‘Choose… designer lingerie, in the vain hope of kicking some life back into a dead relationship. Choose handbags, choose high-heeled shoes, cashmere and silk, to make yourself feel what passes for happy. Choose an iPhone made in China by a woman who jumped out of a window and stick it in the pocket of your jacket fresh from a South-Asian Firetrap. Choose Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat, Instagram and a thousand others ways to spew your bile across people you’ve never met. Choose updating your profile, tell the world what you had for breakfast and hope that someone, somewhere cares. Choose looking up old flames, desperate to believe that you don’t look as bad as they do. Choose live-blogging, from your first wank ‘til your last breath; human interaction reduced to nothing more than data. Choose ten things you never knew about celebrities who’ve had surgery. Choose screaming about abortion. Choose rape jokes, slut-shaming, revenge porn and an endless tide of depressing misogyny. Choose 9/11 never happened, and if it did, it was the Jews. Choose a zero-hour contract and a two-hour journey to work. And choose the same for your kids, only worse, and maybe tell yourself that it’s better that they never happened. And then sit back and smother the pain with an unknown dose of an unknown drug made in somebody’s fucking kitchen. Choose unfulfilled promise and wishing you’d done it all differently. Choose never learning from your own mistakes. Choose watching history repeat itself. Choose the slow reconciliation towards what you can get, rather than what you always hoped for. Settle for less and keep a brave face on it. Choose disappointment and choose losing the ones you love, then as they fall from view, a piece of you dies with them until you can see that one day in the future, piece by piece, they will all be gone and there’ll be nothing left of you to call alive or dead.
You just had to visit your parents this weekend, didn’t you.
Your mom says it’s a blessing you’re home, but you see it as living hell. The two of you have been glued to the TV ever since the attack started. Shock has taken over both of you, and you sit in silence except for when you see Tony fly past the camera and the both of you gasp. Your mother has grown fond of your boyfriend too. Just a few minutes ago, the two of you watched as he flew willingly into the mouth of one of the huge, floating fish-things.
“Why would he do that?” your mother had shrieked. But you only noticed how he had flown out the other end, taking down the thing in his wake.
“Because he’s a smart idiot,” you had responded.
Now, the TV is focusing in on what seems to be the red-headed woman jumping from one of the alien’s small ships to the top of Stark Tower. You were standing on that very balcony just two days ago with Tony. “Mom,” you mutter, “please call Dad. I want him home.” Your mother nods and gets up to go to the phone. Your parents don’t live far from the city, and you want to be safe.
“Wait a minute.” The female newscaster interrupts the male as she leans forward in the corner of your screen. “Our cameras have just picked up what seem to be Tony Stark’s Ironman flying alongside a missile.”
You gasp and stand up just as your cell phone rings. You look down at the coffee table to see a picture of you and Tony from your third anniversary shows up on your phone. Gasping, you reach down, but your shaking hands accidentally knock your cell phone off of the table. You scramble onto your hands and knees and fish it out from under the table, sliding the answer button as quick as you can. “Tony?” you ask, voice quavering.
“Hey, (y/n),” his voice replies. Just hearing his voice makes you relax a tad, but you can still hear gunshots and what sounds like wind whipping by on his end.
“Tony, what are you doing?” you ask nervously, using the coffee table as leverage to help you back to your feet. Your mother walks in then, and upon seeing your distraught face, brings her hands to her mouth.
“Talking to you,” your boyfriend replies.
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
“Ah.” Tony grunts, and you hear what sounds like metal-on-metal scraping together. “I just wanted to … to hear your voice.”
You spin back around to face the TV and see the familiar red and gold suit still flying alongside the missile, but then the camera zooms in and you notice that he’s holding onto it. “Tony,” you whisper, “what are you doing?”
“Don’t worry about it, I’m fine,” he replies. “Just … I love you.”
You choke back a sob. Tony and you have never said those words. You’ve always just known. It never needed to be said. But now, as you watch him turn the missile up and away from the city on the TV, you wish you had said it to him every second of every day. “Tony, please-”
“No, (y/n),” he cuts you off. “I love you so much. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and … if I don’t come back-”
“No,” you gasp and shake your head. “No, Tony, you’ll come back. Just-”
The room is completely silent except for your gasping and the TV still rolling footage from Manhattan. Pulling the phone away, you see the sign that the call ended because of lack of signal. You look back at the television to see that Tony had flown up and into the portal with the missile. “No,” you whisper.
Your mother takes a step forward. “(yln), what-”
“No!” You shriek, falling to your knees. You’ve never felt this week in your life. “No!” Your mother kneels down next to you and takes your shaking body into her arms. “He’s gone,” you sob, “He’s gone, gone gone …” your words dissolve into sobs, and you lean into your mother for support as you feel yourself break.
Characters: Reader (Special Agent Y/N Singer), Sam Winchester, Special Agent Castiel Novak, Dean Winchester, Cindy Stevenson (OC), Ella McKenzie (OC), Rowena Coven,
Pairing: AU Dean x Reader (eventually)
Warnings: Mention of character deaths, Mention of murder, slight violence,
Word Count: 4500ish
A/N: This is a serial killer AU of sorts. Not the typical kind, but it has all the deaths and violence this kinda AU bring with it. It was sorta inspired by Criminal Minds and that is why my agents are profilers.
This series will have deaths, violence, love, heartwarming moments and everything in between. I am hereby warning you for yet another rollercoaster ride led by me ;)
You sipped your coffee as you went over the case files again. You hadn’t seen your friend for a long time, and honestly you felt a little shitty asking him for a favor like this. It was something you would have to live with though. If this Dean Winchester guy could help you pinpoint the location the kill shots steamed from, then maybe you could actually make some headway in this case before a 3rd victim turned up. Ella McKenzie had turned up 7 weeks ago, and Cindy Stevenson, 3 weeks ago. If the unsub was sticking to that pattern, it didn’t give you and Cas a whole lot of time to find him before another girl went missing.
You were deep in thought, reading the coroner’s reports over and over again, as well as the initial police reports, searching for any possible link between these two women. You were so far away in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice the 6’4” man smiling at you from the doorway. You didn’t hear him approach you, and he didn’t make himself known to you before he was leaning down over your chair half whispering, half talking into your ear.
“Looking good G-woman.”
You nearly jumped of the chair, your hand instinctively flying to your gun, as your eyes finally landed on the long-haired man, holding his hands up defensively before him with a huge grin on his face.
One of the most haunting scenes from the September 11 attacks was the scene of those who chose to jump to their imminent deaths rather than wait for death inside the burning building. Almost all of them jumped alone but there were a few witnesses who claim a couple were holding hands as they jumped. One woman was seen to hold down her skirt in an attempt to protect her modesty before jumping to her death. Those who jumped from the World Trade Centre are often known as the forgotten victims of September 11 due to the fact that nobody knows for sure who they are and even more tragically, few seem to want to know - the media and American establishment were reluctant to dwell on those who ended their lives this way and posted very few photos and only briefly mentioned them in news articles. It is estimated that at least 200 people ended their lives this way and the jumping began shortly after the first air plane hit at 8:46AM and continued for the 102 minutes that the north tower stood.