#(which he could very much have been dead for as you do see other soldiers corpses caught up in the trees)

[badolmen]

I wish we got more moments of the Walkers being Family like. The opening of “Brave New World” where Hesh says he let Logan sleep a bit longer because he figured he could use the rest set the bar too high for the rest of the campaign. You don’t really get anything like that line again - there’s the “Sin City” and “The Ghost Killer” cutscenes as well but those are both high tension, ‘holy shit don’t hurt my brother/I am dying son but I’m proud of you’ lines. And honestly Hesh’s “All or Nothing” Rorke File where he talks about his misplaced guilt after losing Elias…it’s almost a bit weird that he doesn’t reference how Logan is handling it at all (especially considering he was the one manhandled into shooting their father).

I guess the first unlockable Rorke File where Elias talks about taking the boys to the beach counts, and Hesh’s “Logan’s got my back, and I got his. He’s my brother.” but it just feels a bit stilted compared to the natural tenderness of the “Brave New World” opening.

[scoonsalicious]

Unconscious

Pairing: Bucky x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: You wake up to Bucky having a nightmare, and there's only one thing that will help him go back to sleep.

Warnings: Language, adult themes, violence, mentions of Bucky's trauma, brief mention of sexy stuff.

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: Another stupid cute drabble based on this idea I had with Bucky resting his head on Pocket's stomach, her playing with his hair, and him asking her to sing a very specific song to put him to sleep. Enjoy!

I do promise that I'm working on other stuff; it's not just these two. Though, in a perfect world... ;)

You awoke from a dead sleep with a backhand to the face. Eyes watering in pain, you struggled to make sense of your surroundings. Your brain knew you should be assessing the area for the threat so you could neutralize it, but your body just wanted to curl back in on itself, pull the covers over your head, and hope the assault would just stop so you could go back to sleep. It was currently a toss up as to which part of you would win. 

A grunt and a knee to your stomach made the decision for you, and you were jerked into full alertness. Next to you, Bucky was writhing and mumbling, a fine sheen of sweat on his thrashing brow. 

You let out a defeated sigh. It had been ages since Bucky had had one of his nightmares, and you had foolishly hoped that he had finally escaped the torment, especially now that you had moved in together. 

“Baby,” you said, gently shaking him. You knew from experience that it was best to wake him slowly, to give his conscious brain time to surface and adjust, to not frighten him. “Buck, wake up.” 

You leaned over him, placing a hand on each of his shoulders. The second you touched the vibranium, his eyes flew open and locked with yours. But they were not the warm, loving eyes you knew so well– they were cold, lifeless balls of ice that looked right through you. You’d only encountered the Winter Soldier the one time, and when you had, he’d looked at you the exact same way. 

In an instant, Bucky had you on your back, his large frame leaning over you as he panted for breath. Under normal circumstances, you loved it when Bucky put you in this position, but this was not a normal circumstance, and this was not your Bucky.

“Buck,” you said, trying to calm your racing heart. “Baby, it’s me. It’s Pocket.” You reached a hand up to touch his face, but that was the wrong move. Bucky snarled and pinned your hand down with his flesh hand, his vibranium one grasping your throat and beginning to squeeze.

“Fuck,” you gasped as you began to struggle against him. You knew it was futile; he was so much stronger than you were. You needed him to wake the fuck up. Using what remained of your dwindling strength, you drew your free hand back as far as you could and socked Bucky across his beautiful, stupid jaw, snapping his head to the side.

The second he turned back to look at you, you could see the change in his eyes, and you knew your Bucky was in control once again. His eyes were wide as he took in the sight before him, an expression of absolute horror on his face when he saw his hand wrapped around your throat. 

“Pocket? Shit.” He pulled away from you like your skin burned him and jumped from the bed, putting as much distance between the two of you as possible while you reached up to gently massage your throat. 

“Doll, I… I…” he stuttered, struggling to speak as his breath came in increasingly ragged gasps. “Fuck, baby. I’m so sorry. I… I could have killed you!”

“Hey–” you attempted to say, your voice coming out in a garbled croak as you stood up. You coughed, trying to clear it before speaking again. “Hey. I’m okay. You were having a nightmare, but I’m okay.” You took a step closer, but he backed away from you, as though terrified he was going to put hands on you again. Eventually, you had him backed into a corner of the bedroom, and you took his hand and placed it over your heart.

“Feel that?” you asked him as his palm pressed against the fabric of his t-shirt that you wore. “I’m okay.” Gently, you reached out and cupped his cheek in your hand. “You didn’t mean to hurt me, and I’m okay.”

“You’re bleeding, Pocket,” he said softly, bringing his flesh hand up to your face. His thumb ran across your bottom lip and came away red with your blood. He must have split your lip when he’d backhanded you. 

“It’s just a little cut,” you assured him, taking his thumb into your mouth and wiping away the metallic taste with a sweep of your tongue. “I’m okay. I want to hear you say it.”

Bucky lowered his head, ashamed to even look at you. “I… I can’t,” he mumbled. “You’re not okay!” His head shot back up, a new rage in his eyes, though you knew he was only angry at himself. “Pocket, I had my hand around your throat and I was squeezing! If you hadn’t woken me up when you did… I don’t even want to fucking think about what could have happened!” 

His eyes were glassy with unshed tears, and your heart broke in that moment for him. You opened your arms, beckoning for him to come to you. “Come here, love,” you gently demanded of him, but you saw the struggle within him as he fought with himself against letting you provide him with any kind of comfort.

“Bucky,” you tried again, “please.” In an instant, he was in your arms, head pressed against your chest as you held him and he sobbed, garbled apologies falling from his lips. “It’s not your fault,” you murmured into his hair. “You didn’t mean it. I don’t blame you.”

“They…” he managed to get out between ragged breaths, “they were hurting me.” They could only mean Hydra, and you sucked in a breath. In all your time together, Bucky had told you little to nothing about the nightmares that plagued him, afraid they might make you think differently, less, of him. It had been a source of contention in your relationship last year, when he’d opened up to her about them instead, and even after all this time, it had still been something he’d chosen to keep to himself. 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, baby,” you assured him as you ran your fingers through his hair. “I don’t want you to feel forced if you aren’t ready.”

He pulled his head away from you and stood up straight, looking you in the eye. “No,” he said as he ran a hand to wipe the tears from his face. “I want to tell you. I want you to know… all the parts of me. Even the parts I don’t like. The parts I hate. I trust you, Pocket. More than I’ve ever trusted anyone, ever.”

You knew it wasn’t the appropriate time, but his words made your heart swell and you felt a few tears break free and slide down your cheeks. Grasping his face in both hands, you pulled him toward you and gave him a gentle, chaste kiss. “I want to know all of you, Buck,” you told him. “And I’m honored that you trust me with this.”

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against yours. “Lord knows you deserve it, doll,” he said. “You’ve put up with enough of my shit, and you’re still here.”

“And I’m not going anywhere,” you assured him. “No matter what dreams you have. You’re stuck with me.”

Bucky let out a weak chuckle, and you could feel some of the tension leave his body. “Could we…” He jerked his head toward the bed, and you instinctively knew what he meant.

“Yeah, of course,” you said, taking his hand. You laid down, and Bucky curled up next to you, his head resting comfortably on the soft flesh of your stomach, his arm draped low over your hips. His was face turned away from you, and you knew it would make it easier for him to talk if he wasn’t looking directly at you.

“Whenever you’re ready,” you said, running your fingers through his hair, alternating between tugging softly on the locks and gently scratching your nails across his scalp. 

Bucky let out an involuntary groan of contentment. “Don’t stop that, okay?” he asked. “It… it reminds me that I’m still here, with you. That I’m safe.”

You brought your other hand up to play with the hair on the nape of his neck by way of response, an additional source of touch to ground him.

And Bucky began to talk. He told you of his dream, which was just a memory, really, of the torture he’d endured. You’d read the files. You knew what Hydra had done to him, the experiments, the ways they’d broken him down so they could rebuild him in their image; you knew it all already. But nothing– nothing– could have prepared you for hearing about it directly from Bucky’s own lips, from his perspective. The pain, the terror, the sheer loss of any and all hope. It gutted you. 

You stayed quiet, letting your tears fall silently down your face, knowing that if he detected even the slightest bit of distress coming from you, he would stop his story so he could comfort you, and you couldn’t have that. Not now, when you were meant to be comforting him. So, you listened. You listened, and you played with his hair as he unveiled the horrors he’d been subjected to.

Somehow. Somehow, this man, who had been tortured, beaten, used, abused and violated, in so many ways, had managed to remain the funniest, most beautiful, caring, loyal, passionate soul you’d ever known. He was a marvel, a miracle, a once in a lifetime wonder, and you were lucky enough to get to love him.

When he finished, you exhaled a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered, afraid to speak too loudly, lest you give away the fact that you’d been crying this entire time. “You didn’t deserve any of it. If I could kill every single person that ever harmed you, I would.”

“I know you would, doll,” he said softly, his fingers teasing up the hem of your shirt to play along the skin of your stomach. “And I love you for it. You have no idea. But… well, there’s nothing to be done for any of it, now.”

“Nope,” you said, shaking your head vigorously. “I don’t accept that. There’s got to be something I can do to help make things better for you.”

You felt him smile into your skin. “You help just by lovin’ me, doll,” he said. “By makin’ me feel like I’m worth somethin’. It makes all the difference.”

“I just wish there was more I could do, though,” you lamented. “More ways I could help you, to keep the nightmares from even happening in the first place. To make you feel as safe as you make me feel.”

The arm around your hips tightened as Bucky held you to him. “You wanna do something for me, sweets?” he asked. “Something that’ll help? Help get me back to sleep.”

You quirked your lip. You had a general idea where the insatiable super soldier was going with this. “Of course,” you told him. “Anything you want.”

“Sing to me.”

“What?!” Well. That had not been what you had expected him to ask of you. 

“Sing to me,” he repeated. “I love when you sing to me; helps me relax.”

You sighed. You had said ‘anything,’ after all. “Alright. What song?”

“You know the one,” he said, and you could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Oh, come on, Bucky!” you said with an exasperated sigh. “All the new music you’ve learned and that’s the song you want to hear?”

“‘S my favorite,” he said. “Love when you sing it. Makes me happy.” You could hear the exhaustion in his voice, and you knew he wouldn’t be awake much longer. After the night he’d just had, this was the least you could do for him.

“Fine,” you said, and he burrowed himself against your stomach like you were his own personal pillow.

“‘S my girl,” he murmured. 

And you began:

“Oh, misty eye of the mountain below Keep careful watch of my brothers’ souls And should the sky be filled with fire and smoke Keep watching over Durin’s son”

Long ago, back when the two of you were ‘just friends,’ and you’d finally made your way through The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug, Bucky had become absolutely enchanted with Ed Sheeran’s I See Fire. You didn’t understand it, but you didn’t dissuade him. You’d helped him download the track onto his phone, so he could play it whenever he liked, and you’d helped him look up the lyrics so he could sing it himself (though, bless him, he had many fine attributes, carrying a tune was not one of them). 

You’d asked him once, why he liked the song so much, and he’d just shrugged. “Dunno,” he’d said. “It’s a song about everything going to shit. The end of the world, knowing you’re about to die, but… but finding strength in it. Finding peace in it.” He’d looked at you then, that look you couldn’t discern at the time, but now recognized as love. “Not being afraid of it, because you’ve finally found the people who made dying worth it.”

“Now I see fire Inside the mountains I see fire Burning the trees I see fire Hollowing souls I see fire Blood in the breeze I see fire”

“Oh you know I saw a city burning out,” Bucky chimed in, deliciously off key, and you had to stifle a giggle so you could keep singing. 

“And I see fire,” you continued.

“Feel the heat upon my skin, yeah,” Bucky crooned as he crawled up from your stomach to lay his head next to yours.

“And I see fire.”

“And I see fire burn on and on the mountain side,” you both finished together in a peal of laughter. 

You rested a hand on his chest. “You were supposed to fall asleep,” you chastised him.

Bucky tucked a loose strand of hair back behind your ear. “What can I say, doll? Your voice got me going.” He reached down and began trailing his fingertips up your bare leg. “I might have some other ideas that will lull me back to slumber, though.” His grin was lascivious as his fingers danced under your shirt, pulling it up with them over your abdomen and breasts. 

“Oh yeah?” you asked coyly. “Whatever could you mean?”

“Come on, doll,” he teased, “wanna feel the heat upon your skin.”

You rolled your eyes. “You are NOT using Ed Sheeran lyrics in our foreplay, Barnes!” 

“Too late, sweets,” he said as he leaned down and began peppering your neck with kisses. “If this is to end in fire, then we should all burn together.” He paused to slip your shirt over your head. “Don’t you wanna burn with me, Pocket?”

“Fuck,” you groaned as his calloused hand gently massaged your breast. “I did say I’d do anything you want to help you go back to sleep, didn’t I?”

“‘S my girl,” Bucky grinned. 

And this time, when he finally rolled himself back on top of you, you were both panting for an entirely different reason.

[redhoodinternaldialectical]

Every time I learn something new about Batman: War Games I lose my mind a little bit more cause just, just fuckin, look okay so here's the thing:

Stephanie Brown tries to implement a contingency plan of Bruce's just after he fires her from being Robin and because of that gets tortured to (almost) death and no one knows she survived.

THIS STORY RUNS IN THE NEWS:

So, you know, anyone who might be paying even half a fucking ounce of attention to news about ROBINS would definitely absolutely notice this!!!

And then very very soon afterwards Jason comes back and specifically targets Black Mask to ruin the criminal empire he tortured Stephanie to get

As a way to torment Bruce about the fact that he doesn't take care of the nastiest criminals and they continue killing people

And how Jason should have been the last to die

and SOMEHOW

these two things are in no way related and Jason has nothing to do with or say about Stephanie Brown, fellow Robin, fellow martyred soldier, fellow child dead due to Bruce related villains.

HOLY DEAD SIDEKICKS BATMAN, DO YOU COMPREHEND THE MAGNITUDE OF MISSED OPPORTUNITIES HERE????

please walk with me down a timeline in which:

Lost Days Jason at first just tries to go after the Joker and can't because who he's really mad at is Bruce.

Then he sees Who Really Killed Stephanie Brown and the utter horror of another Robin dying on Bruce's watch (not just dying, but tortured to death!) is what convinces him to try to straight up kill Bruce via car bomb

Roman Sionis is no longer merely a tool against Batman, but another figure to demand vengeance be brought upon, another attempt to give Bruce a chance to right his wrongs and do what needs to be done

The confrontation with him and the Joker being all the more tragic due to how obvious Bruce's answer would have to be once Jason knows Bruce isn't going to avenge Stephanie either

Does Jason, once he escapes the rubble after UtRH is over, kill Black Mask anyways? Does he decide to avenge her himself? Or does he think that she too would demand that of Bruce, and find his death by a different hand unsatisfactory?

If he doesn't kill Black Mask, then when Steph is back, I feel confident he approaches her, tries to reach out to the other dead Robin, almost certainly makes the offer now that he can ask her. Does she take him up on it, gaining an ally and slipping into a far darker role? Does she instead refuse, either appealing to forgiveness or far more interestingly refusing both vengeance and forgiveness? How would Jason handle a refusal, which I gut instinct feel is more likely?

If he does kill Black Mask, then when Steph is back Jason drops his corpse at her feet like a loving housecat with a dead lizard and she has to grapple with her feelings about having someone really and truly avenge her!!! Like how DO you react to someone who you have been warned is wildly dangerous and mentally unstable coming up to you and saying, "I'm glad you're back, like me. I'm sorry you're back, like me. I made sure you could rest knowing he was dead, because I know what it feels like."

Like no matter how each character reacted to this happening there would be so much high stakes emotional shit to explore with both of them!! Revenge I feel like is such a pivotal thing for both characters, they mirror each other in so so many ways, they could be really interesting together if DC would just fucking let them!!!

Jason had a criminal father who he missed and wanted to avenge. Stephanie had a criminal father who she wanted vengeance on.

Jason started off as a fairly gentle soul who progressively became more violent and more hopeless as he was exposed to genuine horrors during his time as Robin. Stephanie starts off violent, angry and rash and finds her own courage and hope through her time as a crime fighter despite of the horrors she's been through.

Jason went to Africa and died there after Bruce failed to save him. Stephanie was taken to Africa via a fake death in order to save her from Bruce and the vigilante lifestyle.

I just...

There's just...

There's SO MUCH HERE I am genuinely fucking confused as to how this is not all deliberate?? And it's all just left on the cutting room floor because for no reason apparent to me they all just decided Stephanie and Jason were not gonna interact!

AAGHHHH!

[bokettochild]

Little Soldier Boy, Come Marching Home

I apparently had some Uncle Aflon brainrot (could y'all tell?) and it spawned this monster!

Not sure if I'm actually going to make a story about this, I mean a proper one, but this refused to let my brain rest until I wrote at least this much, so I figured I'd share it for the folks who kept sending me Aflon asks :)

(Yes I am very aware that the title is from a song, I'd recommend listening to the Reinaeiry cover on YouTube, because it's also rotted my brain since I listened to it and I think it suits Aflon and Legend quite well T-T)

-

  The first time he held Link, it was standing on the edge of the wood, away from the eyes of all the kingdom and under a veil of darkness. The forest chattered and whispered behind him, bringing to mind whispers of thieving Kolkiri and fae, and it had made him hold the babe in his arms all the tighter. 

  His sister-in-law was watching him closely, hands hovering, wary, like she didn’t trust him to hold the child quite right, ready every second to take the positively tiny bundle back from him and tuck that red and fitful face back against her own breast, hushing and cooing softly herself as she’d been when he’d arrived there. She didn’t though, although whether that was due to his own skill or some sort of restraint from the woman, he wasn’t certain. 

  “What’s the little ‘us name then?” He’d asked, pushing down the swaddling of rough fabric, far too rough for so small a thing, but lined carefully with far finer where no eyes could see. The child within trembled, cold air drawing a wavering wail from a tiny mouth. There wasn’t much to see anyways, he was a baby, same as anyone had ever had. Far smaller than Aflon had ever seen before though; so small he almost could hold him in one hand alone, but by all other means the tiny creature wasn’t much to look at. 

  Despite that though, Loretta’s dark gaze hadn’t lifted once from the infant, usually stern features awash with pure adoration as one trailing hand lifted the blanket back up to shield the babe once more. “Link.” 

  “Like the hero?” The dead one? 

  “Like the star,” her hands lingered so close to the face of her child, and in answer, the tiny one stilled, quieting as though some spell was laid over him. “Like the boy who brought hope to dark countries when Hyrule was at her worst.” 

  “Sir Raven’s squire.” 

  She’d nodded. “The same.” 

  And the child was just, well, a child; a tiny wee thing that felt so fragile to hands accustomed to the sword, and Aflon had shaken his head with a sigh, turning to Loretta with the question that had plagued him since he’d been given his riding orders this morning with the command to meet her here. “Why me?” 

  Those had been the words to make her draw back, pain welling up behind dark violet eyes that avoided his own. “There’s no one else I can ask.” 

  “He’s your son.” 

  “Which is the same as a sentence of death,” she’d hissed, tone harsh as her blade, “you know as well as I how Hyrule sees its crown. You took a vow the same as any other knight.” 

  He had. 

  “That child,” her child, “stands no chance, no matter what I do, if I keep him with me.” 

  Aflon had shifted, sparing the bundle in his arms a glance one more before murmuring, “his chances are pretty slim regardless, ‘Etta. Babes this small-” 

  “I know,” She’d run a finger along a tiny cheek, face pinching into something bordering on gentle, on sweet, something no one would describe the woman as save with her steads, “But it’s the best I can give him.” 

  He’d felt the weight of those words, the weight of their expectation, and all the more so when the Queen of all Hyrule had lifted violet eyes to hold his own and given him her final command. “Protect him, Aflon. He’s not just your prince, he’s your nephew, and I swear on hell’s ashes if you fail him, I will flay you.” Typically, he’d have assumed her words to be in jest, but the fire behind her eyes, a furious and dangerous love the likes of which he’s only heard tell of a mother for her babe, had made him take the words to heart. 

  “I won’t fail you, your grace.” 

  “No,” she’d stepped closer, pulled his arms down just a bit further so she could duck her head and press a kiss to a tiny cheek, “don’t fail him. All else doesn’t matter-” 

 “The princess-” 

 “I will mind the princess,” Loretta’s eyes had darkened, “and failing that, the Impa sent is a good one. Your priority is him,” and both of them had turned to the child, a child so tiny he almost weighed nothing, but yet lay so heavy in his arms with duty set beside him. “He needs you.” 

  And he did. He hadn’t seen it then, hadn’t felt it, but even a man made in blood and battle knows the worth of life. And so, somehow, he’d managed. 

  He’d carried his little charge back to the closest village and taken a room, managing to ignore the curious and lingering gazes of the locals at a young knight in full armor with a tiny baby in his arms.  

  In truth, he hadn’t been sure where to go from there. Loretta had entrusted him with her child, which meant all other missions, whatever they might be, were out of the question. His duty as a knight, as a soldier, was now changed, which, all considered, wasn’t the worst fate in the world. Still, he’d mused, staring at the tiny creature that slept more than he stirred, it’s not exactly the life he’d imagined for himself. 

  They’d always been knights, or so his own father had taught himself and his brother. The men in their family take up the sword and the women the plow and reigns of a rancher. Their older sister already is married with her own farm, and goodness knows Banzetta himself, though king consort, still carries his blade as the second in command to their warrior queen. For himself, Aflon has never imagined anything else than to serve as his forefathers, perhaps to marry, although there’s no woman who’s caught his eye as of yet, or at least none he’d be keen to stay beside for all his life. He can’t continue traveling Hyrule though, not with a tiny child in his care, not when the world out there is still so dangerous and dark. 

  For days, he’d stayed at the inn. He’d had no direction or clue, but he’d done his best to mind the tiny princeling in his care, although his attempts must have been very poorly indeed because it wasn’t long at all before two of the local village women had been knocking down his door and scolding him left right and sideways. 

  Without the women of Kakariko, Aflon could say for a certainty that neither he nor Link would have made it through that winter. They had though. The ladies of Kakariko nursed his precious nephew alongside their own children, taught himself how to change and clean a child, how to swaddle them up tight against the cold, how to burp and soothe them. He’d listened with care, listened like they were marching orders from a commanding officer, and he’d taken them all to heart, employing every bit of skill imparted to best fulfill his duty to the child in his care. 

  Thankful as he was for those women, the many mothers of Kakariko, young and old both, there was still, despite their care, a fear that gripped him each time one of them took up Link in their arms. The babe was a prince of Hyrule, and were that known it would be easy to stage some incident to see that the bad omen that was a royal son was no more. The women of the village would laugh, saying that anxiety for a child was normal, but they had no conception how deeply his fear ran each time one of them held the boy, each time he had to turn his back on his helpless charge for even the smallest of moments. 

  Come spring, he’d settled, bought a piece of land with the money he’d saved over the years and made a home for himself. As it happened, an old orchard had been up for sale, just close enough to the village to keep in touch with those who’d shown them kindness, but with enough distance that he no longer felt the need to be on the defense at all times against neighbors who might seek to harm the boy in his care. 

  They’d asked, some of the village folk, if the baby was his. For lack of a better response, he’d said Link was his brother’s. No one questioned it. Why would they? He was a stranger to them, and though chatter would sound on street corners wondering what had happened to lead him, ‘a clueless young man who hasn’t the faintest on how to mind a babe’ to have care of Link, but they’d never asked him anything more, just gone on offering advice. 

  That was fine though. That was better than them all assuming he was the father, because it felt wrong to allow such a misconception. He couldn’t say why, but when a parent still lives and wants their child, there’s no right for another to claim them as their own. Besides, he couldn’t be a father. 

  As it was, some days he felt he was doing a terrible job of being an uncle. 

  And he hadn’t thought of himself as such at first, but somewhere amid long nights sitting up, just watching labored breaths from a body almost too frail to take them, somewhere amid whispered words with doctors who’d told him to let go already, with midwives who’d urged him to keep fighting as long as his little one did, somewhere along the line of spending every day forever in the presence of the child, there’d come a day when he’d stopped worrying about his charge, and where he’d started fretting about his nephew. 

  Maybe it was those moments of clarity and wakefulness when big bright eyes would stay up at him, so curious. When floppy little ears would follow the sounds of his voice, or tiny hands would cling fast to an offered finger, toothless jaws working at its tip with little coos and warbles. He couldn’t say. But somewhere in that first winter he’d gone from a knight with a charge to an uncle with a nephew, and he’d never wanted to go back. 

  Sure, it was hard some days. Link was a sickly baby from the start, and he grew slowly. He was bright though, so very bright, like a star as his mother had said, and with every passing day those eyes so like the queen’s own had filled up with their own constellations of joy and smiles, tiny hands clapping, little feet stumbling.  

  Despite all concerns and doubts, his little Link beat the odds. 

  The child was his sunshine. He’d never been a very social man, so the company of a single boy wasn’t bad at all in his opinion. Granted, with just the two of them it had raised concerns when Link hadn’t learned to speak when he should, and for a time he’d wondered if perhaps it was for a lack of him having used words enough for the little one to know them, but in time he’d accepted that words weren’t to be had, and while some village folk would murmur that a changeling might have been traded for his precious bundle, stolen by jealous kolkiri in vengeance for their own lost little one, he’d never minded too much. He’d learned to speak with his hands from the village elder, and so Link had as well, and by that means they’d gotten along quite well until the wee one had made up his mind to try for actual sounds. 

  His old friends from the army were company at times, stopping in between missions and runs, catching a drink or a place to stay. He used to worry about exposing Link to the life he’d known among them, but in front of the child they’d all minded well, many even offering help and kindness he’d never dare to ask for. Some had children of their own, they said, others younger siblings. Regardless of the reason though, not a man would enter his home as didn’t have a kind word for his nephew, and while worry still brewed up within to see Loretta’s child among men sworn to prevent his existence, not a one had ever guessed at the truth. 

  And then everything had changed when Link turned eight. 

  He’d been talking by then. Belated though it was, words would come to him at times, although he’d prefer his hands over his tongue. Despite the murmurs of locals though, the boy was bright, sitting up more often than not with whatever book Aflon could find for him and positively devouring anything inside of them, big violet eyes near glittering in delight at the world painted for his eager mind, at the discoveries and worlds and words and stories- heavens did his little star love the stories! He had ever so much to say about what he read, and a smile brighter than the sun itself, and small though he still was, weak though he’d likely always be, Aflon adored the boy that ran to his arms at every day’s end and shared home and heart with him. 

  He’d had doubts, in the beginning, that he could settle to a quiet life, but it never felt quiet with Link so eagerly learning about it beside him, indeed, it felt like he’d only just learned what it was to be alive for himself! 

  And every day was a new adventure, teaching his nephew something new or finding himself taught some lesson or fact. Every night was settling down before the fire and holding firm against the plea of “one more page!” before smothering his precious Link in mustachioed kisses and tucking him in tight against the chill of the night. Sometimes they were disturbed with guests and his efforts would be in vain, but nine times out of ten when that did happen, Captain Bertram or Major Wilkins would take the lad back to bed and recount enough stories to finally have him dozing off against them, ready to be tucked back in again upon their departure. 

  He wouldn’t have changed that life for the world though. 

  Yet, the world seemed to have other plans. 

  Link had startled awake in the middle of a storm one night, tearfully insisting that something was wrong, that there was danger, that Zelda, the sister he didn’t know was his even then, was in danger and that she’d told him so herself.  

  To another man, it might have been nothing, just a bad dream, but Aflon had himself woken before to the sound of startled cries sounding through an army camp. He could remember when the queen would awake from a vision while traveling with himself and his brother, and many a time, Banzetta had recounted to him when it happened that he hadn’t seen. It was in their blood, the people of Hyrule would say, that those of the royal line would sometimes be given visions, often of future events and or trouble brewing beyond even the eyes of the Sheikah. That was how all the prophecies surrounding his own family had come about, how the reappearance of a hero had been foretold. 

  So, upon hearing such strange words from the mouth of his nephew, rather than beg him return to bed or otherwise ignore it, Aflon had taken it to heart. After all, he’d been reminded, looking down at the tear-stained face at his bedside, Link may be his nephew, but he was also still Loretta’s son; still born with the blood of the crown, a prince of Hyrule. 

   So, although Loretta had told him to leave Zelda’s care to herself long ago, back when she and Banzetta were still alive and before some mission had gone awry and the both were lost forever- despite the fact that the Impa chosen by the sheikah had, indeed, never once failed in her duties, he’d still chosen to attend to the fears of his nephew and brave the storm, just in case. He’d chosen to risk it, even if it did mean he’d strayed from his orders. 

  He wishes every day that he hadn’t.  

  If only he’d done as Loretta said and minded Link first and foremost, maybe nothing would have changed. If only he’d promised that in the morning they would go together- although, looking back, he knows the princess would have been dead by that time if he had. 

  He’s long come to grips with the fact that whatever he had done, there would have been no happy ending, but even so, he still hates himself that he had allowed what happened next. 

  Rather than tell him to go home, rather than protect him, shield him from the world his mother never wanted him to know, Aflon had looked into the terrified eyes of his nephew, down in the depths of the castle sewers where the boy had followed him against his orders, he’d used his final breaths to push a sword and shield into hands too small to hold them, bidding the child go to save Zelda. He’d known he was dying, he’d known Link was scared, but at that little obedient nod, he’d also known something more: 

  His death would leave Link the last of their bloodline, and a prophecy given to a queen long ago had once said that it would be the last of them that would face Ganon when next he emerged. Looking at eyes the same as Loretta’s own, albeit far kinder, he’d found himself reminded of those words, and sickeningly certain that he was witnessing the birth of that hero. His little Link who wanted to be a farmer, who didn’t know how to fight and who was still so tiny, so young, was going to become the Hero of Hyrule. 

  Though he’d been bleeding out as they spoke, he’s rather certain it was heartbreak that had been his undoing, not the wound in his side, and he’d drawn his final breath to the sound of sniffled tears. 

  Yet, it seemed his eyes had only just closed before they were opening again, pain gone and so too his young charge. At first, he’d thought perhaps he’d struck his head somehow and dreamed the whole thing, but both sword and shield were gone as well, although when he reached the end of the sewer system the prison was quiet, empty of any princess, and when he’d turned back and returned to the outside world, not only was it daylight, but it was spring. 

  It had been a late autumn storm that he’d traveled through to reach the castle. 

  He’d thought, hoped, that it was some trick, but when he’d hurried along back towards town, to the house, everyone he passed seemed to think nothing at all of the fact that they were plowing fields and making ready for a planting. They were preparing for a new year of work, as though the winter itself wasn’t supposed to be coming, as though it had already happened! And there were still bits of snow lying about. There was a dampness to the ground of a fresh fallen rain. The world itself seemed insistent it tell him that he was wrong. But if he was, then where had the time gone, and what had happened? Where was Link and why was his side unmarred as though never an ax had plowed through it? 

  His feet had all but flown down the paths, paying little or no mind to those he passed or the startled shouts they sent his way. His goal had been set; his destination desperately darted towards. 

  The house looked entirely normal when he’d finally reached it. The orchard was beginning to brighten, not yet blooming, still expecting another snap of cold before the season truly sprung, but they were well along to blossoming. The path was clear, nothing and no one on it, and when he’d come to the door, he’d found it locked up tight. As it should be, as he’d left it, as he’d taught Link to leave it. He still had his key with him even though his sword was missing, and though his hands trembled he’d still managed to fish it out and, with some struggle, had gotten it into the lock. 

  The house looked the same as it had when he left. Clean as a whistle because a soldier’s training still lingered with him even after eight years and that expectation was one that he’d taught Link to hold himself to as well. Their beds were made sloppily, as though the boy had tried to do it for him after he’d left and maybe given up after, or else simply been unable to see, from his height, how crookedly the blankets had been lain. Most notably though, Aflon had noted, there wasn’t much in the way of dust. There wasn’t much in the way of dirt. The only difference that he found was that the pot, which he kept by the door for spare rupees, was empty. 

  His breath had evened some at that. A clean house meant someone had minded it, and missing rupees were nothing if it meant Link hadn’t been left to starve in the unidentified period of time where Aflon had been absent. 

  Or so he had thought. 

  It was two days later, two days he’d spent searching the whole neighborhood, quite at the end of his rope in fear as Link hadn’t been seen at all in that time, when at last he’d laid eyes on his nephew. 

  Or rather, when he’d met the hero. 

  Because the wary creature that entered the cottage door and froze, hand on a sword and dark eyes so large in a thin face, was not his nephew. Because his nephew would have run to him with maybe a few tears or a cheer, jumping into his arms with a hug rather than start and draw a blade the moment Aflon made a motion towards him. 

  Link didn’t fear him. 

  The boy who came to him in Link’s stead did. 

  When he voiced his worries to the women who’d helped to mind the lad over the years, some would say perhaps he’d been taken, changed for a changeling by the forest children, at last getting their hands on a hero to replace their own. Others just shook their heads and sighed, unwilling to explain why. 

  He’d known though that the child in his home wasn’t a changeling though. No, because that child had eyes every bit as much like the late queen. Eyes that knew war, and battle, that bore the burden of a kingdom which dragged on too small shoulders, eyes that Knew, that Looked, and eyes that Saw people for what they were, not simply what they’d claim to be. There was no doubt, looking at that boy, that he was Loretta’s son. 

  But he wasn’t Aflon’s nephew. 

  Link was bright and bubbly, quieter by nature but prone to prattling when the mood took him. The silent little thing that lived in his house, wary like a rabbit hunted and hidden, was a stark contrast. Link liked to travel with him, going to town for any errands and skip-tripping along the path at his side, getting distracted by small creatures and ever full of questions.  

  Not only did the hero avoid going out of the house when he could, preferring instead to stay inside behind a locked-up door and shuttered windows, but when he did go out, the lad was ever scanning the world, ever watching the sky and the path as though expecting an attack from one or the other. He didn’t stray off towards sudden changes, curious ears cocked, he put a hand to his shoulder and looked for a blade. 

  The child that came back to him held the manner and look of an old knight, not a child too young to even be a page, and it disturbed him. He tried though. This was Loretta’s son, the prince of Hyrule, and as he’d later learned, the boy had indeed become the country’s hero. Not that the boy had told him that himself. No, the child in his home didn’t speak, tongue faltering and sounds stuttering before hands would lift to answer questions in as few words as possible. 

  Two of his fingers were crooked, Aflon realized, watching him, heart aching. Two fingers and, in those first days, he’d favor one leg over the other. 

  He wanted to help, but the boy was wary of touch, starting and panicking as a first reaction if he didn’t see it coming and wincing even when he could. He kept a wide space between himself and anyone, a swords-distance, Aflon realized after a spell, although as for the blade he carried, well, that had disappeared after the first few weeks. It wasn’t the sword he’d handed to his nephew though. The sword that the hero held was unfamiliar to him; radiant, beautiful, masterfully forged so that his own blade paled in comparison. His was absent, and the one time he had asked what happened to it, he’d just watched violet eyes fall and shoulders hunch, and immediately changed the subject. 

  It was hard. His nephew looked the same as Loretta’s child, same face, same form, same stature, although time had made her changes too. The boy was scrawny, and though he had hoped his lost rupees meant his charge was still fed even with him gone, he’d come to doubt that. 

  He wasn’t sure what to make of it when, at learning of his own return, one of the neighbors down the road had invited them both for dinner, and the hero child had only stared at his own plate, stirring the food around but not eating. He’d dismissed it at first, but soon it became abundantly clear that the hero would not eat food he couldn’t watch being prepared, not unless it was a meal offered by Aflon himself, and, to his own surprise, Dolly, the village elder’s wife. 

  Somehow, both she, Dolly, and Sahasralah, the elder, were the only ones who seemed unaffected by how his charge had changed. In fact, more than once, Aflon would find himself watching, wistful, as the two would speak with or even handle the hero with not a thing done to show fear in response. Simple acceptance met their motions, their words, and at times he’d almost been tempted to ask if maybe the boy that wore Link’s face wanted to stay with them instead, as he seemed so much more at peace in their home. 

  He didn’t though. He’d sworn a vow, a vow to do his duty to his prince, to his queen, and though he wasn’t certain if Loretta’s spirit would haunt him if he failed that, he wasn’t exactly keen to find out. 

  He couldn’t leave her son with strangers, with people she didn’t know or trust. Still, as the days passed, house silent as a crypt and the boy inside nearly the corpse it housed, he’d found the temptation growing daily. 

  At night as he’d blow out the lamps, now knowing full well not to approach his charge in the dark and sometimes fearing to even look at him (because what looked back was a slip of a shade with eyes glinting red like a rabbit’s in the low light of the hearth and by all means hardly human) he’d fight his own mind on the matter. Stay or leave, linger with what wasn’t any longer what he’d sword to protect, the child that wasn’t his nephew but was a hero. 

  Loretta said to protect him, he’d remind himself as he lay beneath the blankets. Yet, small hands knew the touch of blood, and the boy who’d wandered in at his door knew a blade like knights four times his age still hadn’t learned. Lying there at night, he’d wonder to himself, what was there left to protect the boy from? Loretta’s child already had seen everything she wanted to shield him from, so what was even the point, when there was no more innocence to shield? 

  It was that thinking, after weeks, months, that had led to him gathering up clothing and books, toys left behind because the person who would leave with him wasn’t a child but a young soldier, so what did they matter? He’d packed things up, watched the hero slip to his side to help, dutifully but silently gathering Link’s clothes and folding them up with the same careful effort Link always did, ending with the same misshapen result, and tucking them away like they would do every summer for the trip back to his own childhood home. 

  He’d locked the door tight that summer. Shut up the shutters and minded that nothing was left untended, no mess within or without. Long ears had cocked sideways, big eyes watching, curious, but nothing was said with scarred hands holding their bags while he prepared the house for their departure. 

  Most summers, he’d take Link down to Lon-Lon so the boy could stay with his grandparents and Aflon could attend to the heavier tasks of their orchard without worrying over minding the lad or leaving him feeling alone. This year though, after Mother had ushered the boy within the ranch house, shooting him a startled stare over his shoulder, he’d not gone back to the cottage. 

  Aflon Lon had, instead, taken to the road. 

  Guilt ate at him, but he’d known there was no going back.  

  He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he couldn’t return to the house. It wasn’t home without the laughter of his nephew, without bright eyes and brighter smiles. It wasn’t home without a presence at his side working away at the trees, muttering and talking at times to the birds who’d stop to watch them in their labor. It wasn’t home without Link, and Link- or at least the boy he knew, was gone. 

 So, he’d wandered Hyrule. He hadn’t traveled in a long while, but it was easy to take up again, to wander the roads by day and make camp at night. He stopped in old haunts he used to visit as a knight to see how they had changed, and he’d thought nothing of his wanderings. After all, it was summer; the summers were always free for him to do what he wanted. It was when autumn had begun to show her colors that guilt had well and truly began to build up inside of him. 

  Link would be waiting at the gates of Lon-Lon, watching the road for his uncle to come and bring him home. He knew it wouldn’t be the same eager stare, ears crooked and head rested on folded arms as the boy would perch on the rungs of the fence, leaning his whole weight against it and keeping eyes and ears on the road. The hero child would likely sit with more wariness, but despite all changes there was no doubt in Aflon’s mind that he’d wait all the same. 

  The difference though, the real one, was that this time, Aflon couldn’t come back. He couldn’t. 

  He couldn’t go back to that house, that child, he couldn’t live like that forever, with the shade of what should have been. 

  Mother and Father though, they could handle a soldier boy. They’d handled Banzetta after his first battles, they’d know how to work with Loretta, and if they could manage the parents of his own charge, he was sure theft were the best suited to handling a young hero. Not only that, but they were safe, they were good, and they’d never hurt Link for the circumstances of his birth. They would be better to him than Aflon could be, and given time, he was sure the hero would settle there again, into a life with a knight, a lady, a history of heroes all around him on the walls and swords ready for his hands; the life he’d taken on, but one Aflon couldn’t watch lived. 

  As for himself, he’d wander. He’d travel, he’d embrace the world he’d had to forsake for a small bundle. By winter, he’d gone further south than he’d ever strayed, gone where word of the hero didn’t reach, where peace and simplicity beckoned. He’d meant to resist, but an evening in a bar with a pretty woman at his side had changed that. 

  “Here alone, stranger?” She’d asked, voice thick with a drawl and gaze bold as she’d settled beside him. 

  He’d never been a bold man, quiet by nature, so he’d nodded. 

  She hadn’t been dissuaded, motioning to the barkeep for a round for them both before striking up chatter, asking where he was from? What brought him here? Where was he going? And his answer of course had been that he was from central Hyrule, seeking his fate and unsure where he’d find it. 

  “D’ya have a family?” She’d asked, honest and friendly. “Can’t be easy for them not knowing where you are.” 

  And he’d hesitated, just a moment, before offering a stilted smile and answering “just my parents and a sister.” 

  A sister who’d left, he told her, to marry a man from across the border, who visited at times but was busy with a farm and a family of her own, much like his own parents were even in their older age. He’d said nothing of a nephew, just the same as he’d left out the dead older brother and sister-in-law. 

  He’d lingered in that town for a few more days, and she’d been at the pub each night, coming to join him when he entered and striking up chatter until they were both looking forwards to the evening when they’d happen upon each other. Somehow though, that had turned to arranged meetings, to wandering, to talking, to a kiss that left him speechless and a courtship that left him stumbling and eager like he hadn’t been since he was just a boy. 

  He’d wondered how she hadn’t had a fella before he’d come, but he’d thanked the heavens for it too, especially when he’d proposed, when they’d taken a home together, when they’d made the choice to live life together. 

  It was easy to forget, for a while, in that early bliss, in the whirlwind of emotions, what he’d left behind to find it. He was reminded though when their own little one was born, when a little boy had been laid in his arms and he’d started when blue shone back at him rather than violet. 

  Liza would laugh and tease him, calling him a worrywart when he fussed. She’d say it was like he’d never held a child before; he was so cautious. She’d remind him to relax, when she found him sitting up and watching the wee one slumber, because he was healthy, he was fine, they needn’t worry so much because while babies need care, they won’t break if you breathed wrong. 

  Aflon couldn’t help himself though. 

  He was used to looking for signs of trouble, for any hint of illness. He’d started when their boy had started babbling, started talking, at only two years old. Liza had said that was normal, that they wouldn’t stay babies forever, that it was part of growing up. Still, he’d found himself signing more than speaking with the boy, and more times than he could count, the wrong name had slipped to his lips. 

  Their son had dark hair like his mother, blue eyes like Aflon himself, but it always startled him to see them. It was supposed to be strawberry blonde, with starlit skies veiled beneath. He expected a slip of a child who was quiet but eager, not a loud little thing that ran and darted and climbed and made him panic because Link was fragile! …except this wasn’t Link, and his son was strong, like him, like Liza. His son was bold, loud, like a little boy was supposed to be, not timid and wary like the boy he’d left behind. 

  It never stopped catching him off guard though. Their little Rusl didn’t care anything for books, or reading, or sitting still. He was always off with other children of the village; he was always climbing trees and ‘sword fighting’ other young ones with twigs they’d find on the roadside. 

  He was a normal boy, all told, but somehow that was more jarring, in so many ways, than if he hadn’t been. Because Aflon had never dealt with a normal boy, he realized. Even Before, his Link hadn’t been normal, he just hadn’t known to see it. 

  It was strange, how often Rusl would stare, watching people without those hesitant little falters that Link always had when someone met his eyes. He didn’t pay attention to the little details, didn’t care to watch the sky or the sun. He didn’t care about stars or tiny creatures or pouring over books the same size as himself for hours. 

  The one thing that the two boys did have in common though, was a love for stories of heroes. 

  Link used to bury his little button nose in the volumes of history that told of the Hero of the Four Sword, the Hero of the Skies: the chosen hero. Rusl didn’t read much, but one day he’d come back to their home with Liza after errands, and he’d had nothing on his mind except some story he’d heard about the Hero of Legends. 

  Aflon had paused in making dinner, frowning because he’d never heard of that hero before, because Link never spoke of that title. 

  “Who is the Hero of Legend?” He’d asked, turning to the dirt streaked four-year-old at the door. 

  “He’s who killed Ganon and saved Princess Zelda!” Had been his answer. “He’s so cool, I wish he’d come to our village so I could meet him!” 

  He hadn’t realized, until Liza had darted across the kitchen and scooped up the pot, that their meal had boiled over, or that it’d burned his hand when it did. 

  Rusl and his friends would talk about Link, pretend to be Link, say they wanted to be heroes like him, be knights, be brave. He’d be in the village and stories would sound, gossip between neighbors recounting the latest exploits of the Hero of Legend. He’d killed Ganon twice, he’d traveled the world, he’d saved Labrynna from a witch, he’d fought some tyrant down in Holodrum. Everyone had a different rumor that they’d heard, everyone a different thought on what the hero might be like. Despite all they’d chatter about though, all he could see in his own mind was a boy with heavy eyes and crooked fingers that trembled when he used them to talk. 

  Aflon had gone home that day, after hearing all the chatter, all the stories, all the news that had come down to them from some merchant who’d strayed to town, and he’d told Liza he was taking a trip. 

  “Just for a few days,” he’d said, wrapping arms around her and trying to smile, even though he’d known she’d see past it. “Just to see how my parents are doing.” He’d left out the part about his old house, about the child he’d raised inside it. He knew it was wrong, felt guilt eat away each time his mind turned there, but he’d never let slip about the boy he’d raised before meeting her, the child he’d left behind. 

  Link, as he’d known him, was gone, why speak of what wasn’t there any longer? Why drag everything he’d tried to leave behind into the perfection he’d stumbled himself into? 

  Still, he needed to know, needed to see, and maybe, just maybe, he’d wanted to see Loretta’s boy again, just to assure himself that he was alright, because try as he might, much as he wished, worry still plagued his heart for the little soldier boy he’d left at Lon-Lon. 

  He’d stopped by the house first, if only out of curiosity for what had become of it. It had been years, had the village elders sold it? Left it be? He didn’t know, so he’d taken the road around Kakariko, hood up as he passed old neighbors, boots stumbling some on a path he knew better than that back to his own wife and child. 

  The cottage hadn’t changed a bit. Standing on the path, apple trees shivering in a slight breeze, he’d almost felt a decade younger, almost tricked himself into thinking he’d need only open the old wood door, the door whose key still sat heavy in his pocket, and a bright little face would whip around to meet him, gap-toothed grin his welcome home as feet would pit-patter across the worn-out floors. Maybe it was that image that tricked his feet into walking, following a path altered only by shade of trees grown taller in his absence, their fruit hanging heavy but not yet ready to be plucked.  

  It’d be cider making season soon, he’d mused to himself, hand digging through his pocket for a key he couldn’t name why he still carried. Absently, he wondered if the old press was still down in the basement, if Link- because it must be Link- had minded to keep it oiled and tended, or if he’d left off using it. After all, the former knight chuckled, the boy couldn’t even turn the handle fully on his own, now could he? 

  His mind had been so caught in his thoughts he hadn’t been minding his surroundings, pushing the door open after a moment’s struggle (the key stuck more than it once used to) and moving to enter his old home. He hadn’t expected to be immediately whacked over the head, nor, when he’d picked himself up again, to find himself face to… face(?) with a masked figure. 

  “We aren’t open!” The purple clad individual had declared, mallet in hand, and a small creature with wings- which could in no ways be considered a bird- fluttering about at his shoulders, squawking and hissing something terrible. “And if you thought you could break in, you’re dead wrong!” 

  Aflon had blinked, slowly, and then started, gaze flying about the house briefly. 

  It wasn’t changed, not really. Pictures were all taken down and boxes were tucked against the walls, but the couch, the rocking chair, the china-cabinet, it was all still there, still in the same places, now with new stains and scuffs, but he could recognize them all the same. Really, the only major difference was the desk near the door scattered over with glittering items and objects, little price tags set before them in poor mimicry of a shop. 

  He wasn’t sure if the purple clad figure was meant to be here or not, but given that the house still technically belonged to him, he’d been more than slightly caught off guard. 

  “I’m not here for a shop, I- who are you?” 

  “Who are you?” The apparent merchant had demanded in answer, face shielded behind a hood that looked like it was meant to resemble a very, very odd face. “And why are you here?” Their voice was trembling slightly, but they stood firm despite. 

  “I live- or, well…” he’d paused, picking himself up and dusting himself off, “I used to live here. This was my house- still is actually, I’ve just been away.” 

  Despite not being able to see the merchant’s eyes, he could feel the apprehension in their gaze, weighty as it was as they looked up at him, one hand on their hip and the other holding fast to their oversized mallet. “You must have the wrong house; this one belongs to Mister Hero.” 

  Oh. 

  “You mean Link?” 

  “You know him?” Their head cocked on one side, hood following with a flap of long ear-like attachments. 

  Aflon had nodded briefly. “Do you?” 

  “Of course!” And suddenly the mallet was gone, the figure gesturing about with a cheery chirp now entering their tone. “He’s my housemate! Lets me stay here, keep up the shop while he’s gone and all that lovely sort of thing. Didn’t realize he had a landlord himself though! So terribly sorry if he’s been stiffing you on rent, he’s been out of town for forever now, you see.” 

  He’d nodded. He hadn’t known what better to do. 

  The stranger had introduced themselves as Ravio, offered to show him their wares, but when asked about Link had firmly insisted that he knew nothing more than that the hero was off on some mission for the crown or something and that he was just keeping the house in order for him. 

  It had been all Aflon needed to hear though. Link was still alive, apparently having embraced his role as the hero, and it seemed he wasn’t alone. He must have left the farm at some time, but seeing as he was approaching fifteen it made sense. He’d been rather eager for his freedom at that age too. 

  The kid would be fine, he’d told himself, walking back to Liza and Rusl. Link didn’t need him; he was getting along fine. 

  Somehow, even with the whole trip home to convince himself of that, it hadn’t worked. In fact, now he couldn’t stop thinking about it, slipping more with Rusl, drifting off at home. Liza wouldn’t let him in the kitchen anymore, insisting that he was too prone to forgetting what he’d been doing, too likely to hurt himself because he wasn’t paying attention. She’d begged him to see a doctor, or talk to her, but he’d waved it off, saying he was just tired, just thinking, he was fine; he just needed to rest. He knew she didn’t believe him, but she’d stopped asking at least. 

  If only he could stop himself thinking as easily. 

  But as the months and seasons passed, more worry had grown, more thoughts. 

  Link is turning sixteen this winter. Sixteen years since he’d stood on the edge of the wood with the queen of Hyrule and taken her child in his arms, promising to guard him. Only eight of those years were spent keeping that promise, only half, and he’d startled when he’d realized it. Even now, he’s left wondering, as he braves a storm so like that night that robbed him of his precious nephew, has Link changed? What is he like now? Did he ever grow into those too-big ears of his? Did he learn to look men in the eyes when he spoke to them, to steady his voice and hold himself with surety and not simply just skill? 

 His boy will be becoming a man, and he doesn’t know what that man looks like. 

  Or rather, he didn’t. 

  Because when he comes home, drenched to the bone but with a fresh kill in hand, ready for dinner, ready for him to show Rusl how to skin and prepare it, he finds his house full of strangers, his wide smiling and telling him that they’re travelers, more boys than men, and they need a place to stay but the inn is so far. Of course he greets them, of course he looks at men in armor and offers a smile like he would to his old brothers in arms, welcomes them to his home. 

  He didn’t realize, until just now, how much he missed hosting people fresh off the path he once used to follow, how much he missed their stories or sharing a smoke or a drink with men like himself once in a while, not just farming folk (nice as they are). 

  He’s midway to offering the a warm welcome when his eyes stray to the fire and he finds himself freezing. 

  Great violet eyes, shaded heavy under strawberry blonde, plastered down by dampness and the storm that howls just outside the door, stare up at him. 

  His breath catches. 

  It’s Loretta’s face, freckled and fine, fae-like features and faint traces of scars, upturned nose and steady jaw, but the galaxies that gaze out from violet pools aren’t the queen, even if everything else about the figure at his fire is. No, those stars are all Link, all his nephew, and the weight of that stare, not sure and stern like his sister-in-law but yet also not startled and wide like that day eight years back when he’d first met the hero. 

  In the same breath, it’s the dead queen and the young hero that sits before him. It’s Loretta with accusing eyes, fire burning in their depths as his own words ring in his head, sounding a promise, a vow to do as she’d said, to guard and guide her son, to protect him, no matter what. Yet it’s Link, it’s that little boy with eyes that know a demon’s smile and remember him bathed in his own blood. 

  If his heart had failed him when he’d first put a sword in the hands of his nephew, it’s ache is a thousand times worse as he stares at the result of that action, even as it refuses to cease in an endless flutter inside him as shock touches the face of the little soldier boy he’d left behind eight years ago, but who’s somehow, some way, found his way back before Aflon’s fire, staring up at him with the same startled gaze that shook and broke his world so long ago. 

  His knees hit the floor even as Liza cries out in concern, hands fluttering about him, but he can’t lift his eyes to look at her. Instead, he’s trapped in an endless expanse of dying stars. 

  “Link.” 

  Long ears, still too big for his nephew, turn his way at the sound of his voice, the answer coming out breathless and disbelieving. “Uncle?” 

[edenprime]

I despise Kai Leng and his pathetic faux foil role in ME3 so much. It would've been so much better if it had been the Virmire victim and honestly- it would've made the Cerberus storyline so much better. It would've turned "Shepard becomes an idiot every time some guy with a sword appears" into "Shepard is blindsided by seeing their friend back from the dead". It also works with the foils dynamic and more:

Both brought back by Cerberus. Shows Shepard the other side of the coin - how they could've been if Cerberus had actually messed with their head. Shepard also makes some comments about themselves that make it look, in a way, like they do have some lingering doubts at the very least about coming back. When you look at the Shepard VI and they ask if they are really like that, when they ask EDI if they are transhuman or cyborg, when they refuse to talk about the clone situation every time it's brought up on the DLC, when they keep comparing the clone to themselves... I know we have the child dreams as our show of Shepards PTSD, but this could've added another layer to it.

"And for every soldier you [the reapers] add, your enemy loses two: the one you converted, and his buddy on the other side who can't pull the trigger on a friend." -> we could see this! Javik aludes to the same, but we never see it on screen. It's just a hypothetical, the only people who become indoctrinated are villains, Cerberus, or their allies. This would've shown that, it would've been some cool foreshadowing. As it is, it's just a loose end.

Shepard spat in Cerberus eye when they left, especially if they destroyed the Collector base. Using the resuscitated and indoctrinated friend against them would've been an incredible way of spitting back at them. It would've been an amazing show of power. It could've demonstrated that Shepard wasn't the first, that Cerberus was already experimenting with life and death even before the success of the Lazarus project.

It gives more credibility to TIM's claims that he can control the reapers, and it's a nice setup to the reveal of what's actually going on in Horizon and Sanctuary.

And even then, no Kai Leng and no Virmire victim would've been better than Kai Leng. Everything stays the same but that plot-armored jackass doesn't exist. Cerberus attempts a coup with regular agents, they steal the data from thessia with regular agents, they show up as regular agents on Horizon, etc. Because Leng doesn't work at all in the story. He doesn't.

Regardless of how well it was executed, the entire Cerberus plot line is supposed to be a "coming full circle" moment from me1. We had the indoctrinated Saren leading the indoctrinated geth (synthetic) in me1. We have the indoctrinated TIM leading indoctrinated humans (organics) in me3. We end up with a "showdown" between saren/TIM in which depending on how persuasive we were during our previous talks, they (now deformed by reaper tech) shoot themselves in the head.

Where does Kai Leng fit into all of this? He doesn't! He's just... there. He's got no room in the story.

[bloop-bl00p]

Re-imagining the Extermination

TW: There’s like one image I could consider disturbing and such

Remember when back in the day before the series aired how the Exorcists were so hyped? They were this unavoidable threat looming over the heads of the characters, a reminder that if Charlie doesn't succeed in redemption, all of these characters will have to go years and years preparing themselves for a massacre and inevitably die a second time.

Then when we get to see them in the show a bit earlier than expected here how they act…

Maybe I hyped them too much.. I expected them to be fierce soldiers led by Michael or something.

The thing is, we don’t know what are the Exorcists yet, Adam said he named Vaggie (and probably the rest of the girls) but she’s still Salvadoran, which is really confusing. Hopefully, we’ll get more answers, my personal guess is that Viv is going to go with fan theories that they are humans. That can be interesting but if they are that doesn't explain why they thought themselves invincible.

I created something completely different, basing myself on multiple religious texts as always, I intend to make more posts about my rewrite of characters I drastically changed, and possibly one about Heaven. It’s gonna be long because I crammed a lot of information.

I. Why kill sinners?

Souls are powers, the more it sins, the stronger the 7 Deadly Sins get.

Hell started traditionally as a pit of fire and desolation, when The Seven Sins discovered they could get stronger through the humans, they completely reshaped Hell’s society and influenced Earth with the help of Hellborns.

Mammon is pretty much the reason why we live in a capitalistic society, as Greed is at the center of almost everything (The love for money is described as be Root of All Evil in the Bible.) So his influence on Earth was mirrored to create the Hellaverse we all know.

In Hell, Hellborns, rather than physically torture the Sinners, tempt and trap them in toxic lifestyles. Back in the day, Sinners could have access to the other Rings and indulge in a wide range of vices. Heaven noticed it and reacted immediately to prevent Lucifer’s rise in power and avoid a potential war. They came up with the Extermination and wisely decided to set this up at a very specific time.

You see, around the 16th century Lilith was expecting and she reached her 5 months of pregnancy for the first time in 6000 years. She was cursed by God after fleeing Eden, and all of her pregnancies usually end in miscarriage. Furthermore, she suffered ten times harder than any other woman.

So that's when they forced Lucifer to comply with their deals. He didn't want his wife to be in the middle of a war so he accepted. The deal essentially was that Angels could come to his kingdom once a year to kill as many people as possible, but if they dared to attack a Blue Blood he would bite back.

To diminish the amount of destruction that would be caused by the Exorcists all Sinners are confined to the Pride Ring as they are the main targets. But between us, if you’re a Hellborn and find yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time you’re dead.

Royalties are the only ones spared from the massacre, they picked a relatively weak type of angel to do the dirty work so the Exorcists aren’t even remotely strong enough to kill one of the 72 Lesser Keys, only lower ranks demons and sinners.

II. The Exorcists

The Watchers:

Over the few angels sent to observe humans' expansion, a considerably large amount of them have been exposed to Lucifer’s deviant ideologies and were inspired to follow The Traitor’s ideal and defy God’s plan. 200 of them put these doctrines into motion and their Heavenly Light got tainted by one sin, Lust.

They fell in love with the women on Earth and shapeshifted to marry those they lusted after, causing the birth of wicked creatures between Celestial beings and humankind, the Nephilim. Their second sin was to reveal forbidden knowledge to be viewed as deities unleashing Chaos and wars between humans (you know when we fight to know which God is stronger/real).

God put an end to this and sent Archangels who banished these 200 Watchers to Hell. To ensure that the rest of humanity wouldn’t be corrupted by their children, God flooded the Earth-saving few humans deemed as virtuous (Noah and his family weren't the only ones.)

The Watchers that remained were ripped off a considerable amount of their powers. They got disfigured to ensure the failure of any tentative seduction, and each of them is kept on a tight leash in Heaven unable to access most parts of Heaven without authorization and supervision.

The Birth of Exorcists:

Misael grew disdain for those of their kind who rebelled against the Lord as their trust and love for the Almighty was endless.

This loyalty permitted them to become the next leader of the Watcher after the betrayal of the former chief. The Watchers, alongside them, grew all bitter toward demons and their sinful siblings, a bitterness that turned into hatred for their peers.

When Misael heard the words of a possible uprising, they proposed an annual extermination as a last resort and a way for the Watchers to pay for the sins of their siblings. Which got accepted.

Few details about Misael:

→ Miseal means normally ‘As God is’ but my thought process was that Misia in Greek means ‘hate’ and they hate demons. I just added the ‘El’ syllabus of God.

→ Their voices are surprisingly soft, a bit like Blue Diamond, it almost make you forget that they are about to slice your throat open. They have this habit of reassuring sinners saying that their suffering is coming to an end.

III. Appearance:

Exorcists are lepers and constantly in pain, they were removed from their ability to shapeshift.

Today Leprosy is curable but before modern medicine, it was considered a divine punishment since they had no treatment. There are instances in the Bible where God punishes people by turning them into a leper.

They usually wear bandages to cover their face and this isn't even near how horrible their condition can get. The entirety of their body is sick and they wear large loose clothes to cover them, below the fabric they are still covered with bandages. The halo is in reference to the Crown of Thorns of Jesus, the Romans put it on his head as a form of humiliation. The Watchers used to have normal haloes but they aren't worthy of it anymore.

They are very much recognizable in Heaven as they are the only ones wearing black, to signify their loss of purity and kinda to represent their mourning for their Fallen siblings and the souls they are taking in Hell.

During the Exterminations, they wear silver masks, and Misael wears a golden one since they are the leader. They withhold close-range weapons as a reminder that they are taking lives.

The sun in the center of their armor is a reference to God (a symbol I created for my story) it’s in reference to the Morningstar trying to overcome the Sun.

I got lazy, I haven’t drawn anything in months, so I’m probably gonna re-draw this. I forgot a few details.

IV. Details

→ Each beginning of Extermination is announced by the sounds of Seven Trumpets playing at the same time.

→ They have to make the death as quick and painless as possible.

→ A list of names and ways of identification such as pictures is given to each of the Exorcists so they know who they should approach with caution. They can die, it may not be common but it’s still a possibility. Usually, they target Overlords as their activities in Hell make people sin more and more.

→ They have no right to kill anyone belonging to the Royalty, they don't have enough powers to. Any demons they encounter on the street however must be killed regardless of their status as hellborn or sinners.

→ They can affect technology, Hell has no natural light source as it’s the only place Gods do not pay attention. During the Exterminations, the electricity is completely shut down, the only source of light is the Heaven portals which disorient the sinners because it’s blinding.

→ Exorcists are killable, but usually when faced with 12-foot soldiers you back away. While they do wear armor that completely covers them if they get hurt somehow, they’ll regenerate unless it’s an angelic steel.

The only part that isn't protected is the base of their wings so with the right weapons you could cut it. Guns are also a possibility but their wings are big enough to be used as a shield (76 feet, I did the math.)

→ It’s rare but some Exorcists lose their weapons when facing sinners who fight back.

[eueuphoriaz]

I am loving how Muse is releasing full episodes of AOT on Youtube in anticipation of the movie releasing here next year. It means I can really take my time and watch again and again, with my Levihan filter on maximum mode.

I was very intrigued by this Hange scene in Season 2 on my first watch. Because the scenes before and after it doesnt seem to connect.

The scene before this part was Armin dashing in and informing Eren and Mikasa that Wall Rose has been breached, then a solemn 5 second of Hange prepping up her horse (look even the horses of the Golden trio must be together), and then the scene cuts to Levi going to Erwin's room.

Now, the Hange and her horse scene, and that Levi and Erwin scene are anime-only scenes. I came to 2 conclusions on what possible intentions it could be for the directors to animate that 5 seconds of Hange and her horse scene. (🤓Too much focus on the Levi/ Erwin scene so I need to do justice to Hange)

Conclusion 1

1) This is a subtle nod to how the SC reacts to Miche and his squad's sacrifice.

- I have read some comments mentioning how they felt that there is a lack of emotion or grief from the vets regarding Miche's death, considering how he was a survivor since the fall of Wall Maria and a high-ranking commanding officer too. But this is where I want to do Hange, and the vets, justice.

- These 2 scenes are anime-only, so I looked back at the manga and note there were no panel which depict the SC in Stohess talking about the fall of Wall Rose and Miche's squad. The only thing that came close was Hange exclaiming in surprise when Thomas barged into the assembly.

- It is likely that Hange and the rest had guessed that Miche and his squad had likely failed. There was no further panels of Hange or the other vets in the mange until that rock conversation scene between Hange and Levi, with EMA and pastor Nick in the cart.

- So, I am guessing that the directors of the anime added the Hange prepping her horse scene, and Levi talking to Erwin as a way to let us know how the SC are coping.

Hange was at the wall with Pastor Nick when news of Wall Rose's breach came in. This was around sunset.

Unlike in the manga, Hange did not attend the assembly. After the assembly ended, Erwin and Levi heard the bell separately (Levi was indoors while Erwin was along the corridor)

After that, the next time we see the 3 of them (Erwin, Hange and Levi) are the anime-only scenes.

From what Erwin said to Levi when he came in "Can you go?", there seem to be some discussion between Erwin and someone else on the deployment to reinforce Miche's squad. If I think deeper, Levi and his squad could have been assigned for the mission but there are concerns about his injuries. So Erwin asked Levi, likely again, to confirm with Levi that he can go.

Now, the soldier's response is important because it tells us that there was indeed discussion on who to lead the rescue mission, and the possibility of deaths and injuries suffered by Miche's squad. The soldier is trying to cushion the grim prospect that Miche and his squad are dead.

Conclusion 2- Now, Levihan lens are on🥽

Remember Levi entered Erwin's room and then complaining that the titans do not let them rest at all? This will make a good connection to why the Hange and her horse scene was before that.

Hange was in the room with Levi, Erwin and soldier in that discussion.

Because Levi is injured so she is the only person left to lead the soldiers (I think there could be a decision made to send one troop down asap, regardless if Miche and his squad are dead or alive). I am guessing that somewhere during the discussion, it turns to whether Levi should be resting or not. Since he was eventually given the task of monitoring Nick, it is likely Hange played a part in this arrangement too, so that he can follow her to Ehmrich

Anyway, suppose Hange was in the room before she went to the stable and prep her horse, I can only conclude that Levi walked her out Levi and her walked out of Erwin's room after the strategic discussion.

Ok, I am trying to stretch here but I want to think what else happened during the discussion in Erwin's room when Hange was around. I do want to think that there were emotions being shown, with the worry of what is happening with Miche and the 104 squad. Thats why Levi walked Hange out, thats why the men talked about Miche and hoped that they can pull through after Hange left, and thats why there is a solemn and silent 5 second clip of Hange prepping and pulling her horse out.

Hange is physically tired😔

Of course she is, and there is no titan experiments to help her forget about her tiredness.

Now, suppose that immediately after the SC arrived back at Karanes after the Female Titan battle, Erwin, Armin and Hange talked about the identity of the Female titan and the plan to capture her. I think immediately after this, Miche was tasked to guard the 104 while Hange was tasked to lay the traps and prepare for the capture at Stohess. Levi was tasked to watch out for Eren, so Hange had, in fact, not rested for at least 2 days straight.

And immediately after the battle at Stohess, she rode through the night to Ehmrich and then to Utguard castle.

No wonder Levi wanted to complain that those titans are not giving them a rest.

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

The Dangers of Hope Ch. 10

Series Summary: When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

Pairings/Characters in the series: Endverse!Dean x Reader, Emma (OFC), Castiel, Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Risa, Johnston (OMC), Patrick (OMC), Theresa (OFC), other survivors and soldiers.

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence, some gore, angst, smut, fluff all the usual for a series of mine. ❤️ Endverse!Dean (that's a warning for his anger and callousness as well as his extreme hotness. 😁) Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.

Chapter Warnings: Angst, show level violence

Word Count: 7,447

A/N: So, I've had this idea for quite a while. Basically since I watched The Last of Us. I loved Pedro in the role of Joel, but I kept thinking how incredible Jensen would have been. Which then made me think of how amazing he was as Endverse!Dean which then led me to this idea. Lol! I've stolen the premise of Ellie's storyline from TLOU, but made her a grown up, a reader insert, and a love interest for Dean.

If you've never seen TLOU, don't worry - you don't need to have seen it to understand this story. 😊

I've taken some liberties with the Endverse in my story, changed a few things from canon, but kept lots of things too.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. It will be ten chapters and I will do my very best to post one chapter every weekend. ❤️

A/N 2: Sorry again that this chapter got postponed a day. But here is the conclusion of the series. (Except for the epilogue coming next Saturday - or maybe a little earlier. 😉) I've absolutely loved writing this series. Loved living in the Endverse for a while, so thank you so much to everyone who came along with me. And an extra, super-duper thank you to everyone who commented and reblogged their thoughts about the story as we went along. Kind words fuel authors. ❤️ And oh yeah, this chapter's a bit long. Sorry! 😊

Main Master List || Series Master List || Tag Lists

The dividers below were created by @saradika

Y/N didn’t want to look away, she wanted to keep her eyes on Dean. But the white light was absolutely blinding and she eventually had no choice but to turn away from it. The rush of white noise was almost deafening before becoming suddenly silent. 

There was only darkness behind her eyelids now so Y/N opened her eyes and stood up straight, looking at Dean where he still stood, halfway between her and Zachariah. His back was to her and she took a step towards him.

“Dean?” She questioned quietly.

He turned slightly so he could see her over his shoulder. He peered at her for a moment, almost scientifically, before he gave his head a brief shake.

“No.”

Y/N would never be able to explain it, but somehow it was Dean’s face, Dean's voice, and yet it wasn’t him. Something was missing from his sparkling, jewel green eyes.

This was Michael. Dean was gone.

Without a moment’s pause, the archangel strode towards the other angels and in the span of a breath they were all gone, leaving behind only the sound of fluttering wings. 

Y/N stood stock still, staring at the empty, open field where Dean had stood less than a minute before. Around her chaos began to spread. The people who’d been putting out the fire were rushing towards them now, trying to find out what was going on. Screams echoed as people saw Johnston lying dead on the ground.

Everyone was asking her questions, but she had no answers, she had no words. She just stood, as people rushed around her, feeling as though she’d wake up at any moment. She’d wake up and Dean’s arms would be around her and when he woke she’d tell him about the horrible dream and how scary it had been and he’d hold her gently and tell her it was all just a nightmare.

“...I have my arms wrapped tightly around you and we’re both safe…Close your eyes and stay there, in that moment.”

Dean’s soft words whispered their way into her mind and she shivered. This couldn’t be happening.

Without warning her knees buckled and she fell to the muddy, wet ground, her muscles simply going limp. She covered her face as more tears began to fall. She felt the weight of all her tears gathering in her chest, threatening to crush her, when suddenly she heard Risa calling her name.

When she looked up the soldier was standing over her, still holding Emma in her arms. 

“Y/N, you can’t. You just can’t right now. Emma needs you, and I’ve got to… “ She waved an arm towards the people who were panicking all around them.

Y/N felt her mind rebelling, all she wanted was to sit there in the mud and let the cool night air numb her to the all-consuming ache spreading throughout her body. 

But she looked up into Emma’s little, terrified face, and forced herself to really hear the horror and confusion all around her; she knew she couldn’t just fall apart. 

She nodded at Risa and pushed herself to her feet. She took Emma from her and the other woman gave her a nod and moved into action, working with Cas and her fellow soldiers to start organizing the chaos, trying to get campers back to their tents. They also started debating how best to deal with the burnt out cabin and Johnston’s lifeless body

For her part, Y/N simply turned away from the cacophony and walked slowly back to the red tent. Emma was sobbing on her shoulder and Y/N gathered every ounce of her exhausted strength to try and console her little girl.

When they reached the tent Y/N set Emma down on her cot and wrapped a warm blanket around her while she went to light the stove and warm up the tent. After standing out in the cool night air for so long with no jackets, getting them warm was the first order of business.

Before long the little stove was chugging out ample heat, and she went back over to Emma and snuggled her daughter into her lap. After a while the little girl’s tears subsided into deep, shuddering breaths. Her voice was tiny and quiet when she spoke.

“Dean is gone.”

Y/N felt the whispered words pierce her heart. “Yeah, baby.”

“Will he come back?”

“Yes.” Y/N said it without thinking, her soul making the decision. But she didn’t want to lie to her child either, so she amended her comment. “I’m sure he��s going to try really hard to come back.”

Emma seemed to accept that and was quiet for a little while. Then she spoke again, her soft words tinged with fear. 

“Did the bad man kill Eric?”

Y/N squeezed her tighter and nodded against the top of her head. “Yes, baby, because he’s a very bad man.”

“Will he come back to kill us?”

Y/N felt her stomach plummet with fear and heartbreak that her daughter’s mind was so clouded with terror.

Y/N shook her head. “No, baby. He won’t come back now.” She hoped she wasn’t lying.

“Because Dean saved us?”

Y/N felt as though her heart was being crushed. “Yeah, sweet pea, because Dean saved us.”

***

The next few days passed in a haze for Y/N. She was trying desperately to keep it together for Emma’s sake. Her daughter was having nightmares every night and the last thing she needed was her mother crumbling on her. But Y/N was barely sleeping, no more than a couple of hours a night. Every ounce of her being felt exhausted - worn out beyond measure. 

There were no classes to teach, thank goodness; the camp was still disorganized and a bit scattered. A dozen or so campers had left, afraid of more angel retaliation. The campers left behind were trying to salvage what they could from the big cabin, and deal with the rest of the burnt out building. 

Three days after Dean had gone, Cas came to their tent in the evening, carrying extra wood and asking Y/N if she needed anything.

“No, Cas, we’re good. You don’t have to worry about us.” She said with a forced smile.

“I told Dean I would take care of you.” He said with conviction. “It’s still cold at night, hence the wood. What else do you need?”

Y/N shook her head. “Nothing, Cas. Really.”

He lifted his chin towards Emma who was sleeping on her cot. “How is she?”

Y/N gave a small shrug. “She's trying to cope, like all of us.” 

He nodded and then headed out. As he lifted the tent flap, Y/N called him back. When he turned his bright blue gaze on her she hesitated before asking the question that wouldn't leave her mind.

“Can we get him back? Somehow?”

Cas stared at her intensely for a moment before his eyes softened slightly; his deep voice was gentle as he spoke. 

“We can hope.”

Y/N closed her eyes. “Yes. Hope.”

When she opened her eyes again, the angel was gone.

***

A week after Dean left they still hadn't figured out any way to get him back, or even how to find him. Cas had begun to hear angel radio again, but the angels were being very quiet. Just the odd remark here and there that made Cas believe that they were still in Kansas, but he couldn't be sure.

The camp had gone back to functioning - mostly. But people kept saying things like, “We’ll run it by the Boss and see what he says.” before realizing that was impossible. The soldiers were trying to run things smoothly between them, and Brandy was helping to keep things as organized as possible. 

But Dean was very missed.

A full eight days after losing him, Y/N sat up at the table one night, desperately trying to think up a way to get Dean back to her. Her eyes were scratchy and red-rimmed as she let her head fall into her hands.

She may have fallen asleep right there if there hadn't been a sudden burst of white light. It lit up the tent, blinding her. As it faded slightly, she could just make out a man's shape. Her heart leapt for a moment before realizing this man was much too small to be Dean. 

A deep booming voice spoke and shook the ground around them. 

“Hail, thou that art highly favored, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women. Fear not, Y/N: for thou hast - Ow! Son of a bitch!” 

The angel cut off his proclamation and held up his hands as Y/N smacked him repeatedly with a broom. The last of his angelic light went out like a candle and he grabbed the broom away from Y/N and snapped it with incredible ease. 

“What the hell, lady?” He rubbed the side of his head where she'd walloped him. “You know that worked great with Mary. SHE knew how to be ‘sore afraid’.”

Y/N went to Emma's cot where her daughter was crying silently, obviously horrified to see another angel, inside their tent this time. 

“Get out!” Y/N said with as much strength as she could muster.

“You really don't want that, trust me.” The angel said, his hazel eyes twinkling, a smirk on his thin lips.

“Who are you; what do you want?”

He gave a little bow. “Name’s Gabriel, but I prefer Loki.”

The tent flap opened and suddenly Cas was there with Risa and Patrick flanking him. But Cas pulled up short when he saw the other angel.

“Gabriel?”

“Hey, bro!” Gabriel said cheerfully.

Cas looked to the two soldiers on either side of him. “I'm fine here. You should patrol the area. Look for anything amiss or out of place. But don't approach it without me.”

Both soldiers gave a curt nod and left.

Cas came fully into the tent and his face was very wary. “Gabriel, what are you doing here? Where have you been for the last thousand Millenia or so? Most of us thought you were dead.”

“Nope.” Gabriel's voice was still nonchalant and cheery. “Just in a sort of witness relocation. Got sick to death of Daddy's beefs and Lucifer and Michael's petty squabbling. So, I took a little time off. Sailed around, saw the world, got myself a brand new face.” 

He framed his face with his two hands. “Cute, right?”

Cas just frowned at him and Gabriel rolled his eyes. “You have never known how to have fun Castiel.”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Well, these humans are under my protection, so I'll save the fun until after you tell me what you're doing here.”

Gabriel lost his smirk and he crossed his arms. “Isn't it obvious? I'm here to save the day, as always.”

Cas scoffed. “Not likely. You tend to sew chaos.”

Gabriel shrugged. “What can I say, it's a talent.” He moved back to lean against the table. 

“But seriously, I'm so over this apocalypse. As soon as Lucy dumped his little virus on this world, I was outta here. No fun to be had with a bunch of humans barely clinging to life. So, I traveled near and far, all over the galaxy and a little bit further. It's been sort of fun. But let me tell you, there are only so many green-skinned, six-legged chicks you can bang before you start pining for home, you know?”

He gave his head a shake. “Don't know how Captain Kirk did it.”

“Get to the point, brother.” Cas said, annoyance lacing his tone.

“I'm here to help.”

“So you said. How?” Cas asked harshly.

Gabriel shrugged again. “I have a way to shove Lucifer and Michael into the cage.”

From his pocket he pulled out an oddly shaped object. It was an X made up of four circles, four rings, by the looks of it.

He held it up. “Borrowed these from the horsemen. Well,” he shrugged, “to be fair, only Death was willing to part with his, the others didn't wanna give ‘em up easily. But, you know, archangel trumps most. I was glad Death was so cooperative though, he woulda been a tough one to beat.”

Cas stepped up to him and held out his hand. Gabriel dropped the cross into it and Cas peered at it closely.

“The horsemen’s rings. What will this do?”

Gabriel's voice was quiet. “Keys to the cage, brother.”

Cas’ eyes widened. “Lucifer’s cage?”

Gabriel nodded. “And Michael’s too.” He paused for a beat. “And mine.”

Cas frowned. “Yours? Why would you throw yourself into the cage?”

Gabriel shrugged, but Y/N could see a flicker of some deep emotion pass over his mobile features. 

“Someone’s gotta pull those two down there. And I’d say after millions of years, and untold damage to the world, me and my brothers could use some time alone and family therapy.”

He allowed a smile to turn up the corner of his mouth.”From what I understand old Raffy’s taken up as a god on some distant planet. He always did like to be worshiped.” He shrugged again, his smirk firmly back in place. “So, it’s just the three of us.”

Cas shook his head. “Why are you doing all of this, Gabriel?”

The archangel took back the key to the cage and slipped it into his pocket. “Told ya, got sick of banging green chicks on Mars.”

“No. That's…there are no green women on Mars.” Cas said, looking at Y/N as though to reassure her. 

Y/N stood up and walked the few steps to where Gabriel stood, looking him straight in the eye. “Can you bring Dean back?”

Gabriel contemplated her for a moment and then shook his head. “No.” 

Y/N felt her stomach lurch, and she opened her mouth to shout at him, but Gabriel held up a hand, patting his pocket with the other. “With this I can open the cage, and I can pull my brothers down with me to be locked away. But if you want Dean back, you’ve gotta get him to toss Michael first. Otherwise, his body and soul come down too.”

Y/N began to panic. “What are you talking about? You are not dragging Dean down to hell, no matter what!” She shouted, her fists balled. “I will not let you.”

Gabriel’s smile looked genuine for the first time as he looked at Y/N fuming in front of him before turning to Cas. “She’s feisty! Dean knows how to pick ‘em!”

He looked back at Y/N and held both his hands up in surrender. “Look, I can’t extract Michael from Dean’s body, it doesn’t work that way; Dean has to be the one to throw him out. And there’s nothing I could say to give him that kind of strength.” He tilted his head slightly. “But you might be able to. You’re our best shot.”

He looked to Cas. “If she can get Dean to toss Michael, I’ll grab on to him. I’ll be able to hold him for a little while. Hopefully long enough to get to Lucifer and try to get Sam Winchester to eject him.” 

He shook his head. “That one’s gonna be a lot harder, and I’m not gonna lie, I don’t hold out very much hope. I also don’t know what kind of shape Sam’s gonna be in even if he can get him out. He’s held Lucifer for five years now, he might be too far gone.”

Cas nodded. “If we can get Dean, he can get Sam. Or, he’ll be the best chance anyway. And if Sam manages to eject Lucifer, Dean won’t care what condition he’s in, he’ll fix him.”

Gabriel gave a nod. “We’ll see, I suppose. But we gotta start with Dean so…” He looked at Y/N. “What do you say, beautiful?”

Y/N contemplated him for a moment before looking at Cas. “Do you trust him?”

Cas was quiet for a long time, looking Gabriel over, the debate clear in his expression. 

The archangel rolled his eyes. “Thanks, bro.”

Finally Cas nodded. “Yes, I believe we can trust him.”

Y/N took a deep breath, hope and fear spreading throughout her body in equal measure. “Okay, then let’s go save the Winchesters.”

***

Their traveling party was prepared and ready to go in very little time, most of which was spent explaining to Emma why she couldn’t come. 

Y/N knew how terrified her little girl must be, thinking she was losing her mother now too. Eventually though, her tears subsided and her little face became resolved to what was happening. It broke Y/N’s heart to see that resolve, to know that her daughter’s soft heart was getting tougher. 

Y/N swore to herself that she was going to bring Dean home, and they would live happily ever after, spoiling Emma and letting her go soft once again.

Before they left, Y/N gave Monique a hug and thanked her again. She’d pulled her friend aside earlier and spoken quietly with her, asking her to take care of Emma if anything should happen to her. Tears had welled up in Monique’s beautiful amber eyes but she’d clasped Y/N’s hands tightly. 

“I will always look after Emma as my very own.” She shook her head and dashed away her tears. “But you’ll be back in no time, I’m sure. So, I’ll see you soon.”

The soldiers, Brandy and Monique had all checked privately with Y/N about whether or not she was really okay to set off with two angels. Y/N reassured them that she trusted Cas completely and he trusted Gabriel. So she did too. Besides, she’d reasoned, if this was their only possibility to save Dean, she had to take it. 

Gabriel said he knew just where Michael was staying, so she held Cas’ hand as the archangel tapped his brother’s shoulder and in a blink they were suddenly standing just outside a rundown Victorian house. 

The springtime sun was just beginning to lighten the sky in the East as they popped into existence on the sidewalk outside the house.

She hadn’t even had time to wave goodbye.

The three of them walked slowly up the front stairs and through the door. As they entered the house they heard a voice call from the back. 

“The polite thing to do would have been to call first, you know.”

Y/N felt her heart leap. She recognized Dean’s voice, but it sounded different. The consonants were more clipped, the words more even in tone, almost bland, bored. His voice had none of Dean’s rough, expressive way of speaking.

The dissonance continued as they walked into the sitting room and found Dean. He held himself ramrod straight, and when he turned towards them, his face held none of Dean’s stony anger, or joyful exuberance. It too was bland, cold, his normally shining, emerald eyes looked almost empty.

Looking at this version of Dean was very difficult. Somehow being in front of this non-Dean made Y/N miss him even more. 

But he never spared her a glance. All his attention was on his brothers. “Castiel, it’s been a long time. And Gabriel,” he looked him up and down, “it’s been even longer. Millions of years, in fact. I almost didn’t recognize you in this vessel.”

“Yeah, got this one custom made by a good friend of mine.” He ran a hand across his chest. “I’ve grown quite fond of my earthly form, so I’m happy I don’t have to share it with a human, and I don’t ever have to turn into a bright white mist, cause there's no human inside to reject me. This beautiful face is mine all mine.”

He smiled wide, but Michael just frowned. “That’s sacrilege, brother. Our angelic form is greater than any human disguise.”

Gabriel shrugged. “But they sure come in handy don’t they. If you wanna get anything done on earth, they really are a necessity.” He raised a hand towards him. “Hence all your trouble to get this one.” 

Gabriel's tone became grandiose and overwrought. “For here is your sword, your one true vessel. Destined for eons to be the one human whose bones you were the most eager to jump.”

Michael stared at him soundlessly for a moment and then spoke in the same even, emotionless tone. “Why are you here, Gabriel? And why have you brought this human?” He pointed at Y/N, but still didn’t look at her.

Gabriel paused a beat before answering. “Well, we have a bone to pick with you.” 

That was the signal to spur Cas into action. A white light shot out from Gabriel’s hands, connecting him to Michael. As the two archangels fought, Michael trying desperately to break the hold Gabriel had on him, Cas ran in front of him, drawing a straight line from wall to wall in holy oil and then dropping a lit match, trapping Michael behind the line of flame. 

Gabriel let his brother go, grunting with effort as the connection broke. Michael’s borrowed face was no longer emotionless, it was furious and bubbling with hate. 

“How dare you!” He shouted at Gabriel. “How dare you try to interfere with my destiny. This fight has been postponed for five long years while Lucifer ran amok. It is my duty to fight him and end him!”

Gabriel was scowling at his big brother a moment before a wide grin spread across his face. “You said doody.”

Everyone paused to look at him askance, and he shrugged. “What? That’s funny! Nobody has a sense of humor these days.” 

He shook his finger at Michael. “You know who would have laughed at that, the man you’re possessing. He would have thought it was hilarious. Or at least, he would have before the apocalypse struck. Been a bit down in the mouth since Lucifer possessed his brother and ended the world.”

Michael was still livid and he spoke through gritted teeth. “We tried to tell Dean that I needed my sword, that I needed my vessel to fight Lucifer, but he wouldn’t listen. He brought this on humanity.”

“Bullshit!” Gabriel called out and all traces of his humor were gone. “You could have used another vessel, you could have made due as Lucifer did before Sam. But no, you wanted THIS vessel.” He pointed at Dean. “And you were pissed you couldn’t have him, so you threw a hissy fit and left the world to burn.”

Silence reigned for a moment before Gabriel spoke again, quiet now. “And I left with you. I cashed in my chips and walked away from the table. But I kept an eye on humanity while I was galivanting around the universe. Kind of an old habit, and what I saw shocked me. The world was over, civilization destroyed, and yet - on they all trudged. These people. These humans. They kept on fighting. These flawed broken toys we all mocked and looked down on, they fought, they loved, they helped each other, they won and lost, but no matter what, they just kept going.”

Michael was motionless as Gabriel continued, pointing towards Y/N. “And just as there was a possibility of hope, just as they found a way they might be able to win, might be able to restart the world, here you come again, army in tow, ready to level the planet all over. And for what? So you can fight some ancient grudge match with our brother?” He shook his head. “What is the bloody point?”

Dean’s jaw ticked with Michael’s annoyance. “It’s my destiny. It’s what I was created to do.”

Gabriel looked sad as he glanced over at Y/N. “Well, not if she can help it.”

Y/N knew this was her time, it was on her now to help Dean find strength enough to eject the possessing angel. Michael’s cold eyes looked at her through Dean’s sparkling jade and she closed her own for a moment, imagining the warmth in Dean’s expression before she opened her eyes and smiled at him.

“Dean, can you hear me? I need you to listen, I need you to trust me. Throw him out. I’ll be safe, Emma and I will both be safe now. But I need you to come back home.”

“Dean isn’t available at the moment.” Michael said darkly. But she could see him squinting, almost as though he was in pain and Y/N chose to believe that Dean was fighting him from the inside. 

She kept talking as though Michael hadn't spoken.

“I have so many plans for us. Once we’ve made the cure possible, and the world is able to begin again, I really want us to go back home, back to Chitaqua. I wanna build a cabin there. Nothing fancy, you know, just something a bit bigger than the tent, but still cozy - with a bedroom door that locks.” She finished with a wide grin.

She stepped a little closer to him, careful to avoid the flame. “And, of course, I think we’re gonna have to get Emma that dog she asked for. And we can celebrate birthdays and holidays with all of our friends and family. We’ll keep them all close, and safe.”

Michael was stepping back from her, looking away and shaking his head as though he was dizzy. 

“Dean, I love you so much. All I want is to spend my life with you. Please kick him out. I know how strong you are, I know you can do it.”

“I’ll kill her!” Michael screamed out suddenly, as though his inner thoughts weren’t loud enough for Dean to hear. “You understand me? If you want her to live, want to keep her safe, stop fighting me. Now!”

Michael was breathing hard, but a joyless smile was spreading across Dean's beautiful face; the archangel was obviously pleased. 

“That's better.” He whispered, still slightly out of breath.

They were losing Dean, she could see it. Michael was terrorizing him again with threats against her. So, acting purely on instinct, Y/N made one last attempt, one huge Hail Mary. 

She took a deep breath and leapt over the fire, throwing her arms around Dean’s neck. She pulled his mouth down to hers and kissed him with every ounce of love and passion she could muster. 

She put everything into the kiss, every moment she’d loved him, and every promise she was making him were all there, tied up with all the hope in her heart. 

She felt a tingling against her lips that started to burn as she pulled away. She jumped back and fell to the ground as Dean let out a roar, and his mouth opened wide. The blinding white light that had consumed him was being forced back out of him, in an incredible light show that ended abruptly as Gabriel reached out and pulled the light into himself.

The darkness was complete for a moment before Y/N’s eyes could adjust. As the world came into focus, she could see Gabriel on the other side of the flame, breathing hard and fast. Cas walked to his side and poured some of his own white light into Gabriel, which seemed to stabilize him slightly. 

But his voice was still wobbly when he spoke. “We gotta go. I don’t know how long I can hold him in here with me.”

Y/N nodded and crawled over to where Dean had fallen to the floor. She turned his face towards her just as his eyes fluttered open. 

“Y/N?” He whispered and she nodded at him with tears flowing.

“Yeah, I’m here, I’m safe. We’re all safe.”

Dean shook his head. “But how…” He sat up slowly and looked towards where Cas and Gabriel stood. He squinted and shook his head in confusion. “The Trickster’s an angel?”

Cas’ eyes widened as he looked at Gabriel. “You were the Trickster the boys went up against? Twice?” 

Dean’s voice was slightly annoyed. “Yeah, he killed me like a million times.”

Y/N felt her stomach lurch, but Gabriel just waved it away as nothing. “I was trying to teach you boys something; wasn’t my finest moment maybe, but you gotta admit, the tacos were funny.”

“Not to me, asshole.” Dean grumbled. Y/N was very confused and about to ask for clarification when Gabriel bent double.

“Ugh!” He groaned. “Okay, could you postpone my spanking for that very hilarious prank until after I’ve saved you all?”

Y/N nodded and helped Dean to his feet. Gabriel looked at him. “Okay, pal, this one’s on you. We’re gonna go get Lucifer so I can toss all of us into the cage. We can try to get Sam to chuck him first. We’ll need you for that. But if you can’t get him, and it seems like Lucifer might get away, I’ll grab Sam as is and jump into the cage.”

Dean stormed up to him. “You are not taking my brother to hell, you understand me?” 

Gabriel just shrugged. “Then I guess you better reach him before it’s too late.”

He groaned again as he fought his brother internally, closing his eyes and putting a hand to his head. Without saying any more, they all got into position so Gabriel could zap them to Lucifer’s location. 

Just before he could manage it however, there was a bellow of rage from behind them, making them all turn. From the doorway, Zachariah charged forward, angel blade bared and aimed for Dean’s jugular. 

Dean shoved Y/N out of the way as the angel charged them like a bull. But when he was just a couple feet from Dean, Cas stuck his foot out, sending the furious angel spilling to the ground in a comical looking pratfall. 

He fell onto the still burning holy fire and screamed in pain, rolling around, trying to escape the flames. Before he could pull himself free, however, Dean grabbed onto the silver blade the angel had dropped. He raised it high, and then plunged it deep into his throat, forever freezing the angel's sadistic face in agony. 

More blinding white lights burst out of the dying angel, forcing Y/N to once again cover her head and shield her eyes. When she reopened them, she could see the angel’s blackened wings, as his empty vessel was slowly consumed in the flame. 

Dean stood up and then helped Y/N to her feet. After giving her a once over to determine she was alright, he turned to Cas. 

“Nice job, buddy. Very Keystone Cops.”

Cas frowned. “I don’t know an officer by that name.”

Dean just smiled and then slipped the blade into his pocket as he looked down at the dead angel. 

“Good riddance.” He said under his breath before a panting Gabriel yanked him back into position and zapped them all away.

Suddenly, in another heartbeat, they were all standing in a bombed out street; the buildings around them were crumbling and burnt. It was all that was left after some of the original fighting between the army and the Croats five years before. The bombings hadn’t worked. 

As they stood looking around, a man caught their eye. He was strolling out of one of the buildings less than twenty feet away; he was very tall and had long brown hair and an easy stride. 

Y/N could hear Dean gasp slightly beside her and she took his hand. The man, who could only be Lucifer, slowed down as he approached them. His smile was soft and patronizing.

“Well, well. This is a surprise. What a merry little band of rebels you’ve all turned into.” 

He nodded at Gabriel. “Our brothers and sisters all thought you must have been killed somewhere, but I knew better.” He studied him for a minute before smirking. “And I see he got hold of you, Mikey!” He said loudly. He chuckled. “He always was a cuck.”

He frowned slightly as he spared barely a glance for the rest of them. “But Gabe, buddy if you’re here to try and put me back in that cage?” He raised his hand and closed it into a fist and Gabriel began coughing as though he was choking. “Well, that simply isn’t going to happen.” 

Cas ran forward to help, but Lucifer tossed him aside with a sweep of his hand. Dean pushed Y/N to crouch behind an upside down car. “Stay here.” He warned, before turning back towards his brother.

“Sammy?” He called tentatively. Lucifer looked over at him and dropped Gabriel to the ground as he let him go. He faced Dean and shook his head. 

“You.” The devil said, his voice menacing. “You have no idea how sick I am of you. Do you know how many times I’ve had to listen to Sammy bellyaching about how he was letting you down? Do you know how ANNOYING it is to execute a perfect reign of terror just to have this boy,” he banged his chest, “weeping in my head instead of truly reveling in it with me?”

He shook his head. “It’s only been quiet in here since I threatened to find you and end you. See that’s how I got Sammy’s cooperation in the first place. I promised that if he said yes I wouldn’t snap your neck like kindling.” 

He waved towards Dean dismissively. “You were sound asleep at the time, you wouldn’t remember this. But Sam finally said yes, as I always knew he would, and in return I promised that you could keep on living. So when Sam wouldn’t shut up and stop whining, a simple threat to revoke our original deal was enough to silence him.”

He smiled, and Y/N thought it was pure sin for such a sweet, dimpled smile to sit on the face of evil. Lucifer tilted his head slightly as though he was listening to something. 

“But now…hey Sammy.” He said in a silky tone. “Been quiet so long, I'd actually started to miss you.”

Dean took a step closer. “Sammy, can you hear me? I’m here. I’m here and I’m so sorry, more than I can ever say. I never should’ve walked away from you. We should have fought these assholes together. I should have known that we’re stronger together than apart.”

He swallowed. “But you’ve gotta chuck him. We’ve got a plan, little brother, we can win. Believe me.”

Lucifer rolled Sam’s bright, hazel eyes just before he slammed his fist into Dean’s face, almost knocking him to the ground. 

Gabriel shot light at his brother, but it was much weaker than what he’d thrown at Michael; so much of his strength was being used to keep Michael locked inside himself. Cas added his strength, but Lucifer quickly pushed them both away, severing their hold on him. 

Blood gushed from Dean’s lip, his jaw already swollen and purple, as he started forward again. 

“Sammy, I need you to force him out. I know how strong you are. I know you can do it. I never should have doubted it, never should have believed they could defeat us. We are Winchesters and we never-” 

He broke off as Lucifer landed two more swift blows to his face, causing a sickening crack as Dean’s nose shattered and he crashed to the ground.

Y/N gasped and jumped up, running forward even though there was nothing she could possibly do. Gabriel and Cas fought him again, forcing Lucifer to stumble back slightly. But he found his footing quickly and severed the hold as he had before, this time sending both angels sailing through the air. 

Lucifer stared at Dean, hatred spreading across Sam's handsome features. "I am done with you." He shouted. "You are not worth my time."

Looking as though it was a struggle, as though the body he was possessing was fighting back, Lucifer raised his arm, his fingers poised to snap. Y/N screamed, memories bursting in her mind of the swiftness with which Zachariah had ended Johnston’s life with a mere snap.

But before he could manage it, Lucifer once again stumbled backwards. This time, however, Cas and Gabriel had barely risen from the ground and were just walking back towards them. 

Lucifer dropped his arm and fell suddenly to his knees. “No.” He whispered, shock suffusing the word, and then he screamed. “No!” The ground shook and rumbled, knocking all of them down.

Suddenly a burst of white light erupted from Sam’s mouth, and as he had before, Gabriel reached forward with his own light to trap his brother. 

The light suffused the archangel-turned-Trickster; it was no longer being wholly contained within himself, but spilling out of him as he tried to hold on to all of their angelic forms within his one custom-made vessel. 

Jerkily he reached into his pocket and threw the key at Cas. “Now, brother!” 

Cas tossed it to the ground and began chanting. As the chant ended, a wide hole began to crack open in the street.

Gabriel pitched forward towards the hole, but his body seemed to be disobeying his commands - his brothers were fighting against him with all their strength. The light emanating from Gabriel seemed to be splitting, as though the other two archangels were separating from him.

With one last surge of strength, Gabriel leapt forward and dove headfirst into the hole in front of him. There were deafening sounds of furious screaming that were quickly swallowed up as the ground closed around them.

There was only silence for a long time, as they all struggled to get their bearings, to reconcile what had just happened. 

Y/N was the first to move, running to Dean just as he stood up, and then collapsing in his arms. Dean held her tightly, kissing the top of her head and then cupping her cheeks to kiss her mouth, hard and fast. He pulled away and smiled.

Cas stepped forward to tap his fingers to Dean's forehead, instantly clearing the blood and bruises. 

Dean nodded and smiled at him gratefully. “Thanks, Cas.”

He looked back at Y/N and his beautiful eyes and mobile, expressive face were once again his own and Y/N rejoiced.

Dean turned them both to face Sam where he still knelt on the ground. With a quick squeeze, Dean stepped away from her to reach out a hand to his little brother.

Sam hesitated only a moment before he took it and let Dean pull him to his feet. The two men stared at each other for a minute before Dean yanked Sam towards him to wrap the taller man up in a bear hug, his arms wrapping over Sam’s shoulders and clinging tightly. 

Sam’s face crumpled slightly and he crushed his brother’s ribs as he hugged him back. “I’m so sorry, Dean. I didn’t know what else to do, I didn’t…” He trailed off, but Dean was shaking his head. 

“No, Sam, no.” He pulled back to clap his hand against the side of Sam’s neck. “This isn’t on you.” Sam gave him a look and Dean shook his head. “Well, it’s certainly not all on you. We both fucked up, but we have a chance to fix things now.”

He turned back to Y/N and held his arm out towards her. She stepped forward to take his hand. Dean was beaming as he made the introductions.

“Sam, Y/N, Y/N, Sam.” Sam raised an eyebrow and Dean grinned. “Meet my wife.”

Sam’s eyes widened and Y/N gasped. “What?” She squeaked. 

Dean shrugged. “Well okay, maybe there’s still the formalities to go through, like the wedding ceremony.”

“And a proposal!” Y/N said, laughing from sheer joy, utter exhaustion and the madness of their new reality.

Dean grinned at her. “You saying you don’t wanna?”

Y/N beamed up at him. “Definitely not saying that.”

Cas interrupted. “Before you start planning the wedding, can we go home?”

Sam looked dazed and spoke softly as though trying to decide if it was all just a dream. “Where is home?”

Dean clapped him on the back. “Camp Chitaqua. You’re gonna love it, Sammy! Trust me. It’s paradise.”

“With outhouses.” Y/N said with a snort.

Sam’s smile was soft, and it suited his kind, handsome face much more than it had ever fit the devil.

“Sounds perfect. Let’s go home.”

Cas stepped forward and in a blink they were back in the field where the spring vegetables were just sprouting - where they could hear the voices of their friends and neighbors, and smell the thick scent of pine and new earth.

There was a cry of shock as the campers saw them all suddenly standing there. Shouts conveyed the message quickly throughout the camp and everyone came running to see their return. 

Y/N let out a cry of happiness as she saw Emma racing towards her, her little legs eating up the distance surprisingly fast. As she reached them, Dean scooped her up and pulled Y/N into the circle of his embrace so that the three of them hugged each other tightly. 

The rest of the day was spent celebrating and rejoicing, hours of storytelling, and off-key singing around campfires, food shared and enjoyed by everyone. 

Eventually, Dean, Y/N and Emma broke away to bring Sam to Dean’s old tent. They lit a lamp and Dean gave Sam the grand tour, pointing the way to the outhouses from there, and assuring him the cot was more comfortable than it looked. 

Sam nodded, still looking as though he couldn’t take it all in. Seeing his confusion, Y/N kissed Dean on the cheek and picked up Emma’s hand. 

“You boys have so much to catch up on. You should take some time together.”

Sam shook his head. “No, you’ve been away from each other long enough. This reunion should be yours.” He said, nodding at Y/N and Dean. Throughout the day he’d been caught up on how everything went down with Michael and Zachariah. 

But Y/N shook her head. “We’ve been apart a week, you’ve been apart for years. You need this time.”

Dean looked down at her, love shining in his gaze, before tossing his brother a smile. “Don’t bother arguing, Sammy, she always wins.”

He bent down and kissed Y/N deeply, making Emma curl her lip.

“Ew.” She said succinctly, and Y/N laughed as she pulled out of the kiss. 

She looked at Sam and then moved in for a hug. Sam hugged her back and she beamed up at him. 

“I'm so glad to know you, Sam Winchester. Welcome home.”

With that she pulled Emma out of the tent to let the brothers get to know each other again.

Hours and hours later, the camp was finally quiet. A lamp glowed here and there as people slowly settled into their tents for the night. A happy peace settled over the camp, blanketing it in coziness and calm.

Y/N had sung Emma to sleep an hour before and was now stretched out on her own cot. She was planning on waiting for Dean to come back from visiting with his brother. But almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, her absolute exhaustion hit her and she was out immediately.

She woke with a start some time later, and then sighed deeply as she felt Dean’s arms tighten around her. Across the room she could hear Emma’s soft snores and her eyes filled with tears as the reality hit her anew that they were all truly together again, safe and sound. She turned in Dean’s arms so she could face him.

“Dean.” She whispered. 

He smiled a sleepy smile and kissed her softly. “You were sleeping so soundly when I got home, I didn’t want to disturb you.” He whispered back, voice craggy with sleep.

“How is Sam?” She asked.

Dean sighed. “He’s okay. Gonna take time for him to be a hundred percent, you know. But he’s here, and he’s smiling, and he’s...Sammy.” He shrugged slightly. “So, that’s enough for now.”

Y/N nodded and wiped away a tear, finally making Dean notice them in the dark. His voice sounded slightly worried as he cupped her cheek and thumbed away the wetness. “Sweetheart, you're crying. Why?”

Y/N shook her head. “Because all my hopes and dreams have come true. We’re together, we’re safe, the camp is safe, the devil’s gone, and we actually have a real chance of remaking the world.”

Dean’s voice voice was a bit choked up too as he responded, grinning. “Yeah, but I don't plan on forgetting that promise you made me. When the world is fixed, we’re coming back here to live out our days in a big log cabin with locking doors and indoor plumbing, right?”

Y/N giggled. “I’m not sure about the indoor plumbing, but everything else is definitely in the cards, I hope.”

Dean pulled her close and tucked her head beneath his chin. “Well, we’re in the business of hope, so I think our chances are good.”

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @alwaystiredandconfused @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma

Dean Fics Only: @roonthelittlespoon920 @slamminmine @zepskies @safiyas-world

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @hobby27 @waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @deangirl96

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Part 16

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Characters: Wolffe, Cara (child OFC)

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff, funeral

Word Count: 1.8k

Author's Note: I would call this a bit of a breather chapter. It's not overly emotional or angsty. Just some much needed daddy-daughter time, which I think is cute. Gotta throw some cute things in the middle of the tragedy, you know? It's all about that balance. As always, please enjoy 💚

Beta: @/beating-a-dead-plot

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Wolffe glanced at Cara to ensure she was still asleep, then grabbed a change of clothes and silently left the room. The male-species communal shower wasn't far so he could return quickly in an emergency. That automatic thought process made Wolffe groan as he entered the communal shower area. He could not handle one more emergency, crisis, or mishap. He needed everything around him to be calm for at least ten minutes so he could collect himself back into the battle-hardened commander he was before everything in his life exploded.

The sigh of relief Wolffe released when the hot water cascaded down his back was sinful. The sensation was rapturous. It had been a long time since Wolffe had a liquid shower and he almost forgot how nice they were. The shower in their apartment was his favorite. It was always clean, smelled like his wife's soap, and the water pressure was fantastic. The shower he was under now felt similar, but it was missing the comforts of home. Regardless, he stood under the hot spray for as long as he could before he washed his hair and scrubbed his body clean. 

After several minutes of soothing bliss, Wolffe turned the water off and exited the steamy shower stall. He wrapped a towel around his waist, walked to the sink area, and swiped his arm across the mirror to remove the condensation. He smoothed a hand along his stubbly cheek and frowned. He needed a shave. It was a minor annoyance, so he rummaged around the room until he found a shaving kit. It only took minutes to do, and he looked a little less ragged but it was still a chore. With that finished, he toweled off, threw his new clothes on, and left.

On his way back to the room, Wolffe heard a very distressed noise coming from down the hall. He stopped walking and threw his head back, releasing an exhausted and distressed noise of his own in retaliation. He knew it was Cara, he just knew it, and in that moment a part of him couldn't wait to get back to the battlefield where he wouldn't have to hear it anymore, but the other part of him, the father part, broke in half. He'd never get used to the dichotomy of soldier and father. It was always awkward when those two halves warred with each other.

Lo and behold, when Wolffe opened the door to the room, he found exactly what he expected to find–an unhappy and teary-eyed child. Wolffe took a deep breath as he analyzed the familiar scene, then easily switched into father mode. He closed the distance between the door and the bed in a few steps and sat on the edge of the bed where Cara was sitting up and rubbing her eyes. He sat beside her for a moment and listened to her cry. He wasn't sure if anything he could say would make it better, or if he should let her cry it out until she was tired.

His parental instincts won out. "What's the matter, baby?" he asked.

"Why'd you leave?" Cara sobbed. "Where'd you go?"

Wolffe was stunned. Of all the things he was expecting her to be crying about, it for sure wasn't because he left the room for twenty minutes. He thought she would still be asleep when he returned, so he didn't think about what would happen if she woke up and he wasn't there. "I took a shower," he explained. "See?" Wolffe bowed his head down so she could touch his hair, which was still damp.

She reached out, grabbed a chunk, and pulled.

"Ow," he said deadpanned.

Cara giggled.

"Feel better now?" Wolffe asked as he ran his fingers through the section of hair she yanked.

Cara sniffled, swiped her sleeve across her nose, and nodded.

"I'm sorry I left, but you were asleep," he said. "I didn't want to wake you up."

"I don't like it when you leave," she said.

Wolffe sighed. "I don't like it when I leave either, but daddies have to shower."

"Why?" she asked.

"For the same reason you take a bath," he chuckled. "I get dirty too, you know."

"Oh," she said.

"Alright, it's time for bed now," Wolffe said. He got up from the bedside, tucked her back under the covers, and kissed her forehead. "Goodnight, baby."

"Night, Daddy," she said, then she snuggled in against her pillow.

Wolffe smiled fondly and smoothed his hand down her hair. With a small shake of his head, he turned around, picked up his duffle bag beside the wardrobe, and plopped it onto the ground adjacent to the head of Cara's bed. He'd slept in worse places and with a lot less comfort, so he considered the floor as decent. A blanket was unnecessary and he didn't need the duffle bag for a pillow, but, without his armor, the neck positioning would be awkward. With his bedding all set Wolffe turned off the light, then laid down on the floor and closed his eyes.

"Daddy," Cara whispered. She had crawled to the edge of the bed and was overhanging the edge.

"Hm?" Wolffe responded, but it was more of an exasperated groan. 

"Can I sleep down there with you?" she asked.

"No," he said. "You get the bed, Daddy gets the floor."

"But I don't want to be alone," she whined.

Wolffe sighed. "I'm right here." He raised his arm and laid his hand on the edge of the bed so he was touching her knee. "Can't get any closer than that."

Cara grabbed Wolffe's fingers and tugged. "Daddy, please."

"Your mother would kill me if I let you sleep on the floor," he argued.

"Then sleep up here," Cara offered like it was the obvious answer.

"Baby, that bed is not big enough for me," he said.

"Daddy," she whined, but it sounded more like a cry. "Please. I miss Mommy."

Wolffe sighed and sat up knowing he wasn't going to win this war. If either of them were going to get any sleep, he needed to concede victory and give her what she wanted. Out of the options presented, sleeping on the floor was out. Wolffe didn't believe in much of an afterlife, but he wasn't going to take the chance of his wife coming back from the grave to scream at him for letting their daughter sleep on the cold floor where she could catch a cold. On the other hand, that bed was not made for adults like him and while Cara might sleep well, he would not.

"Alright," Wolffe finally agreed and he flipped the light back on. "Get up."

Cara beamed with excitement and hopped off of her bed. 

Wolffe was less than enthusiastic with his movements, but it was what his daughter wanted, and who was he to argue with those crystal blue eyes? They were the same eyes his wife would give him when she wanted something that he was hesitant about. It never took him long to cave to whatever whim or idea she had, and for the most part, they all turned out well. The only one that didn't end up going the way they expected was the night they made Cara. It was the first time he caved to his wife and it wasn't the last, but now he does it for Cara.

Wolffe tilted his head as he looked at the bed and thought about how he wanted to arrange himself. It was small, but not in the way that the barrack bunks were small. Those were narrow-small and this was short-small. No matter which way he looked at it, his feet were going to hang over the foot of the bed, and not just his toes either. In his mind, it looked like a very uncomfortable arrangement, but Cara looked very excited to be sleeping on a bed made out of her dad. He couldn't relate, but maybe that was normal for children who had biological parents.

Resigning to his fate, Wolffe pulled the blanket up, settled himself on the bed, and used the pillow to prop his head up a bit. As he suspected, his feet hung off the foot of the bed, but it didn't feel as bad as he thought it would. Then again, he didn't know what several hours in that position would feel like when he woke up. Once he was in a good position, he gestured for Cara to come over, and she climbed up the side of the bed and then on top of him. She wiggled and moved around to adjust herself which made Wolffe a bit nervous.

"Watch your feet," Wolffe warned, but she wasn't listening. "Baby, watch your–" Wolffe gasped when her foot made hard contact with his testicles, "–foot," he wheezed. If Cara wasn't on top of him, he would've doubled over and probably vomited into the nearest trash receptacle or maybe even on the floor, but he inhaled and exhaled sharply to internalize the pain instead of making a scene. His wife would be in a hysterical laughing fit if she saw what just happened.

"Daddy, are you okay?" Cara asked, the worry evident in her voice.

Wolffe moaned as he tried to settle his frustration, but he couldn't be mad at her because she didn't know any better. It wasn't like he sat her down and taught her about male anatomy. He preferred this sleeping arrangement when she was small and could fit on his chest, not when her legs were long enough to kick his testicles into the next galaxy. In an attempt to self-soothe the pain, he tossed around the idea that he didn't need them anyway. Without his wife, he wasn't planning on expanding his family anytime soon, so in reality, he could live without them.

"I'm fine," Wolffe said when he could finally verbalize his thoughts in a normal octave. "Just, don't wiggle around so much, okay?"

"Okay, Daddy," she said, then snuggled her head under his chin. "I love you."

While his nether region throbbed with a lingering ache, Wolffe could still feel the warmth well up in his heart at her words bathed in sentiment. At the end of the day, she was his baby girl and there wasn't a force in the Galaxy, not even a kick to the testicles, that could make him love her any less. He could never be a great father, but he could be the best father his short, meaningless life allowed him to be. And she might never understand that. She might grow up to hate him one day, but until then, he wanted to hear her say those words over and over again. 

"I love you, too," Wolffe said and he kissed her head as she snuggled under his chin. "More than you'll ever know." He pulled up the covers over them both and wrapped his arms tightly around her to keep her from falling off. It felt natural to hold her like that, as a protective father would, but it wouldn't be much longer before he couldn't, so maybe she was right in forcing him to do it now.

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[the-badger-mole]

A Kya lived (but with some serious burns) AU.

Katara's relationship with the other characters?

In what way would this also affect Sokka?

Aang accidentally burning Katara?

Yon-Rha being alive or not,and Zuko and Katara hunting him down.

Depending on what ripple effect Kya being alive has on the series, what other changes do you think would impact things going forward?

Do you think kat*anng would still happen or zutara?

To answer your last question first, Kataang shouldn't have happened in general, so, no they absolutely don't happen here.

This would've been an extremely traumatic event for Kya, and I think she would become very protective of Katara. Sokka would have a complicated relationship with it because on the one hand, he'd get it, and he'd be very protective of Katara too (even more than he was in the show). On the other hand, I think it would very much read as favoritism to him, and he'd probably pull some very dangerous and stupid stunts in order to get his mother to fear for his life like she does for Katara's. I think instead of being sent off with well wishes, Katara would have to sneak away, and Sokka would come with her to protect her.

I think Zuko seeing the burns that Kya suffered would give him pause. He would still try to go in with all his bluster and bravado, but it would be a sight that would startle him. I think it would change the dynamic when he confronted Katara (does Katara get Kya's necklace here? I don't know. I could see it go either way). He might appeal to her desire to end the war instead, promising that once he got home and took back his rightful place, he'd make ending the war his priority so no one would have to suffer like Kya. His arc would then be centered on trying to reconcile what he knows of his father with his own hopes for how the war would end. I don't know if they still go after Yon Rah. I don't think it would have the same impact, to be honest. I think Katara's mother would be what bridges the gap between them still, but I think instead of focusing on their mutual loss, Katara would find out explicitly how Zuko got his scar and why. They would still connect over maternal sacrifices, but also the scars.

Katara, I think, would be the biggest change. I think she'd be a less maternal figure and less inclined to play caregiver to the people around her (which is part of the reason I don't think Kataang would happen). Her anger would be a lot more apparent because not only did her mother sacrifice herself for Katara, she treated her like she was too vulnerable to be let out into the world on her own (this version of Katara would probably have an easier time connecting with Toph, tbh). I think any attempts of people trying to protect her or tell her she can't do something would be met with much more force. Her fight with Pakku would've been much more feral and unhinged because I think she'd actually be out for blood. Like for real, for real. And her stint as the Painted Lady would probably end with a few dead soldiers. I see Zutara not only happening in this version of the story, but happening way sooner because Katara's anger would be easier for Zuko to see and understand, and then connect with. I think her pain and anger would hurt him for her sake, too. Getting to know her would make him finally understand everything Iroh was trying to do for him, and he would in turn try to be that for Katara. In the end, they'd both wind up helping each other find peace.

Also, as for what happened when Aang burned Katara? He'd have gotten a double barrel of anger from the siblings. Sokka would possibly lay hands on him, and Katara would resent him for not taking any of his learning opportunities seriously. I think Katara in this version would be much more militant (a reason why I don't think Aang would have a crush on her in this scenario to begin with). This episode would see him getting thee crap scared out of him, and possibly set him down the path of understanding just how badly the war needs to be ended.

[bleedingcoffee42]

Transcribed under the cut with spelling errors intact. From Dick Winter's Talbert file. Gems like "Your Devoted Soldier Forever" and "you kept officers like Nixon Welsh with you and gave me Spears" "You son of a gun! I love ya!"

Dear "Dick",

I find it very difficult to call you "Dick" as far as I am concerned you will always be my "Bird Colonel". You feel I did I job for you, do you know you were my total inspiration. This is understandable because all my boys felt the sa,e way! You were a GI's soldier.

Do you remember the time you were leading us into Carentan. Something happened to the other platoons. I told my boys to follow me and we came through. I ask you one question as I passed you, which way should I turn at the dead end. You told me to go right. I lost Tipper + carried Lipton out on my shoulder from that intersection. We continued on clearing houses, some on fire, and a lot of mortar. Again seeing you in the middle of that road wanting to move was to much.

I don't know if you know this or not. I remember only two major withdrawls during the war. The first was a small town in Holland, cannot remember the name, you gave Lt. Peacock and I the orders of march. We were to move out on our right flank and attack and secure this small village. You advised us there was approx a platoon of Germans there. I will not go into all the details. I lost 5 or 6 men + Randleman stay in a barn all night. We had four English tanks in support. The Germans let us get well into the town. They knocked the two lead tanks out, burned and lost all the crews. At this time I know there was two Tiger tanks one on each flank. Lt. Peacock had the right ditch I has the right. My lead scout Mars got hit in the cheek + a couple more (Van Clinking) was killed at that time. My decision was to withdraw. As we initiated this action the Mortars were really something. I remember the first house we came to had a pool table (we were actually withdrawing through the houses) Cpl. Dukeman who was one hell of a solider and were shooting pool as a joke as the boys came though. We worked our way through the houses and reached an open field. I knew I had to get Lt. Peacock + the boys back across the road to continue the retreat. Peacock through his carbine onto the road. He would not more. Honest to God I told him to retrieve the carbine + move or I would shoot him. He did as I directed. I liked him he was a sincere + by the book officer, but not a soldier.

As long as he let me handle the men he and I got along alright. NOw I know I have got to face you!!! As I come down that long lonesome highway. Ha! there you were in the ditch waiting. You were really pissed off. I gave you my report and you put me in reserve. You brought up more troops to handle the job. Now I am in Co. reserve. We settled down made some coffee + K rations guess what I got committed to attack on your right flank. You know the rest of this story. You son of a gun I Love Ya!

Dick this can go on + on. I have never discussed these things with anyone on this earth. The things we had are damn near sacred to me.

I remember you got pissed at me. You wanted to send me to some OCS. At tines like these you made me say yes sir + no sir. I feel I did more for you as a Sgt than I ever could as an officer. The only thing I could not understand was why you kept Welsh Nixon +officers like that with you and gave me Spears probably had Sobble still been there I would have had him. Ha! I have alot more to talk to you about in San Diego. Thanks for the picture brings back memories. I will try to identific as of now Gordon ?(not sure what this says) Wynn.

Your Devoted Soldier Forever

[sapphim]

Since everyone's been so nice about the other snippet I posted 👉👈 here are the good bits from sth else with the warden squad I wrote last year (since I might never get around to sprucing up the long and boring bits). Right after Lothering before anyone involved knows how to get along with each other so they're all kind of just standing around being assholes 🩷

—

"Not to catastrophize," Alistair says, to nobody in particular, "but when they find their way back and inform us with deep regret that they have no idea where we are or where we're going and we all die in the woods after wandering in circles for weeks, I'm going to say 'I told you so'."

"That's not going to happen."

Alistair twists around to gawk at Sten. The Qunari soldier has been standing at the outskirts of the group, stone-faced and completely unmoving—as far as Alistair can tell—since they paused their slow march through the woods.

"I think that's the first thing I've heard you say all day," he says incredulously. "Humor me. Why won't it?"

"Because in this scenario you've crafted in your mind, you'll be too dead to say 'I told you so'."

"They'll be my dying words," Alistair insists. "As I lay dying in the underbrush I'll croak, 'I told you this is exactly how it would happen, Sten,' and then I'll perish on the spot. See if I don't."

"I look forward to it," Sten says. "At least then you'll be quiet."

"It'll be a touching moment," Alistair says, settling back down into his seat at the base of a tree and staring up into the canopy, "and you'll miss me when I'm gone. You'll see."

"If it will make you feel any better," Zevran pipes up from his seat on low branch a short distance away, "if the end does come—which I very much doubt, mind, given what a capable group you have assembled here—I can swear that I will ensure you a swift and dignified death."

"Absolutely not," Alistair growls.

"My apologies," Zevran says mildly, as he has found himself doing not infrequently over the last few days since his initial ill-fated encounter with the wardens. "The offer was meant with no ill intent."

"Do not stab me."

—

"What's that?" Micah asks, pointing upward. Alistair and Rafael crane their heads to look at the rustling tree branch she's indicated.

"That, my dear, is another squirrel," Zevran says.

"Squirrel," she repeats under her breath.

"Don't have squirrels in Orzammar?" Alistair says, conversationally.

"We've got nugs," Micah says. "And moles. Mice. Deepstalkers. No squirrels."

"I guess everywhere has mice," Rafael muses.

"The one thing that unites us despite all our differences," Alistair agrees. "Mice in the larder. Hey, Sten, do Qunari have–"

"They're returning," Sten interrupts, nodding curtly in the direction of more rustling brush, where glimpses of Leliana's pale skin and vivid red hair can be caught through the trees.

The mabari crashes out of the underbrush first, panting and wiggling with an excess of excitement. A few moments later, the rest of the wayward scouts rejoin the waiting party.

"We have determined the proper course to reach our destination, and located a camp site for the night," Morrigan announces. "No need to thank us."

"And we saw the fattest squirrel I've ever seen in my life," Leliana adds cheerfully. The dog barks in agreement.

Morrigan sighs. "Yes. And—more importantly—a sight which has never before been witnessed by man nor beast. A fat squirrel. Again, no need to–"

—

"Could you tell if something is possessed by a spirit?" she asks.

The young mage twists the cuffs of his sleeves between his fingers, chewing on his lip. "I– I should be able to," he says. "Yes. I– Yes, I can do that."

"Spoken with remarkable confidence," Morrigan says dryly, earning her a reproachful glare from Alistair.

"Not all that many haunted trees in the middle of the lake, I'd think," he says.

"There was a cat, once," Rafael says, "that got possessed by a demon and went on a rampage through the tower. It killed three templars before they brought it down."

"Ah, 'tis a heartwarming tale that would bring a smile to anyone's face, would it not?"

The mabari huffs and snorts in response.

"Aw, I bet a nasty demon cat would be no match for you," Alistair says, crouching to scratch the pleased mabari vigorously behind the ears. "Isn't that right, Barkspawn? Because you're a good boy! Yes you are!"

"We weren't allowed to have cats in the tower after that," Rafael mutters in conclusion.

"Not allowed," Morrigan repeats derisively. "'Tis a wonder that anything would be allowed to begin with."

"For the mice," Rafael says glumly.

Alistair extricates himself with some effort from the wet, sloppy kisses the mabari is determined to plant all over his face. "Did you get demon mice after that?" he asks, with the gleeful tone of someone who has only just considered the possibility of demon mice and finds it funnier than they probably should.

—

As they fall into line behind the Dalish elf, Micah muses aloud to no one in particular, "So, I'm not entirely sure what a cat is."

Eydis snorts derisively. "It's a surface animal with four legs and a tail. I've been here as long as you have. How do you not know that?"

"Excuse me?" Micah snaps. "You just described every surface animal. They all have four legs and a tail. Or they're birds."

"It's got fur."

"They've all got fur. You're just describing the dog."

The dog in question barks.

"Smaller than the dog. And with a fluffy tail."

"That's squirrels."

"Bigger than squirrels," Eydis huffs. "They were all over the human settlements. Pay more attention next time, brand."

"Watch it, salroka," Micah growls.

"Perhaps I could draw some pictures tonight," Leliana says appeasingly.

"Perhaps you should write a song in memory of the princess, in case I finally kill her tonight."

"Don't be so sensitive," Eydis chastises.

"I've been lead to understand that we are all strictly forbidden from killing each other here," Zevran interrupts cheerfully, "or is that just me?"

"Do not stab me," Alistair repeats.

"I swear on my life," Zevran says, "I will make no attempt to harm you unless I am paid a great deal more coin and I have reason to understand that forsaking your company would be to my overall benefit. Neither of which I forsee happening in the middle of a haunted forest. Perhaps that may set your mind at ease?"

"That doesn't set my mind at ease! Why would that make me feel better?"

"Because I am being extremely honest right now," Zevran says. "Unless you would prefer I lie?"

"I would not."

"Nobody is killing anybody," Leliana says.

"Only a fool would do the work of his enemy for him," Sten says.

"Oh! That's very wise, Sten."

"It is not. It's common sense."

[bundoesnotcompete]

I tried my best to not make anyone OOC. See end for notes. Not very lore accurate when it comes to powers. I did my best to keep everything accurate alright? Scar x reader but like before offical romance??

The Calamitous Growth. The Great Immortal. As an Overseer of the Fractsidus you have many names, all of them given to you by others. Since you are unable to speak and write in any known language, others of the organization have given you nicknames. You couldn't speak to begin with, your throat having heavy scarring and vocal chords struggling to make more then animalistic sounds.

The others of the Fractsidus assumed you to be an amnesiac, and while you knew otherwise, you didn't correct them. Couldn't correct them. Your own body often felt familiar yet foreign. A side effect of combining with a tacet discord, you assumed. It changed your body in ways you didn't understand and from what you did understand, you often connected back to nature. Whatever you combined with caused nature to overgrow in large amounts and quickly. That included your own body. You could regenerate limbs and other parts with enough time.

Your inhumane features caused you to be shunned by any you came by. They assumed you a monster and attacked you. Often, this left with your enemy dead and blooming shrubs from their bodies. A part of you screamed in disgust and horror, but the other floated in waters of disinterest and boredom. Civilian and soldier alike often met an unwanted fate when they attacked. Others wanted to use and abuse you and your power. You continued to wander from where you woke.

It wasn't until you had met members of the Fractsidus that you had been accepted. They were eager to show you the world and how to be your truest self, in turn, you showed them the tacet discord you harbored. You were only the beginning of what humanity could become if the True Lament were to be triggered.

Scar had been one of the first people you had met that accepted you. His dramatics and passion and had been off putting at first, but you learned that he was rather calm despite that. Well, he was calm but still a maniac. He was an odd one, but you had come to enjoy his presence. While you two usually traveled together, you had recently seperated to work on two different projects.

Last you had heard, he had attempted to get the individual known as Rover to join the Fractsidus. You hadn't been concerned until you learned that he had also been thrown in jail by the Madam Magistrate herself.

Ugh what did that drama queen do this time? You had thought to yourself when you heard the news.

You were quick to pack up camp and head towards Jinzhou. You couldn't leave your best friend to rot in there. So you were going to break him out of jail like any good friend would. You knew he would do the same for you.

It was how you ended up in Jinzhou city slums. You covered your less human parts and strolled right into the city.

You see, the so called slums were actually a coverup for the prison in which they kept the more dangerous criminals. By saying that the area was dangerous due to the poor, the city could get away with placing more guard rotations and lookouts. The people felt safer so they did not complain about the chocking presence of city watch. While this area wasn't great, it did not call for the large amount of guards. It was a still nice neighborhood.

Luckily for you, you did have some idea where the entrance was located, so you knew where to go. You spent several days planning and scouting the area now before going ahead with your plan.

You modified Jasmine plants in order to make their aurora more appealing. So much so that many could not resist dozing off to sleep. While it was a temporary effect, it did prevent you from murdering some poor soul doing their job and making it look like they fell asleep on the job. Can't sound the alarms if your boss just thinks your asleep.

You meandered to the door of the prison in the allayway you were in. It was just getting dark outside and the shadows helped cover even more of your inhuman looks. The guards were quick to perk up at your approach. You forced the modified Jasmine to sprout quietly.

“Halt!“ One of the guards spoke as your approached. The Jasmine grew faster and more instensely. “Under the order of Madam Magistrate no one is allowed into this section of the city!“ He continued. His partner collapsed on the ground after leaning on his spear. The man speaking wasn't far behind as his eyes rolled back and he drifted to sleep. You gave a gentle nudge of your foot to his face to make sure he was asleep. No response.

You took his keys and continued onward, stepping over his body as you did so. You made it through the prison with ease as the Jasmine didn't struggle so much to grow through the first floor. However, now that you were heading deeper things became more difficult. While there weren't many guards, they were very well trained. You weren't at full power here due to the thick walls so it did get tricky fighting some of the guards.

The man you were holding in the vines coming from your body finally stopped struggling and you dropped him. You let out a sigh and continued down one of the halls. Scar should be nearby. You looked in cell after cell until you finally found him. Chained up and sedated in one of the beds. You say sedated because a nice kick didn't even wake your friend. Hmm, this did cause a slight problem in the plans.

Alarms screeched to life in the prison and any hesitation was scrapped. Scar was getting the potato treatment and he was just going to have to deal with it if he woke up. You summoned vines to help lift Scar onto your shoulder and hold him there. The chains on his wrist and feet easily snapped under heavy pressure.

You ran down the halls as fast as you could back to the entrance. This wasn't going to plan and you didn't know any other way out of the prison other than the main entrance. Who was even awake or alive to call for help?? Scar remained blissfully unaware of the mayhem happening around him as you ran. You tossed people aside with your vines as you fled down the hallways.

You felt Scar shift on your shoulder as you approached the door to the prison. It seems he was waking up. You skidded to a stop as thick ice sprouted in front of you. You dodged the sword slash that was coming toward you. You propelled yourself back so you could see just who was attacking you.

Three women. A woman with white clothing and hair that you knew as the Madam Magistrate. One with darker clothing and dark hair. The other white haired and with dark clothes and hat.

“I had a feeling someone would come for him.“ The Madam Magistrate spoke, her tone neutral. She gazed towards Scar who was waking. “We have kept a close eye on him. I didn't expect for The immortal to show.“ More people swarmed from behind you. Ah, so it was a trap. That explained the emptiness of the place.

“This would be your chance to surrender.“ The woman in dark clothing and dark hair spoke. Frost was beginning to crawl it way to you. The hatted, white haired one was preparing to fight. You shifted in preparation to transform. This wasn't how you wanted to do this. You felt Scar laugh on your shoulder before you heard it.

“Stop being nice.“ You heard him slur behind you and hit your back. He wasn't fully awake yet, it seemed. He wasn't hiting as hard as he normally would have. Just what did they give him?

You weren't about to receive a beating, you didn't have it in you today. You were strong, but you did not have the confidence to fight three trained resonators, what seemed to be a platoon of forces, and keep Scar on your back while escaping the city. You just wanted out. Out. You dropped Scar. So this was how it was going to be.

You allowed yourself the shift into the tacet discord with painful ease. This form retained some of your features, like your hair and eyes, but it did not keep much else. As you grew, so did the nature on your body. When you finally stopped growing, you were far larger then anyone in the room. Scar's laughter was the only sound in the room.

The next moments were instantaneous. Ice and frost flew towards you and you were quick to grab Scar with your mouth. Your tail slammed and swiped into the soldiers behind you and you used your hands to destroy the ice. You flung yourself at the door, destroying it and taking the fight into the city. A broadblade cut into your hind leg and you flung yourself over building. Most buildings that you stepped on gave way easily as you ran. The wall of the city was close.

Flinging yourself over the wall, you fled deep into the mountainious countryside. Your enemies did not follow you out. Once you were in a place you deemed semi safe, you gently plucked Scar out of your open mouth and set him down into the grass. You transformed back into your human form, exhausted. Blood poured down one of your legs.

“What a rescue!“ Scar cackled as he shakily stood up. You sat onto a nearby log and grabbed a rag out of your bag and placed it on your wound. You held pressure until you felt it slowly try to stitch itself up. You body always struggled to heal itself when it was in this state. You just had to give it time and put pressure on it and it would do its job.

You watched as he wobbled to you and sat beside you. You felt his arm on your shoulder and him pull you closer.

“Thank you for the rescue. I do appreciate it. It's a pity we couldn't stay and wreck the place.“ You grunted as he let go of you and stood up. That wasn't a pleasant feeling on your healing leg. “We should do this more often.“ You watched as he walked a few steps away from you before turning back, his balance returned.

“I've found the wildcard that we've been searching for. Rover is her name. The one who could tip the scales towards us.“ You watched as excitement grew on his face. “I've extended the offer out for her to join us. After seeing someone come for me today, she should see that we care for each other in the Fractsidus.“ You listened as he talked. The wound on your leg was healed by the time he was finished rambling and pacing.

Phrolova was going to be annoyed that you rescued Scar without informing her first. You knew the two had been traveling together at the time of Scar's arrest. She probably already had plans in place when you broke your friend out of jail. Oops. Guess she will have to be annoyed at you. Wouldn't be the first time.

You held your hand to your face and yawned. When was the last time you slept?

“You could convince her to join! You're literate enough to write to her now.“ Scar put his hands on your shoulders and shook them slightly. You gave a look of doubt. His smile on his face told you he was about to manipulate you into doing it anyway. You knew to be wary of that smile. You just wrecked a part of Jinzhou, what made him think she'd talk to you?

“Don't give me that look. We both know you could do it.“

“If you two lover birds are done. We have things to discuss.“ Soft steps came from your side and Scar rolled his eyes and let go of you. Phrolova came into your view and she looked annoyed. “If you were going to go out of your way to get him, you could have told me. No matter, we have other things to plan and talk about.“

———

Jinhsi stared at the large amounts of paperwork in front of her. The damage done by you was immense. She hadn't prepared, hadn't known you would show up. She didn't even know you were apart of the Fractsidus. This was an alarming sign. A Calamitous discord like you running around with a hostile faction was bad.

She'd known you'd disguise yourself as human, but to go so far? Along with powers that have not been wielded by any known discord or resonators painted an already bad picture of you worse. Only two overseers of the Fractsidus were supposed to be here. If you were apart of the Fractsidus like she now suspected, then you had to be an overseer. She needed to inform the other cities.

Jinhsi sighed and took a blank pieces of paper out. She would write the letters and then send them. Then she would get to her paperwork. Her thoughts were heavy as she wrote. Scar's laughter taunted her for the rest of the week.

-----

Notes: I love Scar but writing him is hard... also i totally didn't think about the fact that nature isn't an attribute you could resonate with. I was thinking about Genshin and then suddenly remembered but it was too late so i just went with it. I had fun writing this but it's definitely not my best. Forgive me for any OOC and errors with lore. Not proof read.

[zmediaoutlet]

spn20rewatch, 1.10: "Do we need to talk about this?"

Possession is the bread-and-butter of Supernatural. Whether it's demons or ghosts or just real bad vibes, seems like there's always something willing to creep into a host like rot and start in on cracking foundations. A favorite line is that demons, in particular, always lie unless they're telling the truth, and really it seems to be that the possessions in general trend toward: what would hurt most? What if it's a truth that could be excused as a lie, but at a deep level there's a truth there that can't ever be told because it would break everything apart?

Asylum is part of a critical episode run in season 1 that reveals tons of details about the Winchester family -- how they operate, the roles they have and what's expected of them, etc., but more importantly how they'll operate into the future. Sam and Dean are brothers and they love each other, but even with their immediate return to a kind of young bro-bantz partnership in the early episode of s1, they aren't truly partners yet in a way that will actually be functional through to the future. There are some old resentments here that haven't been exorcised; more importantly, there's some testing of the relationship that hasn't been done. It's one thing to settle back into your old patterns of boys yoked together and working for your dad -- it's another when that yoke is shattered, and you have to choose what to do about that. Bugs to Home to Asylum to Scarecrow to Faith will really test Sam and Dean and make them into the hunting partners they'll need to be in order to survive what'll come.

Unfortunately, Asylum is the nadir of that testing. Ellicot's insidious work inflates anger and makes people violent and turns things as dark as can be -- but, actually, we don't get any real indication that he makes people feel or say things they don't actually mean. They're just things that have been put away or smoothed over, because saying them would be too awful. Later, soulless!Sam will operate in a similar way to how "Asylum"!Sam operates now -- the filters over the worst hardest truths are just gone, and everyone in his path gets to take them at full force. Dean gets the brunt of it here, first with rock salt to the chest and then with much, much more painful words to follow. He's under no illusions that Sam doesn't mean what he's saying, as we can tell from how flatly he takes Sam's non-apology at the end of the episode. He knows Sam doesn't respect him for being "daddy's good little soldier," and we see from other examples (notably in s3) that Dean doesn't even respect himself for that -- why would Sam feel any differently. It hurts either way, though, especially when we think of a line of dialogue from much, much later -- I thought you'd tell me to get lost, or get dead.

SAM: That's the difference between you and me. I have a mind of my own. I'm not pathetic, like you. DEAN: So what are you gonna do, huh? Are you gonna kill me? [...] SAM pulls the trigger.

Always a delight to have your worst fears be realized. But it's the kind of thing that's needed, structurally, so that when a break happens the bone can be reset cleanly and heal up strong -- which they'll get, eventually. It's just not very much fun, in the meantime.

[nalyra-dreaming]

Hi there! I keep seeing this notion that Louis is so out of his mind possessive over Lestat that he would kill Lestat before he lets him be with others. I was wondering where that notion stems from because I don’t recall seeing that indicated in the show at all besides the line I wanted him dead, I wanted him to myself. This line could have been referring to the conflicting feelings within Louis and was a more eloquent way of saying I hate you but I love you and not literal because he was telling Claudia they shouldn't kill Lestat shortly after this scene. I love the notion of Louis being possessive over Lestat to an unhinged degree, we do know he was jealous, but wasn't part of the struggle between Loustat that Louis feigned indifference by refusing to verbalize how much the ongoing “relationship” with Antoinette bothered him? He dug his heels in so deep that he refused to demand Lestat stop seeing her, and he refused to kill her or request Lestat kill her as well, so I'm genuinely confused on where the idea that Louis would kill him just so no one else could have him but Lestat would die for him in the fandom. I never perceived their dynamic to be this way in the books either that I can recall. Quite the opposite, actually. I'm aware he did “kill” him in the show, but that was solely to appease Claudia and not out of possessiveness or jealousy. Am I missing something other than fanon? Thank you for answering!

Hey!

(Is this bc of this post?^^)

I do think the "I wanted him dead, I wanted him to myself." carries more weight than you give it here. Yes, he is trying to stop what is already in motion, but this is not the only indication of Louis being possessive of Lestat after all, which the expression ultimately indicates. Possessiveness.

Otherwise "Come To Me" would not have worked the way it did. And it would not have resulted in the situation it did. Tongue first and all.

Louis expresses this possessiveness often in more subtle ways - looks, initiating kisses in front of audiences -

and sometimes in not so subtle ones - hate sex, open jealousy, revenge cheating, screaming matches.

... Taking his annoying husband by the waist and away from soldiers.

But does that make it less?

Also I strongly disagree that he "killed him to appease Claudia"... I don't think that at all. If the scene holds (and I am not 100% sure since Claudia's diary does not match the shown scene, and they said they would revisit Murder Night and that has not happened yet) - then Louis did it because he had to do it - because it was "until death do us part" for Louis, and very personal. But that might change with s3 still, as said. As such... this is definitely a take born from the show, granted.

Louis is a much more passive character in the books - until he snaps of course. But even there he is the one who goes to hold Lestat's hand through the procedure to disconnect, for example.

When Louis gives Lestat the promise to come and stay with him he uses Ruth1:16, a very powerful and famous passage, one of commitment. It is a statement, also - not a question.

Louis knows that he can literally lay down this commitment when he is ready to do it.

For me that might not spell "possessiveness" in the first impression of the word... but then again, he knew he could. You know?

It's a level of possession of each other that surpasses simple... jealousy or possessiveness. Imho.

The book Louis does not make a show of his possessiveness - because he does not need to. Lestat returns to him, again and again (anyways).

However, that does not mean it doesn't bleed through, imho, in the way Louis fights for Lestat, especially when Lestat himself can not. Louis, begging Maharet in Memnoch at the locked doors, to get in. Armand, telling of how Louis neglects his hunger, seems thin and emaciated because he is guarding Lestat instead.

As per Lestat dying for Louis if need be - yeah. I second that.

He would.

I mean, he goes to the trial and takes to take the blame even in the version we already saw in the show. And he goes, broken and weak to Armand to plead for them in the book. He tries.

And you know how he tries to/accepts to sacrifice his own life later for the other vampires in Blood Communion, and that wasn't even Louis directly.

If it had been necessary for Louis?

Absolutely. Not even a question.

[lunarw0rks]

Hurt/Comfort Alphabet | Simon Riley

A/N: I hope this isn't redundant, because I was trying to be realistic based on his past & the way he interacts with other characters. got this template from @thathcwriter

Warning(s): mentions of Ghost's childhood, insecurities, substance abuse, injury, angst | Word Count: 1.6k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ have a request? | ao3 ver. ❀

A: Alleviate - How do they go about relieving persistent physical pain?

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ Let’s be honest. He self-medicates with alcohol or cigarettes if it’s a persistent enough injury. Either that, or he’ll just find a way to tune it out—something he’s very skilled at by now.

B: Bedridden - How do they behave when they’re sick?

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ Sick, but not “injured”? He wouldn’t even let it show. His voice is deep and raspy enough already (LMAO) so if he had a cold, would anyone even notice?

C: Cling - Whose physical touch is considered most welcome in their minds when they are in need? Is there a specific type of touch they respond well to?

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ Being realistic, Simon probably despises physical touch because of his past. Unless it’s someone he’s known or been serious with for a while, physical touch would be null and void. That being said, playing with his hands, or a kiss on his knuckle would probably make him crumble.

D: Deathbed - How would they react if they realized they may not recover from their injuries?

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ He’s well acquainted with the prospect of not making it home someday, or sustaining an injury too severe to overcome. He would accept it because he thinks that’s what he deserves :(

▹ He’d fight it as much as he could, and wouldn’t want anyone to see him that way. Conversations would be shorter, coarser, and even more depressive than his usual way of engaging with others.

E: Emergency - What is their gut reaction when someone they care about is hurt?

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ He jumps to the worst conclusions if he got wind of something happening to you. Too many of his loved ones/colleagues have ended up dead for him not to.

▹ Remember how he reacted when Soap got shot in the arm? Yeah… multiply that by ten and add some fury to the mix. ▹ Especially if it pertained to his work, he’d think it’s his fault (in the case of Civilian S/O). If you were also a soldier, he’d take a more frustrated/protective route, lecturing you on your “carelessness”.

F: Fight - Are there circumstances under which they would not accept treatment or care? If so, what are they? 

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ If it was in the middle of a mission, or minor enough that it felt ridiculous to tend to. If someone on his team/or his S/O was in worse condition, he wouldn’t even let the medic touch him.

G: Ghosts - How has their past shaped the kind of comfort they respond to best? 

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ Being mocked and trained to not show vulnerability is his entire being, and he hates himself more for that. He doesn’t want to brood or miss out on things because of his childhood, but the ghost of his father looms heavy on every decision he makes—like a constant, sinister devil on his shoulder.

▹ He’s felt that way so long that he’s grown used to it, and doesn’t know who he is even when he takes the mask off at the end of the day.

H: Home - What things (objects, sensations, or people) remind them they’re safe after a scary situation?

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ His colleagues, if anything. Soap being his ride-or-die, and a S/O that knows every reason for why he’s so walled up. If he has a picture of that person tucked away in his wallet, or an object they gave them (bracelet, card, etc.) he’d keep it in his desk drawer for safekeeping.

I: Isolation - How do they soothe themselves when no one is around to soothe them?

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ Just like the response on “A” —he self-medicates with substances, or boxing in the training room until his fists are raw.

J: Joy - When was the first time they were truly happy after going through something terrible?

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ For many years, he wasn’t “happy” at all, didn’t even know what that felt like. There were moments where he was distracted enough to not be thinking about his past experiences, but not permanent ignorance.

▹ Seeing his S/O after an injury that forced him on medical leave would be the only exception. He hates being away from work, but the silver lining is getting to be home with that person for (X) amount of recovery time.

K: Kindness - Do they believe they deserve the comfort they receive? Why or why not? 

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ Hell no. Simon doesn’t for a minute think he deserves comfort, even though deep down he’s craved it for so long. Even if the person he’s with told him a thousand times, he would never believe it. He accepts it as more of a service to his S/O, rather than to soothe himself.

L: Levity - What or who helps them take their mind off of the circumstances? 

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 90% of it is his work because when you’re being shot at, you’re only thinking about not getting shot. The other 10% would be working out, drinking, etc… Not exactly taking his mind off things completely, but enough to do it temporarily.

M: Music - Is there a song that comforts them? Why is it comforting to them?

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ He only listens to music to fill his ears when he’s stressed, or doing paperwork. For comfort? Nothing he listens to would give that to him, let’s be real.

N: Nostalgia - What things that comforted them as a kid still work today? Does anyone know that? 

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ Much like his adolescent years, his comfort is everyone else’s silence. He doesn’t like being fussed over or poked at. The concept of “comfort” just isn’t something he knows. With the right person, he might find comfort in them—their quirks, their sense of humor, etc.

O: Overworked - Who or what tells them to stop working and take care of themselves?

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ Price has probably tried, or has to at least once a week.

▹ Something along the lines of: “Get some rest, Simon”—most likely met with a blank stare as he continues working through the night. Simon only rests when he needs to refuel, or something more important happens.

P: Please - Have they ever begged someone to comfort or stay with them? What was that incident like?

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ Before he met his S/O? Never in a million years. After? Probably only when he’s inebriated and needs someone to be with him, just until the problem passes, or you give your attempt at comforting him.

Q: Questions - Are they eager to talk about what or why they’re hurting? Why or why not?

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ No - he’d jump off a cliff before he talks about his past with just anyone. It would take years before he tells someone what happened to him. In the back of his mind, he’s expecting the person to laugh at him, or reveal his insecurities :(

R: Relief - How do they react to the realization that they will soon be fully recovered? 

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ He’s practically pacing back and forth until his medical leave is lifted—the medical leave he most likely bickered about placing him on at all.

S: Scared - What would it take for them to admit that they’re scared? 

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ If something serious enough happened, or a near-death experience with either himself or you that gives him a wakeup call. One of the hardest things for him to do would be to admit he’s frightened, especially with how much loss he’s already experienced.

T: Time - How long does it take for them to feel better after an ordeal or illness? Do they tend to lie about how soon they feel better?

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ As soon as he’s mobile, he’s back to work (if it was something disabling). If not, he’d push his way through it and keep working. Surely, to his S/O’s disapproval, but he feels like he’s damned to constant punishment.

U: Ugly - What part of their recovery process are they ashamed of, if any?

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ Being reliant on another person physically, if necessary. Injuries come with the job, he knows that, but he would absolutely hate it.

V: Valiant - Has anyone told them they were brave for facing what they did? How would they react if someone did? 

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ Let’s be real—most of us want to reassure him and his bravery, as has Price and Soap a million times (although they’re doing it in more of a “that was badass” kinda way). To be able to go through so much, and still be so resilient is almost unsettling. But brave, nonetheless.

▹ He would brush it off and likely change the subject :((

W: Why? - How did they process what happened to them?

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ He never fully processes an injury, including physical pain—especially if it’s a stray bullet or knife wound. Unless it was something especially gruesome, he’s got a high pain tolerance.

X: Xenas - Do they see anyone as an inspiration in their recovery? Does their inspiration know about this? 

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ (N/A - I don’t think it fits Simon if I’m being honest).

Y: Yearn - What gesture, person, or thing do they desperately want, but would never actually ask for? 

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ This will probably hurt some feelings… He wants his mother, more than anything he wants his mom. He only got so much time with her, and those years were the worst of his childhood. She’s probably the only person he knows he truly wants, but can’t have.

▹ As I mentioned before, if he was serious about someone he was dating, he might want some comfort, but he would almost never explicitly ask for it.

Z: Zero - What is the best way to comfort them without touching them?

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ Words of affirmation would be your best bet.

▹ Physical touch is iffy, and he’d only allow it if he truly trusted the person. If you give the man praise, he’d hide his feelings until he was alone, and would probably think about it for the rest of the week—even if it was just an offhand compliment.