Work Text:
You settled in at your desk, opening up your Master’s thesis file. Afternoons in the library were always slow; the programs for children were mostly in the mornings or on weekends. You loved the fact that your job allowed you to also work on your project and write fanfiction for your favorite show, Lucifer, in your spare time. The DeckStar slow burn you were working on needed attention...but today, your master’s thesis needed it more. You only had a few more weeks to finish scanning in McDermott’s work and then you really had to start writing your actual thesis--no more putting it off.
So, you reached for one of his journals, found the page you hadn’t scanned yet, and placed it on the library’s scanner/copy machine. It was your job to archive the early anthropologist’s notes about his time with the Lakota, a local tribe. You hit ‘scan,’ and the machine made noise. With luck, it was the correct noise, and soon another page of McDermott’s journal would be available online...as if anyone but you and a handful of other academics would ever want to read his journals, which were only available here, in Minneapolis, Minnesota, where he’d died.
You jumped about three feet when the door to the library burst open, and nearly fell backwards. Your mouth did fall open when what looked like two male models hurried in and came straight up to your desk, both a bit out of breath. The shorter one smiled, clearly used to charming his way through life. “Hi,” he said. “This is going to sound really weird, but we need to look at one of John McDermott’s journals.”
“Please, y/n,” added the taller one, who had taken the time to check your nametag. He smiled too, showing off his dimples, and you were suddenly certain the shorter, golden-haired one wasn’t the only one who charmed his way through life.
You stared at the two a moment, nonplussed, and then you figured it out. “Did [your best friend’s name] put you up to this?” you demanded, looking between the two men and frowning.
They exchanged a confused glance...apparently, their skills included acting as well as modeling. “...No?” ventured the shorter one.
“Yeah, right,” you told them, folding your arms across your chest. “Nice try.”
“This is the University of Minnesota’s Native American collection, isn’t it?” asked the taller one, who looked as if he were made out of muscle.
“Yes, it is,” you responded automatically and politely, before rolling your eyes at them. “And you two just happened to burst in here while I’m working and just happen to want the manuscripts I’m doing my master’s thesis on.”
“As a matter of fact, sugar, yes, apparently we did,” grinned the shorter one. You shot him a cold look; you were not a fan of random strangers calling you pet names.
“You’ve read them? The journals?” The taller one elbowed his friend. Straightening up, he smiled, showing off perfect teeth. “Do you happen to know if he wrote about Unhcegila?”
“The female snake-monster?” The taller one’s smile was melting your ice, at least a little, as was his enthusiasm for this topic. “Yeah, in several places. She was an important part of Lakotan mythology.”
The shorter man looked vaguely annoyed. “Did he say how the Lakota said she was killed?” he asked. You glanced at him and frowned.
“Yeah, I think so,” you said slowly. “This really isn’t a joke?”
“No,” huffed the taller one. “We’re just...really interested in Lakotan mythology,” he added lamely.
“Uh-huh.” His response had made you suspicious again. “Sure. So I’m sure you can tell me all about the Lakota creation myth.”
The taller man frowned, but the shorter one pushed him aside. “Of course,” he said smoothly. “Inyan made Maka, the Earth, but gave up too much of himself and his blood became water and his power leaked out of him. Maka complained, but Skan ordered her to stay bound to him, and he created the dawn and the sun because she said she was cold and dark.” He grinned, and shot you a wink. “Though, personally, I much prefer the stories about Iktomi.”
“Oh.” Well, there went the idea that [your best friend’s name] was behind this; the man clearly knew his Lakotan mythology, down to its trickster god. You cleared your throat. “I’m sorry, it’s just...quite a coincidence.”
“That’s all right,” the taller man said, smiling and waving a hand dismissively. “May we see the journals that mention Unhcegila?”
“Technically, I have them all checked out on long-term loan for my project,” you told them. “But...I suppose I could let you look at them for a few hours. You couldn’t take them out of the library, though.”
“That would be wonderful; that’s all we need. Thank you, y/n,” the taller man said.
“Let me just look up which journals mention her,” you said, taking a seat behind the computer.
“There’s an archive? I thought we were going to have to look through all of them to find what we wanted!” the chestnut-haired man asked as he leaned over the circulation desk to try to see your screen.
“There’s not,” you said quickly, “but for my Master’s thesis, I had to make a cheat sheet for myself. It works pretty well.” You shrugged in self-deprecation.
“Oooh, a smart and sexy librarian,” the shorter man said, eyes twinkling. “Can we keep her, Sam?”
“Gabriel, knock it off,” the taller man said as you stiffened, frowning up at ‘Gabriel.’ “I’m sorry. He’s a moron. By the way, I’m Sam, and this is Gabriel.”
“Hi,” you said, “I’m y/n.” Then you blushed. “Er, you already knew that, though.” Duh. You had a nametag on, after all. Hell, Sam had called you by your name already.
“It’s all right,” Sam said gently. “The journals? We’re specifically looking for information about the death of Unhcegila.”
You scanned your cheat-sheet, happy to look away from the two men. Did they have any idea how hot they both were? You thought they probably did; after all, most attractive men knew it. It wasn’t really fair of the...of Gabriel to make fun of plain old you, though.
There were many mentions of the serpent-spirit, who had caused numerous disappearances and deaths in her ‘time,’ but you knew the journals well enough that you were able to select two passages where she was discussed at length to look through first. “I have these in the back,” you told the men. “Let me go get them.”
“Thank you,” Sam said. As you walked away, your sharp ears heard a hissed conversation between the two.
“What do you mean, I’m a moron?”
“You were making her uncomfortable. She thought you were making fun of her.”
“Why? She’s obviously smart, and while she may not be a 10, she’s kind of cute in a librarian sort of way.”
You could almost hear Sam roll his eyes. “A lot of women are trained not to think of themselves like that, Gabriel. If she’s not a ten then she thinks she’s a zero.” Unfortunately (or fortunately, as hard as you were blushing), you couldn’t hear the rest as the door to the back room shut behind you. You quickly located the journals in question (1703-1704, and 1712-1713), and, after a moment in which you composed yourself, returned with them.
Gabriel was looking mildly annoyed; Sam was looking eager. You handed them each a journal, then almost immediately took Sam’s back when he opened it to the beginning. “Not there,” you said, shaking your head. You flipped through the journal until you found the August entries. “Start there,” you instructed, handing it back. Sam raised an eyebrow, but nodded and began to read the page you’d pointed out.
Gabriel silently handed his journal back over, and you found the relevant pages in it. “There. There are other mentions, but if I remember correctly, the story you’re looking for is in one of these two places,” you told the two men.
“Thanks a lot, y/n,” Sam said, glancing up and smiling at you.
“You’re welcome,” you replied, giving him a small smile before going back to scanning McDermott’s journals.
Silence descended on the library...for all of a few minutes. “We were right, Sam! It says the Lakota thought she might have had children before she died,” Gabriel announced, smacking Sam on the upper arm with the back of his hand. He then flipped a page and made a face at the journal. “But this doesn’t say how she was killed--just that her death throes created the badlands.”
“Keep looking,” was all Sam said, and you frowned. He seemed...awfully intent on finding the answer.
“What’s this for, anyway?” you asked them slowly.
“Class project,” Sam said, at the exact same time Gabriel responded, “Movie script.”
You raised an eyebrow as they exchanged a look of chagrin. “We have to write a movie script for a class project,” Sam tried to cover up the discrepancy.
You suddenly didn’t really want your precious Master’s thesis material in the hands of these two, regardless of why they wanted it. “Hey, uh--” you started.
“Here it is!” Sam nearly crowed as he put the journal flat on the counter. “The medicine woman blessed the obsidian arrows with a prayer to Wakan Tanka, invoking the Spirit of Weasel.”
“That’s what we were missing!” Gabriel announced, sliding his journal back across the counter toward you while Sam pulled out his phone.
“Hey, Bobby. We need to use obsidian arrows. Tell the shaman we need them blessed with a prayer to Wakan Tanka that invokes the Spirit of Weasel.” There was a short pause. “Yeah, I know, but I’m sure. We happened to run into a Master’s student who was studying the journals and knew exactly where the information was.” He covered the speaker with his hand, slid his journal across the counter to you, and mouthed, “Thank you, y/n!”
Gabriel, meanwhile, leered at you and winked before Sam grabbed his arm and bodily hauled him out of the library, still speaking to ‘Bobby’ on the phone.
You stared after them. Knowing you were alone in the library, you went ahead and voiced what you were thinking. “What the fuck,” you asked, as you picked up the two journals you’d given the men, “was that all about?”