to rot away in seconds.

“Jeff?” He asked hesitantly, standing. He pulls off his suit coat. “I’m going to pick you up with this and take you back to the cabin. There I can bandage your cuts. Is that ok?”

He lets out a whimper that was supposed to be the word “yes” and nodded, even more burns of pain flashing from the constant pain in his shoulder.

The expression on Snatcher’s face is one of anxiety as he gently wraps Jeff’s body in the coat and wound his arms protectively around him, carrying him. Jeff could get behind someone carrying him protectively more often. Being in these arms was warm and safe, and it was clear that the ghost was avoiding contact with the injured arm, which he appreciated.

He was pretty sure he passed out at some point because he woke up to the jolts of pain from the ghost trying to pull his shirt off. 

“Sorry. I didn’t want to wake you up, but I needed this off to clean and bandage your arm.”

He silently raised his arms, allowing the shirt to be pulled off him, not thinking about the problem that this might raise until the golden eyes flicked down towards his now exposed arm and there was a soft touch along the blue scales. 

“...We’re gonna talk about this later.”

He can only mumble out a thank you.

Wincing as each spike was pulled out of his arm, he elected to focus on the anxious look on Snatcher’s face and the uncharacteristic gentle touches.

“They’re all out.” 

Jeff jumped slightly at the sudden touch of a damp cloth to the cuts, an unexpected extra burn coming with it that made him whimper. Guilt jolted through the Snatcher’s expression, a wave that quickly blended into the anxious look.

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts.”

This really was out of character for the Snatcher.

Because the Snatcher is a character. The Snatcher is a persona, and it just took a dozen and a half silver nail things in his arm to be able to break through to whoever is using the persona.

What was it that the Subconites called him? Cardinal. Jeff’s calling him Cardinal now. 

He broke out of his thoughts to see that a layer of bandages had appeared on his arm, shockingly well bound and organized despite Cardinal’s trembling fingers.

“Do you need anything?”

It might be a bit weird and pathetic, but Jeff honestly just wants someone to hold him right now. 

“Stay?” He slapped the empty side of the bed -he can’t remember having seen it before, Cardinal must have built it recently- with his good hand and hoped the ghost got the message. 

He silently slid into the empty side of the bed, instantly giving Jeff all he needs to throw himself across the bed and octopus onto the side of a ghost who could probably kill him if he wanted. But he won’t. 

The tangle of limbs that is Jeff attaching himself to Cardinal’s side seemed to be enough of a positive signal to get the ghost to move his arms around him and bury the injured man into his chest in a tight embrace. One of Jeff’s hands move up to tangle in the fluffy feather-like stuff around his neck -holy shit, this stuff is soft- and the soft noise that escaped the other is a sign he doesn’t have any protests towards the touch.

He fell asleep against a specter’s chest, and it was great.

Jeff thought he had been getting through his walls.

He’d thought wrong.

Apparently, the hours in the same bed wound around each other were too much for the ghost and now he needed to get rid of Jeff before Jeff could get through those walls more.

He fucked up.

A sheet of old looking paper was slammed in front of him onto the table, familiar calligraphy dancing across the page.

He hadn’t been able to contain his anger at that moment. “What the hell?! I get my arm fucked up coming after your ass because I cared and you want to make another-”

He cut himself off as he looked down and actually read the fancy handwritten contract. His blood went cold, and he wasn’t able to hide the tremble of fear and sadness in his voice.

“You want me to leave.”

The emotion-filled tone from the previous night was replaced by a familiar cold monotone. “All your contracts will be terminated. You will no longer have an obligation to be here. Understand.” He held a pen out with a force that made Jeff flinch. “Now sign.”

He desperately wanted to protest, but the words of caring and actual desire to say caught in his throat. He took the pen and scrawled down his name with trembling fingers, willing himself to hold in tears until he was outside.

The ghost gave a grunt and literally pushed him towards the door.

He wiped the tears from his eyes. Wait, this wasn’t because of that, was it? It was because his arm was fucked up because that had happened here, while he was in Cardinal’s presence and now the spirit perceived that as Jeff’s presence in the forest being an active danger to himself.

Oh god, that idiot. It wasn’t his fault. He’d tried. He was the person who tore the cultists off of him. He was the one dealing with the pressure to keep two people safe instead of one. He had given the person who’d hurt him injuries that would take incredible amounts of time to recover from. While Jeff sat there and did jack shit.

He wished he could tell him that. It wasn’t his fault. Jeff didn’t blame him.

...Maybe he could.

The only thing Cardinal had said was that Jeff was not obligated to come back. It was not mandatory. He did not need to. But he had never said anything about Jeff never coming back if he wanted to.

Maybe it would be easier now that it was his choice. They were equals.

Now was the time to break down these walls. 

Chapter Text

Jeff lost himself in his thoughts, wandering along the hiking trail. It hadn’t been two hours since he’d been essentially kicked out by a certain ghost, and as the sun rose, he was still wandering one of the less familiar trails as he plotted a way to get through to him. 

It was still hard to see through the dimly illuminated forest, not to mention he wasn’t paying that much attention. So he was stumbling over the roots and stones littering the uneven forest floor, and it wasn’t exactly shocking when he tripped over a root.

It was surprising when he found he didn’t notice the huge ass cave opening not more than 12 feet away. 

Wait.

Cave.

Fuck.

He stared at the cave, frozen. It seemed natural, other than the symbol carved into one side, six eyes in a circular formation. He couldn’t see anything within it other than vague shapes, but it maybe seemed like a good idea to get the hell out of there.

And, of course, because the universe fucking hates him, he had an assignment due at noon the next day and didn’t get a wink of sleep.

“Jeff?” At Austin’s words, his head jolted off where he was leaning against the wall. He tried to focus on his friend’s face, but his vision blurs and he has to physically force his eyelids open. “...You don’t look too great, dude.”

“M done now.” He mumbled. “Just need to print. An’ turn it in to professor what’s his face.” He nearly falls over when he stands up. “Austiiiiiin? Will you pleeeease go to the library wif me?”

Austin gives him a small smile. “I don’t think you should be going anywhere on your own.” 

The other basically has to drag Jeff to the car, holding his laptop. He can barely keep his eyes open, so he doesn’t protest to Austin insisting upon driving.

Twenty minutes later, Jeff was laying with his head on a table in the library, waiting for the assignment, currently printing.

“Uh, Jeff?” Austin started, causing Jeff to lift his head off the table a bit. “I probably should have told you earlier, but this assignment is due tomorrow.”

Jeff slammed his head on the desk and started crying.

After sympathy Wendy’s and about 10 hours of sleep, the two pushed the door open, Jeff holding a paper that had now been edited by Not Sleep-Deprived Jeff. 

Austin held the door for him, and they both walked down the lecture hall, side by side.

Austin turned in his first, the balding middle-aged professor accepting it with a smile. Jeff did the same, and his entire body froze at the sight of the same six-eyed symbol on the back of the professor's hand.

The man noticed his gaze and let out a low chuckle. “A little memento I have from wilder days.”

Jeff forced a laugh. “Hahaha, yeah.”

He left the room quickly after that, Austin having to jog after him. “Are you alright?”

“Absolutely fine!”

“...What happened to your arm?” A simple and reasonable question from Austin caused Jeff’s mind to go blank for a second before he mumbled out a response.

“I tripped and fell on a bike rack last night while I was coming back from 7-11 and cut my arm. I had to get stitches and that’s why I came back so early.”

“You had to get stitches? And you didn’t tell me?!” Austin’s eyes were wide and he added: “Or anyone?“

Jeff waves his good arm in the air. “It’s fine, I’ve gotten stitches before. No big deal.”

“It kinda is!”

Jeff waves the injured arm, displaying it’s full functionality and wincing slightly. “It’s completely fine. See?”

Austin doesn’t seem convinced, but he does change the subject. “Hey, are you down to get junk and watch a movie tonight? Maybe play games?”

Jeff barely processed his friend's words when his sight was caught on the door to a storage room. A door with the same symbol that was on his professor’s hand and on the cave.

“Yeah! That sounds great!” His mind and his eyes are on the door. “I, uh, gotta do something really quick.”

Austin nodded. “Okay. Is it fine with you if I go wait in the car?”

Actually, that’s great for him. Thank you, Austin. “Yeah!”

The other leaves and Jeff approached the room, trying the doorknob. It’s unlocked. Jeff takes a deep breath and wills the room to be full of normal janitor things.

He opened the door.

There’s a staircase.

He stepped onto the first step and swings the door shut, beginning to descend the stairs. 

...So much for normal janitor stuff.

Every item in this room is at least somewhat ominous. In one corner, there is a heap of black robes. Familiar black robes. There are crates upon crates of glass bottles. Shelves with stacks of books and odd gemstones, along with bottles of strange herbs along the walls, next to an odd gray sparkling lump that, for no good reason, he doesn’t want to go near. On the shelf is a display of ornate rings, as well as small stone and wood animals. And in the center of the other end of the room is a door, which he discovers is locked.

Approaching the glass bottles, he finds that the majority have dried, crusted liquid on the bottoms or edges, the color of blood. AKA, something he definitely doesn’t want to think too much about.

The books are all leatherbound, several made out of something he’s worried is human skin-he doesn’t touch those- and all seemingly blank or in a language he’s unfamiliar with. 

The gems appear, for the most part, ordinary, and so do the tiny carvings and rings, though the rings look expensive. He might be able to pay off his student loans with just a few of those…

He doesn’t investigate the herbs much. They’re all also in an unfamiliar language.

The lump goes untouched. Being near it makes him feel weird.

He really, really wants to leave. He’s looked at everything he can, and therefore, he does.

But he can’t help but wonder what is on the other side of that door.

Chapter Text

Knocking at a door wasn’t exactly something that should take 15 solid minutes of standing there and wondering if it was a good idea. 

But if you’re standing at the door to a log cabin owned by an actual motherfucking ghost, who you honestly have no idea what to make of any more, then it’s probably not the worst idea.

Honestly, what could Jeff, or anyone, make of Cardinal? Cardinal, not the Snatcher, because the Snatcher is a mask, and he knows that as a fact now, and he’d die to get to know the person under it. People called him a psychopath, yet if he was one, like hell would he have even bothered to try and protect Jeff, let alone bandage his arm, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have stayed and slept next to him when Jeff asked him to. The man was an enigma, and all Jeff could guess was that he’s trying to protect himself. Which Jeff had now witnessed he had a pretty good reason to want to do. 

He wanted to break through to him. In the few moments he’d seen it, he’d seen something wonderful, in the gentle fingers that had bandaged his arm and the look on his face that Jeff had seen in the minutes before he fell asleep, the arm that had softly wound its way around his waist.

He wanted to befriend that person, whoever they were. Which was going to be one hell of a task if he’d ever seen one. 

So he knocked. 

Several seconds of pure worry passed until the door cracked open, and all Jeff could see was one very confused glowing yellow eye. 

“I said you could leave.” His voice was gruff, but it’s forced. Jeff could hear the thick layers of exhaustion under his tone.

Jeff smiled awkwardly. “You said I was no longer obligated to be here. I am here because I want to be.”

The ghost was silent for several moments. “You’re weird as hell, please get help.” The door didn’t shut. In fact, it swung open the entire open, and Jeff was met with the sight of Cardinal the least put together he’d ever seen him. Deep bags under his eyes were a clear sign of sleeplessness. His hair was unkempt, tufts sticking up in every possible direction. He wasn’t wearing the coat or vest, something Jeff didn’t know was possible, and-oh, his top two buttons were undone, don’t stare-and it might have been just him but the feathery mane seemed slightly off-colored and droopy.

In other words, he looked like a pure mess. 

Jeff quietly stepped inside, the creaking of the floor making him wince. The spirit’s gaze followed him inside, watching his every movement in a way that made him wonder if this was a good idea again. 

Cardinal silently motioned him over to the table, pulling a chair out offering him the seat. Jeff took the prompting. He watched as Cardinal pulled a chair out, and to his surprise, pulled a small black cat off the chair, which curled up on his lap the second after he sat down.

“You have a cat.” 

The spirit nodded in reply, stroking the cat’s neck, who purred happily, rubbing its face on his hand. “Yes.”

“What’s his name?” Jeff asked as the fluffy black cat mewed up at the two of them. 

Cardinal hesitates for a moment, hand stalling on the cat’s head, causing the fluffy black creature to boop his nose against the scaled hand. Cardinal looked down, smiling softly. “Joey.” Joey looked pleased as Cardinal resumed petting him.

“He’s adorable. Can I pet him?” 

The ghost nodded. “Be my guest.” Jeff reached out, beginning to scratch the cheek of the cat, who purred softly and seemed to smile. Cardinal chuckled. “Yeah, you’re getting all the pets today, bud.”

Jeff scooted closer, wrapping an arm around the back of the chair to more effectively give the kitty all the pets he deserved. Which, of course, was impossible. The kitty deserved all the pets and cuddles in the world, one physically could not give him all it deserved. But, alas, he could try. 

He looked up, only then noticing the ghost was staring at him, wide-eyed, mouth open slightly, seemingly a bit pale. And he was definitely leaning into his arm, as much of his shoulder had become pressed to Jeff’s arm, which it definitely wasn’t originally.

It seemed he had one whole touch starved ghost boy on his hands.

Cardinal shook his head. “So. Uh.” He mumbled. “Why did you come back?”

Jeff bit his lip. “I find it hard to believe what people say about you. It doesn’t add up. You wouldn’t have stayed when I asked you to if you were really a psychopath. The way you act in general doesn’t make sense.”

“You’re not telling me something.” Jeff didn’t reply. Cardinal was absolutely right, of course, but that didn’t change that Jeff really didn’t want him to know about it. He might be able to get closer to him. It’s a dick move, but he doesn't want to ruin this by telling him how he really found out. 

“What am I saying? I have told you nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Cardinal muttered.

Jeff bit his lip. Somehow that made him feel worse. 

Yellow eyes met his, and it was at that second that Jeff realized that Cardinal's head was resting on his arm, smiling, one cheek squashed into his arm. “Do you plan to keep coming here?” The ghost asked.

Jeff nodded, shifting his arm in a way he hoped was more comfortable. Cardinal lifted his head, and Jeff decided it might be for the best if he ignored the spark of disappointment in the back of his mind. 

“Well then, I feel like I should teach you to defend yourself.” The spirit lifted the cat off his lap. His eyes flicked downward, suddenly filled with anxiety. “I’m still responsible if you die.”

“No-”

Cardinal sighed. “I’m not just saying that I’ll see myself guilty. Everyone will blame me for your death or disappearance.”

Jeff fell silent for a moment. Yeah, that made sense actually. How many deaths had this ghost been blamed for? And what would happen if Jeff had an encounter with the cult on his own?  “O-kay. I will take you up on that offer.”

“Punch me.”

Jeff turned away from gazing at the forest scenery. Cardinal has insisted they leave the cabin and try to make progress with this outside, which, fair enough,  “What?”

Cardinal pushed his chin up slightly, causing their eyes to meet. “Try to punch me. I need to know where you’re at.”

He got into what he hopes is a good stance and threw a punch into the other’s chest with all the force he could muster.

The ghost didn’t even flinch. 

“Okay. You have work to do.” 

Jeff crossed his arms. “It wasn’t that bad!”

A bemused expression crossed Cardinal’s face. “Okay. If it wasn’t that bad, why don’t I show you what I could do if you were my enemy?”

“Sure!” Wait.

He threw his punch again. A hand gripped his wrist before he even made contact with Cardinal’s chest, and before he knew it a sudden heavy force brushed his legs out from under him and he fell backward. 

An arm wound around his back, jolting him away from the ground at the last second. He found himself staring up at Cardinal, who’d caught him in a dip. 

Shit. He looked really fucking pretty. Wait. What?

That was a mental rabbit hole he should go down on a later date. Or maybe never.

The ghost pulled him back to his feet. “Alright. Show me your punching stance.”

It was essentially a mimicry of what he’d seen on TV, but hey, he was trying. Cardinal sighed, taking several steps towards him before Jeff ended up jumping at the sensation of fingertips on his back.

“Stand up straight.” His voice was actually really smooth and comforting when he wasn’t trying to be terrifying. He should narrate audiobooks, or maybe Spotify ads. Or Jeff’s life. That worked too.

“Legs no wider than your shoulders. One ahead of the other.” Jeff shifted to what Cardinal wanted him to do.

Hands gripped his shoulders, pulling them backwards and squeezing them, and Jeff exhaled. He… liked this way more than he should. 

“Relax your shoulders.” Cardinal’s entire person was suddenly pressed against his back and Jeff’s entire body went stiff. The scaled hands wrapped around his wrists, pulling them apart and pushing them down. “Now you can actually see.” The spirit pulled away. 

Cardinal stepped in front of him. “Alright. Punch me.”

Even Jeff could tell it was better and had more force behind it, but Cardinal’s approving look might’ve made his entire life. “That’s progress.”

The evening passed quickly, Jeff and Cardinal agreeing he should leave before nightfall. 

The ghost looked generally better as he saw Jeff out the front door. A small, soft, cute smile seemed to be permanently glued to his face, and Jeff would rather throw himself off a cliff into a pit of poisonous spikes than see it taken away.

“I’ll see you soon?” He sounded so hopeful. Jeff wouldn’t have been able to think of saying no if he wanted to, and he sure as hell didn’t want to.

“Absolutely.” It was said with confidence that shocked him, but thinking, yeah, that sort of confidence described exactly how much he wanted to come back.

“I’ll see you around.” A strange look crossed Cardinal’s face, probably having something to do with the fact it was honestly impossible for the ghost to see Jeff around.

Jeff took a deep breath, a crazy idea having just popped into his head. He took a deep breath and closed the two steps worth of space between the two, pulling Cardinal into a hug.

The ghost froze. Maybe this was a bad idea. In a second, those thoughts vanished as he could feel Cardinal’s entire body relax against him, head slumping into his shoulder, and sighed. Cardinal returned the embrace and Jeff pulled him closer, swaying them both slightly.

After a moment, Cardinal was the one to pull away, seeming slightly embarrassed. 

“...Thanks.”

Chapter Text

A scaled hand rested gently upon Jeff’s forearm, thumb running along the side of his arm.

Jeff’s heart jolted. Cardinal didn’t just instigate contact. He’d found the scales when he’d needed to bandage Jeff’s arm. Which likely meant that Cardinal decided it was time to talk to him about this.

“Can I roll this sleeve up?”

He nodded, not looking as the fabric was tugged upwards, exposing something he’d successfully hidden for months.

He forced himself to look, not seeing anything more than his forearm in the grip of the spirit, whose other hand was hovering over the scaled patch on his forearm and the small webbed fin protruding from it.

“You can touch.”

He couldn’t help but smile as Cardinal’s fingers brushed across the dark blue patch eventually trailing to the edge of the fin. Cardinal pulled it up away from Jeff’s arm and-oh, he hadn’t realized the fin was that big. Huh.

“How long ago did this happen?”

Jeff looked up, though Cardinal’s eyes remained trained on the scales. “The first few showed up just after I started coming here. My arm was really itchy and when I accidentally broke skin this was there.” He winced at the layer of guilt that instantly flooded Cardinal’s face. “It’s not your fault.”

“It might be.” Cardinal’s tone sent spikes into his heart.

“We don’t know that.”

The ghost fell silent. “I don’t know how, but I think you are like me. I wasn’t born like this either. It happened a lot younger, but it happened similarly to what you described.”

“Oh.” He fell into the same silence. If Cardinal was right, it would make sense that he’d blame himself for it. But it wasn’t. Nothing the ghost had done could have lead to it.

Besides, he’d slowly grown accustomed to the slightly fishy (pun intended) changes.

“Can I look at yours?”

Cardinal gave him a strange look.

Jeff motioned with his free hand. “Your hand.”

The ghost silently laid his hand across Jeff’s lap.

He hadn’t noticed this before, but though the top part of his hand, extending into both sides of his arm, was covered in dark purple, almost black shiny scales, the bottom part was nothing but thick dark gray leathery skin.

“It’s really beautiful,” Jeff commented, causing Cardinal’s head to jerk up.

“What?”

Jeff laughed slightly. “The scales. They have a nice color.”

He was quiet for a second. “Thanks.” Cardinal’s gaze flicked over the other’s body. “Do you have anything else?”

“Gills.”

Cardinal blinked. “You have gills.”

Jeff nodded, pulling the neck of his shirt down enough to expose the slits of his gills, surrounded by scattered scales.

“Oh.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, it's a bit weird to say that I have gills.” He replied.

The ghost seemed to smile slightly. “I have a feather mane, you’re allowed to have gills.” The smile faded quickly. “Do they affect your breathing in any way?”

Jeff frowned. “How’d you guess? It is hard to breathe sometimes.”

The ghost’s gaze flicked downwards, face growing solemn. “We aren’t built to have this stuff. It has its advantages, and it has its disadvantages. I lose feeling in my hands sometimes because I’m not meant to have scales. Take a closer look at the tips of my fingers.”

He took the hand back in his, only then noticing the small slit in the tip of his finger. “Watch your fingers.” The ghost muttered, and the sharp tips of curved claws appeared, along with a small trail of blood.

“Wha-Dude! It’s making you bleed!”

The ghost blinked “...Yes. I was demonstrating.”

Jeff sputtered. “Wha-But-That’s still not okay!” Relief rushed through him as the claws disappeared back into his fingertips. “Okay, first of all, don’t do anything that hurts yourself if there’s an option not to. Second of all, aren’t you dead? You can bleed?”

Cardinal shrugged. “I think I am functionally similar to a living person. I bleed and I think I’ve broken a few bones. I just don’t need to eat or drink and I can’t feel things as vividly.”

“That is an overcomplicated way of saying yes,” Jeff commented, and Cardinal burst into laughter. Warmth burst in his heart. Fuck, he wanted to keep that sound safe. The sunset was casting waves of golden light onto him and he looked really pretty. Jeff could probably sit here and just look at him for ages.

Minutes passed. It took him longer than it should have-his eyes were pretty, a color like the sun, like the beams of light from the sunset, like yellow autumn leaves, and he could have sat there for hours just watching them.

But Cardinal was staring at him too. And he realized it before Jeff, when the sky had gone dark, who only realized when the ghost’s eyes went wide and his head snapped back, face going red.

“Ah-fuck-sorry!” Cardinal muttered, hiding his face in his hands. “It’s kinda dark now, and it’s probably gonna be really hard to get home. You could stay in the cabin if you want.”

“Wait, you serious?”

Cardinal looked up, confused. “Yeah…? Do you actually want to?”

“I want to very much.”

Chapter Text

“I thought I told you to leave.”

Dean’s gaze jerked upward, ending up staring into the glowing, terrifying, yellow eyes of someone who was once a close friend, perched on top of a tree close enough to touch Dean if he wanted to, but still above him. “I wanted to come back.”

Damn, this ghost stared right through him. “I told you to leave. I own this place. You don’t get to be here.” 

For a moment, he forgot they were once friends, and bristled, “My friend’s graves are here! Why should I be afraid of you?”

Bailey smacked his ankle with a paw. “Uhhh, dude! People are probably afraid of him for a reason!” 

Dean ignored him, electing to focus on how unimpressed the Snatcher looked. How dare he? Dean is a fucking magic motherfucker! 

And then the ghost reached out and picked Dean up with ease. Oh. Huh. Maybe he should be a bit scared of him.

And then he fell back to the ground ungracefully.

“Wait!” Dean cried, desperate. “Can I at least explain how I know you?” 

The eyes of the ghost roam over him with an analytical gaze. “You have five minutes. Go.”

“You expect me to believe that you knew me in a previous life? Come up with a better lie.” The ghost’s expression didn’t chance. 

“I’m a mage!” Dean huffed, digging his foot into the ground. “I’ve been around long enough to know you for four!”

Snatcher-that’s what he went by now, right?-pulled out one of his knives. “I’ll consider your story. For now, I recommend you leave.”

Back to staying with Thomas, it seemed. 

“And it sucks! Because they don’t remember any of it! Even though they believe me - barely - they don’t remember anything about me , and I know it creeps them out when I know something about them I shouldn’t.”

Dean might need a therapist. That didn’t stop him from feeling a little better after venting to Thomas. 

“Dean, have you ever considered a therapist?” Patton prodded gently, perched on Thomas’s lap. 

He scoffed, leaning back in the chair. “Nah. I’ve got Bailey. Anyway, it’s so awful. And he won’t even listen to me if I try and explain anything-”

Thomas frowned, thinking. “Well… Have you ever tried just talking to this guy? Properly, I mean. Sounds like you two aren’t exactly meeting on the best of terms each time.”

“What.”

“Yeah! Just… Get into a situation where he’s at ease, try talking to him about it. Tell them about you. I bet it feels weird for them - if what you’ve said is how they really feel and they’ve somehow forgotten you, then in their eyes you’re… a stranger, basically. How would you feel about a stranger showing up and knowing a lot of stuff about you?” He smiled softly, shrugging. 

Dean paused. That was…. True. Hm.

“I’m not completely sure what this guy is like right now, but that’s worth a try.” Patton agreed. 

“I don’t know. He’s really hostile all the time, and it’s hard to know what to say when he used to be so soft and sensitive.” 

Roman clicked his beak. “That’s rough buddy.”

“Roman! Not helpful!” Thomas scolded, linking his fingers. “If he’s… changed this much, maybe it’s best to alter how you view him. Sure, you can appeal to how he used to be, but also respect the changes and attempt to rekindle the friendship that way. If it doesn’t work out, maybe it’s best to give him space again.”

He pouted, looking pleadingly down at Bailey, who simply shook his head. “No, I agree. I’m not having you get hurt by continuing to try for this.” 

“On that note!” Logan chirped from on top of a bookshelf. “There was a new archive of newspaper articles from the seventies that Thomas was interested in investigating and we were wondering if you would like to join us.”

Bailey seemed to light up immediately, an expression half-copied by Dean. “Of course! It’d give us a bit of a better grasp on how this place has gone on, you know?”

Logan fluttered off his perch, seemingly pretty satisfied by the validation. “If I’m correct, Thomas has a previous commitment with a friend later tonight, so it may be a good idea to head out now.”

Bailey was already on his paws, gesturing with his head, clearly eager to go. 

Roman groaned dramatically, feathers fluffed. “Merlin’s beard, not ANOTHER nerd. One’s bad enough!” 

Thomas smiled slightly. “Logan’s right, I do have to be somewhere tonight. Besides, if we go, we can pick up another fantasy for you.”

That seemed to satisfy Roman enough to where the bird was okay with being taken to the library.

They picked up another friend of Thomas’s, Dave, on the way there. Dean was still not used to.. Cars. Dave, when the introductions and small talk had passed, had found this hysterical, and spent a good portion of the ride in tears, much to Bailey’s disdain. Dean, however, did not mind, calm enough to crack a few jokes about it. 

The library was huge, another floor upon the current, and Dean couldn’t help but stare at the rows upon rows of books that looked colorful and well bound. There hadn't been something like this while he was alive, hell, there hadn’t been a single book this high quality. 

The red bird started pouting the second Thomas said he’d be looking at the archives first, but Dave offered to take Roman to explore the fiction section as the other two investigated the old clippings. 

Bailey’s eyes had almost immediately begun sparkling with excitement the moment he saw the books - his library had been… limited, at best. With a pleading look Dean’s way, the cat bounded off after Dave and Roman to do… ‘research’. 

A gray-ish panel in the wall slid open, and Thomas stepped inside. Not knowing what else to do, Dean followed, watching a circle in the wall light up and the box suddenly shudder. 

“It’s an elevator. It takes you down.”

A spark of relief flickered to life as the door slid back open, and the duo stepped back out, Dean following Thomas to a pair of old looking computers along a wall.

An older looking woman in a simple gray dress and rectangular glasses rushed over. “Are you two here to look at the new archived newspapers?

“Yes, ma’am, we are!” Thomas replied, immediately falling into the familiar polite-awkwardness of an introvert interacting. 

She regarded them with a thinly veiled caution, but they seemed to pass whatever test she was conducting; the woman turned and gestures with a hand for them to follow, beginning to explain a little bit about the archives.

She guided them through getting to the database, and left to go help some younger looking teenagers.

“So… Where do we start?” Dean asked.

Thomas pursed his lips for a moment, before moving towards one computer. “Just go with whatever. I just wanna see what they have.” He responded.

He began scrolling through the pages, waiting until something caught his eye. 

Was that…?

He clicked the link. It was him. The newspaper was from 1973, and it was talking about...

...He’d been arrested? And he was going to prison? For- what?!

He’d never do that…

He would never do that.

But he was a different person, literally. He had died and been reborn, and had somehow gotten his ass corrupted. So maybe these accusations weren’t completely impossible, as sick it made him feel to even consider that.

But he’d never do something like that, would he?

It had to be wrong. This… technology - it had to be meddled with, fabricated. There was no way.

He scrolled again, further down the pages, deeper and deeper into articles. Two more on the arrest. A gap, with almost no information on… He’d gotten years of prison time, but was bailed out after one year and went missing. 

Dean buried his face in his hands, sweaty palms sticking to his face. Was this all true? Would he really have done something like that?

This was wrong. This was so, so wrong. Not even just as a concept - though the thought of him doing something like… this was shattering - but as a feeling. Something was wrong, something was off, and it was bad. 

“You alright?” Thomas looked over to Dean, clearly concerned

Numbly he shook his head. 

“What did you f-” The other person glanced over his shoulder. “Oh. You don’t have to tell me specifically, or at all, but has something like… that happened to you?”

Dean shook his head. “No! No, it’s just…” He swallowed thickly. “I think… You know my.. Old friend?”

Visibly confused and trying to connect the dots, Thomas slowly nodded. 

“I think, uh, he’s sorta this guy?”

“What.”

Dean wrung his hands. “I maybe sorta met him while wandering the forest and he’s maybe sorta a ghost and a corrupted mage now?” He admitted slowly and awkwardly.

“ You didn’t mention this? You didn’t mention you knew and met the Snatcher?!” The other hissed, one hand on his forehead. “You didn’t tell me he was a ghost, you didn’t tell me you met a ghost, you didn’t tell me he was a psychopathic murderer?”

Dean stood. “He’s not a-”

Taking a deep breath, Thomas continued. “Maybe he wasn’t like that back then, but he is now.”

“No! Nobody changes this much , not in that way! I knew him- I know him, Thomas, he wouldn’t-” 

“You knew him, Dean. I’m sorry - but the proof is written right there. He’s not the same.” Thomas trailed off, hesitating long enough for Logan to fly over and chirp something quiet in his ear. 

Dean didn’t look, didn’t pay attention. This can’t be right. He knew… the Snatcher, or whatever name he went by now. He would never - could never. They’d even joked about it, at the time, that he was the least capable of them all to do the job they’d been assigned to do. There was no way.   

He turned back to the computer, continuing to scroll, not replying. Until something caught his eye, an analysis by a criminal psychologist.

“Look at this!”

Thomas stared at him. “You know nobody believes that, right? That guy was considered a joke after that was published. People literally died going into that forest.”

“Maybe it wasn’t him! It’s gotta have been something else - please, Thomas, you’ve gotta trust me on this. Why not…” His eyes lit up. “Why not come with me to meet him? Then you’ll see!”

“That’s an awful idea.”

“Come oooooon! If you meet him, you’ll see.”

Thomas backed away slightly. “I’d rather wait another 500 or so years before I die.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “He didn’t kill me, Thomas. That’s got to count for something.”

It was at that moment Dave decided to enter to see the two mages arguing. “Guys? Roman’s getting bored, so… I can come back later if you’re busy?” Said bird was currently perched on Bailey’s head, nipping at the cat’s ear, trying to garner a reaction.

Stepping back and breathing deeply, Thomas returned to his cheerful demeanour.  “Everything’s good! We got some interesting stuff here, right Logan?” the blue bird chirped in agreement, if a little troubled. “If Roman’s getting frustrated, we should go.” He promptly walked out, leaving Dean sat, trembling, and Dave, incredibly confused. 

“Uh… Dean, you good? Thomas is our ride so unless you’re planning on walking back, you should come along.”

A moment more of silence, then Dean rose, shaking his hands out. “Okay, let’s go!” 

The flashlight flicked around the forest, and Dean was glad he’d managed to convince both Dave and Thomas to come, even if it took convincing Dave first before Thomas would consider it.

But it would be fine. Soon they’d see there was no way his old friend could have done something like that. And maybe they could convince others he’d done nothing.

A gentle breeze swayed branches around them, and a slight drizzle fell upon them. The leaves crinkled under his feet, and the trees cast dark shadows onto the light from Thomas’s phone. Dean felt more excitement towards the situation then anything else, but the other two looked fairly anxious. 

Thomas stumbled over a rock, and both others stopped for a moment to help him, but the moment they all began walking again, it was apparent something was up

The world seemed to have frozen around them. The rain froze in midair, and the trees froze midway through a gust of wind. The world was still around them.

Out of the corner of his eye, a shadow darted between trees. “Did you see that?”

Thomas turned in a full circle. “Saw what?”

Dean’s eyes darted around, barely catching the movement of two more weird shadows.

“Look! Over there!”

The other two followed where he had pointed. “I see them!” 

Several more dark shapes-people, wearing long hooded cloaks, Dean realized, ran between trees. What were they doing there?

Dave took a few steps forward. “I’ll go check it out.”

Thomas stared at him. “Are you sure?”

“You guys are right over here, if I need help I’ll yell. Besides, I’m more experienced than you.” With that, Dave took off towards where the figures were.

Dave vanished into the trees, and Thomas and Dean were left to stare at one another.

Minutes passed, the world remaining frozen, rain drops hanging in midair.

There was a scream.

The trees continued to sway, the rain continued to fall, and Dean and Thomas ran after their friend. 

There was nothing. No cloaked men, no Dave, just ice. Layers of ice that had somehow formed in the early days of fall.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t a day where Lilly planned to do much, so she tied her hair into a messy bun and left it at that. No makeup, no hair, nothing. A lazy day of writing. Meaning, leave her phone, and Laurel, her honestly very distracting hawk familiar, in her room to avoid distraction.

Being honest, she needed that right now, even if it meant 30 minutes of staring at a blank google doc. 

Which did, in fact, happen. She stared at it, having no idea where to begin. Maybe she should get breakfast before she started.

...All she had were granola bars. Maybe she should run to the grocery store?

No! No. Writing. Back to writing.

Back at her laptop, she changed the font size. Maybe it would be easier to type if it was in Comic Sans, she feels like she read that somewhere. Pink Comic Sans right? 

Actually that just hurt her eyes. Mistake, Mistake! Abort! Abort! Abort!

She changed the font color back, and suddenly the whiteness of the doc hurts her eyes. How do you change the color of a google doc again? It’s under format, right? No, it’s under file. Page Setup.

One long string of gibberish later, as if it’s going to make words come easier, she wrote one coherent sentence.

It even looked as though it would sound wonky coming out of someone’s mouth.

Her head snapped up. Had she heard something? It seemed like there was a strange faded noise coming from her bathroom, like something being torn, like a wire mesh being bent. 

Or like a window screen being torn.

But that was ridiculous and paranoid. Lilly’s windows were locked if it wasn’t summer, and it was the middle of autumn. Laurel was back in her room, so it couldn't have been her familiar. She could even go look. 

...It was torn, some of the mangled edges covered in blood. But nobody was there. Meaning there was likely someone in her house. 

And her phone was back in her room, charging. A large, open floor plan making it much harder to get there without, y’know, seeing whoever had broken into her house and was likely prepared to do her harm.

She was a mage, but she’d like to avoid using it when not required, thanks.

Especially when it made the court twice as likely to throw her in prison for literally no reason.

Room. Phone. Laurel. Get out of her house. That was the safest plan. She could probably drop to the ground out of her window without too much issue. 

But if she moved across her not as empty as hoped house as fast as she wanted, wouldn’t it be suspicious to whoever was here? Would it make her easy to follow? Maybe that was a risk she needed to take?

Actually, if she stayed on the rug as much as possible, wouldn’t that- 

A dark shape flicked into the edge of her vision for not even a second as she turned.

She definitely wasn’t alone.

Had they gotten to Laurel? Worry sparked in her.

Making her steps soft and slow, hoping the floorboards wouldn’t creak, Lilly made her way to the room, grateful once she reached carpet for the opportunity to move more quickly towards the stairs. 

She focused her mind at her task, avoiding thinking about small, subtle noises that made her jump. Only worry if they were close to her.

...It was hard to tell.

Dark shapes repeatedly flicked into the corner of her vision but turned into ordinary objects when she jerked her head to look at them.

God, she just needed to get out of here.

Climbing up stairs quietly didn’t exist anyway, so she could run, she was so close anyway, the door steps away, beyond that her phone and her familiar and the window. It was so close, the metal of the doorknob moments away from being in her hand. 

She turned it, and it didn’t move. It didn’t fucking move. 

The door was locked.

A monotonous voice rang from behind her. “Miss, the mechanisms of your lock have been melted shut. There is no way to get in.” A man quite a bit taller than her had somehow silently moved to stand behind her, dark cloak obscuring his features other than a square, clean-shaven jaw. The looseness of the cloak made any sort of body shape close to indescribable.

“I-I’m a mage!” Lilly completely failed to shove confidence into her voice.

The man seemed to almost smile and her stomach twisted. To her horror, another cloaked figure, smaller this time, approached, swinging something in one hand slightly, and with a jolt of fear and anxiety she realized that her hawk familiar was hooded, wings bound, being held by her feet.

“What are you doing?”

Despite a continuously monotone voice, gritty and rough as if his throat was lined with sandpaper and stone, the man’s grin grew wider. “I recommend you simply come with us. It would be easier for all parties. And if you don’t, I wouldn’t expect the hawk to enjoy it.”

Lilly took several steps backward. She could break the door open or unscrew the hinges from the frame with her magic, but Laurel might take the brunt of their anger.

And giving in? A terrible idea. That was essentially submitting herself to torture and whatever warped human experiments. Terrifyingly enough, that did happen to mages a decent amount of the time.

The one holding her familiar huffed. “I’m getting a bit bored.” They pulled a dagger made of twisting silver metal from their side and lunged, catching Lilly by surprise and causing both to tumble to the ground, the blade having pierced Lilly’s arm.

She attempted to lift her hands to retaliate, be it magically or physically, but they were suddenly a thousand pounds. Her entire body felt like she was dragging several thousand pounds. Colors swirled together, accenting the heaviness of her eyes and her slow mind, reminding her that they would kidnap her, they would kill her.

The spiral of colors was growing darker.

Staying awake wasn’t a choice.

Chapter Text

Something told him that he shouldn’t be this scared of the woods, but something made Dean fear them anyway.

Maybe it was how the silence drilled into his soul, despite the constant scree-scree of crickets or the hum of cicadas. Maybe it was the way the trees swayed in the night that, to Dean at least, seemed windless. Maybe it was the lack of the moon, making it uncertain whether the sky was filled with clouds or not. Maybe it was the darkness that almost seemed so dense he could feel it press down onto his shoulders, humid and warm, filling his lungs.

Whatever it was, he did not like this forest. It felt so fucking wrong. Something incredibly bad had happened here.

He pulled his cloak closer around him. It was almost certain Bailey felt that wrong-ness, seeing how close to Dean’s heels he was walking.

“Do we have to go re-befriend your friend when it’s so dark?” Bailey hissed, tail lashing.

Dean stooped down, stroking him. “It’s fine, bud. We’re gonna be fine.” It was just as much to reassure himself as the cat. 

“So you are nervous…” The cat’s tone wasn’t at all accusatory.

He glanced around the trees, a flicker of light almost making him do a double-take. 

Light…

Fire.

The lapping orange and yellow bursts of flames, and from what Dean could see, it was a torch. 

He kept moving, flickers of fire visible through trees. More and more. An entire group of torches. Or, well, people holding torches. Barely visible people holding torches.

Pushing down his growing fear, he pivoted and headed towards the lights, trying to be as quiet as possible. 

There was a group of about two dozen people, most holding torches, standing around a flat area seemingly composed entirely of stone. Loose black fabric draped over every figure’s body, obscuring their features. 

Dean located a divet in the ground, a combination of plant life and magic hiding him. These people were suspicious, to say the least. It definitely seemed like a good idea to know what was going down.

Bailey gave him a look, message clear. This was a terrible idea, but he didn’t expect Dean to stop.

Three cloaked figures stood further out of the circle than their comrades, that being the only thing signaling any sort of significance. The one on the right holding an ornate box, embedded with jewels, the one on the left holding a dagger made of twisted metal as if it was seconds from breaking. The one in the center held a large leatherbound book and an empty jar.

The left figure tugged a person in the small crowd forward with a roughness that contrasted the way they’d been holding the dagger. The person selected accepted the dagger with shaking hands. As they lifted their sleeve, Dean realized with a wave of terror what was going to happen.

The jar was passed to the shadowy person who had once been holding the dagger, but Dean barely processed it. He was too aware of the blade, glinting, reflecting the fire, above the now bare forearm. 

The dagger plunged into flesh with a squelching noise that made Dean’s stomach twist, not reacting with anything more than a hiss of pain. 

Blood dripped into the jar as Dean tried to find somewhere, anywhere else to look. Upwards seemed like a decent option.

Wait.

Perched in a tree, on the opposite side of the area, was Snatcher. A knife with somewhat rounded sides was clutched in a trembling hand, and he looked absolutely petrified.

Why wasn’t he doing anything? 

...Why wasn’t Dean doing anything?

What was he thinking? Was that even a question? It was fear.

Dean closed his eyes, took several deep breaths, and looked back at the gathering of what were almost definitely cultists.

The one who’d once been standing in the center seemed to be tracing runes onto the ground as the one who’d been… stabbed tried to stifle his bleeding with his cloak.

Dean recognized some of these runes. A lopsided t with a squiggle through it. Power. Two lines with an infinity symbol connecting them. Intelligence. An o with a seven in the center. Creation. A swirly L with lots of small lines through it. Strength. An eye with a v in the pupil. Magic. Ice blue stones were set just in front of each bloody rune, each connected by the lines of a pentagram. 

...Oh.

The likelihood that he’d die if he intervened in any way was rapidly increasing. 

The box was unlocked, and what seemed like an ornate ring, all silver and gold and patterns of sapphires and diamonds were dropped into the center of the pentagram. An engagement ring? Or just a piece of jewelry?

Dean wasn’t able to hear what the cultist who’d traced the runes onto the ground said, it was nothing more than a mumble, but the wizard could make out the word “prisoners.” So he braced himself, watching in horror, feeling seconds from vomiting. 

His jaw dropped and he raised himself upward as he watched two familiar faces be dragged into the flat stone area. 

Both Dave’s and Lilly’s hair was tangled, matted, and greasy. They had been missing for almost three weeks though, so he wasn’t exactly surprised. Dirt and blood smeared their faces and their clothes, every piece of fabric torn or stained with dirt and blood. Blood ran down Lilly’s face and Dean wasn’t even sure if Dave was conscious; his body just seemed to sink limply to whatever place he was being dragged. Lilly made the movement towards the pentagram easier for herself, but one of her shoulders and one of her ankles was bent at a strange angle.

Even more horror and queasiness flooded his heart and mind when three more people that he didn’t recognize, seemingly ordinary, varying from what couldn’t have been a teenager over 16, wearing a t-shirt for a band he’d never heard of, dyed hair pulled back, lines carved in the dirt caking her face from tears, to a middle-aged man who was balding and had a beer belly-and a silver wedding ring that glinted from the fire, to an elderly woman in a floral dress, unconscious, like Dave.

Lilly caught Dean’s eye. The hollowness and resignedness in her eyes confirmed his suspicions.

He hoped she knew what he was conveying through wide, fearful, apologetic eyes and trembling hands. It seemed she did. She shook her head quickly and looked back down to the ground.

...She didn’t want to be rescued. Or for him to attempt to rescue. What? Why?

Dean shrunk back into his plant covering. 

Five cultists, the same ones who’d dragged the five innocent people who for some reason needed to be involved in this mess into the rock plateau unsheathed small, glinting blades. 

Dean looked away.

There wasn’t anything more than a gasp or a cry of pain cut short.

Too quiet.

Too quiet for death.

He wiped tears from his face. Silent tears. He couldn’t make a sound, it would make their death’s so fucking pointless if his witness never got to anyone. 

But Dean had witnessed pointless death before. He’d been the cause of pointless death, hadn’t he? This wasn’t the first time people had died and he’d just sat there and watched it happened. 

Dean hadn’t learned, had he?

Through the corner of his eye, he could see a torch get tossed, and he cursed himself for being able to look once flames were consuming the bodies of two of his fucking friends and three innocent people. 

He stared back at the sky.

...Snatcher looked close to having a breakdown. 

He looked back down. 

The ice blue crystal-like stones from earlier were being lifted, crushed easily by hand-or what seemed like easily-before the rock was tossed into the rising flames that were the same color as those stones. Magic of various colors swirled in the air, pinks, purples, blues, grays, greens, eventually blending together and descending into the fire. 

The figure who’d allowed himself to be stabbed knelt down, and call it morbid, but Dean was able to watch as the twisted metal of the dagger plunged through his neck. 

The fire was beginning to tame, flames growing smaller and smaller. 

Slowly, a person in the fire was becoming visible. Not one of the bodies, which had been reduced to ash in mere moments, but a new person. A woman, stereotypically attractive, thin, pale, with long blonde hair that was wavy and curled at the ends, way too neat for someone who’d just somehow formed in a pile of ashes. Her clothing was much more similar to what Dean was seeing now than way back then, but still nothing he’d find remotely familiar. 

And, of course, parts of her body had been replaced by ice. You know, just normal things. This lady was completely normal. 

She pulled herself forward, gazing at her hand, and sighed. 

“Oh, you still have the ring. Aww, how nice. After all these years I can still have something that proves he’s mine .” She had a high, songbird voice, and she giggled slightly. “A real shame you couldn’t find him and bring him here. I’m sure he would have been thrilled to see me back. Might’ve stopped his whole game of tag he has with us.” 

“He’s dead, ma’am.” Came a reluctant reply.

She huffed, voice taking a 180. “I know! Maybe if someone hadn’t let him go off and die, we wouldn’t be having this problem! You’re lucky he’s decided to stick around, or we’d have another thing on our annoyingly long to-do list!”

The cloaked figure flinched in response. 

Dean looked upwards just in time to see Snatcher dive off the tree, land on his feet, and cast one look backward at the group of cloaked men, an expression of pure terror on his face, and bolt. 

The woman cast a confused look around the area, but the ghost was already gone. “Wild animal.” She dismissed it. “Ugh, why did you have to bring me back in a place so gross and muddy?”

The cultists glanced at each other. “Uh, are you sure you don’t want us to at least check?”

“Do you think you know better than me?!” She hissed. “I. Said. No. If it’s so important, you can go look at it later. I have more important things to discuss.”

Dean thought it might be a good idea to invoke his specter friend’s strategy and run.