"Do ya? Do ya? Do ya? Now, do you think you love me, Mary Jane?"
Mysterious murders beyond the understanding of science and the human brain are uncovered in the deepest, darkest parts of the deep south-following the rest of the world. Detective duo...
WORD COUNT: 12.4K TW: cursing, heavy religious themes (it's a melting pot), conspiracies, mentions of crooked politicians, mentions of dead children. NOTE: things will calm down in this chapter but yeah lots of new information and new perspectives incoming. No more genocides for now😝‼️
"OH BABY YOU...YOU GOT WHAT I NEED... YOU GOT EVERYTHING I NEED. YOU'RE LIKE MEDICINE TO ME."
— FREDDIE SCOTT. | (YOU) GOT WHAT I NEED
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With the sun now high in the sky, rays of light beamed down and passed through the wide, open windows of (Y/N)'s large residence—something Gojo never got to properly explore before being thrown into a boiling pot of anxiety and work. His hands lifted white comforters to neatly wrap around and cover the upper neck of (Y/N), who continued to sleep peacefully despite the possibility of two strangers having full control over her home. Gojo could feel it in his gut that her trust in them was now far greater than before, even allowing herself to fall asleep despite her nephew being around. It was dangerous, and Gojo knew he nor Geto would ever try something with her or Yuji, but, at the same time, it brought a sense of dissatisfaction to Gojo.
He eyed a flimsy stool in the corner, leaving (Y/N)'s bedpost to drag it over to her side of the bed and plonking himself down like a watchdog. It was highly unnecessary of him to watch over her sleeping figure since she could probably sense any kind of danger if someone had been sneaking up on her, but he couldn't help feeling protective over her.
After their failure in Libya, they were on the run for a couple of days until they found an abandoned shelter to repair themselves inside until they could make it to the airport. Gojo was a wreck and either couldn't eat, sleep, or focus, or he simply began lashing out at the hot sand.
(Y/N) was like an angel that couldn't fly, who helped him repair his own wings so he could carry her and himself to safety. They nursed each other back to health in a scorching, unforgivable climate with almost no words being exchanged between them. He didn't mind and he'd say that he even preferred that she didn't use any words to comfort him—only actions and the occasional, "sit up and turn off your Infinity, I need to rewrap your bandages."
