{ A.N. } - It's been about three years since I posted something worth reading and at least two years since I logged into this account-I mean, there's been two birthdays since I last looked at my account and a lot has changed in my life. I don't know who really cares to see me back or how much I'll plan to post. Honestly this is just a drop by notice to say "Holy Crap people still read some of my things and I'm sorry I abandoned everything because White Collar canon ruined everything tbh" and also things were going down at home and University and blah.

So yeah. To all those that are seeing this. You're amazing. I'm glad you enjoy my writing, even if it is wanting of 3 years of English help and just know that you've made a veteran Fanfic writer smile at seeing all the people who really enjoyed their stories even as awful as I thought they were.

Bless you all.

And here's a little mini-drabble for The Tomorrow People (which I'm super obessessed with right now) to maybe apologize for being away forever and give this post a reason to exist and maybe a mini promise of being around to change things like my name, and profile and work on some new works :D

sidenote: [italics is telepathy]

{ The darkness gets bigger. The person you'd take a bullet for is behind the trigger. } - Fall Out Boy

Go! I promise I won't hunt you.

What if I want to be hunted? Killian had thought. "Who's to say I won't hunt you?" he replied instead.

Killian had never been one for stating the obvious. Never been one to say what he was thinking or planning. He was always the one that lashed out and attacked when all he truly wanted to say was, I need you. All he ever asked for in his life was to be loved, to have a family. He'd had it all once upon a time and then he'd watched it all disappear, slipping away like sand through his fingers. All he had left was his anger and his hate. And his burning desire to destroy.

The Ultra agents. John. Himself. Anything and everything.

John took it away from him. His every chance at challenging the people that took his happiness. Why couldn't the other understand? He wasn't running anymore.

No—John finally did understand. Killian realized it from the pain that shocked through his body. The startled look on his face was more from John holding a gun than the pain that was almost disappearing in a wave of ice that was searing through Killian's body.

No…No no. Killian tried to speak, tried to protest. John couldn't be like him. John couldn't be a murderer, a killer. A monster. Killian realized that John was nothing like him. No. He was a killer but he wasn't a monster. John was better than that. John wouldn't have saved the Ultra agent or the kids in the studio, not if he was like him.

His muscles no longer had the ability to hold him up anymore and Killian felt himself falling to the ground, still struggling to say something. Killian didn't expect to be cliché, but he did let his life flash before his eyes. He wanted to remember. He wanted to see what he remembered his brother looked like the last time he'd seen him, promising to leave everything of their home behind. Killian thought of Jedikiah rescuing him from a rooftop when he'd broken out. Roger coaxing him to eat in the cafeteria when he was too scared to. He remembered saving John. Oh, John. Best friend. Greatest enemy. His brother.

The blonde moved towards him, and Killian knew that he didn't have long. He grabbed out for John, and watched the gun lift back into place in a mere second, daring him to do anything. But John didn't shoot again, and Killian met his gaze. There was no hatred in the dying man's features. Only relief.

"Thank you, John," he coughed out. Thank you for setting me free.

Killian found the darkness was where his happiness had been waiting all along.