Chapter Text
Your name is Wisteria Dahlia Jordan, and you were born without fear.
You were one half of a set of twins, your sister Chrysanthemum sharing no such mental deficiency. Some would argue that having no fear would be the ultimate gift. That having no fear would be one of the most amazing traits one could possibly possess in this day and age.
But you knew that was false.
Fear was a necessary chemical compound in the human mind that kept people from being unbelievably stupid.
Chrysanthemum was the eldest of the two of you, and while about ninety-eight percent of the time she acted far younger than you, there were the severe moments where she would step into your current situation and physically remove you from the premises for the safety of not only yourself, but the people around you.
See, it had taken quite a lot of therapy and neurology specialists as a child before your grandfather and grandmother, who had taken all but three of their grandchildren beneath their roof due to family issues, called all of it off and took to giving you things to do away from people.
Most of your childhood memories included Capoeira and instrumental lessons. Writing in journals and fishing on the lake outside their home farther toward the mountains of Michigan.
You remembered school being absolute hell, struggling every day with the urge to stick a pencil through someone’s eye socket or larynx simply for the sole reason that you were unafraid of the consequences.
But you had a twin. A twin who knew your even minute expressions and mood changes and who knew immediately when to drag you away from a situation.
You fondly recalled one such situation she had been late to pull you from, finding you cackling like a hyena in the middle of an alley while a very poorly-dressed man with a scraggly beard and a gun wilted a few feet away, severely put-down and resigned with the situation. He didn’t even fight the cops as they hauled him off, and you remembered waving brightly at him as the car was driving away, having not laughed in so long due to the stress of your midterms and welcoming the ridiculous distraction with open arms and a smile.
Chrys had had enough of your shit by highschool graduation, and while she flew off to New York at your and your grandparent’s insistence to attend Julliard for her scholarship, you had been left to your own devices for college and attended two years on-campus in Illinois attending Northwestern University.
You transferred your credits over to Full-Sail University online courses for a writing degree after you received the Masters degree in coding.
You figured you would take the online courses somewhere else, and your grandparents, bless their elderly hearts, were fully on board with the idea of going to live in one of the family cabins to live as a hermit for a while. Out of the three that were left around the country, you’d chosen the one in Georgia purely for aesthetic. The water in Blue Ridge lake was almost sinfully clear and the weather was nearly always perfect.
Your waterside cabin in Blue Ridge was also very close to McCaysville. It had a nice waterside market, a lot of physical activity stores for things like water rapid riding or hiking, and so many antique shops- your inner aesthetic critic bitch was very, very pleased with you..
So armed with three cases of clothes (two of which were mostly cosplay) a dozen or so boxes of personal items and a small army of electronic devices, you set up shop in the place that would be your home for the next perceivable decade of your life.
The office on the second floor had a good view of the lake, as did the master bedroom just one door over, so you were eager to angle your workspace in the corner to allow you that crystalline view of the water with only the slightest spin to your office chair.
The majority of the carpets in the home were thick, shaggy and grey, while the floors on the first floor were entirely wood and littered with thick grey throw rugs.
Nearly every inch of wood in the house was pale oak, buffed to a shine and gleamed invitingly with the many windows shining from the walls. You’d bought extra thick curtains for your room to block out light when needed, but you looked forward to the naps you would be having in the living room sunspots on the beige couches and chairs..
The kitchen was further back in the home, with a door that led to the outdoor patio, that led into steps down to the private dock. You didn’t currently have a boat, but that was easily fixed. Until then, you had floaties you’d bought a few weeks back and a pair of jet skis in the locked shed down closer to the water.
It took a few days to unpack and put everything where it needed to be, but you finally finished the arduous task of poster-pinning, desk arranging and clothes sorting.
There was enough closet space for about three more people, but you’d never needed that much to wear, preferring your sweater collection, soft pants and slippers with a handful of nicer dresses and such toward the back. Even now you were wearing a pale blue sweatshirt over a white tank top, matching pale blue sweatpants on your legs and your panda slippers smiling up into the air almost in a creepy way.
It made you smile.
The only thing about the house that wasn’t quite perfect was-
The empty fridge..
Whelp, take-out tonight, and Grocery shopping tomorrow..?
You glance at the sun outside, seeing it slipping almost entirely down below the line of mountains.
..Maybe order in?
The doorbell rang as you were lining up your movie collection on the shelves to the left of the fireplace, where a flatscreen was mounted above the unlit, lacework grate. Along the mantle was a number of photographs of your cousins and uncles and a single aunt, with a few small objects like a fish-themed paperweight and a ceramic pinecone you vaguely remembered your eldest cousin Reece giving to your shared grandmother when you were five and he was eight.
You nearly skipped to the door, throwing it open and pressing a twenty to the young woman’s face before plucking up the pizza and closing it again with a quick “Thanks, hun.”
Shutting the door again felt like sealing yourself behind a spaceship vault, a breath of relief leaving you as you turned on your heel and moved to the living room, settling the box on the low oak coffee table and reaching for the remote sitting precariously on the edge of the armrest on the opposite side.
When it clattered to the floor at the clumsy grasping of your fingers, you grumbled for a second and got to your feet, shuffling down to swipe it up and return to your seat with a faint bounce from the sheer force of your disinterested plop.
Clicking it on and smiling indulgently at the full bar internet connection, you swiped through Netflix, eager to find something to hold your attention as you ate.
You awoke at four in the morning to a dry mouth and your joints itching as they usually did before a long hot shower.
Rolling off of the couch, you glowered at the three quarters eaten pizza and closed the box to glare at the Netflix screen. The words Are you still watching? taunted you and you grumbled as you clicked the power button to turn it off and drag the pizza box to the large fridge. Like all of the appliances in the cabins your grandparents owned, everything was up-to-date and gleaming stainless steel. Your grandmother had flat out refused to purchase anything white after the frosting-dye fiasco nearly all of the grandchildren had ultimately participated in the summer of 2012.
She had nearly cried at the sight of the tye-dye monstrosity that was her cabin fridge.
You still cringed remembering her heartbroken wail at the state of her kitchen. She may have been grateful that no one was hurt and the fire in and on the oven hadn’t burnt the entire house down but she had tanned your hides red for that little frosting war.
You rubbed your backside even now remembering those belt lashes. You sure as hell never did anything like that again in Nana’s kitchen.
Wandering up the staircase, your eyes caught on a few of the painted sceneries, many of them picked up from antique shops, but a few having been painted by your aunt Francine. Her signature bird feather beneath a jagged FD.
Slipping into the shower after stripping from your clothes, you sighed in relief as the cool water shot out against your dry skin, eager for any sort of water or lotion at his point and rapidly lifting your arms to keep your elbows and knees in the direct spray. Having Urbach-Weithe was more of an inconvenience than people let on, really..
Stepping out onto the floor mat, you used a dull blue towel to dry off your hair and neck, mindful of your aching joints and eager to dig your fingers into the large jar of the honey-smelling stuff on your nightstand.
Two hours later found you in a pair of jean capris and a button-up white shirt with a pair of black and white converse on your feet.
Your socks were bright blue and patterned with white candy wrappers, but the color matched your crop top/hoodie so there was little debate.
The air was crisp and warm with just the lightest breeze in your dark blue hair, the curled waves tucked over one shoulder and held there with a baseball cap.
You scrolled through your phone after exiting your car, a simple white sedan you’d gotten used from a dealership in Michigan a year back. The door shut behind you with a faint thunk and you began walking, no true direction in mind, trusting your ever-hungry gut to lead you to the nearest grocer.
You were halfway through a bar of chocolate when you passed an antique shop, three bags of groceries on your arm aiming to be put in the trunk of your car where you kept an electric cooler.
Your head turned without prompt at the shine of gold in the window, your curiosity piqued until you saw that it was a curved horn in the window. A further glance past the dusty glass emblazoned with Aurora’s Antiques in bright purple showed a dim room full of what looked to be piles and piles of boxes and junk.
Glancing at your bags, you decided to swing back, picking up the pace to put the food in the car before walking back around to the same dusty building in the same dusty line of shops.
A brass bell rang above the door as you pushed it open, using the sleeve of your half-hoodie to cover your nose as you slipped inside. The scent of dust and old books was thick in the air and with a second glance to make sure that the sign did say OPEN, you started to walk through the maze of shelves and boxes, eager to find something unique to add to your new home.
Crockery and wooden spoons, a bin of canes and a nearby umbrella, you saw dozens of unlit floor lamps and dozens of mirrors and clocks. There were more lamps made for single candles to sit inside. You grabbed two of those that mostly matched and decided to put them in your room. Continuing down the aisle you were in, you looked at the paired shoes near the floor and a shelf of nick-nack type things.
At the end of the aisle was a dark redwood cabinet, a fine glaze ruined with dust and spots of obvious wear. It was elegantly carved, however, and looked like it might have held something like liquor or old photos back in the day.
“That’d be a radio cabinet, young lady.”
You jolted in surprise, lifting you head up to see a weathered old woman who looked to be at least in her eighties. She was hunched over a low counter, also piled high on the sides with objects. There were more mirrors, some jewelry stands, and even a stack of old-looking books.
Your eyes caught a shining opal pendant and you mentally calculated what you had left in your paycheck until Friday.
“How much?” you asked curiously. You placed the two lamps onto the counter near where she hunched, seeing the old bronze cash register and almost bouncing in place when she pressed the buttons and it worked clearly and cleanly, despite the obvious well-worn visage of it.
“The Cabinet would be..” the woman frowned a moment, looking unsure and rumpled, before shaking her head, “One hundred fifty.. I’d sell it for one, really, I’ve had it brought back so often..”
“Deal,” you shrugged, counting out the bills in your wallet and finishing the transaction with a smile. “Mind if I drive my car up to the porch? I don’t think I can carry it that long of a way..”
“Oh, I’ve got a worker for that, dear,” the woman smiled almost indulgently as she waved off your concerns. “My grandson just moved back home from his fancy school up in the North. He’s helping out around the shop for a while.. I’ll call him downstairs.”
You shuffled in place a moment as she disappeared into a door near the back of the shop that had a stairwell inside, running your fingers through your hair and leaning your hip on the counter as you eyed the opal pendant hanging between your fingers. Best forty-seven dollars you’ve ever spent.
A young man who looked to be in his mid-twenties came down the steps at a quick pace. Your eyes caught on the fact that he had large, dorky black glasses over his brown eyes and shaggy brown hair before you noticed that his sweatshirt said Columbia University .
Dayum Son, you felt your eyebrows hike up your face as an aristocratic jaw and thin, smooth lips pulled into a smile. Brown eyes creased behind the faint glare of the glasses in the lamp light and you instinctively smile back.
“This is Ethan,” the older woman was down the steps just after him, a foot and a half shorter and having to reach up to pat his arm. “He’ll wheel your new radio out on a cart for you, dear.. It’ll just be a minute.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” the young man murmured, a southern twang in his voice that had you smiling even wider as you lifted a hand in a slight wave.
“Hi..”
He left to get a cart from the back and was careful to load the radio cabinet onto it, using several straps to bind it in place before getting to his feet and dusting off his knees.
“Lead the way, Ma’am.”
I could get used to that..
You held the door open for his cart and he smiled sheepishly as he passed through, letting you lead the way to the end of the boardwalk to your sedan. You popped open the trunk with a few clicks to the key fob, smiling a little indulgently as you moved the grocery cooler to the side and helped him situate the cabinet inside of it, making sure it wouldn’t fall out once the door was opened again.
“Thank you,” you murmured, dusting off your hands and already thinking back to the bottles of wood polish that were crowding up the supply closet.
“Will you be staying in McCaysville, long?” he asked curiously. Your head tilted back again and you glanced toward the street as a gaggle of children rushed past kicking a bright green ball.
“Until further notice,” you shrugged.
He helped you finish tying it down with straps for safety and took the initiative to close the very high trunk door for you, as you usually had to climb into the trunk itself and grab the handle to leap down and close it behind you.
“Well,” he gave you a curious look and a more nervous-looking smile as he rocked back on his heels. Seems he wasn’t one for small talk. His fingers curled around the bar of the cart handle and he gave you a semi-awkward mock-bow. “Have a nice day.”
“You, too,” you waved again as he walked off, mildly amused by his awkward demeanor but more focused on your new home and everything that needed done, still.
The drive back was rather uneventful, there were the smattering of birds and squirrels that needed reminding of unsafe road conditions and the sighting of a doe, but not much else for you to internally report.
You made it home with plenty of time to spare for dinner, having snacked on a hot dog at a cart in the market for lunch. Going off of your stadium-dog fumes, you got to work extracting the food and putting it away in the kitchen before returning to your car and hefting the cabinet into your arms with careful focus to your center of balance.
It took a few minutes, but you managed to put it in the living room after leaving all of the doors open, thankful for the bug zappers placed aesthetically on each side of the doorway to minimize the infestation of mosquitoes and/or flies to your new home.
You’d put up some bug strips later, just to be safe.
Fuck did you hate bugs in your clean spaces..
Pushing the coffee table off to the side, you put the cabinet in front of the couch and moved to grab the cleaning supplies from the closet beneath the stairwell, picking up a few spare fly strips while you were in there as well as a small metal bucket to use as a makeshift trash bin for the rags you intended to dispose of.
Settling onto the couch, you flicked open Netflix, clicking through a few things that could fill the silence and settling on Supernatural. Because Adonis Hunter reasons.
Your fingers were dusty and smudged black as you scrubbed at the first layer of filth, working through the motions to the tunes of Kansas and Asia, humming along every so often and smiling as the redwood became clearer and clearer.
Unbeknownst to you, the owner of the object twitched and shifted, his ever-present smile strained with the urge to snarl aimlessly at the air. The motions against his spirit were thorough but smooth, and while he was almost always aware of his surroundings, he could not for the afterlife-of-him figure out where it was coming from..
When he did..
Oh, when he did..
Nothing would grant the soul mercy..