Of Books and Gods
Chapter Two
By bkw

Mark and Richard talk some more. That doesn't last long, of course.

I promise, this isn't all from Mark's POV, but for now, he has to endure some Trickster action and then some. :D Believe it or not, there's an epic fight scene at the end of this story! Not just awkward man flirting.

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Disclaimer: Supernatural © Kripke/CW
Warnings: Gabriel/OMC, slash, minor foul language, permanent injuries, violence, slight AU timeline

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The following days after the murder were probably the strangest days Mark had ever experienced in his life. There was almost no noise, anywhere. Students still braved walking the generally peaceful campus, but there was an unspoken rule of silence among them as they traveled from building to building. The air itself was unnaturally still. The cops took everyone's statements and the entire campus was canvassed for any clues. The security cameras never caught anything. In fact, what bothered Mark the most was the rumor that the cameras caught Stacey headed into the alley, but never anyone else. It was as if the killer had been a phantom.

Mark wasn't sure if he wanted to throw up or just hide in his apartment for the rest of the week. He was sick of talking to the police or other students. When there was conversation, that's all there was to talk about. It was impossible to ignore.

He tried to flush the memory of a dead girl's hanging body from his mind, but it seemed content to stay and scare away any remaining bit of sleep from his nights.

It was Thursday and Mark still walked too awkwardly around the library, edging past other students and peering around shelf corners as if a murderer was about to pop out at any time. He felt paranoid—watched, even. It felt like this wasn't actually real life, only a movie.

He almost wanted to go home early, but he had rent to pay, so he was stocking shelves. Actually, at that moment, he was looking for books for a student who had pre-ordered things on the library's website, having been away from the campus that week. Mark was grabbing the books the student had ordered from the biology shelves, when he heard people walking up.

Was it sad he almost wanted to brace against the shelf and try to hide? It was ridiculous and he chided himself firmly when he saw it was just two women walking over, chatting aimlessly as they looked through the row of books on the other side of the shelves. Their campus was not home to killers, he told himself. This was just a horrible, freak accident.

He tried to focus on the books and to just get through the day without running into another thing to remind him of what he had seen.

And of course, that wasn't going to work out.

"…everyone saw the body," the taller girl said, a brunette. Mark withheld a sigh, pulling a book out of the shelf with more force than necessary.

Her friend, her blond head barely dusting above the book line, made a sighing sound. "I can't believe Stacey's dead," she said, sounding almost sincerely sad. It was more of a polite disappointment. "I had a class with her last semester. She seemed nice."

"She was a slut anyway," the brunette girl said suddenly.

"Wow," her friend replied, sarcastic. Mark had to share her sense of disbelief that the first girl couldn't shed at least a little sympathy for the murdered student.

The brunette was adamant however, shaking her head. "Seriously, Stacey was the biggest bitch," she continued, a look of bitterness in her eyes, or at least it looked that way through the bookshelves. "I feel bad that she died, but the hockey stick? Totally justified."

"Whaaat?" her friend exclaimed. Moving closer inconspicuously, Mark listened carefully, just as baffled by that statement. How on Earth was being impaled on a hockey stick justified—in any way?

"Did you hear what she did last semester? She blew the girls' hockey coach to get on the team," the brunette said. "My cousin worked her ass off to get on there, but she got replaced by Stacey."

"No way!"

Mark arched an eyebrow at the books. Okay, he could see Stacey doing something like that, but… still. Did that mean the killer knew about the incident then?

He pulled away from the shelf, feeling a little uneasy. He didn't want to think ill of the dead, but… if it was true, maybe it was a little, tiny bit justified in the manner of death. Just… really gross and over-dramatic. He couldn't imagine another girl doing something like that though. Stacey's sternum had been embedded on the hockey stick, from what he had heard, to keep the body up there, so there was no way a woman could have done that…

Mark shook his head, sighing. He wasn't a cop and didn't want to think about it anymore than he had to. He might not have been friends with Stacey, but it was still disturbing.

The image of her corpse still hadn't quite left his mind yet either. And he wondered why he hadn't been able to sleep before…

"Hey, Mark!"

Stopping, Mark looked up in surprise, at first not recognizing the male voice. When he turned and saw a familiar janitor leaning against the wall, he remembered.

"Oh, hi, Richard," he said, barely stumbling over the name. He smiled, grateful for a distraction.

Richard grinned, his teeth oddly flawless for a janitor. "How you doing, kiddo?" he asked cheerfully. He pulled away from the wall to fall into step with Mark as they headed to the front desk. "I didn't see you around yesterday."

Mark hesitated. "Um, I took the night off," he said lamely. Richard sent him an odd look and Mark sighed. "I was, um, one of the people who found that female student around by the student center, and the cops were interviewing me all day, so—."

Aaand, shut up, he told himself firmly, averting his eyes. He dropped the books in his hands on the table, shimming behind it to start checking them out. He didn't need to start rambling to strangers about things that really weren't nice things to talk about to begin with—

"Ouch," Richard said, startling Mark. He frowned, looking sympathetic as he rested his elbows on the desk as Mark worked. "That blows. I'm sorry you saw that. It must have been awful."

"I'm just sorry none of us were there sooner," Mark said, shaking his head, grim. "Poor Stacey."

Richard kept frowning, whenever Mark looked up anyway. The library was strangely devoid of even murmuring form the computer lounge in the far corner, so the only real sound was the scanner as it beeped the books through.

"Say, when's your break?" Richard asked abruptly. "I was going to go grab some lunch. You look like you could use some non-cop company."

Mark stared at the other man, unsure of how to respond to that. "Um… sure," he managed to say. While he didn't mind the other man's presence, it had caught him by surprise. "Uh, when did you want to go?"

The response was almost instinctual and a bit unfriendly, but Richard didn't seem to notice. "Whenever you're good," he replied cheerfully, smiling again. He tucked his hands into his pockets, looking content to stand there and wait. "I'm not in a rush."

True to his word, Richard just stood waiting and Mark suddenly felt pressured to hurry. He quickly checked the rest of the books out and set them aside for the student to pick them up. He called out to his co-worker nearby to take over as he went on lunch break and had to walk briskly in order to keep up with Richard, who walked remarkably fast for such a short man.

"You don't have to rush," Richard told him, amused by something.

Flustered, Mark only laughed and tried to keep walking normally. He felt nervous for some reason. He didn't meet many new people on the small campus, though, so it was nice to make a new acquaintance. And if the other man went out of his way to be nice, well, Mark felt a little obligated to accept the gesture.

Plus he was kind of cute, for a janitor.

The college only really had a few places to go and eat nearby, so they wound up at the cafeteria. Even there, it was unnaturally quiet, with murmuring conversations almost at a distance. Separating as they got their meals, Mark grabbed a premade sandwich and found an empty table overlooking the other part of the lounge. Richard appeared a few moments later, with what looked like a burger and soda on a tray.

"Aaah, college life," Richard began jokingly, making Mark chuckle. He slid gracefully into the seat across from Mark. "Bon appétit."

Mark smiled and complied, eating far slower than he normally did. He still felt queasy, but at least a sandwich wasn't really that revolting or flashback inducing. He definitely couldn't have eat red meat for a while…

Richard was a good conversation partner. They talked about a lot of inane things, like the landscaping outside the cafeteria windows or the bus service that Mark took everyday. Richard took the bus too, but had weird hours for work. He lived close by to the campus and liked the "liveliness" the whole complex had.

For his part, Mark tried to keep up with the talking, but Richard almost knew he didn't have the heart for bearing the brunt of the talking. So, the janitor ended up leading the charge, easily making Mark laugh or get involved discussing something innocent.

But pretty soon, Richard slowed down in conversation and with their meals finished, they sat there in a not-so-tense silence. Mark picked at the remains of his meal, the tension in his gut never quite fading.

Suddenly, Richard sighed, causing Mark to look up. The janitor was giving Mark a sympathetic smile.

"You're a nice kid, Mark," he said, kindly. "I'm sorry you had to see all that."

Mark nodded, feeling stiff. "Yeah…" he said. He straightened in his seat, feeling awkward. "It's fine though. I'm sure the shock will fade. I'm just… I just can't believe something like that could happen here. It's such a small college. Everyone knows everyone."

Richard made a sound of agreement, shaking his head slowly. "Yeah… there are sickos all over the place, though," he said. He fixed Mark a surprisingly strict look. "Be careful walking around, just in case."

Smiling back, Mark nodded again. "Yeah. You, too."

There was another short pause. Richard looked out at nothing for a moment before turning back to Mark with a curious expression. "How old are you?" he asked bluntly.

"Me?" Mark sputtered, surprised. "Uh, twenty."

"Drats," Richard said, snapping his fingers in an amusing display of disappointment. "I was going to see if you wanted to bar-hop out in Ferndale this weekend."

That did make Mark laugh. "Ha! Sorry," he said, honestly apologetic. He would have loved heading out to the neighboring town for a drink, age be damned, but… "I'm actually headed home. Promised my parents."

"You close with them?" Richard asked, fishing for ice at the bottom of his cup with humorous intensity.

"Yeah. They're kind of overprotective, but I love them. They worked hard to get me where I am," Mark replied. He smirked, resting his elbows on the table to support his chin. "Heh. Dad's a lawyer and he was kind of disappointed I went into music, but he supports me. He knows I love what I do."

Glancing up at him, Richard smiled, his strange hazel eyes shining. "That's good," he said. "That's good."

"Yeah." Mark cleared his throat, deciding he should be ask a few of the questions. "What about you? Got any family?"

Richard sat back, waving his hand dismissively. "Nah. None that I see often," he said. He nodded his head to the side, grinning unapologetically. "I'm a drifter, mostly. I like this town though. I think I might stay a while."

"That's good," Mark said, meaning it. He liked Richard. He was probably the only good thing to happen to him all week long. "You're the first new face I've seen in a long time."

The grin faded into a smirk, which seemed to fit Richard's face a whole lot better. "Heh. Well, you're the first guy I've talked to over lunch in probably even longer," he joked. His eyes glanced down at his watch and he added, "You should probably get back to work."

Mark grimaced at the thought of heading back to the stiflingly quiet library. "Right. Um." He stood up and looked down at Richard, hesitating. "You'll still be around, right?"

Well, he could have been a bit less obvious than that, he thought bitterly to himself. He hadn't found a decent guy in a while, though, so he might have been a little overly hopeful—

"Sure. I do work here," Richard said, eyes laughing louder than his voice. "Not on tonight though, so I'll see you tomorrow I guess. Maybe we can get lunch again?"

The question at the end of his statement made Mark's stomach do a silly flip and he did his best not to grin like an idiot. "Sure," he said, meaning it whole-heartedly. "I'd like that."

It was almost ridiculous, how much Richard's returning grin made him feel lighter. But Mark wasn't about to mock a good thing after so much negativity in his life.

Strangely enough, the library seemed far warmer than easier and his shift flew by, as if he had grown a pair of wings.

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When he stepped off the bus the next morning and began his trek toward his first class's building, he realized that something horrible had happened.

A large group of students had assembled outside the one tech building and Mark slowed down, almost feeling apprehensive to listen to their conversation. Everyone spoke quickly or in murmurs, exchanging information, but Mark could barely keep up.

He spotted a classmate from a music theory class and quickly approached him.

"What happened?" he asked, eyeing the mass of not-quite-freaking-out students warily. Everyone seemed very excited over something.

"Mark…" his classmate began, looking at him with wide eyes. The other music major shook his head, seeming dazed. "Holy crap. You're not going to believe this."

That was never a good way to start something. "What?" he asked, dreading asking at all immediately.

His friend shook his head again and pointed out at the student center, which Mark could see now. The front of it was now sectioned off with police tape and he could see three cop cars parked in front of the building. What looked like a huge brown stain was etched into the concrete just in front of the doors. Above the doors, on the second floor, one of the large windows was shattered, the glass glittering all over the sequestered sidewalks.

Oh… God.

"Someone… that guy… you know the guy who works at the information desk at the student center?" his friend began, dragging Mark back to where they were standing. "He's dead. Murdered, they keep saying. There's no way he could have flung himself out of that window, man!"

Mark slowly turned back, looking up at the window, feeling like the sidewalk beneath his feet had just melted away. "…No… way," he breathed, eyes huge.

Again? Again? Someone had been murdered, again? Only a day after Stacey Gamble? How was that possible? It couldn't be—

All he could see was Stacey's lifeless body and he couldn't help but imagine the sight of the security guard being thrown through that story-tall glass and breaking on the street like a rag doll.

Oh, God.

Mark managed to get himself away from the gossiping crowd, stumbling. He couldn't believe it. It just didn't seem logically possible that two horrific murders could happen all at the same time. He got to an empty bench and grasped the side of it, trying to hold himself up and keep himself from hurling all at the same time.

"Mark!" he heard someone yell. He didn't have to look up completely to see Richard walking over to the bench, uniform jacket hanging about his waste. He gave Mark a concerned look-over, noticing how run-down Mark appeared. "Hey there. You look kind of pale. Everything alright?"

Mark stared up at Richard, almost not recognizing him. He felt completely out of the loop with reality.

"S-someone… killed the…" he began, not sure how to even explain. "How can this be happening?" Two murders? This was a nice campus. This didn't happen here.

Richard grabbed Mark's arm and gently, but firmly, forced him to sit on the bench. "Sit down. You're going to fall over at this rate," Richard chided. He stood back, crossing his arms against his chest as he looked down at Mark. "I heard about the guy earlier. Everyone's talking about it."

"I-I just can't… believe it's happening again," Mark said, griping the side of his head. He paused and gave Richard a wary look, his gut suddenly churning. "Do you think… there's…?"

"A serial killer?" the janitor offered, frowning.

The word seemed a bit strong, but for some reason, it kind of fit Mark's paranoia. "Yeah."

Richard shrugged, his smaller frame moving fluidly with the gesture. "I doubt it. I mean, this place is so quaint. Why would a serial killer come here?" he asked. He reached out and bumped his fist against Mark's shoulder, almost pushing the younger man backwards. "Hey, chin up. It's not like this was on your hands. That guy was a creep anyway."

Mark blinked, his mind finally focusing. "Wh-what?" he asked, startled.

The eye roll and unimpressed frown on Richard's face surprised Mark more than anything. "I've only been here a few days, but all I saw him doing was hitting on girls and trying to feel them up through bogus security checks. A scumbag," he said, sounding resolute and dismissive. "There are worse people to get hurt, you know?"

What was with people and finding excuses for someone getting hurt? "I-I guess," Mark said, rubbing his eyes tiredly. God, he was tired.

Richard's frown remained in place, which seemed decidedly off for his face. "Hey, why don't you go home? Take the day off," he suggested, sounding concerned again.

He must have looked like a moron, flipping out like that. It wasn't the end of the world. It was disturbing as hell, but it wasn't like Mark had known the guy. He had to be rational about it, at least until he was alone to freak out without embarrassing himself.

"Sorry. I'm not usually this upset over… things," Mark said, grimacing. He gestured helplessly in a vague way, as if trying to explain himself. "This just seems to be happening so fast. It's weird."

"Yeah…" Richard exhaled and then, suddenly, smiled again. He looked at Mark with a curious expression, as if looking for an answer on Mark's face. "I'll be here tomorrow too, if you're feeling better. We can have lunch before you head back to your parents', okay?"

The fact the other man had remembered his weekend plans was oddly… flattering. The offer sounded pretty sweet too. "Sure," Mark said, forcing himself to be pleasant. "Thanks, Richard."

Richard scoffed. "Call me Rich," he said. "Or better yet, Loki."

Mark blinked, again taken back. "Loki…?" he repeated, the name strange on his tongue. It sounded familiar, foreign, but he couldn't exactly place where he had heard it before.

The janitor in front of him just laughed. "Nickname I had back in the day," he said, grinning from ear to ear. The smile suited him. "Better than Dick right?" He laughed again.

"Ha… right." Mark smiled, trying to make it seem genuine. He could appreciate a nickname. It sort of fit the smaller man. "Loki it is."

Richard—Loki—grinned. Mark jumped when Loki's hand suddenly gripped the back of his neck, the motion coming out of no where. "Get some rest, kiddo. You need it," Loki said, almost too knowingly.

The hand was gone a second later and Mark stared stupidly back at the other man, who just waved and walked away, unfazed by what had happened.

What did just happen?

Walking almost in a daze, he grabbed his bag and headed back down to the street. He needed to get all of that death out of his head. Even if he couldn't sleep, he had to try. The campus was still unnaturally quiet, with murmurs of disbelief filtering through the air. Mark climbed onto a silent bus and tried not to think about anything at all.

This had been a horrible, but strangely not bad week. Mark wasn't sure how that kind of feeling was possible, but he couldn't complain. He just prayed it would get better, soon, for the entire school.

His apartment was quiet, but far more peaceful than the campus had been. When he put his head on the pillow, he didn't have time to think about not being able to get any rest. He closed his eyes—and fell into dreamless, perfect sleep.

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End Chapter Two.

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A/Ns:
-Yes, Mark is already gay so there is no gay-freak out ahead of us. Just, well, gayness. And that's okay.
-And he's not just a drama queen about people dying, aha. You'll see.