#t-raewrites

“Not on our watch,” Sam says, shutting the hatch. 

They rush off toward the large brick building in the middle of nowhere, hoping to find you still kicking. 

Inside, they find a body at the entrance. Dean has to shove the door open to push it aside. Both brothers note the stab wound to the chest, nod at each other, and draw their guns. As they check the building, cautiously clearing each corner together, Dean taking the lead and Sam protecting his brother's back, they find body after body, but no sign of you. Once they’ve cleared the building, Dean drops his arms at his sides irritatedly. 

“Well? Where would she be?” Dean asks. “She should’ve just stayed put, as I said. Then we wouldn’t be runnin’ around trying to play catch up. Who knows where the kid is now.” 

“Dean,” Sam says, watching him start to pace, “she’s an adult. And a trained one, at that. She can make her own choices.” 

“Yeah, well, not if they’re stupid. Come on.” Dean waves Sam forward as he heads back downstairs. “Maybe she’s in the back.” 

They make their way outside into the courtyard. It’s filled with old junk and scrap metal; nothing's been touched here for probably twenty years. Old street lights are standing at an angle or completely snapped off at the base, lying flat on the overgrown concrete below. You’re standing near the center of the large concrete pad between buildings, pulling the demon-blade out of a demon as it sizzles and falls to the ground. You catch movement from the corner of your eye and turn to see your two older brothers making their way to you with scowls on their faces you electively choose to ignore. 

“Hey, guys,” you say cheerfully. “The buildings clear.” 

“Yeah, we noticed,” Dean says. 

“And I’ve got the kid, too,” you say, nodding behind you.

A young blonde-haired boy walks out from behind a rusty car with weeds growing out of the windshield. 

“I just want to see my mom,” the boy cries. 

“Oh, hey,” Sam says gently, walking up to the kid and kneeling at his height. “We’ll get you to your mom, isn’t that right?” He looks up at you. 

“Absolutely,” you say, giving the young boy a smile. 

“What did they want with the kid?” Dean asks. 

Guiltily, you shuffle your feet and avert your eyes. 

“Are you kidding me?” Dean asks, his frustration flaring. “What, you just thought you’d come in here guns a blazin’ and be the hero but forget to get the most important question answered?” 

“Dean,” Sam says, standing slowly. 

“No,” Dean says, briefly acknowledging Sam before turning back to you. “You put this kid’s life in danger, and you could’ve gotten yourself killed.” 

“Well, I didn’t,” you say, putting a hand on your hip. “Besides, we knew this place was filled with Grade D demons–Grade C, at best. You guys were taking forever, and it’s nothing I can’t handle alone. And you literally just did this same move last week! You’re going to lecture me on ‘pulling a Dean’?” 

“She’s got a point there,” Sam notes, trying to hide a smile. He’s always found it amusing when the two of you get into it. Dean has always had this strong sense to protect his two younger siblings, but when it comes to you, he can’t help but turn it up a notch, and that always sets your attitude off. The two Divas is what he’s called you both in the past, and that always gains him a glare and an eyeroll from the two of you. Before he can get the taunt out, his ear perks up. There’s a faint rhythmic ticking sound. He furrows his brows. “Uh, hey guys?” Sam says, looking around the messy courtyard for a sign of the source. “Does anyone hear that noise?” 

The little boy tugs on the sleeve of Sam’s coat, and he kneels down, scooping him up in his arms. “Guys,” Sam tries again to break up you and Dean’s bickering, “I think we should get out of here.” He starts to walk backwards, keeping his eyes on the two of you while trying to make sure the young kid is out of danger. “Guys!” 

“What?!” You and Dean snap, whipping your heads towards Sam at the same time. 

“Let's go,” Sam says, nodding back toward the building. “There’s something off about this place, and I think we should–” 

Before Sam can finish his sentence, an explosion sets off just behind you and Dean. The blast is so strong, it sends the two of you into the air and pushes Sam back with incredible force. He shields the little boy with his body, and once he skids to a stop, his back thudding against the brick building they walked out of, he props himself up to check the kid. “Are you okay?” He asks quickly; the boy nods his head. Sam flicks his attention to the rubble in front of him, searching for you and Dean with frantic eyes. “Dean?! Lexy?!” Sam yells, getting to his feet. He gestures at the kid to stay put as he walks into the rubble. 

Chunks of concrete and sidewalk are crumbled and strewn around the courtyard. Pieces of brick, old bits of rubber tire, and rusty metal shrapnel mix in. Sam’s heart pumps adrenaline through his chest, worry sinking in as he doesn’t see either one of you. He shouts for you both again, stumbling over a pile of rubble. 

“Sammy!” Dean shouts back, groaning in pain. 

Sam turns to the right, following his brother’s voice, and finds him pushing off the ground to his feet. “Are you okay?” Sam asks quickly. 

“I’m fine. Where’s Lex?” Dean asks, shaking his head as he tries to gather himself. 

“I-I don’t know, you both went flying; I didn’t see where she went.” Sam stumbles out. “Lex!” Sam calls out. 

Dean curses under his breath, finally getting to his feet. “What the hell was that?” He asks, stumbling into the courtyard. “Lex!” He shouts for you, desperately searching around the explosion site. 

“Some sort of bomb,” Sam comments. 

“No, really?” Dean asks sarcastically, glancing back at him. 

Sam glances back to check on the young boy, and when he sees he’s fine and hasn’t moved from his spot, he continues searching for you. He and Dean shout your name again, walking around a large rusted-out semi-truck lying on its side. As they round the corner, they finally hear you. 

“I’m here, I-I’m here,” you wrestle out, your voice hardly loud enough to cross the yard. 

Sam freezes, and Dean runs into his back. 

“Geeze, what are you? A mountain?” Dean snaps, fixing his jacket as he walks around his tall brother. 

But all sense of humor saps from his body as his eyes meet the scene in front of him. You’re slumped against a brick wall, and your hands are clasped tightly around a snapped-off steel pole that’s impaled your abdomen. Blood slowly bubbles and seeps out around the object, soaking into your dark clothes. 

“H-Hey, guys,” you say, forcing a smile as the color drains away from your face. 

All at once, the boys lurch into motion, running to your side, eagerly trying to find a solution. 

“Don’t move,” Dean says sternly. 

“Don’t worry, we’re getting you out of this,” Sam says. 

“Is the kid okay?” You ask worriedly. 

“The kid’s fine, he’s fine,” Sam reassures. 

“Cas,” Dean calls out. 

“I-I tried that already,” you stutter out over the pain. 

You had. As you lay in the dirt, feeling the metallic heat of your own blood pooling beneath you, before your brothers found you, your frantic mind hadn't called for safety or a miracle–it had called for him. And in the terrifying clarity that only comes when death is staring you down, the fragile lie that you’ve been telling yourself crumbled to dust. You didn't just have a soft spot for the awkward angel. You didn't just flirt with him to keep things light. You were hopelessly, completely in love with Castiel, though you knew it would never go anywhere. If this was really the end, the cruelest part wasn't dying in a rusty old courtyard–it was dying with that truth still trapped in your throat, and never getting to hear what he might say to the truth. Now, you’re trying not to hyperventilate, but your damaged lungs seem to have a mind of their own. 

“No, no, no,” Sam says in rapid succession. “Just breathe, Lex, it’s gonna be just fine.” 

“Yeah, what Sam said,” Dean says, kneeling at your side. “You’re gettin’ out of this, there’s no two ways about it.” 

“Dean,” you say, tears forcing their way over your cheeks. “Sammy.” You tilt your head, looking at both of your brothers in turn. “I love you, guys.” 

“Stop that,” Dean snaps. “Don’t you say goodbye. You’re fine.” 

Your hand, wet with blood, slips off the pole in your side, and Sam reaches out, taking it in both of his with shaking hands. 

“We’re right here, Lex,” Sam says, his voice tight and hushed. 

“Stop that,” Dean says, looking at Sam briefly before turning his attention back to you. “You’re fine. Cas,” Dean tries again. “Cas, please, please, get here as fast as you can. It’s Lex. And she needs your help.” 

“W-When Cas gets here,” you stutter out, the pain sucking the air out of your lungs. “Can you tell him… tell him that I–” You wince, feeling hot and cold all at once. Sweat drips down your back, but your hands and feet are as cold as ice. Your teeth start to chatter, and you taste a pungent iron flavor in the back of your mouth. 

Sam rubs your cold hand in his, trying to warm your fingers and give you some sort of comfort. He knows what’s happening; he just can’t believe it. 

You take in the presence of both of your brothers. You know your death is going to wreck them, and you can’t help but feel guilty. “I’m sorry,” you cry, unable to stop the crack in your voice. 

Dean immediately softens, moving in closer to you and placing a firm hand on your shoulder. “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he says, though his eyes flick from yours to the seeping wound. “I’m not letting you die here.” He leans down and slides his arms under your back and legs, but just that small movement makes you scream in pain. He freezes, rethinking the plan in his head. 

“Dean, stop!” Sam says, squeezing your hand. “She’ll bleed out if you move her!” 

“She’s going to bleed out if we don’t do something!” Dean shouts back. 

Your head rocks forward as your body threatens to shut down, and Dean shifts his hold to cradle you in his arms, letting your head fall on his shoulder. 

“This isn’t happening,” Dean says, more to himself than anyone else. His heart sinks as he gives you a nudge, but no sound leaves your lips. “Don’t shut your eyes! Sammy, are her eyes closed?” 

Sam lifts his hands to his hair, pulling at the strands as he sits back, watching your eyes flutter shut, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell his brother. His stomach twists, once again feeling helpless. 

Castiel rushes around the corner, the back of his coat snapping against his legs as he runs as fast as he can to you. He heard your frantic prayers–he felt the desperation in Dean’s, too–but without his wings, the distance from you felt like an agonizing eternity. He skids to a stop beside Dean, his chest heaving with deep, ragged breaths. For millennia, angels had existed as unfeeling soldiers of Heaven, incapable of the soft, terrifying vulnerabilities of mortal existence, but his time living as a human has changed him. It’s carved open a soul inside him, leaving Cas stranded in a strange middle ground; an angel burdened with the terrifying capacity to feel. And right now, looking down at your limp form cradled in Dean’s arms, your blood staining the dirt, pure, unadulterated terror claws at him. If he had a beating heart, it would be racing, thumping loudly against his ears; he’s sure of it. 

“Let her go,” Cas demands, dropping to his knees beside you.

Dean lays you down on the dirt-covered ground and scoots back just enough to give Cas room. “Well, come on!” Dean yells. “Heal her!” 

“It’s not that simple, Dean,” Cas states. He reaches his hand out, touching your forehead; there’s a glow, but your eyes stay shut. “Her injuries are immense. She is barely holding on. We have to remove the object from her abdomen before I can assess the extent of her wounds.” 

“Well, stop talking and just do what needs to be done,” Dean sasses. 

Cas reaches out to grab the post stuck in your body, but Sam stops him. 

“I got it,” he says. Sam grasps the pole with both hands and looks at Cas. “Ready?” 

“Yes, ready,” Cas says with a nod of his head. 

Sam shuts his eyes, and with a firm pull, he dislodges the scrap-made spear, tossing it aside. Blood pours from your side, the pole having gone clean through, and Sam and Dean hold onto the sliver of hope that you’ll be alright. 

“Come on, kid,” Dean whispers, his heart rate through the roof as he watches Cas try to heal you a second time, but to no avail. This can’t be happening, he thinks. 

“Why isn’t it working?” Sam asks, his breath catching in the back of his throat. 

Castiel doesn’t respond. Instead, he lifts both of his hands to the sides of your head, and a light blue glow emits from his hands. A pained groan escapes him, his eyes shutting tight as he tries to piece you back together, atom by atom. He can’t let you die. Not you. 

The brothers watch as the hole in your waist gradually starts closing up, fresh skin covering over the wound. Color returns to your cheeks, and they lean in, holding their breath. 

The glow from Cas’s hands stops, and he lets out a stressed exhale, opening his eyes. When he isn’t met with yours, his face pinches together with worry. “I don’t understand,” Cas says, his voice deep and confused. “That should have worked. I… I…” In a flip, he turns to Dean. “Give me the angel blade.” 

“Why, what do you need it for?” Dean asks, eyeing Cas. 

“Dean, give it to me now, or your sister dies,” Castiel says firmly. 

Without another word, Dean pulls the angel blade out of his coat and hands it over. 

“You may want to consider giving us room,” Cas says, taking the blade. 

Instantly, Sam and Dean rush to their feet, backing away a few steps. 

Cas takes a breath, steeling his nerves. He has suppressed his feelings for months, knowing an angel had no place loving a human. But knowing you has cracked every rule he’s ever set for himself. Cas looks at your beautiful face, and for a moment, he simply presses his left hand to your cheek, faintly feeling your pulse grow weaker as he realizes exactly what he is about to do. He has no idea the repercussions, but he’d do anything to keep you here. 

A line of crimson drips from the side of your mouth, darkening your lips, and it’s all he needs to see to do what he has to. He sets the angel blade down to lift you into his lap. “This has to work,” he whispers. He can’t imagine this world without you, so if there is something he can do to save you, he will take that risk again, and again. Castiel takes the angel blade in his hand and brings the sharp edge to his neck. 

“Whoa, Cas, wait,” Sam stumbles out quickly. 

“Cas!” Dean shouts as he watches his best friend slit his throat. 

Bright white light seeps from the incision, blinding in its intensity as Cas pulls you tight against his chest. He can feel his grace–raw, ancient, and burning–tearing itself from his essence and pouring past your lips, filling your lungs with divine fire. It burns with the excruciating heat of falling into the Sun, threatening to rip him apart, but he grits his teeth and endures the agony. He would give you every last drop of his divinity if it guaranteed your breath. He only hopes you can forgive him for the mark it will leave, tethering a piece of his grace to your soul. 

He lets you back down slowly and drops the blade behind him. Cas lifts his hand to his neck and heals the wound there, feeling an intense exhaustion pull at his limbs. 

“Geeze, Cas,” Dean says, his voice hushed. 

“We’ve never seen you do that before,” Sam says, equally as quiet.

“Yeah, well,” Cas says, his tired eyes still fixated on you, “it’s not really something I’m supposed to do.” 

“Did it work?” Dean asks, taking a step closer. 

“She should wake up,” Cas says. But when he doesn’t see your chest rise, he clenches his jaw. The tiny light of hope in his chest flickers. 

“Why isn’t she moving?” Sam asks, moving in. 

“I don’t know. It should have worked. I gave her my grace–” 

You take an alarming breath in, and as if suddenly being reborn, your eyes open wide. They glow with Castiel’s grace for a moment so brief, your brothers don’t notice… but Cas does, and he feels his chest tighten. 

“Holy–” Dean lets out a relieved breath, spinning around to take a few wide steps before walking back to you and Cas. “Don’t ever do that to me again!” 

Sam smiles wide, wiping the budding tears from his eyes. “Cas, thank you,” he says earnestly. 

“Of course,” Cas says, glancing up at Sam, still holding you firmly in his arms. “I–” His words stop short at feeling your hand on his chest. He turns his attention back to you, his face scrunching in concern. 

You rest in Cas’s arms so comfortably, you’ve forgotten the pain of it all, and you’ve forgotten why you’re lying here in the first place. Something you can’t quite place rushes through your veins. Something warm and electric hums just beneath your skin, and for a fleeting second, as Castiel’s blue eyes lock onto yours, you swear you feel an emotion so strong, it steals the air from your lungs. You gasp again, though this time quieter, near shock as the sensation courses through every cell in your body. Your hand rests firmly on his chest, grasping at the fabric of his white button-up, trying to form words in the midst of the world spinning. You swear his eyes glow for a second, but maybe you’re just hallucinating… 

“Are you still in pain?” Castiel asks, his eyebrows creasing together. “I can give you my grace again if that was not enough.” 

“Your grace?” You ask, confused. “You gave me your grace?” 

“Yes,” he says, “some of it. You were dying.” 

“I…” You can’t find the words. Your mind is surging with a pure energy, and the sensation is almost too much to bear. 

When you don’t immediately respond, Cas lifts his hand to your forehead, pressing his palm there worriedly. He closes his eyes, focusing on your form, but when he confirms you’ve been completely healed and his grace is indeed running through your veins and tangling with the threads of your soul, he feels a wash of nervousness and relief all at the same time. He pulls his hand back and meets your eyes again. “How are you feeling?” 

“I feel… strange…” You say in awe, your eyes locked on his. 

“Strange?” Dean says. 

“Strange how?” Sam adds. 

You hardly hear their voices. They’re drowned out by the loud thrumming in your ears–a remnant of what you assume is Cas’s grace. “Castiel,” you whisper his full name, your eyes wide, taking in the sensation the best you can. 

“It will be alright,” Cas says. “It may be a little overwhelming at first, but my grace cannot hurt you. Can you sit up?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” you say, your eyebrows creasing. Normally, you’d have a witty comment perfectly locked and loaded, ready to shoot, but Cas was right; the sensation is overwhelming. 

“Good,” Cas says. He presses a firm hand to your back and helps you sit up. A moment later, he’s standing on his feet and offering you his hand. 

You take it, and he lifts you. Your veins thrum with his energy, and you swear that even his touch feels different, as if you can sense the grace running through his veins as it now does yours. You open your mouth to say thank you, but your two brothers leap into action, grasping both you and Castiel in their wide embrace. It was brief, but a warm squeeze, and they break away, thanking Cas and half-scolding you for staying true to your name. 

“I’m serious,” Dean says, “next time, I’m shutting you in the trunk.” 

“What?” You ask, confused. 

Sam laughs, grasping your shoulder with a comforting squeeze. “Don’t worry about it. Dean’s just joking.” 

“Am I?” Dean asks. “Cause I really don’t think I am.” 

As they continue their banter back and forth, you can’t help but watch Castiel. You’ve seen him heal your brothers more times than not, but he’s never used his grace before. You realize just how close to death you were, and when his eyes meet yours, the sound of your brothers’ chatter fades. Why is he looking at me like that? Is there something on my face? You touch the side of your face absentmindedly. But before you can ask the angel what’s wrong, he looks away. 

“I-I’ll be in the car,” he stutters out awkwardly. 

Your brothers don’t even notice his retreat; they’re too wrapped up in you to care, but you notice. And you wonder what’s changed between the two of you.

✨A/N: Since y'all seemed to really like the last one of these, I've put another little somethin' somethin' together for my fellow Castiel lovers. I already posted on my TMNT fanfic, so I do not feel guilty posting a different fanfic this time 🤣

        A frustrated puff of air escapes from Leo’s nostrils as he finishes the final swing of an advanced move, freezing in frame as he catches his breath. Moonlight filters through the grate over the large oak tree behind him, a flash of white catching on the edge of his patterned blade. Despite the hours of training, the hours of attempted meditation and journaling, nothing he does dampens the fear in his heart. He’s not one to lose hope, but with little to no evidence of you in the city, his nightmares are filled with the worst taunts of potential realities. He tilts his blade a fraction, just enough to catch his reflection in them. His white eyes stare sharply back, his blue mask damp with sweat. He used to think the thought of you dying at the hands of a mutated Shredder was the most terrifying. He remembers the countless nights he’d shoot upright in bed, his hand pressed firmly against his plastron as the visual of the Super Shredder’s large hand gripping around your throat, a dagger-mutated fist driven into your ribs, and red running down the black asphalt… Leonardo takes a shaky breath and blinks his white eyes back to blue, remembering the night he walked across the hall to find you perfectly safe across the hall, standing sleepily in your doorway. He remembers your rosy cheeks, how you tiredly rubbed your eye, and the sweet sound of your voice as you asked him what was wrong. His heart throbs. If only he could do that now. Would he ever be able to hear your voice again? His eyes stare back into his storm-ridden soul, restless thoughts flitting past them. In a swift motion, he disengages the stance and skillfully spins his swords to sheath them on his shell. 

        Leo takes a deep, unsettled breath and walks over to the shrine his late father created for his family. He unstraps his swords and leans them against the small cabinet, staring at the newly added photos on the floating shelves. He finds your beautiful face and traces your features with glossy eyes. “I will find you,” Leo says just above a whisper. He speaks it as a promise, a vow. Something as sure as the breath in his lungs. Tears prick the corners of his eyes, and he closes them, his head bowing slightly. He can’t fall apart now; he isn’t allowed to. Instead, Leo imagines you standing behind him, your arms wrapped tightly around him, palms pressed flat against the front of his plastron. He imagines your warmth enveloping him, and for a moment it actually feels like you’re there. 

        There isn’t a single room in this lair that doesn’t remind him of you. The dojo, his room, your room, the hallways, the common area, the lab, the kitchen… They all say the same thing: you were here. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, his chest aching, his stomach a twisting mess. He clenches his fists at his sides as the memories of you replace his worried thoughts. This dojo, around the same time of night, was the first time you held his hand. He was just coming back from sneaking out to help Karai and Shinigami, dressed in all black, and you were fighting the turmoil in your soul that the Shredder had placed there, up late practicing your katas. He remembers the countless nights he would come back from patrol to find you bundled up in your patchwork blanket on the couch in the common room, having tried to wait up for his return, but unable to keep your eyes open. And the first time you genuinely smiled at him, and how his heart skipped a beat. All of the evenings he’d find you rushing around the kitchen, busy cooking something amazing for his family. Game nights, movie nights, sitting close enough to each other that he could feel your warmth, but not so close that he’d raise the suspicions of his brothers. He was too afraid of the change then. The what-ifs. How stupid he feels to know he once felt that way about you. If he knew then what he knows now, he would have jumped into the newness of it all with both feet and left behind all of the panicked worry and insecurities behind, just to spend another day with you at his side. Then he remembers the bittersweet feeling after watching you walk out the door with Casey and April to experience a movie theater for the first time, and the spike of jealousy he felt when you returned wearing Casey’s black sweatshirt. He couldn’t stand it! The thought makes him chuckle, a watery, humorless laugh that bursts from his gut before he can stop it. He was so jealous then. But the first time you kissed him? It’s a memory he holds closest to his heart. Standing atop a roof, the sun rising to his left, shadows of blue and gray cast to his right. The familiar scent of your shampoo, and your warm hands caressing the back of his neck, tangling in the tails of his blue mask…

        A sharp emotion stabs through Leo’s chest, and he inhales quickly, bracing himself against the wall beside the shrine. Memories of you flood his thoughts, his senses, and he doesn’t dare stop them. Every sensation of you is one he hopes to hold onto for eternity. Even the memories that hurt. The memories where he let you down, where you were injured on patrols, the pain you experienced as your traumatic memories resurfaced, nearly drowning in the lair, all of it. Whether it brings him joy or brings him to his knees, Leo will remember everything about you and keep those thoughts tucked safely into his heart until the day he can make new ones with you again. And if he ever gets the chance to, he won’t take a single moment for granted. Leo swears that he will live in the fullness of all that is you, giving you equal parts his heart and the freedom for whatever life it is you want to choose. 

✨A/N: What's this?? An update???? Wow. I guess it is. I am very, sincerely, sorry that it's taken so long to update this story. I've removed the "weekly updates" note from the title, so that I'm not making any more false promises. If you have enjoyed this series so far and want to see it finished, please be friendly and drop a comment here or reach out via my Tumblr! 💙 Thank you, and I appreciate you all!

        “No, I just…” You turn back to the photos, looking at them once more. “I’ve never seen their faces before. I’ve always wondered what they looked like and now I… now I know.” 

        A long pause stretches through the room, and you take the time to collect yourself, wiping your cheeks with the palm of your hand. 

        “You can’t keep them,” X says, his voice quieter than before. 

        He’s close. You sense him hovering to your right. You spread the photographs out on the desk top, staring in hopes of memorizing your parents’ faces. “Do you…” You start but stop, considering your next words. You turn to look into X’s eyes, and you swear you see him lean down just a touch closer. “Do you know if they’re alive?” 

        He opens his mouth to answer, but his attention flicks to the door. He squints, focusing in, and just as you’re about to ask what, with lightning-fast accuracy he scoops up the photographs, shoves them in the open end folder, and lifts you from the chair by your arm. You don’t even have time to react. Only as you’re crossing the room to the adjacent wall do you hear the footsteps down the hallway outside. They’re heavy, multiple sets, and your stomach sinks. 

        X throws open one side of the bifolds and pulls you inside, closing you both in just as the metal door creaks open, letting in a flood of bright white light. 

        Your heart pounds quickly behind your ribcage, pumping fresh adrenaline through your veins, sharpening your senses and widening your eyes enough to see through the slats. Two human Foot soldiers step into view, and X covers your mouth with a wrapped hand, drawing you back away from the door and against the hard surface of his plastron. You can feel his own racing heart against your back, and a shiver runs down your spine. 

        “I told you no one uses this room anymore,” one of the soldiers says irritatedly. “It’s all just old crap.” 

        “And I told you it doesn’t matter,” the other says. “When Dr. Stock-dork tells you to grab a file, you grab a file unless you want to be the next experiment on the table.” 

        The first soldier laughs. “Stock-dork. That’s good.” 

        They search around the room, pulling open metal drawers and rummaging through stacks of paper until they locate the folders they need. 

        “You got it?” The first soldier asks, nodding at the other. 

        “Yeah, just these two files,” the second says, strutting back through the exit with papers in hand. 

        “Great, cause I don’t particularly like the idea of being mutated for kicks.” 

        Their conversation fades as the metal door swings shut behind them, and you wonder just how good Subject X’s hearing really is if he could hear them walking from such a distance. The room fades back to darkness as the door clicks shut. The faint glow of orange light creeps through the slats, highlighting uneven stripes across the front of your body. Subject X’s hand is still clamped over your mouth. You give a firm wiggle against his grip, trying to pull away, but his arm wraps tighter around your waist, pinning you back flush against him. Every point of contact is a stark reminder of his predatory dominance, and your adrenaline spikes again. He takes a slow step backward, pressing his shell against the back wall, trapping you between him and your means of escape. X leans forward just enough for his snout to hover near your ear, his breath hot against your skin as he exhales. Slowly, his hand slides down from your mouth, trailing over your jaw before coming to rest firmly at the base of your throat. His thumb rests right over your racing pulse point.

        “You seem nervous,” he whispers, his breath brushing the side of your face. 

        Chills run over the tops of your arms. You can feel the heavy, rhythmic thudding of his heart against your spine. It isn't the calm, disciplined pulse of your Leonardo–it’s unfamiliar, fast, and aggressive. 

        You miss Leo so terribly it hurts. His gentle touch, the reverent way he used to hold you, the safety you feel in his arms. Nothing like this. This is possessive. Controlling. Threatening. And being held like this, trapped against a dark, twisted copy of the man you love, makes your stomach twist into a violent knot. Guilt and disgust flare in your chest, and you swear if you can’t break free for air soon, you’ll risk the rage of the mutant behind you just to create space. 

        “What are you doing?” You ask, your voice tight and hushed. Your hands had instinctively gone up to grab his hand over your mouth, and now they’re stuck at his forearm, frozen over the linen wrapped there.  

        “You should be thanking me,” he says, his voice dropping an octave into a low, gravely hum. 

        The sound of his voice cuts through the darkness, rumbling through his chest and vibrating into your bones. His grip around your waist tightens, and his hand at the base of your neck adjusts. His large palm slides over your soft skin and forces your head to tilt back onto his shoulder, exposing your neck at a vulnerable angle. 

        It isn't a romantic touch; it’s an instinctual, animalistic display of possession. He is testing his hold, asserting dominance over something he feels entitled to, even if his artificial mind doesn't fully understand why he craves the contact.

        Your stomach twists, and your eyes frantically dart from left to right, quickly considering your options. Even if you were able to get away, where would you run to? Your cell? He would catch you before you even turned the corner. 

        “X,” you say, forcing his name past your tight throat. You try to sound stern, but the shaky tremor in your voice betrays you. 

        “Don’t worry, Petal,” he whispers, leaning his snout near the crook of your neck. 

        He doesn’t press his skin to yours; instead, he hovers just a fraction away. He takes a slow, deep inhale, revelling in your scent, which draws an involuntary shiver from you. You can sense his sharp grin before you hear it in his voice.

        “I won’t hurt you.” 

        “Then let me go,” you whisper quickly, your voice unsteady. Your heart hammers erratically against your temples. 

Subject X pauses. For a fraction of a second, his grip freezes, his biological instincts clashing silently with the sharp twinge of his fixation. Then, as quickly as the moment built, his hands retreat. He steps back, his shell thudding against the wall as he throws open the bifold door and nudges you firmly out into the dusty room. 

        You stumble forward, quickly catching your balance as you spin around to face the closet. He hasn’t stepped out, and he is nearly completely cloaked by the black shadows on the far side of the dimly lit room. After what feels like ages of silence, you shift your weight, considering again how far you could get out of the room before he catches you… 

        “I’m going to ask you a question,” X’s voice thrums out of the darkness, “and you will give me a straight, honest answer.” 

        He steps forward then, his body gradually shifting from total darkness to light gray as he deliberately makes his way to you. His steps are slow, firm, and although he’s hardly an inch taller than you, it feels like he’s standing on top of a tall tower, his sharp, unsettled eyes looking down at you from above. 

        You step backwards quickly, attempting to keep space between the two of you, but he pushes forward without hesitation. You stumble against the front of the metal filing cabinets in the corner, and papers shift and flutter around you. X lifts his arms, trapping you between them as his eyes peer into your soul. Your breath catches in the back of your throat. 

        “What am I to you?” 

        His voice cuts through your nerves, leaving behind a trail of volatile energy behind, and you swallow thickly. Your mind races with the question, and you wonder what he wants to hear. 

        “Don’t lie,” he spits out harshly. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re thinking about lying. Just tell me the truth.” 

        “W-What am I to you?” You counter, your eyes flicking between the two of his. 

        Subject X’s stern expression lightens with a sharp-toothed grin, and he chuckles quietly. “I asked you first.” 

        “I don’t–” 

        He hits the filing cabinet just beside your head, his behavior flipping as he expels aggression. “You do!” 

        Your hands grip into fists at your side. You could take him. A quick uppercut, kick to the side of his knee, and if you could get on his back, you could likely choke him out… 

        “I can see that, too,” he whispers. 

        “What?” You ask, your attention switching back to the predator in front of you. 

        X leans in just a touch closer, his arms bending. “You can’t take me on,” he sneers. “I’m far more dangerous than your Leonardo. Underestimate me, and it’ll be your last mistake.”  

        Anger flares up in your chest, and you grit your teeth, but you can’t stop it from flying past your lips. “You aren’t better than him!” You shout, driving your open palms with a heavy smack against his plastron. 

        He stumbles back, surprised at your outburst, but he stands his ground just a foot away from you. 

        “Who do you think you are?” You snap. “I’m not some plaything you can try and take advantage of. But you have one thing right: You’re not my Leonardo. I don’t know who or what you are, but you aren’t him! He would never keep me here like this.” 

        “Do you see him around here anywhere?” X snaps back, lifting his arms and gesturing around. “No. You don’t. Because he isn’t coming. You’ll never see him again. He’s just some pathetic,” X takes a step closer to you, “weak,” another step, “no-good leader, who can’t even protect his–” 

        Without another thought, you draw your fist back and drive it straight into X’s jaw. He stumbles back, and you bring your fists up near your face, shifting your weight into a strong fighting stance, ready to take whatever he comes back with. You expect him to burst with rage, lunge at you, but he takes a step back, looking stunned. 

        Subject X lifts a hand to his face and looks at the red on his fingertips. A line of crimson streaks from his bottom lip down his chin. His dark red tongue slithers out, swiping away the blood from his lip. When he looks back up at you, his eyes are striking against their sea of black. 

        You tighten your stance, ready for his blow, but instead, his mouth curls up. 

        “There’s that fire,” he says, his voice low. “I didn’t think it’d take you this long.” 

        A flare of anger rises in your chest. “How dare you,” you say, your voice trembling with rage. 

        “To answer your question,” he says coolly, swiping the rest of the blood with the back of his hand. “You’re whatever I want you to be.” He lunges forward then, grabbing hold of both of your forearms and positioning himself between your feet to trap your legs from driving a blow. “So get in line, Flower, because I am the only Leo you’ll ever see.” With that, he draws you close to him as he backs away, easily manhandling you out the door and into the hallway. 

        You struggle against his grip, but his hands squeeze your arms so tightly you think they might bruise. X yanks you forward when you dig your heels in, and you stumble over your own feet, but he pulls you right back up. 

        “Quit fighting it,” X says, calmer than you anticipated. 

        “No!” You raise your voice, and that’s the final straw. You see a flip switch behind his eyes, and he slams you against the hallway wall. Your head bounces off the concrete blocks, and your vision dances with tiny black dots. You groan, and he hisses. 

        “Why did you make me do that?” He says under his breath. 

        You hear him grit his teeth, your vision dancing in and out of blinding white light and black. He holds you there a moment, watching your pained expression. He curses, then pulls you off the wall. You feel the sensation of falling, unable to tell which way is up and which way is down, and at seeing you wobble, he scoops you up. 

        His strong arms press your limp body to his as he quickly walks through the winding hallways. He passes a pair of Foot ninjas, but he doesn't care what they see–just Subject X carrying his prisoner back to her cell. 

        In truth, he doesn’t know why he trapped you in that closet. It wasn’t his plan. He was trying to do something half-decent, something almost nice, by showing you the files he’d spent hours obsessively organizing. He studied your file inside and out. He’d memorized every detail, every report, every photograph. He thought if he showed you, maybe you’d see him differently. But the moment you were pinned against him in the dark, his body acted on instincts his mind couldn't control.

        Subject X digs the key out of his belt, balancing your weight as he unlocks your cell door. It swings open with a subtle creak, and he steps inside, cradling your unconscious form. He watches your head as he kneels, carefully laying you down on the clean mattress below. His eyes linger on your pale, sunken cheeks. X imagines they were once full, rosy even, and full of life. Now, you look so dull. Sapped of nearly all of your energy. 

        He didn’t just read your file; he’d dissected Leonardo’s too. Leonardo was defined by fierce loyalty and honor–traits X could feel humming in his own blood–yet he has no memories, no family, no moral code to anchor them. What makes the original Leo so worthy of your love while X was left a blank slate? He’d hoped you’d be able to shed some light, give him something to understand further, but he screwed it up. 

        X lets out a frustrated huff, still hovering over your unconscious form. He briefly takes in his surroundings, making sure the room is completely empty before turning his attention back to you. He lifts a careful hand to the base of your neck, and once he feels your steady pulse there, he pulls it back. He lifts a hand to trace the dried blood at the corner of his split lip. The sharp sting brings a strange, twisted heat to his chest. Your resolve is infuriating–a fire he desperately wants to protect, yet possesses a rising, primal urge to snuff it out until you finally submit to him. He frowns. “What am I supposed to do with you now?” Subject X murmurs, hovering over you in the dark. Without an answer, he backs out of the cell and locks the iron door behind him.

✨A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who dropped a comment on here and on Quotev!! 😭 Y'all seriously encouraged me to get some writing done this last week. And I really loved answering all of your questions, too. 💙 So what do y'all think about Subject X at this point? Do we love him? Do we hate him? Are we sick of him yet? He's obviously not sick of you... 😏

By the time you hear the van’s loud, misfiring exhaust, you’re sitting on the front porch steps, your backpack beside you, wearing your worn denim jeans and flannel. You sit with your elbows on your knees, holding onto each of your arms to keep warm. It's officially September, and the air has a certain chill to it now, the previous warmth of Summer leaving behind a bitter, empty cool.

You watch the dirt road with eager eyes. It's been days since you've heard from them, since they left you behind to take on the Super Shredder. The O'Neil's bright yellow van eases into view and your heart jumps up into your throat. You try to swallow it back down, willing your nerves to steady themselves in preparation for the difficult conversation that lies ahead.

You stand to your feet, gently nudging your backpack away with a foot while tugging the sleeves of your flannel over your numbed hands--partially from the cold, partially from your racing heart. The van stops a short distance away from the house, and your eyes meet Leo’s from behind the windshield. He's gripping the steering wheel, a fearful expression on his face, and for a moment you worry that one of the brothers is hurt. You take an anxious step forward, then Raph, Donnie, and Mikey pile out of the left side of the van. You sigh in relief, watching all three stretch and groan about the long car ride. Your attention flicks back to Leo as he steps out, his eyes locked on yours while he closes the door slowly. Immediately, you notice he's covered in bruises and scrapes, but the worst of it shows on the front of his plastron--there are two large gauges out of the front of his plastron, running from the center of his chest out over his shoulder, and your stomach drops at the sight, immediately recognizing the wound as the work of the Super Shredder. You fight the urge to run to him, reminding yourself of the last few, miserable, lonely days being abandoned by him at the farmhouse. He went against everything he promised you, forcing you to wait helplessly for them to come back for you, leaving you wondering if they would even make it out alive. You had every right to be a part of this final battle, having received Master Splinter's blessing and initiation into the Hamato clan before he passed, but Leo decided all on his own to cut you out. One moment, you're falling asleep safe in his arms, and the next, you're waking up completely alone.

The brothers are all quiet now. Raph, Mikey, and Donnie shuffle away from the van, Raph sparing a sharp glance at their brother in blue. As you switch your attention to the three turtles walking toward you, Leonardo's eyes burn against your skin. You ignore him and soften your expression to greet his brothers, each battered and bruised from their visibly violent mission. “Hey guys,” you say, feeling tears well up. The anxious weight on your chest partially lifts at seeing their smiling faces turn to you.

Mikey’s bottom lip quivers, and he suddenly frowns, quickly closing the distance to embrace you emotionally. “We’re so sorry!” He cries out. “We didn’t want to leave you behind! But Leo didn't give us a choice!” 

You fight back a fresh wave of emotions, giving Mikey a tight squeeze before motioning for the other two to join in. Donnie bashfully reaches his arms around you and his youngest brother, and Raph mumbles something under his breath as he leans in and wraps his arms around you all.

“I’m so glad you’re all okay,” you say, sighing with relief. You tighten your arms around them before letting them go.

“The Shredder is dead!” Mikey yells out, swapping his frown for a triumphant grin.

"Yeah, it's true," Raph confirms. "He's gone for good."

"It wasn't easy, but we managed," Donnie adds.

Your stomach drops, and you swallow the lump in your throat. “That’s amazing,” you say quietly, looking at each of them, trying not to stare too long at their bruises.

“It’s good to see you again,” Donnie says, his voice quiet and almost hesitant. "As Mikey already said, we didn't choose to leave you behind."

“Yeah, what Don said,” Raph says, giving you a small shrug of his shoulder, but you can tell from the small smile on his face that he's genuinely happy to see you. A band tightens around your chest as you watch Raph's eyes shift from you to his brother still standing beside the van. Raphael glares at him for a long moment before quietly saying, "He's an idiot for leaving you behind."

        Mikey was the one to pick you up back in the city, which completely surprised you. He explained that all three of his brothers pitched in on teaching him how to drive over the last few months. Coming to pick you up is the first unsupervised drive he’s been allowed to go on, and he was incredibly proud to show you his newest skill. Mikey explained that they’ve been staying at the farmhouse kind of off and on, with the city so quiet lately, and that it’s been nice being able to visit Master Splinter's resting place. You ask how he’s doing with all of that, with missing his father and how this is their first Christmas without him, and he shrugs, making a brief comment about how he will miss the hot chocolate Splinter would always make them, before he brushes it off and jumps excitedly into how his three brothers are doing. Raph has an occasional outburst, but is otherwise doing fine, and Donnie seems to be a bit quieter than normal, but Leo disappears for long walks out in the woods, rain or shine–which they all know is him spending time at Splinter’s grave. No one can blame him for that, but the one thing that catches you off guard–that even now, while you’re shoveling snow, you can’t stop thinking about–is when Michelangelo’s tone quickly shifted afterwards.

        “We can’t blame him for that,” Mikey said, gripping the steeringwheel a bit tighter, “but what we do blame him for is leaving you behind while we faced the Shredder.” He glances over at you, his freckled cheeks rosy from the cold, his chin resting on the fluffy orange scarf he’s wearing–one of the many layers he’s under to keep warm. “I would never do something like that to you.” 

        You had said a polite thank you, but something about his tone makes you frown even now. And the way he said that last part, the ‘I would never do something like that to you,’ made you feel a bit uncomfortable. It was strange the way he said it, like he was trying to imply deeper feelings behind it, but you had quickly changed the topic, trying to restore the lighthearted conversation of before. And while the conversation continued to flow normally after, that strange feeling didn’t go away for the entire last hour of your ride to the farmhouse. 

        When you took that first step into the foyer, Donnie and Raph practically tackled you, exclaiming how happy they were to finally see you again. Raph scolded you for being a stranger, not visiting the lair to see them, and Donnie says he can’t wait to show you the new projects he’s been working on, saying he thinks you’ll like them. You grinned at both brothers, squeezing them tightly in a hug, saying how happy you were to see them all. And before you could ask, Raph told you their ‘fearless leader in blue’ was visiting Splinter's grave again, which surprisingly made you relax a bit, knowing you wouldn’t immediately have to face him. Though it didn’t take long for your nervousness to settle back in. Sitting on the couch, in front of the crackling fireplace, you studied the colorful Christmas tree while the three boys asked you questions about what it’s like working for Karai and Shinigami–they both had to stay behind due to their reinforcements from Japan not having arrived on time as they had hoped. You wonder if they made the excuse on purpose, just to get you here with the turtles alone, but you don’t dwell on it. It was nice, catching up with the brothers, but after an hour or so, you realized your leg was bouncing with nerves, and you were starting to pull threads out of the hem of your off-white sweater, nervously awaiting Leo’s return. You asked them if they had a shovel, your excuse to get outside and do something. Raph tried to protest, saying he’d go out there and shovel, and it took you a while to convince him, but you insisted you needed the fresh air. Then Mikey, Raph, and Donnie all fussed over making sure you stayed warm. You couldn’t help but laugh, assuring them you were entirely warm-blooded and would not freeze in the time it takes you to shovel a path, but here you are, perfectly cozy in their gear, shoveling the beautiful snow in silence. 

        You exhale, watching your breath turn white, the steam melting the snowflakes from your lashes. You’re thankful they let you borrow their winter gear to come out here and shovel, and though it’s a bit big on you, Raph’s fleece-lined jacket (despite you telling him you had your own coat, he insisted his would be warmer), Donnie’s knit hat, Mikey’s fluffy scarf, and your own fleece gloves keep you a balmy temperature while the freezing air twirls snow around you. The wind isn’t too bad, just a gust here and there, and in the dimly lit yard with the sun already below the horizon, you feel content. Peaceful even. You were worried being back at the farmhouse would only remind you of the three lonliest days of your life, but you’re relived to find that you can still make new memories here. And then, you hear the subtle swish of footsteps from behind, and your heart jumps to your throat as you quickly spin around. 

        A large, dark figure stands just off the shoveled path, hooded, their face covered in shadow, and before you can think, you’re swinging the shovel with a shriek. It collides with the figure’s face–or rather, their forearm, which they’d jerked up at the last second to catch the brunt of the blow–and they lose their balance, falling back into the bank of snow, sending puffs of white up into the air. 

        “Get back!” You yell, swinging the shovel up, threatening to bring it back down. “I’m warning you, I–” 

        “It’s me!” The figure yells, throwing their hands out. 

        You step closer to take a look at their face, but your combat boots are too packed with snow to grip the surface, and you slip, face-planting on top of the figure with a loud oof! You sit up, meeting ocean eyes behind a blue mask, and your stomach flips. “Leo,” you say with a gasp. He smiles at you, a sweet, happy smile, and you swear your heart stops for a moment. 

        “Hi,” he says, the warm glow of the barn lights catching in his eyes. 

        “Hi,” you say, too stunned to respond with anything else. 

        “You dyed your hair,” he says, noticing the different colored strands peaking out of your hat and scarf. 

        You blink at him, feeling a stir in the pit of your stomach. Shinigami suggested the change for you during your first week staying with her and Karai. She said it was something people often did when they needed to feel like they had a fresh start. “I did,” you say, watching those blue eyes you so missed. 

        “It looks good on you.”

        Leo smiles then, a small, polite smile, and you try to swallow your nerves down. You stay like that for a brief moment, taking in his features for the first time in months. But then an embarrassing jolt of energy bursts through you, and you quickly push off of him, stuttering to find something to say. 

        Leo sits up, watching you a second before standing, dusting the snow off of his large coat, the fur-lined hood dropping to his shoulders. 

        “S-Sorry,” you say quickly, gesturing to the shovel in the snow. “You startled me, and I didn’t recognize you right away! I’ve never seen you in so many layers before.” 

        He chuckles, bending down to grab the shovel and returning it to you. “You’ve gotten stronger.” 

        You smile, despite your frazzled nerves, and take the shovel from him. “Thanks,” you answer. “I’ve been training.” 

        “You’ve been training hitting people with shovels?” He smirks, a glimmer in his eyes. 

        You laugh a little, thankful for his joking tone. “No,” you say with a shake of your head. You finally have a chance to take in his appearance: Leo’s wearing a dark gray knit hat, a blue scarf that matches his mask, an oversized dark jacket with a fur-lined hood, and denim jeans, which are now covered in snow. You scrunch your nose, bewildered. “You’re wearing pants?” 

        Leo laughs then, rubbing the back of his neck with a mittened hand. “Yeah, it’s cold out here,” he says. 

        “Sorry,” you say, apologizing for your bluntness. 

        “No, it’s fine,” he says quickly. There’s a moment of silence, and his expression drops into something more serious as he says with sincerity, “I’m sorry.” 

        He looks into your eyes with such an intense honesty that you feel your heart start to race. You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. Leo lets out a quiet breath. 

        “It’s okay, you know,” he says, his voice hushed. “If you can’t ever forgive me. I would understand if you never wanted to see me again after what I did.” 

        His words punch through you, sapping the heat right from your bones. “No, I do,” you rush out. Leo looks at you questioningly, and you stumble over your words, “I do want to see you. I mean, I– I did want to see you again. I just… I don’t know, I…” 

        “I hurt you,” he says, finishing your thought gently. 

        You pause, looking over at the streak of light coming out from the barn. “Yes,” you say. 

        Leo steps out of the snow and into the shoveled path, standing just a short distance away, and you meet his gaze again. 

        “I know,” he says, his voice quiet as he studies your eyes. “I missed you,” he admits, but almost immediately begins doubling back. “Sorry if that was too much! I-I just meant that, well, I– Well, I did miss you, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to say it back if you don’t–” 

        “I missed you, too,” you admit softly. 

        Leo freezes, his chest filling with a warmth he was afraid he would never feel again. He can’t believe you came, that you’re really here. He fights the urge to embrace you, not knowing if you’d be willing, and wanting to give you as much space as you need. He’s been meditating day and night, focusing on letting go of his habit to try and control his environment–and the people in it–but not just to prove he’s better for you, to also improve as a leader. Since Leo chose to leave you behind from that final fight, it’s fractured his relationship with his brothers, with the whole team, and he’s determined to make things right, no matter how many months or years that may take. “Are you headed inside soon?” Leo asks. 

        “Yeah, I just wanted to finish this one strip here,” you say, gesturing up to the barn. “Then Donnie can have a clear path to and from the house.” 

        “That’s kind of you,” he says. He stands there a moment, just studying your face, thankful he gets to see it again, but when he realizes he’s been staring, he startles. “Okay, so–uh, I’ll see you in the house then?” 

        “Yes,” you say, trying not to laugh at his sudden flustered state. 

        “Right, yeah, of course I’ll see you in the house.” Leo lets out a nervous chuckle, then abruptly turns on his heels and heads inside. That was the dumbest line ever, he thinks, rolling his eyes. 

        You cover your mouth, hiding a giggle behind your gloved hand at seeing him trip on the last step, stumbling up to the door. You wonder if all of the clothes and layers makes him feel out of place or if he really is just that nervous to see you again. Leo pauses a moment, then walks into the house. Once the door is shut, you can’t help your laughter. It releases the tension in your shoulders, and a warmth spreads through your chest. “Wow,” you whisper to yourself. “I really did miss him.” Your heart races at saying it out loud, and your eyes go wide, turning back to the task at hand with a new energy. You toss the last few shovels of fluffy snow aside while wondering what forgiveness would feel like.