Don’t Say That It’s Over I’d Kill To Be Closer IV
Two updates in 1 day wow!!! Even I’m surprised it might take some time for part 5 so maybe by Thursday I should have part 5 out
Warnings: Blood, Yandere, Violence
John Wick, the Baba Yaga, the man they called Johnathan, moved with a purpose that belied the years he'd tried to leave behind.
Winston's voice echoed in his mind, the urgency in his tone a stark reminder of the stakes.
He pieced together the fragments of information Winston had provided. A former colleague, a missing daughter, a car heading north. It was a thread, a fragile one, but John knew how to pull.
He activated his network, the web of contacts he'd cultivated during his years in the underworld.
Information flowed, whispers in the dark, digital breadcrumbs leading him closer to his target.
The car had been spotted, heading towards a remote cabin in the Adirondacks.
He traced the license plate, a phantom vehicle registered to a shell corporation. The former colleague remained elusive, a ghost in the system.
John prepared with meticulous care. He donned his signature suit, tailoring hiding a lightweight ballistic vest.
Underneath, he strapped a holster with his preferred handgun, a Heckler & Koch P30L.
He checked the magazine, the weight of the rounds reassuring in his hand. He packed a duffel bag with additional weapons, ammunition, and the tools he might need for infiltration.
His vehicle of choice was a black 1969 Ford Mustang, a muscle car resurrected from his past.
It was a symbol of the life he'd briefly tasted before it was ripped away, a reminder of the price he'd paid. He drove north, the Mustang devouring the miles, the city lights fading behind him.
He arrived at the location Winston had provided, a winding dirt road leading to a secluded cabin.
He parked the Mustang deep in the shadows, concealed by the thick foliage. As he scanned the area, he spotted a dark charger parked near the cabin, its tinted windows obscuring the interior.
A closer look revealed the telltale markings of a police interceptor, stripped of its official livery but still bearing the subtle modifications of surveillance equipment.
A cop? Involved in a kidnapping? The pieces didn't quite fit. He waited, patience a weapon honed over years of experience.
The car remained stationary, its occupants unseen. After what felt like an eternity, the Charger finally pulled away, disappearing down the dirt road.
John emerged from the shadows, his movements fluid and silent. He approached the cabin, his senses on high alert.
He circled the perimeter, searching for points of entry. The windows were reinforced, the doors were solid, but the framing wasn't perfect.
He found a weakness near the back, a loose panel in the wooden wall.
He reached into his bag, withdrawing a slim jim and a lock pick set.
He worked quickly, bypassing the rudimentary security system. The panel gave way, revealing a dark space behind the wall. He slipped inside, moving with the silence of a predator.
He found himself in a storage room, boxes stacked against the walls. He moved to the door leading into the main cabin, pressing his ear against the wood.
He could hear voices, hushed but distinct. He recognized Y/N's voice, thanks the recordings of her from Winston, laced with a hint of fear.
He kicked the door open, bursting into the room, his gun leveled. Y/N stood frozen, her eyes wide with shock. Her black green eyed kitten, Shadow, scurried behind her, her fur standing on end.
In that moment, John felt a pang of protectiveness, a flicker of genuine concern for this woman he had never met.
His presence hadn't gone unnoticed. Y/N, scrambled to her feet, instinctively backing away. Then, she noticed the resemblance.
The eyes, the set of the jaw… it was almost uncanny. She had spent weeks staring at Tom, imprinting his features onto her memory.
And here stood a man who could have been his twin, save for the subtle differences – the stubble shadowing his jaw, the sharper lines etched around his eyes, the air of lethal competence that radiated from him.
She stumbled back, fear warring with confusion. "Who... who are you?" she stammered, instinctively seeking cover behind the armchair.
John Wick raised his hands slowly, palms open, a gesture of peace that felt almost absurd in his line of work.
”My name is John Wick," he said, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "I'm here to help you. Your father is worried about you." He kept his voice calm, slow, and gentle, the same way he would with an unpredictable animal.
Relief washed over Y/N, so potent it almost buckled her knees. Her father had sent someone and not just anyone it seemed as she had heard stories of the infamous baby yaga and here he was at her door…She was going to be free.
"You... you're here to rescue me?" she whispered, her voice trembling with hope.
"That's right," John replied, offering a small, reassuring smile. "Let's get you out of here."
But the complex knot of emotions that had been tightening in Y/N's chest for weeks refused to unravel so easily.
Despite everything, despite the fear and the uncertainty, there was a thread of connection between her and Tom Ludlow, a bond forged in the crucible of shared trauma. And she couldn't just abandon him.
"I can't leave him," she said, her voice stronger now, laced with a desperate plea. "I won't."
As if summoned by her words, a figure appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the dim light. Tom Ludlow.
He had seen the car parked in the distance, that so desperately tried to hide from view but, Tom being a cop was as observant as ever. He knew something was wrong.
His eyes fixated on John, and then on Y/N. Comprehension dawned, followed by a surge of raw, desperate anger. He raised his pistol, aiming it directly at John.
"Get the fuck out of here," Tom snarled, his voice shaking. "This doesn't concern you, fucker!”
John didn't flinch. "This does concern me," he countered, his voice still calm but with an underlying edge of steel. "I'm here to take Y/N home."
Without another word, Tom fired.
The bullets slammed into John's chest, the impact muffled by the bulletproof vest. He grunted, the force momentarily staggering him, but he didn't fall.
Y/N screamed, a high-pitched, piercing sound of pure terror. "Tom, no! Stop it! Please!"
But Tom was beyond reason, his mind consumed by fear and desperation. He fired again, and again, the cabin filling with the deafening roar of gunfire.
John moved with blinding speed, a blur of lethal motion. He dodged one shot, deflected another with his forearm, and closed the distance between them in a heartbeat.
He lashed out, his hand a lightning strike, hitting Tom's wrist with brutal force. The gun flew from Tom's grasp, clattering to the floor.
Before Tom could react, John had him pinned against the wall, his forearm pressed against his throat, cutting off his air supply.
He reached down, retrieving the spare pistol holstered at Tom's waist. He brought it up, the cold steel pressing against Tom's temple.
"Please! Don't!" Y/N shrieked, her voice hoarse with desperation. She rushed forward, grabbing John's arm, pleading with him. "Please, don't kill him! There has to be another way!"
John hesitated, his gaze locking with Y/N's. He saw the raw fear in her eyes, the desperation, but also something else – a flicker of something that looked like… compassion? He lowered the gun slightly.
"There is another way," Y/N insisted, her voice trembling but firm. "We can go to my father. He can pay off your debt. Tom and you can be the heroes. If Winston finds out Tom took me, he will kill him himself, but if we bring him back as the man who saved me, he will be spared."
The suggestion hung in the air, absurd and improbable.
But John saw the logic in it, the desperate attempt to salvage a situation spiraling out of control.
And he saw something else too – he saw why Tom a cop would risk everything even jail time for this women.
Y/N was beautiful, pure, innocent, with a hint of raw spirit, and she seemed to see the good in people as she had stopped him from ending the pathetic cops life.
Y/N had to be more pure and innocent than his late wife, Helen.
John slowly looked at Tom, his face contorted with fear and desperation. He saw the weakness, the misguided love that had driven him to this point. He could have easily ended his life, but he stopped himself.
John released Tom, shoving him away. "Alright," he said, his voice flat. "We do this your way. But one wrong move, and I won't hesitate." To make a point John touched the gun attached to his waist.
The uneasy truce was struck. They gathered their belongings, the atmosphere thick with tension and unspoken recriminations. As they prepared to leave, Y/N approached John, her expression a mixture of gratitude and concern.
"You're hurt," she said, gently touching his arm. "Let me clean those wounds." John hesitated, unused to such gestures of tenderness.
But he allowed her to guide him to a chair, her touch surprisingly gentle as she examined the bruises left by the bullets. She cleaned the skin with a damp cloth, her brow furrowed in concentration.
As she tended to his wounds, John found himself studying her face. He saw the resilience in her eyes, the quiet strength that had allowed her to survive this ordeal. He saw the beauty that Winston had spoken of, a beauty that went far beyond mere physical appearance.
He understood now. He understood why Tom had been driven to such desperate measures. He understood the possessive love, the fear of losing something precious.
He wasn't sure he condoned it, but he understood it. He realized that he, too, would have been in the same place as Tom right now as he’d would have also taken drastic measures to keep Y/N by his side..Such an innocent and pure soul.
As Y/N cleaned the blood, she could see the pain etched on Johns face, the weariness in his eyes.
She realized that beneath the ruthless exterior, there was a man who was burdened by his past, a man who was capable of empathy….She was tempted and couldn’t resist and gently cupped his cheek his facial hair tickling her fingers slightly.
At first John tried to pull away but the sweet and gentle touch of this women had him conflicted. So he gave in and leaned into her touch.
"Thank you, John," she said softly. "For saving me. For not killing Tom."
John looked at her, his eyes searching. "You shouldn't thank me. I did what I had to do."
Y/N nodded and removed her hand from his cheek and went to check on Tom who had finished packing John’s mustang.
They had to leave Tom’s charger behind much to his displeasure, as Winston knew the car model that had taken is daughter and wouldn’t hesitate and shoot Tom Where he stood.
They all sat into the Mustang, John behind the wheel, Tom and Y/N in the back.
The ride to the Continental was silent, each lost in their own thoughts.
As they drove, John couldn't shake the feeling that he had crossed a line. He had spared a life, not out of mercy, but out of understanding. He had seen a reflection of himself in Tom, a man driven by love and desperation.
Finally, they arrived at the Continental, after a few grueling Days, the imposing building a beacon of neutrality in a world of violence.
Y/N was astonished at the building only having see it once as her father didn’t want her involved in this life. She once again reached into her almost empty back of ranch Doritos and offered and Tom and John some and they politely declined.
John parked the Mustang up front and handed his keys to the Valet and led them inside, the familiar atmosphere of the hotel washing over him.
He approached the front desk, where Charon, the concierge, greeted him with a knowing smile.
"Welcome back, Mr.Wick," Charon said, his eyes flickering towards Y/N “ I trust everything went according to plan?"
"More or less," John replied, his voice noncommittal. "I need a room for three."
Charon nodded, handing him three keycards. "Of course, Mr. Wick. And as always…Enjoy your stay."
They went up to their room, the opulent suite a stark contrast to the rustic cabin they had left behind. Y/N turned to John, her eyes filled with gratitude.
"Thank you, John," she said again. "For everything."
John nodded, his gaze fixed on her. "Get some rest, Y/N. You've been through a lot."
He turned to leave, pausing at the door. He looked at Tom, his eyes filled with a silent warning. "Don't make me regret this," he said, his voice low and dangerous.
He stepped out of the room, leaving Y/N and Tom alone. As he walked down the hallway, he couldn't help but wonder what the future held.
He had broken his own rules, defied his own code. He had allowed love and compassion to cloud his judgment.
He knew that Winston would be pleased that he had rescued his daughter.
But he also knew that Winston would be suspicious of his actions. He had spared a life, a life that deserved to be taken after what they did.
As he reached the lobby, he saw Winston waiting for him, his face etched with concern. "Johnathan," Winston said, his voice grave. "Tell me everything."
John nodded, preparing to recount the events of the past few days. He knew that he had a lot to explain, a lot to justify. But as he looked into Winston's eyes, he saw not judgment, but understanding.
He realized that Winston knew him better than anyone else in the world.
He began to speak, his voice low and steady, recounting the events of the past few days.
As he spoke, he couldn't help but feel a sense of relief, a weight lifting from his shoulders. He had done what he had to do, even if it meant breaking his own rules.
As he finished his story, Winston remained silent, his expression unreadable. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft but firm.
"You have done well, Johnathan. You and this man I have yet to meet myself..have saved my daughter's life. And for that, I am eternally grateful."
John nodded, accepting Winston's praise. He knew that he had earned his gratitude. But he also knew that he had changed, in ways that he couldn't yet comprehend.
He had seen the power of love, the strength of compassion. He had spared a life, and in doing so, he had perhaps saved himself.
And he hoped that the officer didn’t mind sharing such an innocent soul such as, Y/Ns
