No Agenda (Part One)

[synnerxx]

Title: No Agenda
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Supernatural RPF
Pairings: Misha Collins/Richard Speight, Jr., Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Warnings: violence, murder, attempted murder; dark!fic
Notes: None of this would have been possible without dr_jasley. She held my hand and guided me through writing my very first bigbang, which is what you see here. This fic went through three changes before I settled on this story (and in the middle of the challenge too.) I would never have completed it in time with the right amount of words without word wars from zekkass, _bluebells, ladyknightanka and theinsaneeraser. They also helped me finish this fic with words of encouragement and they were all wonderful sounding boards when I needed someone to help me talk out the plot with. A huge thank you also goes to stharridan who beta'ed this piece for me. Her help is hugely appreciated, even more so when you add in the fact that we hadn't know each other long, but she still stepped up to bat for me when I needed a beta. A final (but no less meaningful) thank you goes to my artist, apieceofcake for the amazingly stunning art she created for this story. She really captured it all with her graphics and I love them and I know you will too. This story is also loosely based on the movie The Strangers.
Summary: Misha and Richard have just returned from their friends' wedding reception. A rejected marriage proposal later, both are upset with one another. Their problems soon worsen when three people in masks start to terrorize them after a woman shows up at their door twice, asking for a person who isn't there. After being brutalized, forced to watch their friend being killed, and left for dead, can Jared and Jensen save Misha and Richard or is it all over for them?

The wonderful art for this story is here. Please leave apieceofcake some love on it. It's fantastic work and she deserves it.



The silence is suffocating. The red of the streetlight floods the car and highlights the tears still falling slowly down Richard's face. He knows he let Misha down. The disappointment is thick in the air, sitting heavy and metallic on his tongue, a bitter taste. The light changes to green and Misha shuffles in the seat, driving away from the light. His knuckles are white from clenching the steering wheel so tightly. Richard wants to reach out and stroke the soft skin, but he can't. He's not even sure if he's allowed right now or if he ever will be again.

The rest of the ride is thankfully short because the silence is really grating on Richard's nerves and sanity, but for the life of him, he has no idea what to say. What do you say to the person whose heart you just crushed? He stops the car by the mail box and slides out, taking the keys with him. He wrenches open the mail box and snatches the envelopes inside, flicking through them as he storms up the front walk. Richard lights a cigarette, a nasty habit that Misha hates, and takes a puff slowly, nerves somewhat soothed by the familiar rush of nicotine.

Richard gets out of the car, following Misha more sedately up the path to the house. He finishes the cigarette and drops it on the front porch, stepping on it to make sure it's out. Misha is in the dining room and Richard feels even worse when he gets in there because he sees the effort Misha put into the romantic setting. There's a bucket on the table filled with ice and champagne, candles on either side of it. Rose petals trail from the front door to the dining room and from there to the bedroom.

Misha digs the spoon into the container of vanilla ice cream and shoves the heaping scoop into his mouth. He ignores Richard as he heads into the bedroom, tugging off his suit jacket and undoing his tie. Jared and Jensen's wedding had been beautiful and he is happy for his friends, but the crushing guilt and sadness overtake the happiness at seeing his friends so in love for a moment and Richard has to wipe at his eyes, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat.

He's sitting at a table with Sebastian, Mark and Matt. They're laughing and telling jokes, sharing stories about their lives. Richard glances to his left as he takes a sip of champagne and sees Misha heading his way, determination in his steps. Richard smiles at him briefly before turning back to the conversation at hand. He grins at Misha as he kneels beside his chair. Misha kisses his cheek, smiling at Matt as Richard laughs at something they said. Misha only catches the end of it, something about Mark shoving Matt into the pool naked or something.

He kisses Richard's cheek again to catch his attention.”Babe, let's go outside.”

Richard takes the last sip of champagne and glances over at Mark, who shoos him out with Misha. Richard grins and takes Misha's hand, pulling him to his feet, chuckling when Misha's arm curls around his waist. He leans into Misha's side, basking in the warmth that Misha exudes. Misha's grip tightens briefly, before they're outside the reception hall, the cold air tugging at their hair and clothing, stinging their noses and eyes.

“It's cold out tonight,” Richard states, looking out at the parking lot, seeking out their car automatically.

“Yeah, odd for Texas,” Misha agrees, hands sliding into his pockets. He strokes his fingers over the velvet box hidden away inside his pocket, butterflies chasing each other around in his belly. He's sure he's never felt like this before. He's too hot, too cold, too everything. He reaches up and pulls at his tie; the wretched thing has been strangling him all evening. Richard notices his fidgeting and grasps his hand, lacing their fingers together and lowering them away from Misha's tie. The bright blue silk settles against the white of Misha's dress shirt with an almost irritated twitch. Misha attempts to glare down at the evil thing before Richard catches his gaze and smiles fondly at him and Misha can't help but grin like a little boy back at his lover.

“Why did you want to come out here?” Richard asks, head tilting to the left.

Misha's mouth is dry all of a sudden, the breath knocked out of him, and he can't form a coherent thought at all. His body has totally shut down on him and it takes a moment for him to reboot the system. He clears his throat and takes a deep breath, the cold air recharging him somewhat. He sees the concern in Richard's honey-colored eyes as he gets down on one knee, the black box held loosely in his fingers. He holds it up to Richard, unlacing their fingers so he can open the box, revealing the ring inside. “Richard, will you marry me?”

Richard's hand is pressed to his mouth and he's staring at the ring. Misha can't read his emotions in his eyes for the first time and he knows with a sinking, gut-wrenching feeling that he's made a mistake. Richard's eyes meet his and then he knows for sure. The regret shining in them is unmistakable. He snaps the box shut and gets to his feet, turning on his heel, walking back inside the warmth of the hall. He ignores Richard when he calls out for him, his voice hoarse and strained.

Richard continues stripping, toeing off his shoes and socks, sliding his slacks down his legs and stepping out of them, shrugging out of his shirt, the tie in a puddle of green silk on the bed. Clad in only his black boxers, he pushes open the door to the bathroom, making a conscious effort to avoid the mirror. He doesn't want to face his reflection right now. He knows what he will find in his eyes and he doesn't want to see, doesn't want to see the face that broke Misha's heart as absurd as that sounds since it's him. He did it, he broke his lover's heart and there's not a damn thing he can do to fix it. Well, that's not strictly true. He could fix it, but every time he thinks about it, his throat gets clogged with all the words he wants to say, but isn't able. Marriage terrifies him. It's irrational and he hates himself for it, but it's there all the same.

He leans into the shower stall, turning the water on and adjusting the temperature until it's as hot as he can stand it. He hooks his thumbs into the elastic waistband of his boxers and pushes them down, kicking them off behind the door.

He steps into the shower, sighing in relief as the water soothes him after the long day of being on his feet most of the time. He lets go of everything, the aches and pains of his body, the sorrow and regret that weighs down his soul, all of it. He'll pick it back up once he gets out of the shower, but for now, he allows the hot water to rinse it all away, carrying it down the drain. He scrubs away the dirt from the day, letting it end and readying himself for a new day. He washes his hair and then works the conditioner into it, letting it sit for a few minutes then rinsing it out.

He stays under the water a little longer than usual, not wanting to get out and face Misha. Yes, he knows that's a cowardly thing to think, but he's not ready to be brave yet. He closes his eyes and tilts his chin up, letting the water run down his face for a second. He reaches out and slides his hand along the slick wall of the shower, blindly aiming for the faucet handles. He finds them, counting them out and turning the middle one once he's sure of it. The shower switches to the bath faucet and he turns the other two handles at the same time, eyes still closed. The sudden silence is almost deafening when the water stops running.

He stretches out one leg carefully, meeting the rug with his bare foot, wary of slipping and falling. He squints his eyes open, blinking water out of them. The drops catch in his eyelashes, making everything blur slightly. He gets out of the bathtub and opens the cabinet, taking out his favorite fluffy towel. He presses it to his face first, and then gives his hair a rough rub down before wrapping it around his hips. He walks back into the bedroom, changing into a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt after he dries himself off.

Misha is still sitting at the kitchen table when he walks back in, but he's on his cell phone now. Richard pauses behind him, listening to Misha. He's eavesdropping and that's a bit fucked up, but he can't help himself. He needs to know what Misha isn't telling him.

“Hey, it's me. I'm at the house now and well, things didn't go so well. Can you come pick me up whenever you get this? I know it's a lot to ask, but please? I know it sucks coming out here, but I just need to get out, but I don't want to take the car. Thanks. Bye.” Misha hangs up with a sigh. He stirs the half eaten melted ice cream around in the container before shoving it away from him. He picks up the champagne bottle and pours himself a glass.

Richard shuffles in hesitantly, taking a seat on Misha's right. He wordlessly takes the bottle after Misha sits it down and swigs directly from it. Misha smiles thinly over the rim of his glass, but says nothing, even though he hates it when Richard drinks out of any carton instead of pouring it into a cup. Richard doesn't meet his eyes, staring down at the glossy surface of the dining table. He knows Misha hates it when he does that. He's not sure if he's trying to pick a pointless fight or what.

Misha puts the ring box on the table and pushes it over to Richard. “Take it. I can't return it and I don't want it, so take it. Please.” There's a note of desperation in his voice, but Richard can only stare at the innocent little box in a mix of guilt and fear. He can't move, can't look away, can't say anything. He hears Misha sigh and begin to tap more buttons on his phone, but he can't tear his eyes away from the box. The box scares him more than anything at that moment. Why are all his fears irrational, he doesn't know.

It amazes Richard that something so small could have shattered his relationship and left him unable to pick up the pieces, but there you go. He doesn't understand why he said nothing when Misha asked him to marry him. He loves this man more than anything and anyone in the world, but the second he saw the box, he froze. Everything just stopped and he watched Misha crumble and was completely helpless to stop it. He glares at the box, hating it and fearing it and a small part of him loves it and it terrifies him.

A knock at the door makes both of them flinch; Misha nearly drops his phone. He manages to keep it from escaping his grasp and shoots Richard a confused look. “Isn't it almost four in the morning?”

Richard nods, looking towards the door as the knocks begin again. It's a jerky rhythm, the pauses between too short and then too long. Almost as if the person on the other side has never knocked on a door before and isn't quite sure how to do it. Misha rolls his eyes, clearly thinking it's some teenagers, but he gets up and opens the door anyway. Richard follows behind him, keeping his distance.

The front porch is dark, bathed in shadows. Misha frowns and flicks the light switch off and on a few times, sure that it had been on when they came home. He narrows his eyes and tries to make out who's standing on his porch, not saying anything. The only thing he can tell is that whoever it is is shorter than him.

“Hello, can we help you?” Misha asks after giving up in the light switch.

The silence stretches on between them long enough to make Richard uncomfortable and he steps closer to Misha, peering over his shoulder.

“Is Debra there?” the woman asks finally, voice muffled and slightly slurred.

“No, there's not a Debra here. Sorry, you got the wrong house,” Misha says, a tightness to his voice that Richard picks up on. He trails his fingertips down the line of Misha's back, some of the tension leaving him.

“You sure?” the woman presses.

“Yes, I'm sure,” Misha replies, sighing through his nose.

Another pause, this one shorter.

“Oh, okay.” The woman turns and walks away, a bit off balance, leaning to one side. They watch her go back down the walk to the road. They don't see a vehicle out there, but that doesn't matter to them. Misha leans out the door and reaches up to twist the bulb of the porch light experimentally. It's loose and he tightens it, lips pursing together in annoyed confusion. The light shines brightly, illuminating the porch. The woman is no longer in sight. Misha watches the outside world a moment longer, an uneasy feeling creeping up his back and making the hairs at the nape of his neck stand on end. He shakes it off and closes the door, turning around to find Richard much closer than he expected.

He can smell the body wash and shampoo Richard used and underneath that, the smell that is all Richard. Spice and musk twining together to intoxicate his senses. He inhales deeply, taking the scent of his lover in and letting it fill him up. He reaches out and cups Richard's cheek, thumb stroking the soft skin over his cheekbone. Richard hums in contentment, leaning into Misha's touch. Misha moves into Richard's personal space, eyes dropping from Richard's to rest on his lips.

They move at the same time, pressing against each other, mouths slanting together perfectly. Misha licks along Richard's bottom lip, seeking entrance. Richard opens his mouth, tongue sliding against Misha's as his arms wrap around Misha's neck. They somehow stumble back into the living room, falling onto the couch in a heap. Richard rocks his hips down into Misha as Misha runs his hands up his sides under his shirt, nails raking over his ribs.

Misha isn't being as gentle as he usually is, but Richard says nothing, knowing he deserves this bit of roughness and anger and hurt that Misha is taking out on him. He accepts the bruising kisses, the bites to the side of his neck, the nails being dragged across his skin. He lets Misha do whatever he wants because Misha deserves to, deserves to punish him and, in a strange way, he needs it, welcomes it. Just as he's undoing Misha's belt, there's another knock at the door.

“What the fuck?” Misha groans, sagging back into the couch.

“I don't know.” Richard climbs off of him, straightening out his clothing.

Misha stands as well, fixing his belt and smoothing his hands down his shirt. He crosses the living room quickly, Richard following him once again. The light is off once more. Misha flicks the switch a few more times before cursing and turning to look out into the night. There's no one on the porch. Richard steps past Misha and reaches up to fix the bulb once again. He pulls back with a cry of pain, almost stumbling off the porch before Misha catches his arm, pulling him back into the house and shutting the door behind them.

“What's wrong?” he asks, grabbing Richard's wrist.

“The light bulb is broken. Grabbed the edges of the broken glass and sliced my hand up.” Richard holds his right hand out in front of him, blood pooling in the palm of his hand.

Blood runs down Richard's hand onto Misha's fingers. There are several cuts and scrapes on Richard's palm from his grabbing the broken light bulb unwittingly. Misha leads him into the bathroom and holds his hand in the sink, letting the water gently wash away the blood. Thankfully, there's no glass embedded in the wounds. Richard whimpers and his hand twitches, fingers curling when Misha presses a towel to the cuts to stop the bleeding. He applies pressure for a few moments, backing off when Richard whimpers again. He dabs at the cuts, wincing at the jagged edges and torn skin. They're not deep and don't need stitches, but they look painful all the same.

Richard takes a seat on the closed lid of the toilet while Misha digs around under the sink for the first aid kit. He finds it with a soft cry of triumph, making Richard smile despite the pain throbbing in his hand. Misha pulls out the roll of Ace bandage.

“I think we're going to have to use this. All we have are regular sized band aides and it would take too many to patch you up.” Misha waves the roll of beige-colored bandages at Richard, who nods. Misha unravels the bandages and begins to wrap them around Richard's hand.

“Too tight?” he asks when he's got two strips of bandage around the cuts. Blood seeps through, staining the pale fabric a deep reddish-brown. It's only a little and spotty, so Richard doesn't worry about it. It stops after a few minutes anyway after he shakes his head at Misha.

A few minutes later and they're done, Richard flexing his hand and testing out how it feels with the bandage wrapped around it.

“Feel okay?” Misha asks, trailing soft fingers across Richard's palm.

“Yeah, thanks.” Richard smiles up at Misha.

Misha nods and heads back into the living room, Richard following a moment later. He picks up his pack of cigarettes from the table where he tossed them when he came in. He shakes his last one out and frowns at the box. “I'm out of cigarettes.”

Misha looks up from the couch. “I'll go get you some.”

Richard shakes his head. “You don't have to.”

“It's fine. I'll build you a fire and then go get you some. I want to get out of the house anyway. A drive will clear my head,” Misha says, standing and beginning to work on the fire place.

Richard just nods, watching as Misha coaxes a healthy flame up in the fireplace. He takes a seat on the brick rim around the fire place beside Misha and bumps his shoulder against him when he leans back. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome. I'll be back in a little while.” Misha walks to the table, grabs his keys and heads for the front door.

Richard watches him leave, aching in a way he doesn't quite understand. He leans against the wall next to the fireplace and soaks in the heat of the flames. He hears the car start and pull out of the driveway. The emptiness of the house is suddenly intimidating and the silence is oppressive. He doesn't get up to do anything about it though, instead relaxing further into the bricks.

A few minutes later, a loud thud against the wood of the front door startles him from his musings. He jumps slightly, looking over to the front door. He blinks at it, wondering what hit it when a series of thuds rain down on it. Someone is knocking again. He glances at the clock. A quarter to five in the morning. He stands and walks over to the door, resting his uninjured hand on the knob.

“Is Debra there?” The same woman from before is there, her voice muffled behind the heavy wood of the door.

Richard rests his forehead against the door. “You've already been here and we told you she isn't. You've still got the wrong house.”

He waits for a response, but there is none. He waits a few more seconds before opening the door and peering out into the night. There's no one out there and he lets out a sigh. He closes the door and locks it once more, feeling slightly unnerved by the woman's reappearance. He doesn't understand the rush of fear, deep and primal, that slams into him, but he's helpless to do anything, except get swept up in it.

The urge to call Misha and ask where he's at and when will he be back overtakes him and he gives in, going into the bedroom to dig through his jacket pocket for his cell phone.

“Shit,” he mumbles as he taps at his touchscreen only for it to tell him “Low Battery” and turn itself off. He snatches his charger up from the nightstand and heads back into the living room, plugging his charger into the wall socket by the fireplace and hooking his phone up. The LED light flashes and the battery symbol pops up on screen, telling him that it is charging. He sets it on the ledge of the fireplace and grabs up the land line from its cradle on the coffee table.

He punches in Misha's cell number almost violently and waits impatiently for Misha to answer.

“Hello?” After three rings, Richard is rewarded with Misha's voice.

“Misha? It's me. Where are you?” Richard asks in a rush.

“At the convenience store. Are you okay?” Misha picks up on the note of unease in Richard's voice.

“That woman came back,” he says and isn't sure why.

“Why?” Misha asks.

“I don't know. I think she's on drugs or something.” Richard shifts his weight from foot to foot. A creaking sound from the hallway catches his attention and he stops breathing, listening intently.

“Probably. Listen, I'll be home in a few minutes, just relax,” Misha soothes.

“Okay,” Richard says absently, attention still fixed on the hallway. He heard something, he's sure of it.

“I gotta go now, see you soon.” Misha hangs up after Richard mutters a farewell.

He puts the phone back in the cradle and shakes himself. It's an old house and old houses make all sorts of weird sounds. He's just being paranoid. He goes into the kitchen and snags a glass from the drainboard and sticks it under the faucet of the sink, filling it with cold water.

He takes a sip before going over to the table and looking at the ring box. He picks it up with one hand and flicks it open, staring at the sapphire and silver ring inside. Misha knows he doesn't like diamonds and prefers silver to gold. It's perfect and wonderful, just like Misha. The blue of the sapphire is almost as intense as Misha's eyes. He puts the glass down and slips the ring onto his left ring finger, admiring the sparkle of it in the light. He picks up his glass and takes another drink, leaning a hip against the table.

He wonders what Misha will say when he sees that Richard is wearing the ring. He wonders if Misha will still want to marry him after he took his silence for a rejection and Richard didn't say anything to the contrary. Richard sighs and takes another drink of water, trying and failing to shove the doubt from his mind. He loves Misha, there's no question about that, but the idea of marriage scares him. It shouldn't, but he can't help it. It is an irrational fear and he does his best to hold back the negative thoughts, but they swarm in anyway.

What if things change between him and Misha after they get married? What if they fight more? What if they get divorced? The what ifs just keep coming and coming and Richard can't stop them. He inhales, holds it for a moment, then exhales, trying to let go of the doubt. It works somewhat. The negative thoughts are pushed to the back of his mind where they belong. He smiles down at the ring and thinks he is ready to take this step with Misha as long as Misha holds his hand when they do. He knows Misha will though. He's always there for Richard and Richard can't think of anyone else he'd rather have at his side.

Another creak from the living room this time has him whirling around and nearly dropping his glass. There's nothing and no one there, but his heart is racing and he's shaking now. He puts the glass on the counter and nearly runs for the fireplace, intent on getting to his cell phone. It's not there. The charger is still there, right where he left it, but his phone is gone. He searches the floor around the fireplace frantically, but there's no sign of his phone.

He snatches the house phone off the coffee table and dials Misha's number again. He's gasping, eyes darting around the living room and into the hallway. He rushes to the front door and makes sure it's locked still. It is, the door knob and the heavy deadbolt in place. He slides the chain across the door and latches it too.

Misha finally answers, sounding slightly annoyed at being interrupted again. “What, Richard?”

“Someone's in the house!” he hisses, voice barely above a whisper.

“What?” Misha sounds startled.

“Someone is in the house. They took my cell phone. I had it plugged into the wall because it needed to be charged and now it's gone. I haven't touched it since I plugged it in. Someone is in the house!” Richard's desperation is mounting with every word.

“Okay, okay. Calm down. I'll be home in like five minutes, okay?” Misha says, a note of worry in his voice.

“Okay, just hurry and stay on the phone with me,” Richard says, fear creeping into his voice.

Misha has already hung up though and a dial tone is all that greets Richard's words. He curses as he drops the phone onto the table and goes into the bedroom, sliding his shoes on and lacing them quickly.

Something that sounds like footsteps echo loudly in the hallway outside the bedroom door and Richard nearly screams until Misha opens the door, calling his name.

“Bedroom!” Richard says loudly, trying to calm down. His hands are shaking as he rakes his fingers though his hair.

Misha pushes open the bedroom door and steps inside, tossing the bag onto the bed. Richard doesn't hesitate. Things may not be totally okay with them, but he needs Misha. He wraps his arms around Misha's waist, burying his face in Misha's shoulder.

Misha's arms circle around him automatically, hands stroking his back soothingly. “Hey, it's okay. Everything's okay.”

Richard takes a deep breath and moves back from Misha, digging in the bag for his cigarettes. He searches through his jacket pocket for his lighter and lights a cigarette when he has both in hand. His hands are still shaking and it takes three tries before the flame whooshes to life in the lighter.

“You're really freaked, aren't you?” Misha takes a seat on the edge of the bed and watches Richard puff on his cigarette.

“You would be too. You should be too.” Richard exhales the smoke, turning his head away from Misha because Misha hates it when he smokes. As it is, Misha crinkles his nose and scowls.

Richard takes another drag off the cigarette and then puts it out in the ash tray on the nightstand. His nerves are slightly less frayed and he's tired of Misha making faces at him while he smokes. He's been trying to quit, but it's easier said than done like most things in life. Misha pulls him down on to the bed next to him and Richard goes willingly.

He's just about to say something when there's a pounding at the door. It's heavy and violent, each thud shaking the door on its hinges. The locks hold, but the door strains against the force of the pounding. “What the fuck?” Misha snaps, standing up and pulling Richard with him.

The pounding abruptly stops and they tense, Richard squeezing Misha's hand. Misha lets go of Richard and moves to the door, peeking out and listening. There's nothing but silence and the crackle of the fireplace. Misha opens the door and steps out into the hall, Richard staying in the bedroom. He walks into the living room, glancing at the fire to make sure it isn't too high before noticing something off about the entrance way.

The front door is open a tiny bit, just enough for someone to see into the house. Misha creeps over to the door and peers out of it. He shrieks and stumbles backwards when he realises that someone is staring back at him. He quickly recovers and slams the door shut, locking it and sliding the chain into place. Richard runs out of the bedroom when he hears Misha scream, looking terrified. “What is it, what happened?”

“Fuck! There's someone out there. You were right. There's someone in the house. Fucking fuck!” Misha rakes his hands through his hair, eyes wild as they race around the room, looking for anything and nothing all at once.

“What? Okay, calm down, we need to get out of here.” Another thud follows Richard's words and they both flinch.

“What the fuck is going on?” Misha demands frantically.

Before Richard can answer, there's a series of bangs against the front door and then something claws the front windows, the sound harsh and high-pitched. They wince at the sound, gritting their teeth against it. Just as suddenly as the noise began, silence falls around the house again.

“Misha?” Richard whispers, reaching out for Misha's hand. Misha takes it and squeezes, motioning for Richard to be quiet as he continues to listen.

Richard falls silent and clutches Misha's hand tighter, heart racing in his chest, sweat beading on his forehead. Misha tugs him into the bedroom and closes the door, locking it behind them.

“Okay, we know for sure there is someone outside. There's more than likely someone inside the house too. We need to get out of here.” Misha pulls out his cell phone from his pants pocket.

“Who are you calling?” Richard asks, voice steady despite his fear.

“No one, I guess. No signal.” Misha glares down at the phone in his hand.

“Well, fuck. We could have called the police. Wait, where's the house phone?” Richard looks around the room for it.

“You called me from it last. I don't know,” Misha answers, still tapping away at his phone.

“Fuck, it's on the kitchen table.” Richard groans.

“I'll go get it,” Misha says, shoving his useless cell phone into his pocket.

Richard frowns. “Let me go with you.”

“It'll only take one of us.” Misha makes for the door, pulling his hand free of Richard's.

Richard's frown deepens, but he doesn't argue. He watches as Misha slowly edges out the door, looking warily around the hall before slipping down it into the dining room. Richard leans out the door, hand gripping the door jamb tightly, knuckles turning white against brown wood.

Misha hurries over to the table, searching every inch of it for the house phone. It's not there. “Fuck!” he snaps, slamming his palm on the table. He hurries into the living room, checking the cradle for it and looking in all the usual places. It's not there, it's not anywhere. He can't find it and he doesn't want to leave Richard alone any longer than he has to, so he goes back into the bedroom.

“You find it?” Richard asks, reaching out for Misha, needing to touch to make sure he's really there.

“No. They must have it along with your cell phone.” Misha squeezes Richard's hand once before letting go again.

Misha opens the door to the closet and clicks on the light. He reaches up to the shelf above the hanging clothes, rummaging around and knocking several boxes of trinkets down before finding the one he wants.

Richard watches him curiously for a moment before asking what he's doing.

Misha sits down on the floor, ignoring Richard in favor of the box for a moment. He opens it and takes out a handgun, the light glinting off the barrel dangerously. Richard frowns. “I thought you got rid of that.”

“No, I just let you believe I did.” Misha slides a fresh magazine home and chambers a round.

“So you lied to me.” Richard glares at Misha.

“Do you really think now is the time to be arguing over this? Besides this just might save our lives. Now let's get to the car, okay?” Misha stands up, pocketing the extra magazine as he goes.

Richard continues to glare, but nods and follows Misha when he heads out the door, gun cocked and at the ready. They creep down the hall to the front door, tense and listening to every little sound. Misha throws open the front door and checks either side of them before stepping out, Richard so close behind him that he's almost stepping on the backs of Misha's shoes.

“What the hell?” Misha breathes when they get to the car.

Broken glass crunches underfoot, the little pieces scattered all along the ground on all sides of the car. The glass catches the light from the streetlamp and tosses a pink glitter back up at them in a thousand different directions. All four windows are smashed along with the front and back windshields. Misha opens the driver side door and growls. The keys aren't in the seat where he left them. Whoever is stalking them tonight must have taken them too. He leans down in the floorboard area and growls in frustration. They cut the wires down here too, so there's no way to hot wire the car either.

He stands up straight and slams the car door as hard as he can. The car rocks hard to the side for a moment before evening out again. Richard looks at him with concern in his hazel eyes, but Misha ignores him, focusing instead on the beam of light that is cutting across the lawn from behind the old barn that had came with the house. He motions for Richard to come over to him and keeps his eyes fixed on the light as it turns in their direction briefly. He jerks Richard down with him as he crouches behind the side of the car.

He knows that whoever it is has to be aware that they're over here. There's no way they missed him slamming the car door. It was way too loud for that. He peers cautiously around the back end of the car, searching for the light, but it's gone. He stands up, tugging Richard with him. He shoves Richard in front of him, telling him to run for the house. Misha checks the car one last time for anything useful, but there's nothing in there except for broken glass.

He jogs quickly after Richard, shutting and locking the front door behind them. He follows Richard into the living room. “Any luck finding the house phone or your cell phone?”

“Yeah.” Richard points to the fireplace where both phones are melting, the orange flames lapping at the plastic, the melted chunks oozing away from the body, landing on the wood below, hissing and sizzling.

Misha stares at it for a moment. “Well, shit.”

“Check your cell again,” Richard says, glaring at the fire.

Misha nods, putting the handgun down on the coffee table. He pulls the phone out of his pocket and taps at the screen. He moves it about, walking all around the room, doing the crazy dance flails that people do when they're trying to find a signal. After a few minutes of this and Richard cracking a smile despite the circumstances, he finally slips it back into his pocket with a sigh. “No luck, babe. Sorry.”

They retreat to the bedroom, Richard taking a seat on the edge of the bed with a heavy sigh.

“We're so fucked and not in the fun, happy way either.” Richard buries his face in his hands.

Misha wraps an arm around him, pulling him close. “We'll get out of here and get somewhere safe. Everything will be okay. I promise.”

Richard laughs hollowly. “Don't make promises you can't keep.”

As soon as the words leave Richard's mouth, something slams into the glass of the window, startling Richard and Misha. Misha flinches, tightening his hold on Richard while Richard jumps and yelps.

“The fuck was that?” Misha asks as he snatches the gun back up off the coffee table.

He twitches back the curtain just in time for another paintball to explode against the glass. That's what the other thing was too. Just harmless paintballs. Written in the same red paint all over the window pane is 'Hello'. All over the window, the same word repeated over and over again. Misha jerks the curtain back into place, wincing as another paintball slams into the glass.

“Now they're taunting us. Great.” Richard lays back on the bed with a sigh.

“Let them taunt us. If that's the worst they're going to do, then so be it,” Misha snaps back.

The sound of glass shattering somewhere in the house cuts off whatever reply Richard was going to give. They freeze, tense and waiting, straining their ears to hear any sort of noise that might follow. Footsteps, heavy and thumping, are heard outside their bedroom.

“Did you lock the door?” Misha whispers, his breath tickling Richard's neck. They are standing pressed together, each clutching the other close to them.

“No. Did you?” Richard whispers back.

Misha shakes his head no. Richard's fists grip his shirt harder as he buries his face in Misha's neck. Misha's free hand automatically strokes up and down his back, trying to sooth Richard even though he's scared out of his mind. He raises the gun and aims it at the door, knowing that whoever is out there is just beyond the dark wood.

The footsteps fade away, going farther back into the house, away from the bedroom. Misha lowers the gun and Richard looks up, still shaking faintly. He pulls himself away from Misha, taking the gun from him as he goes.

“What are you doing?” Misha hisses at him.

“To end this.” Richard opens the door and heads for the living room, Misha following behind him, trying to get him to go back into the bedroom. Richard shakes him off, pressing one finger to his lips in a gesture to silence Misha.

They move silently, slowly as they peer around the corner into the living room. There's a person in there, clearly a man with broad shoulders under a suit jacket. There's a mask of some sort over his head. It looks more like a burlap bag than a mask. He's looking at the pictures that line the mantle. Misha pulls Richard back behind the corner, out of sight. Richard opens his mouth to say something, but Misha puts his hand over it and leans out cautiously, peeking at the man. The living room is empty now.

Misha drags Richard back into the bedroom, looking irritated. “What the fuck were you planning on doing? Huh? Getting yourself killed?”

Richard drops the gun on the bed and ignores Misha. He moves the curtains aside and looks at the red 'Hello's scribbled across their window.

“Answer me, Richard,” Misha growls as he locks the bedroom door this time.

“I just don't want to die, okay? Better we kill them before they can kill yo- us. Kill us.” Richard clears his throat and continues to face the window, not meeting Misha's too intense gaze.

“They're not going to kill anyone, Rich. Not me, not you. We're going to get out of this.” Misha softens, coming up behind Richard and meeting his eyes in the reflection in the window. Misha's hands curl around Richard's hips, settling into the familiar warmth that he can feel through Richard's clothing.

Richard leans back against Misha's chest, somewhat soothed by his words, but still uneasy. There are people in their house. People they don't know. People who are uninvited and unwanted. People who want to scare them, hurt them, possibly even kill them. This is the ultimate violation of privacy and it feels so wrong. It makes Richard feel dirty and their precious home, the one they built together, feels wrong to him now.

His hand seeks out Misha's and he clutches it tightly. Misha strokes his thumb over Richard's knuckles, wrapping his other arm around Richard's waist. They need this moment of comfort they take from each other in the midst of their fear. It doesn't last long though. There's a pounding on the bedroom door and they spring apart, Misha going for the gun on the bed. He snatches it up and aims it at the door, shoving Richard behind him instinctively.

The knob is jiggled, but the door remains close, the lock holding for now. Angry thuds rain down on the door once more before stopping just as suddenly as they had begun. Richard's fingers curl into the back of Misha's shirt, clenching the fabric tightly. They wait, straining their hearing over the sound of their harsh breathing in the ringing silence. The sound of the front door slamming makes them sigh in relief.

“You think it's over?” Richard asks, pressing close to Misha.

“Hopefully.” Misha edges to the door, gun still held at the ready.

“Where are you going?” Richard whispers, sounding terrified again. His fingers twist the hem of Misha's shirt in an attempt to keep the other man here with him.

“We need to know if they're out of the house. I'm going to check. Don't worry, I'll have the gun and I'll be careful, okay?” Misha raises the hand that's holding the gun and gently frees his shirt from Richard's grasp.

Richard lunges forward and presses his lips against Misha's with a touch of desperation, his hands clenching in Misha's shirt. Misha grunts in surprise, his own hands coming up instinctively to push Richard away, still startled by the suddenness of his actions. He relaxes and runs his free hand through Richard's hair. He holds the gun down by his side, away from them.

Richard pulls away after a few moments and looks at Misha, really looks at him. He takes in everything about the man he loves, every little detail right down to the laugh lines around his eyes to the bit of dark stubble across his jaw. Misha doesn't say anything, just watches Richard look.

Richard sighs and strokes a hand across Misha's cheek briefly. “Be careful. I can't lose you.”

Misha catches his hand and opens his mouth to say something when he looks down and sees the ring on Richard's finger. He stares at it silently before looking back up at Richard. “Is this a yes?”

Richard smiles. “Yes.”

Part Two