#And he's like ??? How did you know I was worried about all of those things

[zealouswitchwerewolf]

Unbeknownst to them, the rumor of them looking for Tim and speculation on why exactly they're doing so after so much time has passed spreads quickly through the league and the younger heroes. While each of those teams are known to work with the Bats and they usually have one as a team mate, they're not blind and they have seen the way things went down after Batman came back from the time stream. Some (Superman, Wally, Jon, maybe?) want to believe they finally realized how important Tim is to their family and want to reconnect.

Most of the others are skeptic and have (correctly) assumed they need Tim for something and are intending to pull him back into their parasitic (?) dynamic where Tim gives and gives and they take without giving anything back. Tim is finally moving on. Happy. They're not about to compromise that for the sake of the bats. Not after he put them before his own life and well being for years and years without them truly realizing.

It takes a week for them to hear back from Tim. However, when they finally get the call from a blocked number it isn't Tim on the other side.

"Tim? We were worried about you? Where have you been?" Dick answers but puts the phone on speaker, Bruce, Damian and Alfred present in the room.

"and why exactly are you trying to contact Tim right now?" Ma Kent's voice is colder than they've ever heard before. "Tim changed his number months ago. What exactly are you worried about?"

"Um... We..." Dick starts, sheepish and not sure how to continue without looking like a jerk.

"Where is Tim? Why isn't he calling us?" Bruce interrupts with his usual tact. Ma isn't having it.

"That's not how this works. Either answer my question or I'll hang up and make sure no one else gives you Tim's information. You might be detectives but even you won't be able to pass through all the layers of security that boy and his friends have put up as a precaution."

"He... Gave Bruce some advice that helped get the family back together we were hoping that he could..." Dick started.

"Go back to fixing your messes without ever getting anything in return? Talk Bruce out of his bullshit like he's the child instead of a full grown adult?" They stay silent, knowing Ma has a point. "That's what I thought. You know, anyone else in your situation would look for a therapist instead of relying on an emotional support child to get you through life. You didn't even notice when he left, did you?"

"I..." Dick is not sure how to finish his sentence. Damian looks bored and like he'd rather be anywhere else. Alfred has a deep frown on his face but it doesn't seem to be directed at anyone in particular. Bruce... Bruce has completely shut down. His face is pale, stuck in a neutral expression while his eyes are glassy and focused on a random point in the wall.

"Like I said. You're not getting close to that boy if you're just going to keep using him. He got out. Respect that. If you don't, I'll make sure someone keeps you in check. He has a lot of people at his back and even more who owe him favors. You don't want to try me." With that, Martha Kent hangs up the phone.

Bruce comes back from the dead and wants to make things better. Bruce comes back from the dead and Tim was the one who brought him back, so it's obviously Tim who'll know best how to help him reconnect with everyone.

It's Tim who should give him advice on how to bond with Dick. Dick has always been his idol, after all. Tim would know best how to bring him back, and he does. He gives good advice and the two of them begin to get closer.

So Bruce asks about Jason, too. Asks about how to bring his son back into the fold and Tim wished for a brief and brutal moment that it weren't so obvious who the favorite was.

Tim told Bruce to give Jason his space, to loosen his rules, and make it clear that no matter what the Red Hood did, no matter what the Batman believed in, Jason was always welcome. Bruce would always want him.

It worked. Bruce wasn't surprised. Tim was a special sort of bitter.

Bruce asked again for Damian and Tim had to push down his anger. "That boy tried to kill me," Tim wanted to say. "I hate him and I want you to hate him too so that I can remember a time when we had something in common," Tim didn't say, but he got close.

He instead told Bruce how Damian liked art and animals and loved hearing stories of the wonders of Batman.

He told Bruce just how much Damian loved being Robin. Told Bruce to tell Damian what a good Robin he was.

God bless or maybe damn him, but he did and it worked and Tim wanted to start screaming and clawing at something because that would have never worked if Tim tried it and it wouldn't have stopped Damian from cutting his line--something Bruce did not and would never know about.

Bruce asked about Babs. How should he make sure she knew that she was a part of the family? They they loved her and not just for the work she did?

He asked about Steph. How should he make sure she knew that she was more important than his rules and that, if something else should go wrong, she didn't need to run away?

He asked about Duke. He never got the chance to get to know him before leaving--not as well as he wanted to, at least. How should he let him know that he was just as much a son as everyone else? That, whether or not his parents woke up, he'd always be welcome?

He asked about Cass. How should he show her that he loves her even though he has nothing to teach her? How can he convey how much he cares about her, his first daughter?

Bruce gets brought back from time and he makes things better. He brings his family back together by following Tim's advice.

And Tim?

Tim brings his dad back from the dead and Bruce changes, becomes a better father.

Bruce changes, but not everything can.

That, Tim thinks, is why Bruce never calls Tim his son.

[vrystalius]

Not saying “I love you“ back to the Squid game men.

How will they react if you don‘t say it back? In what scenario would they not say it back to you?

Pairing: The Recruiter, Thanos, Nam-gyu, Dae-ho, Gi-hun, In-ho x gn!reader

Summary: Them not saying “I love you“, their reaction to you not saying “I love you“

Genre: fluff, a lil bit of angst sprinkled on top

(Pre-Squid game)

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

Gong Yoo // The Recruiter // The Salesman

♡— Him not saying I love you…

It barely ever happens, really. He adores everything about you, from your face, voice, body and the ground you walk on; that man is ready to worship you like a devoted follower would to the most merciful goddess. Therefor he would always be aware of how to make your day a little better, even if it‘s just a small “I love you” or a gentle kiss here and there.

The first thing you hear from him in the morning is a groggy voice mumbling a small “Good morning love...” into your ear while warm kisses were trailed down your back.

While standing in the kitchen and searching the fridge for any signs of a tasty breakfast, a small “I love you, I‘ll be back later!“ would echo slightly through the apartment as the front door closed.

Once, he did forget to say his usual I love you on the way out. He thought about how he possibly could forget? You‘re probably overthinking everything now and think what you might‘ve done wrong or do to offend him. You didn‘t, though! He was just too caught up in perfecting his appearance because his damn hair refused to obey and submit to his meticulous styling.

The poor man was almost scared to come home. As some sort of peace offering, he bought some of your favorite take-out food alongside some dessert, flowers and a new bracelet he thought you might like. Anything to try and make you know that he does really love you.

“Apologies, it completely slipped my mind. It will never happen again my sunshine. I love you.”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you back…

His face may be neutral and his expressions calculated but his features soften up immensely when you show even an ounce of affection. His smirk shifts into a dreamy smile, the crinkles around his mouth shifting and becoming bigger, his eyes twinkling just a little. He just can’t suppress when you even look at him.

Your kisses and words energise him, gift him life, so whenever you don’t give him that little boost of dopamine, he gets visibly more tense in a way.

The silence that followed after his usual “I love you my darling, I’ll be back later!” was almost eerie to him. He stuck his head back into the kitchen to check if you even heard him. You glanced back at him for a moment and gave your husband a dismissive head nod. So you did hear him?

Silently, he left the apartment and went on with his usual day during that time of the year. For some reason, today he is especially looking forward to slap his elders for loosing a damn children’s game. His face remained neutral and had his usual smirk on his face, but deep inside, he’s offended, confused, worried, stressed; all the negative emotions someone can feel after their spouse doesn’t reincorporate ones affection.

Do you want a divorce? Because hell no, he’d never let you go no matter how hard you

But once he got a little text message on his phone that read a simple: “Need cuddles in bed later pls. Got some snacks too. Love you.”, all of his worries washed away in an instant. You probably were still too sleepy to answer this morning.

A smile spread over his face as he thought about slipping into your arms tonight. Isn’t it ridiculous how he melt like putty in your hands?

“You forgot something this morning and it did worry me a lot. But it doesn’t matter, it’s silly anyway.”

Thanos // Su-bong // Player 230

♡— Him not saying I love you…

It’s actually quite rare to hear Thanos say “I love you” word for word. He still feels awkward committing himself to the relationship you have and those three magic words feel so heavy on his tongue, so he’ll rephrase them to suit his level of comfort. “Love ya”, “Thanos loves you” and “Me too” are his ways to dodge the action to reincorporate those sweets words you shower him with.

Thanos only really says “I love you” if you two are alone, sober and you holding him in your arms. To be cradled by someone he admires, cares and loves so much makes him want to cry for some reason, but he suppresses those emotions and instead buries his face in your shoulder as your hand soothingly runs up and down his back.

Those are the times you hear a small “I love you…” being mumbled against your warm skin.

So quiet it’s almost unnoticeable, yet it was there. You know Su-bong needs time to get used to everything, so you’ll settle with a small audio message-rap in reply to your usual “I love you” text message.

“Back to the kitty ‘cause she kinda pretty, I can’t stop looking at her ti- ti- ti-face.. Anyways, thinking of you babygirl. Iloveyatoo.” (You barely caught him saying this the way how quietly he mumbled it into the mic)

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you back…

It’s fine. It’s cool. You don’t have to reassure him every day that you love him, it’s totally fine. You still love him like you did the day before.

It causes a deep panic inside of Thanos when you don’t give him his usual “I love you” text in the morning after he had woken up. He kept checking his phone like a madman, while he was brushing his teeth, peeking his arm and head out of the shower in the middle of shampooing, staring at his text messages while microwaving himself an convenience store meal. Nothing.

Not wanting to reach out first and appear clingy, he decided to write you like he is not having a full blown eternal panic attack. A small voice message here, a picture of his food there, a selfie from the bottom to show off his double chin, anything really.

You replied like normal but still, his eyes searched for the three key words. I. Love. You.

Thanos doesn’t want to admit to himself or to anyone for that matter that your calls, texts, hell, you coming over is like the most addictive drug to him. And he had his share of all kinds of colourful drugs.

His foot was nervously tapping the ground while his finger kept ringing your poor doorbell until you were forced to answer. He gave you a close look up and down, his lips formed into a pout of sorts.

“You okay? You didn’t text me you love me this morning. It’s totally cool and all but like… do you want to break up with me or something?”

Nam-gyu // Player 124

♡— Him not saying I love you…

Similar to Thanos, at first, Nam-gyu barely ever told you how much he loved you, liked you even. He just assumed you already knew and his actions were enough. A small side hug there and ruffling your hair here had to be enough for the rest of the week anyway.

He is guarded, afraid of commitment and to be frank in belief that you’re using him for the longest of time. Maybe you’re just “dating” him to get access to high-end drugs, all kinds of clubs or whatever else reason there is there to date him but for love.

You had to say those three magic words first for him to get comfortable with the thought that you are actually just want to date and love him. It came to him in the middle of a night shift at a random club he was supposed to promote. A moment of enlightenment.

Nam-gyu hid in a bathroom stall with his phone and ignored whatever the couple was doing next door, writing you a whole paragraph about what he was thinking, feeling, before deleting everything again because he thought he’d come off as some kind of pussy if he’d sent that.

His first time telling you how much he loved you was at your place. A casual evening watching some random movie you picked out while being arms deep in a bag of chips and dressed like a homeless person, Nam-gyu was staring up at you as if you were the most beautiful person in the universe even during this ungraceful moment of yours, admiring you in silence until finally…

“I love you.”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you…

Did he fuck up again? Do or say something wrong? Don’t you love him anymore? Was there someone else?? His thoughts go ballistic as he stared at the screen of his phone with a deadpan-expression, trying to shake the crippling fear and nervousness off while looking nonchalant.

Nam-gyu’s finger kept hovering over the call button to check on you in case something happened because there could be a whole other person talking to him by how there were no affirmations at all.

He doesn’t want to appear clingy or too attached to you as that may scare you off or even disgust you, so Nam-gyu’s casually mention that one time you didn’t say “I love you” while fidgeting with his ring, trying to appear indifferent about it while intensely watching your facial expression shift to try and detect if you’re lying about your reasoning or not.

Your boyfriend is afraid to not be good enough, too much, too little. Your little affirmations give him reassurance, every day a little more until he’s full convinced that you do really, really love him.

“Hey, uhhh. Did you forget anything today?… No? You sure? Mkay.”

Dae-ho // Player 388

♡— Him not saying I love you…

Never happens. Either he is dead and not able to reply to you or already said it multiple times throughout the day. Dae-ho has separation anxiety and gets nervous when he doesn’t have you in line of his sight or not around him in general, that’s why he always tells you how much he loves you whenever he can.

Off to the bathroom? I love you. Bringing the trash out? I love you. Getting dressed? You’re gorgeous and I love you. You could be simply existing and Dae-ho would bury his face in your neck and mumble a soft I love you into your warm skin, his lips planting a soft kiss here and there.

Dae-ho is just a little scared about saying his usual affirmation in front of his family, mostly his father. He’s a very affectionate and physical man but he still wants to look like the tough-marine-son his dad wants to see.

His sisters know better though, they see how their brother’s eyes twinkle in delight when you help his mom out in the kitchen with the dinner.

He does make it up to you after coming home though. Your boyfriend will stuff the leftovers his mom gave him into the microwave and usher to you made yourself comfortable on the couch while he makes some preparations to completely pamper you for the rest of the evening.

Sometimes Dae-ho’ll even try to flirt a little but he’s still a little awkward in that department.

“Hey, do you want some snacks with that? A drink? O-Or am I enough of a snack…?”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you…

Every time Dae-ho tells you that he loves you, you always reply with equal enthusiasm. How could you not? That golden retriever of a man gets that almost childish smile of his whenever you kiss his cheek or just tell him that he looks handsome today.

Once, you tested how he’d react when you don’t give him his hourly dose of dopamine by deflecting or ignoring his touches.

As his arms securely snaked around your waist and gently pulled you against his torso, you paid him no mind and continued to stir the ramen in the food container. He watched the noodles move in circles and gave your waist a gentle poke, trying to pull your attention to him. Dae-ho’s eyes slowly dimmed and the edges of his smile turned downwards.

The silence made him seriously nervous. You could feel his rapidly increasing heartbeat drum against your back.

“Hey… is everything okay? Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry. Can you talk to me?…”

Gi-hun // Player 456 (post s1)

♡— Him not saying I love you…

Gi-hun always reassures you of his love, even during arguments. He wants you to know that he cherishes and loves you for the rest of his life and that you are his everything. Whenever he doesn’t say I love you, something must’ve happened.

He has been missing for a whole week and you had no idea where your boyfriend went. Gi-hun didn’t leave a note, a voice mail, no nothing!

And after he returned and suddenly began giving you expensive gifts, the same boyfriend that used to ask you for money to get himself an convenience store dinner, now began buying you new headphones, bracelet and whatever else you even eyed.

It was nice, sure, but you were more worried about his mental state. He was paranoid and quiet, kept checking his whole body for some kind of tracker and barely ever spoke what was on his mind. Gi-hun began having panic attacks and you were barely able to leave his side because of how terrified he was to leave you alone.

He barely touched you, gave you kisses or affection. He changed after whatever happened during that week he went missing.

While running your fingers through his hair, trying to make him fall asleep after being awake for two days straight, he sleepily stared up at you through his dyed-red hair. His voice was quiet, broken almost.

“I’m sorry. Please… know that I love you. I love you so much.. Don’t leave me, please… please...”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you back…

Your boyfriend called out to you but you didn’t quite hear what he said, so you replied with an “yeah!” and just hoped that that’s an appropriate response to whatever he tried to tell or ask you. It wasn’t.

Gi-hun stood there for a couple of moments, waiting on your reply to yelling “I love you!” across the whole apartment. When nothing came, he didn’t call out to you again. You were probably busy with something or don’t want him with your right now, he gets that.

Later though, thoughts of self-doubt began to cook up inside his mind. As he bit all his nails to shreds he overthought about how you had enough of him now. Maybe you are falling out of love now after how the death games fucked up his mind and body. You’re surely fed up with his paranoia and secretive behaviour, how much he has been obsession over finding a weird salesman. Surely.

The metallic taste that spread inside his mouth after biting the skin surrounding his nails began to open and bleed finally pulled Gi-hun out of his self-destructive thoughts that continued to circle like a toy train. Picking up his throwaway phone and choosing the one contact he saved on every single burner phone he had as “Reason to smile ❤️” and pressing the call button.

“Gi-hun? What’s wrong?” Your voice forced a small smile to form on his face. He hesitated

“Hey. Just wanted to ask if I should bring some take out home tonight. That’s all.”

In-ho // The Frontman // Player 001

♡— Him not saying I love you…

It’s purely just to tease you. When bored, In-ho will make you his greatest entertainment.

He likes making you annoyed and flustered, so he’ll intentionally ignore you just to make you react and pout at him adorably while he was trying so hard to keep his stone cold face and not break into a shit-eating grin and maybe even pull on your cheek to make you whine even more.

In-ho adores your whole being and cherishes all of your affections, so he’ll let himself get showered in them any tome he can.

Expect you to he cuddled up on his lap while he was leaning back in the leather chair, mumbling a complaint about how you covered his whole face in kisses but managed to miss the bridge of his nose. He will not allow you to move off his lap until you covered his whole face in kisses again as compensation for that mistake of yours.

So, In-ho’ll intentionally not give you affection so you pay even more attention to him. He is like a cat in that way weirdly enough.

Once you finally break his facade, the flood gates will open and you will be showered, bathed, drowned in his affection, physical and verbal.

“Fine. I’ll say it just because you’ve been so good to me today. I love you, my dearest, lovely darling.”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you back…

In-ho has a dedicated frequency on his walkie-talkie for you, so he can call in and ask you to come to his office for a kiss that cannot wait, to inform you that he is in the bedroom and retiring for the day or just to tell you that he loves you randomly throughout the day.

Of course, you’d always reply back with your own gadget, but to pay back his infinite teasing he has done to you, you decided to ignore him the way he sometimes does to you. Payback.

Your husband called into your frequency. “Dove, are you free right now? Come to my office, I miss you.” and so your game begins. You simply ignored his request and continued getting comfortable in your bed and all the sheets surrounding you, grinning to yourself as you awaited the next time In-ho calls in again, for which you don’t have to wait long for.

“Darling, I am waiting. Do you want me to send someone to pick you up?” Your grin widened as you heard how impatient he was slowly getting with the lack of your response. “I can see you in the bedroom.” That one caught you off guard. Did he install cameras in your shared bedroom??

Almost on cue, your bedroom door opened, revealing the masked Frontman. His shoulders were tense and you could feel his intense state through the mask. You stared back, not expecting how quickly your husband would cave in and visit you himself. Innocently, you batted your lashes at him.

In-ho slipped his mask off and carelessly tossed it on the nightstand. “Why are you ignoring me? Are you upset or just moody?” Unimpressed, you silently glared at him. He gave you an equally uninterested look and leaned down to your face to give you a small peck on your cheek. “Not enough. More.”

A chuckle escaped his lips as his lips cracked into a smile.

“Demanding, aren’t we? Fine. As you wish.”

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading <3

Watch me announce that I’m going to post In-ho’s yandere profile and proceed to get hit with the most ungodly group-assignment in Chemistry. Anyways, take this as an apology! Had to write a little fluff for them since the only thing I’m finding is smut 🙏😭 I’m not complaining but this fluff prompt came to me like a truck during a class of mine. It was originally inspired by this post and I made a similar one before for the Demon Slayer hashira. Check it out if you’re interested!!

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <33

[pencil-n-pen]

hii! i hope you are doing well. i love your overworked series so much. it's very relatable to me on what the circumstances the reader is in and all i do eat the series all up(munch munch) how about like a study date for them? that would be cute

Hello honey !! Thank you so much for this request, I was so excited to write it <3 Hope you enjoy!

STUDY OR DATE

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄ ౨ৎ ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠄⠂

summary: you ask Leon to go on a study date with you at a coffee shop. Things don’t go as planned, but work out just fine in the end.

cw: i think this qualifies as a drabble not a oneshot it’s short :( but sweet :) sorry some angst slipped in there, one of Leon’s ex friends says some kind of mean things about you but Leon comes to your defense, honestly that’s it this is pretty fluffy

a/n: i just know leon absolutley slams those frou frou coffee drinks. i say this as a frou frou coffee drink enjoyer

no the Baby I'm Yours reference was not intentional

masterlist | previous (not actually a SERIES series, just takes place in the same universe)

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It was you who proposed the idea of a study date.

"I think it might be nice," You'd said, staring at your shoes and shuffling in place as people file out of the last class of your day- the one you share with Leon. "I usually study by myself, but I think it would be good to... get out of my room, for a bit. Um. And then we could study together?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

This is one of his current favorite sentences. "Training you to stand your ground, princess. Nothing bad is gonna happen when you do."

You squeeze the strap of your backpack. "Telling...? But also asking, because I don't know if you're free."

"Even if I did have plans I would cancel them. Where were thinking of going?"

A burst of heat rises to your face. "That cafe? Near the east side of campus?"

He leans down, giving you a quick peck on the nose. "I think that's a great idea."

The walk to the cozy cafe isn't too long, but it is cold. You shamelessly use the winter chill as an excuse to cuddle up to Leon.

"As if you need one," He mumbles, squeezing you close to him.

When you arrive to the shop, the bell dinging signifying your entrance, Leon tugs at the backpack on your shoulder.

"Gimme that. I'll snag us a table that has outlets. Order something for me?"

You don’t have to look to know the hand in front of you has his credit card in it. And you know better than to refuse. He likes spending money on you, for whatever reason. You’re not complaining, really, it just eats at you a little bit. Just a little.

But it’s also really, really, really sweet. The kindness tends to override the guilt, in his case.

For yourself, you order exactly what you want- Leon has a second sense for when you order something that's for the sake of preserving money rather than what you actually want. You'd asked him once where his seemingly never-ending supply of money came from, but he'd just kissed you on the forehead and told you not to worry about it. You kind of still worry about it, but never enough for him to notice.

For Leon, you order exactly what he wants but will never admit to liking- an iced caramel macchiato. The way coffee shops like Starbucks make them, not the traditional way. More milk and sugar than coffee. It's funny watching him slug his way through black coffee with a splash of milk when you know for a fact the milky, sugary coffee drinks never last longer than about five minutes when they're in front of him.

The cafe isn't that crowded, so it doesn't take long for your drinks to be ready. You take them from the bar with a thanks, then slide into the table Leon snagged for you.

His eyes catch on the drink.

"What is that?"

"An iced caramel macchiato."

"And why, exactly, did you order that for me?"

"Because you like them."

"No I-"

"Don't even pretend."

He takes the drink with a grumble, but reaches across the table and squeezes your hand once, a quiet thank you.

You take a sip of your own drink, then take your supplies out of your backpack and get to work.

You work fairly quietly, Leon occasionally sliding random snacks he, apparently, just keeps with him across the table to you. At one point, he gets up and returns with a plate that has a few of the pastries you were eyeing earlier on it. How he even knew exactly which ones you wanted is a mystery to you.

An hour or so after he gets the pastries, the bell dings, signifying someone's entrance.

"No way! Leon, is that you?"

Leon's face twists into something sour and angry, and a small stab of apprehension slices through your chest as the voice is accompanied by approaching feet.

"Josh," Leon says evenly, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. "Haven't seen you in awhile. On purpose."

You turn, eyeing the man that's standing behind you, a few other guys standing a little ways behind him, all leering for a glance.

The Josh in question just laughs. "Oh, whatever Leon," His gaze catches on your face and his eyes widen.

"No way. Are you seriously here with the pretentious--"

"You mean my girlfriend?" Leon leans forward in his seat, his jaw set and his fists clenched where they rest on the table. "Be very careful about your next words."

Girlfriend?

Josh blinks. "I meant nothing by it, man. I'm just surprised to see you here with her, is all."

Leon looks absolutely murderous. "And why would that be?"

"Just because, you know. We always talked about how annoying her attitude was. And that rivalry thing you guys had."

"I remember ditching you guys when you started ragging on her, yeah. Fuck off, Josh."

Josh raises his hands. "Jeez, okay man. I was just surprised. You're seriously choosing that girl over us?"

"This woman, yes. We were never friends like that. Forgive me if I prefer being with someone who doesn't make me consider the legality of finishing a college degree in prison."

Josh seems upset by Leon's statement, but Leon holds his ground. He jerks his head towards the rest of the gaggle. "Go."

Josh scampers away, metaphorical tail between his legs.

Leon immediately turns to you, brows furrowed in concern and body un-tensing. "Are you okay? Did he upset you? Do I need to kill him?"

You blurt out the first and only thing you got from that entire exchange.

"I'm your girlfriend?"

He re-tenses.

"Do you... not want to be?"

"No!" You shout, a little too loudly, because Josh and his friends look back over, but the ensuing glare from you and Leon is enough for them to look away so quickly you think you hear Josh’s neck pop.

"No," you say quietly, "I um. I'd really like to be your girlfriend. I just. I didn't know what we were."

He gets that fond look in his eyes again. The one he gets before he says something sappy.

"Baby," He says, reaching across the table and grabbing your hand. "I"m yours. I mean that. I didn't formally ask you out because I figured you wanted to take things slow."

"I did. At first."

He smiles. "Then princess, my princess, may I please be your boyfriend?"

You can't help the giddy giggle the escapes your mouth. "Yes."

"Oh thank god," He says, wiping fake sweat off his brow. "It would've been awkward to have a heart attack and die in this cafe."

"That seems a bit extreme."

"Not really. Have you seen my girlfriend? Cardiac events are a normal reaction, I assure you."

You don't get much studying done for the rest of the day.

--

After that, there is a noticeable increase in study dates and date-dates. Leon is weirdly good at picking date spots and ideas.

The first time he introduces you as his girlfriend at a party, Ada shouts so loudly you think she might burst someone's eardrum. Your roommates all squeal with excitement when you tell them.

Chris, being Chris, says "Weren't you already dating?" when Leon tells him the news. That seems to be the general consensus.

You're on another study date right now, Leon's face doing that cute little scrunch thing when he's thinking about a math problem, and you set your pencil down just to stare at him.

He's your boyfriend.

You're his girlfriend.

He looks up at you, chewing on the end of his pencil. "What? Do I have something on my face?"

"No," You say, a little breathless. "M' just looking at my boyfriend."

He grins, leaning across the table to give you a kiss, soft and slow.

You're normally not one for PDA.

But maybe you'll allow it. For your boyfriend.

ᯓ✦

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 5 - If You Let Me

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Welcome back Sam Winchester I’m sorry about your girlfriend are you ready to suffer for thousands of words as these two idiots dance around each other?

Chapter title from when the party's over by Billie Eilish

Word Count: 16.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean calls you for a case, you grapple with your growing power, and Sam has questions. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, monster of the week.

Chapter 4 - Chapter 6

Read on A03!

No matter what happens, Dean can never be allowed to know how fast you’re driving. Especially because every single traffic violation you commit is in his name. In the hope of seeing him just ten minutes sooner.

In your defense, you haven’t seen him in person in almost three months. You’d gone on a hunt together, parted with the usual smile and awkward high five, and then he’d just stopped asking to you hunt with him. He hasn’t left, hadn’t vanished, and he’s been the one calling you to talk, but he just doesn’t even mention hunts anymore. You just don’t see him. And over those four months of missing him—and shoving that aching, whining feeling deep, deep down where it couldn’t feed into the White’s vast desire—he’s started to sound… off.

“Did you know that people could curse animals?”

“Yeah,” you’d said, glancing down the hall to make sure Bobby was still gone, and not about to barge in and catch you talking to Dean. “I think you can curse most anything. I’ve heard of like, babies being cursed.”

“That’s creepy, Princess.”

“I didn’t curse them-“ You’d cut yourself off with a frown. “Did you and John run into a cursed animal?”

“Uh. No?”

You’d raised your brows. “Why are you asking me, I wasn’t there.”

“No, I’m just- It’s complicated. I’ll tell you later. How did that hunt in Montana go?”

“Oh, super fucking easy.” And it had been. You may have destroyed a fire hydrant when the chimera chased after you—unable to contain or aim the Darkness like you could when you were with Dean—and almost bashed your head against the wall from the sickness crawling over your head and setting it on fire when you returned to the motel, but you’d been done in a day. And you’d been lonely—hollow and long and vastly lonely—but Dean didn’t need to know that. “What’s complicated?”

He’d sighed into the speaker. “I said I’d tell you later-“

“Are you safe?”

There had been a long pause of static noise. You’d been about to check if the call dropped—Bobby didn’t really get great reception—when Dean spoke again. His voice had sounded soft.

It had been worrying.

“I’m alright,” he’d whispered your name, and your grip on the phone had tightened. “It’s- There’s a lot going on right now.”

You’d frowned into the air, the White making a pathetic noise like it could convince you to take a car and just go. Go to Dean—you didn’t even know where he was—and try to help him with whatever was a lot, when you’d probably end up making it worse. You always made things worse.

You might have also destroyed a tree. And a mailbox. And a good part of the road.

Dean clears his throat, his tone almost nervous through the speaker. “Where are you?”

“Me?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, unless there’s someone else on the phone I should know about-“

“Shut up.” You’d rolled your eyes, sitting up in your seat as an engine sounded outside. “Shit.”

“Where’s Shit-“

“No, that’s not- Sorry, Dean, I have to go-“

“Why?” Through the phone, you hadn’t been able to tell if that was his worried voice or angry voice. “Are you-“

“I’m alright, I just-“

“Where the hell are you-“

“I’m home, in South-“ You’d cut yourself off with an internal grimace. Fucking Dean and his way of making you accidentally say too much of the truth all the time, even over the phone. “Park.”

“Isn’t that a TV show?”

Shit. Dean mostly watched children’s cartoons, daytime soap operas in motels, and really old movies. You hadn’t expected him to know that.

“No?”

“Why are you asking me-“

“Shut up. I really have to go-“

“Alright, alright, just, if you’re not busy, we’re near Pittsburgh, and we could use your help.”

You’d frowned, taking careful steps up to your room, praying that Bobby wouldn’t immediately start looking for you when he got inside. “I don’t think John would want my help-“

“Not Dad.” Dena had sighed, and you could picture him running his hand over his face. “Sammy.”

You’d frozen, the door not fully closed. “Your brother? He’s done with college?”

“Yeah. I mean, no. Kind of. It’s-“

“Don’t say complicated.”

“Uh,” he’d paused. “Complicated.”

“Dean-“

“I couldn’t think of another word! What the hell else-“

“Messy? Confusing? Complex?”

“You know Princess, you’re really annoying-“

You’d scoffed. “That’s no way to talk your very good friend and possible savior. Message me where to meet you.”

“So you’re coming?”

“Yeah.” You’d grinned into the air, keeping an ear on the door as Bobby shuffled around downstairs. “I want to meet your brother.”

Dean had groaned. “You know, you’ve met him before-“

“Doesn’t count. I want to actually talk to him this time.”

“Fucking- Fine, but no funny business, or asking him stupid questions.”

You’d hummed. “No.”

He’d snapped your name into the phone, right as Bobby had called it from downstairs, and you really did have to go. 

“See you soon, Deano.”

You’d hung up, and barely a second later Bobby had knocked on your door.

“Hey,” he’d grunted you name, and you were pretty sure he hadn’t heard anything. “You in there?”

“Yeah, wait-“ You’d checked your hand and glanced in the mirror—no bite marks or scratches, the only evidence of your pain living inside where Bobby couldn’t see it—and opened the door with your best nothing’s wrong smile. “Welcome home, old man.”

Bobby had scoffed, scanned over you with narrowed eyes, and then met your gaze with a small, tight smile. “Ain’t I the one who’s supposed to- shit-“

You’d wrapped him in a tight hug, squeezing him and letting out the long breath you always held when you left. It was an oath you kept trying to keep for yourself, that you’d always come back home because you had to let out that breath. That the highways were long, and the nights were lonely, and the Darkness kept building and building inside you—sinking deeper and deeper into the White until there was always some part of you that strained and screamed from the pain of trying to pry them apart—but you had a home to come back to, and one person who’d never call you a burden.

Because you’ve grown sicker. You only grow sicker. You only destroy more and more things, and the Darkness only slips away from you with more ease, but Bobby doesn’t give up on you. 

The demons began, and they won’t stop coming, but Bobby doesn’t give up on you. 

Dozens of demons, more and more every month, ever since that one demon you’d killed for Dean. You don’t know why. You don’t know what beacon lit up inside of you, what’s calling every single fucking demon in America to come and find you wherever you went, but they are. They do.

It's been random. Gas stations and grocery stores, on random hunts and waiting for you near your car. It’s worse when you’re alone. When the Darkness and the pain get overwhelming to the point that you’re barely you anymore, and you end up curled in a bathtub, breathing heavy through your nose. Your clothing in a pile of the floor because it aches to touch something as sick as you, the whole room disgustingly clean because you can feel the grime itch and rot at your skin, your rings on the sink because the pain of the iron sears over your ribs and organs.

And then you’ll force yourself up to go get some coffee, and the barista will have something black and malevolent and glinting writhing inside of Her.

They almost never attack. It’s more terrifying, because you’ll feel an overwhelming sense of wrong, and you’ll yank everything down with a bite on your inner cheek, and there will be the demon.

Just watching you. Smiling at you, following you for day, and then vanishing when you skip town.

Then there’s him. He’s the worst of them all. He’s more like fog, burning and glinting inside his vessel’s body. He’s yellow like sulfur or acid, and keeps appearing when you turn a corner. Passing you in the street and nodding at you in a bar, like he knows you.

He never approaches. He never attacks. He just watches, like you’re a specimen. Everything that’s wrong inside of you his worse inside of him. Potent. Eroding.

Terrifying.

And Bobby knows. Not about the yellow demon, or how the whole thing started, but that you don’t really sleep anymore because you’re afraid the night will take form and go for your throat. That you’re on more and more hunts because it’s distracting from how the Darkness always strangles the White when you’re static and useless. That all the pain has gotten far worse over these past few months. 

Although he does think that’s unexplainable. He doesn’t know it’s because you’re always alone when you’re gone, and the only reminder of Dean is his voice on your phone and his knife in your jacket. 

But Bobby still doesn’t give up on you. He made you create a plan for when the Darkness—inevitably, although neither of you would say it aloud—takes over and you aren’t able to drag yourself down in time. He still tells you to just come home and stay there every single day. And if Bobby was going to give up on you, he would have long ago. He wouldn’t return your hug with a long sigh and mutter your name like you were something important to him, instead of a leech. 

“Welcome back, kiddo.” He’d grunted, and when he pulled back and gave you one last firm look, you knew he was checking for damage one last time. “Chimera go down easy?”

You’d flinched, the beast’s shrieks of pain still echoing around your head, and Bobby had frowned.

“You have another-“

“Yeah.” You’d whispered. “Big one.” 

Bobby had sighed, rubbing his jaw as he gave you another assessing look. “Anythin’ unfixable?”

You’d shaken your head. “I would’ve called you, but I wasn’t that far, and I’d finished the hunt anyway.” 

Bobby had opened his mouth, worry painted on his features, but you’d known what he was going to ask. It was the same fear that haunted you. 

“Nobody saw me.”

He’d nodded, letting out a long sigh. “Alright, but you’re gonna need to be more careful. Our luck ain’t gonna last forever, and when someone does get wind-“

“I’ll call you, then Rufus, throw all my phones off a bridge and abandon whatever car I was driving. Go one town over from wherever I am and lock down until either you or Rufus comes to get me.” You’d given Bobby a soft smile. “I know the drill. I helped you make it.”

Bobby had rolled his eyes. “Cool it, smartass. How long are you stayin’ this time?”

You’d given him an apologetic, tight-lipped smile. “Dinner?”

“That’s it?”

“I’ve got another hunt.” You’d mumbled, and Bobby had frowned.

“You need a rest,” Bobby had grunted your name, and you’d swallowed. “Ya’ look like shit.”

“Hey-“

“I ain’t gonna lie to you. When the hell was the last time you slept a whole night?”

You couldn’t remember. 

But you really wanted to go see Dean. You missed him. You missed laughing and talking to him, and you were worried about him. And couldn’t tell Bobby that, because then you’d have to tell Bobby that you’ve actually been hunting with Dean for about two years when he’d specifically told you not to.

“A few days ago.” You’d shrugged, twisting a ring on your finger. “I’ll be okay, and I can come right back after this one.”

Bobby had sighed. “Where would you be headin’.”

“Pennsylvania.” 

“And you’re stickin’ around for dinner.”

You’d nodded, and Bobby hadn’t pushed further. You’d eat dinner with him, spoken about anything that didn’t make him look concerned and your whole body only pain, and climbed into the car with another silent promise to come back.

And you were holding your breath again. But this was a three-person hunt. A three-person hunt with Dean. 

You’d be fine.

He’s sent you to one of the usual, generic strip motels. Crowded lot, beige paint, cracked sidewalks, and stiff, square bushes lining the building. You’ve barely stepped out onto the pavement when a door slams, and there he is. Bags under his eyes weren’t there last time you saw him, a small bruise on his cheek that seems about a week old, but still grinning. Still impossibly handsome, still making the White buck and hum and ease into the Darkness, still not yours to ask for.

And really happy to see you. You’ve seen Dean’s fake smile.

This one is real.

He shouts your name, and you’re long past trying to fight your own smile at the sound of him saying it. At the sight of him jogging towards you, nothing but genuine joy on his face that you’re here.

And then he hugs you, and you’re not sure this isn’t a dream. Dean never hugs you anywhere but in your dreams. In real life he always grins at you and shoves his hands into his pockets, the most contact he offers being a nudge of your shoulder with his, or a drag of your body away from danger. But this is a hug. This is his arms wrapped around your shoulders, his body pressed right up to yours, and it’s so quick that you don’t have a chance to really return it before he’s gone.

Dean’s eyes are wide on yours as he steps back, and there’s more red near his ears than usual. His hands go in his pockets, you stand a little taller, and both of you stare at each other for a long, strange second before you find your voice.

“Hi.”

“Uh,” Dean clears his throat, glancing over his shoulder before looking back to you. “Hey. Good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too.” You wrap your arms around your body, and suddenly there’s a ghost of a strong, warm body pressed to yours. Dean had hugged you, and it was far worse than just his hand. It had branded on something deeper under your skin, sinking down into the White, bleeding into the Darkness until everything was silver, and you were a little dizzy.

And you’re just staring at each other. You want to hug Dean again. He’d been warm and tangible, and he’d touched you on purpose and it had sent lighting through your blood and up your spine, and you can’t tell if your skin is prickling from the silence or the need to just go touch him

“Dean!” A loud, annoyed voice cuts through the air, and you look over Dean’s shoulder to see a tall, shaggy-haired man walking out of the motel. “You left the fucking door open, dude, you can’t just-“

The man stops, blinking at you, and you offer him a small smile. That’s Sam. He’s somehow taller, and his face isn’t babyish and innocent anymore, but you recognize him. 

And he seems to recognize you, because his words are slow, and his gaze never leaves yours.

“Dean?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Don’t start, Sammy, I closed the door-“

“No, you didn’t. But that’s not what I-“ Sam glares at Dean, gesturing to you “Is she your contact?” 

“No, she’s my hooker- fuck-“

You whack Dean’s arm, and Sam’s eyes widen.

“I am not a hooker-“

“Obviously, Princess, hookers are supposed to be nice-“

“I’m nice!”

Dean gives you a flat look. “You just freakin’ hit me!”

“Because you called me a hooker, Winchester.” You wrinkle your nose at him, crossing your arms. “And, just so we’re clear, if I was a hooker, you wouldn’t be able to afford me.”

Dean’s jaw twitches slightly, and you frown, because he’s not sparring back. He’s supposed to spar back. The strange, hanging tension from the hug is gone—he probably hadn’t even felt it deep in his body like you had, he’d probably just been awkward because you’d been too dazed from his contact to hug him back—so Dean’s supposed to make a joke about working out another form of payment, and wiggle his brows at you in a way he doesn’t know always makes you fall a little further into him. Makes your skin warm and the world technicolor. 

But he’s just looking at you, and there’s something taut flashing behind his eyes. You open your mouth to apologize—to ask what you said because you know you’re bad at understanding the line, yet Dean always seems okay crossing it with you—but Sam clears his throat, and Dean turns away.

The White aches. You don’t have time to indulge it.

“So she is the contact.” Sam raises his brows, and Dean scowls at him.

“Obviously.” He mutters, and when he looks back to you the taut thing seems fainter. Buried down where you’re not sure you’re supposed to see it.

But you do. And it taints those fractured pieces through your body. Makes them wither and balk, because you struck something in Dean again, and you don’t ever really know how to stop.

Dean says your name, offering you a smaller smile than before. It’s still real. You’ll have to cling to the fact that it’s still real. “This my brother, Sammy-“

“Sam. It’s Sam.”

Dean shrugs. “Sure, whatever-“

“No, not whatever.” Sam frowns. “It’s bad enough you won’t stop calling me Sammy, I don’t need everyone we meet-“

“You two have actually met before-“

“Yeah, I remember. And Dad said that-“

Dean shoots Sam a sharp look, Sam snaps his mouth shut, and everything start to get too big as the Darkness vaults up to the surface. John had said something about you. He wasn’t here, but he’d told Sam and Dean something, and Sam didn’t look all that happy to see you. He wasn’t turning any weapons on you, but he and Dean were exchanging a silent conversation, and you were caving in as the world expanded. You could feel the bite of the wind on the trees, and the thirst of the yellowing grass around you, and fuck, you could taste bile in your throat because the Darkness was starting to rot in your stomach as you forced it down-

Sam says your name, and you almost don’t hear it over the ringing in your ears. “Is she good-“

“Yeah, shit- just-“ Dean places one hand on your shoulder, waving the other in your face. “Hey, Princess, come back down-“

He’s close. His hand is solid on your body. He smells like grass and spice. 

His thumb has moved to the bridge of your nose, stroking a slow line that moves the Darkness back into the cavity of your chest. Makes everything clear, even as the pain lingers. 

You let out a long breath, offering Dean a small smile. “Thank you.”

Something flashes in his eyes, and your breath is heavy in your lungs. Every time this happens, you worry he’ll snap. That he’ll demand more answers than you can offer, and his it’s probably just a girl thing will come to a crashing end as he puts together that it’s a you thing. And just you isn’t worthy of him wasting time on.

But this one doesn’t seem to be it. Dean’s lips press in a small pout, and he scans over your face, but he doesn’t push. 

“You good?”

“I’m fine,” you shrug him off, making your voice as casual as possible. “Just a long drive. It’s nice to meet you, Sam. Again.”

“Yeah, you too.” Sam offers you a tight-lipped smile. “Dean said you could help us out with this?”

You nod. “Well, he didn’t what this is, but-“

Sam cuts you off with a groan, shooting Dean a frown. “Dude, you didn’t tell her the details of the case?”

“C’mon, it’s not my job to be a freakin’ database or whatever-“

“You still need to tell her what the case is, Dean, what if she can’t help-“

“I can help.” You snap, and Sam sighs.

“Look, I’m not doubting you, but this one is really complicated-“

“Good.” You raise your chin up, holding Sam’s gaze. “That’s my specialty.”

Dean clears his throat, looking between you and Sam with a weary expression. “It is, Sammy. She’ll get this. And you know we need the extra hands.”

Sam sighs, shaking his head. “Okay, fine. But you’re the one who’s explaining the case, Dean. You were supposed to anyway.”

Dean rolls his eyes at you as Sam turns around, and suddenly it’s all clear and bright again. You don’t know how he does that, how he stitches everything inside you together when it starts to rip. You need to figure it out and bottle it up. How to use it on command, because this might be a long case. Sam doesn’t seem to want you here, or like you all that much, and John told them something. They haven’t killed you, but John told them something. And Dean might be strangely willing to just dismiss your episodes, but you catch Sam’s odd look as you walk into their motel room. He seems a bit sharper than Dean, a little more on edge, a little more guarded and cautious.

So you need to be careful. You need to keep it the fuck together, by yourself.

And you’re a little worried that’s not possible.

Dean gestures for you to sit in a creaking, wooden chair—Sam watching you both from across a round table—and claps his hands together as he begins.

“So, we’ve got five dead ladies, three in their twenties, one in her thirties, and one hag-“

You raise your brows at him. “Hag?”

“Yeah, she was like a million. Wrinkly. Right, Sammy?”

Sam shrugs, shaking his head. “I would’ve just said old, man.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Fine, old. Point is, different ages. Different races too, and jobs, and social circles. We’ve been investigating for about a week, even broke into the vic's houses and went through their rooms. No connection between the vics outside of all being chicks, no deep dark secret, fucking nothing.”

You frown at him. “Like the mall.”

“Kind of, yeah, but these ladies are all going down the same way.” Dean points to his head. “Bashed in brains.”

“Gross.” You mutter, running a hand through your hair as you think. “Where are they dying?”

“Same office building.” Sam says, sliding some papers across the table. “Different floors, though. Four of the vics were employees, but one was just visiting her boyfriend.”

You nod slowly, scanning over the files. “And why isn’t it a ghost?”

“Because we figured out who the ghost should be.” Dean leans over you, tapping another one of the files. You can feel the heat from his body, and it makes your gut warm. You need to get it the fuck together. “Maggie Robins. Got her brains bashed in by her husband, Joey, in his office after she found out he’d been cheating on her with her best friend. Son of a bitch offed himself and the mistress right after.”

“Yikes.”

“Oh yeah. But here’s the fucked part-“

“Maggie’s body was cremated.” Sam jumps in, and Dean glares at him. “And all primary possessions were auctioned off by the police. We triple checked the whole office building, and were only a few things left in Joey’s office, for evidence, but nothing that important.”

You raise your brows. “What are we constituting as important?” “Personal valuables.” Sam says, frowning at you. “All that was left were some pens, generic wall art, and makeup-“ “Perfume.” Dean corrects, and Sam nods.

“Yeah, perfume-“ He pauses, turning to Dean with a dry, amused look. “Why’d you remember perfume?”

“I’m observant.” Dean snaps, looking down to you with a shrug. “It was perfume, Princess.”

“Yeah, I’ll make a note.” You smile at him, Dean smiles back, and when you glace back to Sam his expression is strained. Unreadable.

You’ll have to worry about that later.

“So,” you sift through the papers, tearing slightly at the corners. “Not a ghost. Have there been other signs?”

“Flickering lights,” Dean drops into the last chair, watching you with a gaze that seems to sear into your bones. “Few people said they’ve heard moans and screams when no one was there, and a janitor told us he’s been wiping up ghost blood, but-“

“Oh, okay. It’s an onryo.” 

You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms, and Sam and Dean exchange surprised look.

“It’s a…” Sam blinks at you. “It’s a what?”

“Onryo.” You shrug, tucking your knees into your chest. “Japanese vengeance ghost, born from a really violent death that was emotionally charged, often because of a betrayal.”

“Shit.” Dean mutters. “Betrayal like your husband fucking your best friend.”

“Exactly.” You grin at him, and you could swear he puffs his chest out as he grins back.

“I told you she’d get it, Sammy-“

“Yeah, you’re a genius.” Sam’s voice is dry as he pulls the papers back across the table, his attention on you still weary. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. Did the janitor tell you he kept finding blood in random places, and it would vanished when he tried to clean it?”

Dean nods, you give Sam a pointed look, and Sam sighs.

“Fine. If it’s an onryo, how are we supposed to kill it?”

You hum, tilting your head at the air. “There should be a special kind of exorcism, but I’ve never actually done one before.”

Sam frowns. “Then how do you know-“

“My dad dealt with an onryo once.” You shrug. “And I’ve read a lot about them.”

Something flashes in Sam’s eyes, he tenses in his seat, and it makes your hold on the Darkness go slack.

He doesn’t trust you. 

Maybe he can see everything that’s wrong with you. Dean may have grown blind to it, but Sam hasn’t, and he might be able to see the rotting sickness that covers your whole body. He might not want you anywhere near him, or his brother. He doesn’t seem like John—from what Dean’s told you about him, Sam doesn’t even seem to like his father all that much—but you can’t shake the wired strain that Sam Winchester just doesn’t trust you.

“Your dad.” Sam’s voice is cautious, his eyes narrowed. “The hunter.”

You’re not sure why he says hunter like that. Like it’s a bomb that’s set to go off. 

“Yeah. The hunter.” You glance at Dean, who’s rigid in his seat, glowering at Sam. “Are you guys good?”

“We’re fine.” Dean snaps, and Sam gives him an odd, tight look.

“Dean-“

“We’re good, Sammy.” Dean turns back to you, and you’re really not sure what’s happening. No guns are pressed to your brow, but there’s a heated, brittle wire hanging over all your heads, and the Darkness is starting to slip through your fingers. Not breaching out—not as you dig your nails into your skin, and bite through your cheek—but brimming right on the surface. On edge. 

Waiting for a snap.

It doesn’t come. Dean gives you a winning grin and Sam keeps frowning between you both, but nothing snaps. Not when Sam double-checks how sure you are it’s an onryo, and you say you’d bet a lot on it, because you would. Not when Dean suggests you all go figure out exactly what the onryo ritual is, and you and Sam look at him like he’s sprouted a second head. Not when Dean insists you all drive together, and you both try to protest—almost certainly for different reasons—but ultimately lose to Dean’s dramatic saving the trees and team spirit speech.

“Still no gun, Princess?” Dean hangs over your shoulder as you sort through your bag, and you shoot him a glare.

“Is the knife no longer good enough for you?”

“No.” He shrugs. “Not when you’ve been hunting alone.”

“Because you’ve been busy.” You raise your brows at him, and he sighs.

“Yeah, I know, it’s… Complex.”

Your lips twitch slightly. “Good job.”

“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes, but the air feels a little lighter, and the White is blending into the Darkness as it’s only you and Dean.

But it’s not only you and Dean. And Sam doesn’t seem to want you here. And it’s complex.

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” you mutter, tucking your knife into your jacket. “And I did my job, I’m sure you can do the rest without me.”

“Do you want us to do the rest without you?”

You turn to fully face him, and he looks guarded. Standing a little too tall, his hands seeming to be fisted in his jacket, watching you wearily. Like you might lash out, or explode.

Something’s really off with him. He hasn’t looked at you like that in years. 

He hasn’t looked at you like that since you last saw him with John.

“I don’t have anything else to do.” You mumble, watching him carefully. “And I’m already here.”

“Awesome.” Dean’s shoulders relax slightly, and he nods his head away from your car, deeper into the parking. “C’mon.”

You sigh. “I really can drive myself-“

“Nope. We’re sticking together.” His hand finds your back, and all you can do is let him moves you deeper into the parking lot. “You’ve gotta meet my car, Princess.”

“I have met your car-“

“Doesn’t count. You’re actually gonna ride in her this time.”

Dean’s grin is shit-eating. You’re not sure if you want to punch or kiss him.

“Shut up.”

“Nah.” Dean stops in the center of the lot, saying your name with a smirk. “Meet Baby.”

The Impala looks the exact same as before, save for a sour-faced, taller Sam Winchester sitting in shotgun, glaring between you and Dean. He scowls the whole time Dean guides you into the back bench, and refuses to look at you when Dean closes the door.

You clear your throat, watching Dean move around the hood of the car. “Hi, Sam.”

He grunts, and you sigh, slipping off your shoes.

“It’s good to see you.” You try again, because silence with Dean is like soft music, but silence like this is suffocating. “You look, uh-“

“Taller.” Sam grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, I know-“

“I was going to say good.” You mumble, hugging your knees to your chest. “Not like a kid anymore.”

Sam’s eyes shoot to yours in the rearview mirror, you offer him a small smile, and his mouth opens right as Dean drops into the driver’s seat.

“Hey,” Dean turns in his seat, snapping your name. “No shoes on my car.”

You roll your eyes, gesturing to your feet. “I’m not wearing shoes.” 

“Oh.” He blinks between you and your socks. “Good.”

“I’m not an idiot, Winchester. And I’d rather not be murdered because I messed with the only lady in your life-“

“Shut up.” Dean rolls his eyes, turning back to start the engine, and right before he adjusts the mirror you catch Sam glancing you at again, a small frown on his face.

“You guys were gone for a while.” Sam says, mostly looking at Dean. “How long can it take to grab a gun?”

Dean scoffs. “Wouldn’t know, Sammy. Her majesty doesn’t hunt with guns.”

“Doesn’t hunt with-“ Sam blinks at you, his face painted in disbelief. “You don’t use a gun?”

You sigh. “No.”

“What do you use?”

You open your jacket to show him your knife, and Sam raises his brows.

“That’s it? I mean, how do you kill anything-“

“With talent.” Dean mutters, and you don’t appreciate how accurate his impression of you sounds. “I’d never use one anyway-“

“I wouldn’t use it. And someone,” You punch the back of Dean’s seat, and he huffs. “Has a lot of unwelcome options about that-“

“Because it’s stupid.” He grumbles, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, for someone who’s so annoyed about me not having a gun, you sure did buy me a knife.” 

You can hear the scowl in Dean’s voice. “You wouldn’t have taken the gun. You barely took the knife.“ 

“I could still throw it out-“ 

“Nope. You pinky promised.” 

You smirk as Dean sits up slightly—hearing his own words—and Sam gives him an incredulous look. 

“You pinky promised?

“It’s- She was being annoying-“

“He had to admit he was worried about me.” You tell Sam, leaning forward in your seat with a grin. “And that he thinks Charlie’s Angelsis the best movie ever made.” 

“I- I do not fucking think that-“ 

You giggle, rolling your eyes at Sam, who’s looking at you like you just fell  from space. “He’s still in denial.” 

“I am not-“ 

“It’s okay, Deano.” You pat his shoulder, and he shoots you a glare that doesn’t really reach his eyes. “We all still think you’re very tough.” 

The words leave your mouth, Dean rolls his eyes and grumbles about not even knowing why he called you, and some sort of dam seems to break in Sam. All of his cautious, pricking hostility vanishes into thin air, and he twists to fully look at you with an open expression.

In that moment, he does look more like the kid you met in the motel. Curious and not quite in awe of you, but something close. Something similar. 

“Dean said you were on at hunt before this?”

You run your thumb over your palm, tilting your head at Sam as you try to work out how much you can say. “Yeah, I was just stopping there after I finished up a Chimera hunt.”

Sam’s eyes widen. “A- Those are real?”

“Tragically, yeah.”

Dean raises his brows at you in the mirror. “Tragically?”

“They’re mean.” You shrug. “And shit a lot.”

Sam makes a face, but doesn’t turn away. “Had you hunted one before that?”

“No, I think they’re pretty rare outside of like, Greece-“

“But you killed this one, right?”

You nod, and Sam looks like he’s going to fall out of his seat. You’re not really sure what’s happening.

“How?”

“Um…” You twist a ring on your finger as your voice trails off, because you’d killed the Chimera with the Darkness. Let it rush out of your body and infect everything around you, until the Chimera exploded in a disgusting rain of blood. But you can’t really say that, so you go with how you’d planned to kill the Chimera. “I impaled it.”

“Like in the myth?”

“Exactly like in the myth.” You grin at Sam, and you’ve never seen someone so big look seven years old. “Bellerophon.”

“Bless you.” Dean mutters, and Sam gives his brother a look of exasperated disappointment. 

“No, dude, Bellerophon is the slayer of the Chimera in Greek mythology. He impales it in the mouth, using the Pegasus.”

“I don’t need to know why impaling worked-“

“Because of the angle.” You offer, ignoring Dean’s glare in the mirror. “It melts the spear with its fire-breath, and then it suffocates.”

“Yeah, that’s cool, but I still don’t-“

“What did you do with the body?” Sam interrupts, leaning forward to keep talking to you, and Dean seems to be pouting at the road.

Dean ends up pouting for most of the day, because after you lie about how you’d disposed of the Chimera—once again employing the very useful tactic of what you’d meant to do—Sam starts to ask about other things you’ve hunted, and how you’d killed them, and what you’ve learned about monsters overall. It lasts from the car and into the library, through almost the entirety of your research, and Dean barely gets a word in, only sulking over a book as Sam shares their own hunts. You decide not to comment on it when Sam says curses can’t be broken, because you’re positive that’s not true but you can’t say why, and answer all of Sam’s questions about alternative ways to deal with various spirits and monsters.

You’re shocked he remembered you telling John that.

You’re baffed as to why he’s suddenly treating you like a friend to catch up with, instead of whatever he’d thought you were before. You’re not really sure want to know what he thought of you before. Not when it’s suddenly changed to something far better.

“You’re afraid of flying?” You raise your brows at Dean, and he scowls. 

“I don’t trust it.” He mutters, turning a page so aggressively you’re worried he’ll tear it. “It’s high, and loud, and pointless. People belong on the ground.”

You hum. “What about boats?”

Dean shoots you a glare, you just grin at him, and his lips twitch slightly. You won.

“We dealt with a guy on a boat too.” Sam looks up from his own book, a slight frown on his face. “But that was kind of a bummer. Did you know spirits could possess water?”

You did know that. A powerful enough, angry enough spirit can possess most anything. But you only nod, because you’re mostly looking at Dean. Sunken into his chair, still mostly pouting, glaring at his book like it’s just insulted his car. You’ve never seen him act like this—silent, barely offering a comment or glance up at you and Sam, mostly pretending to read and fidgeting with his pen—and it makes the White spin and whine.

“Hey, De.”

You nudge his calf under the table, and he looks up at you with a frown.

“I’m hungry.”

“We passed a cafe on the way in,” Sam offers, and Dean raises his brows at you.

“You heard him.” He looks back to his book. “Go eat.”

You frown at him, even as the White bucks around inside of you. He’s not moving, or asking for food, or making fun of you for asking permission to go eat. Something’s off. Something’s been off, and you don’t know how to fix it—you don’t know how to fix anything—but you can’t stand how Dean’s silence is eating at your throat and lungs. You’re really going need to learn how to control his effect on you.

But not right now. 

“Do you want anything?”

Dean glances up at you again, something odd flashing in his eyes. “Me?”

“Yeah, you, dumbass-“

“Get me a burger.”

You give him a flat look. “It’s a cafe.”

“Whatever. Just figure something out.”

He still doesn’t move, or stop frowning. The moment you cheer him up, you’re going to kill him.

“Winchester.”

He grunts your name, and you glare at him as you continue.

“Where’s the cafe.”

“I dunno, ask Sammy.”

“Down the street.” Sam’s eyes bounce between you and Dean, a small frown on his face. “Just go straight, then to the left.”

You nod, giving Sam a thankful smile. “You want anything?”

Sam shakes his head, and you look back to Dean.

“Dean.”

That gets his full attention, and it seems to burn right into your body.

“I’m going by myself.” You rise to your feet, giving him a challenging look. “And I’m not good at directions. I might end up at the grocery store, and come back with carrots.” 

Dean narrows his eyes at you, but Sam just shrugs. 

“Actually, carrots sound-“

“C’mon, Princess.” Dean cuts off a surprised Sam with short words, pushing his chair back. “You’re paying.” 

Sam calls after you that he’ll call you if he finds anything, but you don’t really hear him. Not as Dean lowers his voice and leans down to your ear. His breath is warm. You might fall over.

“You’re really determined to get me to eat, sweetheart. Should I be worried?”

You hum. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dean Winchester.”

He clicks his tongue, and he’s grinning again. You won. “Full name. What did I do?”

“Sulk like a baby for an hour?” You raise your brows at him, and he’s a lot closer than you thought. You can count all his freckles. They’re kind of like stars. 

You can feel his breath on your face when he laughs. It’s warm, and smells like coffee and mint.

His body is like a furnace, and it’s melting everything to silver inside of you.

You’re losing your mind. 

“I can still kick you out of this hunt, you know.” He drawls, and you shrug, trying not to think about how Dean’s hand on your back shifts with the movement.

“Good luck with that.”

“It’s my hunt-“

“It’s your and Sam’s hunt.” You correct. “I think I’d have his vote to stay.”

“You would.” Dean lets out a dry chuckle, and you don’t even realize you’d made it to the cafe until Dean’s suddenly stops walking, and you’re waiting in a short line. “Fucking nerds.”

“That’s rude.” You shove his arm, and everything feels color when he laughs, and it’s real. There’s still something tight and coiled in his eyes as you make it to the counter and order, but he’s not slumping anymore, so you’re going to push it.

You’re going to ask what the hell is happening. Why he hasn’t been hunting with you, why Sam’s back, where John is, and why he’s been so strange. You turn your drink between your hands as Dean grabs the food—frowning at his empty seat and rehearsing your question in your head—and the moment he sits down you-

“Dad’s missing.” 

You blink at him. “What?”

“Our dad.” Dean mutters, sliding your food across the table. “He’s missing. And not just one of those longer hunts, we’ve been looking for months and he’s… Just gone.”

“Shit.” You mutter, pieces sliding together in your brain as Dean’s words sink in. “Where have you checked?”

“His last case. And we got activity on his phone, but…” He trails off with a shake of his head, not fully meeting your eyes. “We can’t fucking find him, and Sammy’s- He’s not doing well.”

You nod, and wait for Dean to continue. If you say something, you might say the wrong thing, because you don’t give a fuck if John Winchester is missing or dead or just on a bender. You’re breathing a little easier just from the knowledge that you can be here, and it won’t end in a bullet through your brain.

But Dean gives a fuck about John. And you—despite your best judgement and all rational reason—give a fuck about Dean. You give a fuck that he’s been so off because his Dad’s missing, that there seems to be something a little heavier in his eyes and on his shoulders than the last time you saw him, that you can almost taste his bitter, taut worry for Sam. 

You give a fuck that he’s telling you at all. That whatever he sees when he looks at you, it’s bright enough that he’d trust you with anything at all.

So you’ll bite your tongue, and let him keep going when he’s ready.

Dean draws in another long breath. “You can’t tell Sam I told you this.” He mutters. “I- We’ve barely talked about it, and he doesn’t know you, and it’s really fucking complicated-“

“Dean.” 

His eyes meet yours, and the guarded expression is back. It’s not your job to break through it. It’s not your job to do anything for Dean, but you want to. His tension seems to be moving into your body and making your muscles and organs sore, the Darkness is twisting and coiling in your body to find something to break. Churning until you let it flood out, pushing at the White in a way that makes you feel a little sick. 

You might as well find something to break for Dean, while he’s still here. While he hasn’t left, and everything feels big in a way that’s not suffocating and crushing.

“I won’t tell Sam.” You say, holding his gaze as you lean forward, raising your pinky. “Promise.”

Dean swallows, but takes your pinky and shakes it. “His girlfriend died. The same way our mom did, too, right after we lost the trail on Dad.”

“Your mom-“

“Burned on the ceiling.” Dean mutters. “We don’t know what did it, but Dad’s been hunting the son of a bitch since it happened, and then he vanishes, and it happens again? Right fucking after? That’s-“

“Not a coincidence.” You finish—letting out a long, slow breath—and Dean nods.

“Never a coincidence.”

You hum, frowning into the air as your head starts to kick into a high gear. This is just another case. Just another problem to solve that might call to you, a piece of the Darkness you could use. You can help with this. You can fix something. Dean’s isn’t guarded anymore—only sitting a little taller than usual, watching you carefully—and he’s still here. Dean’s still here, and he trusts you, and those fractured pieces in you are starting to stretch towards each other again. Bleeding through the Darkness in vibrant color as Dean holds your gaze, and you can help. 

If Dean wants your help. If he’d want you. 

The thought makes the White flash and sing. You need to keep it together.

“Is Sam okay?” You ask, your voice soft, and Dean sighs, rubbing his face.

“He’s not sleeping well. Thinks I haven’t noticed, but we share a damn room every night.”

You nod slowly. “Are you okay?”

Dean blinks at you, a small frown on his face. “Me?”

“Yeah, who else could I be asking-“

“I-“ Dean shakes his head, tapping his knuckles on the table. “I’m fine, Princess. Dad’s gonna turn up, and he’ll have a good reason for going off. Maybe he found what killed Mom, and he’s just waiting to grab us for help. Then we’ll get back to normal.”

You narrow your eyes. You don’t believe him. He’s still off, and the weight on him suddenly seems bigger now that you know where it’s coming from. But you’ve barely opened your mouth to push him when the little cafe doorbell rings, and Sam calls your name.

“I got it!” He stops at the side of your table, looking between you and Dean with a wide grin. “It’s called a harae, ritual purification. We just need to build a shrine and learn the words.”

You take the book Sam passes into your hands, scanning over the pages as Dean gives Sam a pat on the back.

“Nice one, Sammy. Once we gank this bitch, we’ll get you nice treat as a reward for good work-“

“Fuck off, jerk.“ Sam shoves Dean’s arm away in your periphery, and Dean just laughs.

“Hey, Dean?” You look up with a frown, turning the book for him to read. 

He doesn’t. He just says your name and stares at you, and it’s not really helpful. “What’s up?”

“You guys did interviews, right?”

He nods. “I did a lot while Sam was looking at the office. Looked at all the vics and our suspects.” He frowns. “I lost rock, paper, scissors.”

Sam laugh. “Again.”

“Shut up, bitch-“

“You’re the one who lost, Dean, it’s not my fault you suck-“

“I do not suck, you just play fucking mind games-“

“Winchester. Pay attention.” You give him a stern glare and kick under the table, and he scowls at you.

“Sammy started it-“

“I don’t care.” You tap the book, pushing it closer to him. “If you did the interviews, I need you to write down a list of things people said about our onryo, and get some stuff for the shrine. It will work better if it’s in closer relation to who Maggie Robins was in life.”

“Why do I have to do it-“

“Apparently because you suck at rock, paper, scissors.” You shrug, looking up to Sam. “We can go back to the motel, learn the ritual, and hopefully kill this thing by tonight.”

It takes another five minutes to get Dean to agree, and he’s still scowling when he drops you and Sam back at the motel, but it’s not heavy anymore. He’s not silent either, grumbling the whole way about being saddled with freakin’ shopping duty, and shouting that he better not come back to find that you and Sam threw a party while he was gone. 

Then it’s just you and Sam. Alone. Speaking chopped and stilted Japanese, giving each other odd looks as you adjust to the shift.

It’s not hard to be alone with Sam. He’s nice, easy to talk to, and doesn’t seem to have nearly as much fun pushing your button as Dean does. But it’s still strange. He keeps giving you odd looks and opening his mouth with a small frown, but shaking his head and shutting it. Your brain keeps spinning around what Dean told you, and how the Darkness seems... Off with Sam. His presence doesn’t blend it into Silver like Dean’s does, and it’s not volatile like with a monster or spirit, but it’s not normal. It’s turning and humming and beating into the White, like Sam is setting it off.

And you don’t even know what it is.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom when it starts to get overwhelming. When the Darkness starts to leak and your breathing has to be shallow to control it. Sam asks if you’re alright, and you just wave him off and lock the door behind you. Sinking onto the cold floor with your fingers squeezing at your throat, trying to drag it back down by force. It’s not enough. Whatever is happening is only feeding the Darkness, and it’s not dangerous but it could be. One wrong word, one accidental push, and you’d lose control in a second. You can feel lingering warmth of the sheets on Sam and Dean’s beds, and the ache of the creaking bathroom door, and the grime of tiles, sick and itching and all over your skin-

You bite down on the back of your hand, and everything falls back into you. You’re alright. You got through it. You always get through it. You’ll get through this hunt—rising to your feet and rubbing your face, checking in the mirror that no pain is visible—and you’ll help Dean, and everything will be alright. Maybe if you figure out what killed their mom, John won’t try to kill you when they find him. Maybe they won’t find him. Maybe you’ll be safe, and Dean could stick around for you, just for you because you’d helped him, helped his brother, and done it without breaking anything or losing control. Maybe you’d be able to tell him what’s wrong with you, and you’d have been good enough—done a good enough thing—that he wouldn’t call you a monster.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” You give Sam a small smile, twisting a ring on your finger as you walk back to the table. “Just had some sketchy road food yesterday. Happens to the best of us.”

Sam nods, and you think he bought it. Most people usually buy it. Even Bobby isn’t great at picking up your lies, because you’re careful and deliberate and practiced, and every lie you tell is purposeful and vital. A barrier to the horrid truth of how you’re always a little cancerous. 

You’re pretty sure the only person who sees past it is Dean. And that’s just another thing you’ve given up on hating him for.

“Do you know when Dean will be back?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. You made the critical error of thinking of him, and suddenly the White is desperate for him to be close once more, and you’re too tired to fight it. 

“I dunno, probably soon.” Sam shakes his head, giving you another odd look. “Do you guys hunt together a lot?”

You hum, pulling another book from Sam’s stack. “Usually, yeah.”

“Usually?”

“We haven’t been on a hunt since October.” You shrug, and when glance up, Sam’s still staring at you.

“Has he been… Talking to you?”

“Yeah, uh, we call about once a week.”

“Dean calls you?”

You nod, frowning slightly. “That’s what I said, yeah.”

“Huh.” Sam’s looking at you like he did in the car. Like you’re an alien, or weird plant. It’s not hateful, and it doesn’t make the Darkness riot in defense, but it’s… unnerving. “How long have you guys been talking, again?”

“Uh,” you tilt your head, your brow furrowing slightly. “A little over two years?”

Sam makes a slight face. “Cool.”

It doesn’t sound cool. It sounds like Sam’s as confused as you are, which is unfair because you don’t even know what you’re confused about. All Sam should know is that Dean left you once, years passed, and now you’re friends. 

But maybe Sam knows why Dean left you. And he could tell you, and it could either mend all those shattered pieces lining your body in a single moment, or snap you entirely. At least if it snaps you this will be over. You won’t have to deal with the circling question of does Dean feel this too. Is he looking at you like that because he feels this. Is he still here—despite you being irrevocably you all the fucking time, despite John obviously hatred of you and what you are—because he feels this too.

“Hey, Sam-“

“Something’s not making-“ Sam’s eyes widen slightly as you speak over each other, and he raises his hands in an apologetic gesture. “Sorry, you first-“

“No,” you shake your head, keeping your desperate question lodged like a stone in your throat. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s not a big thing, just that it’s kind of strange that the onryo is going after only women.” Sam frowns at his book. “Everything I’ve found says they should either kill just about anyone in their path, or just target reminders of the person who wronged them. And with the whole cheating thing I’d imagine it would be men and women, not-“

“Just women.” You reach a hand out, and Sam passes you his book. “You’re right. If you’re sure it’s Maggie-“

“We’re sure.” Sam says, leaning back in his chair. “She had her brains bashed in exactly like all the vics. And the husband, actually.”

You pause. “And the husband?”

Sam nods, grimacing slightly. “The crime scene photos were really gross.”

“And…” You glance at the case files, still scattered on the table. “How did the mistress die?”

“Gunshot. The cops worked out that Maggie got her brains bashed by Joey, Joey shot his mistress-“

“What was the mistress’s name?”

“Uh, Becca. But-“

“And she was Maggie’s best friend?”

Sam nods, his brows drawing together as he starts to play catch up. “I think so, yeah. Dean said all the families were shocked that, uh, Becca would betray Maggie like that.”

You let out a long sigh, running a hand through your hair and giving Sam a disbelieving look. “Jesus fucking Christ, men are idiots.”

“Hey-“

“I’m back!” Dean bursts through the door, several plastic bags in hand. “Got all the shit, Princess. Looks like this Maggie chick even used the same-“

You hold up a hand, and Dean falls silent. “Sam, tell Dean what you just told me.”

“Uh,” Sam glances at Dean, who’s dropped down on the edge of his bed with a frown. “Becca-“

“Who the hell is Becca-“

“The mistress, dumb dumb.” You give Dean a glare, jerking your head at Sam. “Listen.”

Dean raises his hands in surrender, and Sam keeps going.

“Becca and Maggie were best friends, and you told me all the families were shocked about what happened.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, they all kept going on about how close those chicks were. Maggie’s mom said that Becca would stay with her when the husband was out of town on business.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god.”

“You got something you wanna say, sweetheart?“

“Not that you’ll want to hear, Deano.” You wrinkle your nose at him, even as a little bit of guilt eats at your throat. He’s gonna be pissed. “We need to start the ritual over.”

Dean blinks at you. “What.”

“Maggie isn’t the onryo.” You sigh, leaning back in your seat. “Joey is.”

Sam’s mouth falls open. “Fuck. That- It explains the targeting.”

“Yep.” You give him a tight smile. “And people don’t just bash their own brains in. Joey probably did kill Maggie, but then Becca killed Joey before shooting herself.”

Dean shakes his head, an adorable look of confusion on his face. “Why the hell would the douchebag get offed by his own mistress-“

“Because she wasn’t his mistress.” You say, and Dean just stares at you, his lips in a small pout that you want to bite.

“Huh?”

You exchange a look with Sam—who’s very poorly covering his snicker with a hand—and look back to Dean with a sigh. “Lesbians, Winchester. The mistress was the wife’s, not the husband’s.” 

“The- oh.” Dean goes red, scratching the back of his neck and looking anywhere but you. “Awesome. Good for them.”

You shrug. “I mean, they are both dead. But yeah, awesome.”

“For them.” Sam adds, letting out a long breath. “Not us. You’re right, we’re going to have scratch everything and work out how to do the ritual for Joey.”

“Fine.” Dean groans, kicking one of his bags. “But there’s no way in hell you’re making me do all those interviews again, Princess.“

You sigh, scratching at your fingers. “Sam, if you do the interviews, I can work out the MO to see if we can lure the onyro out, and Dean can make the ritual stick.”

Sam nods, looking back to a book, and Dean gapes at you.

“Ritual what?”

“Stick.”

“It’s a shaker made of paper.” Sam explains. “For the harae. It’ll be easy, dude.”

“And.” You give Dean a pointed look. “It’s either that or the interviews.”

Dean scowls, but relents with raise of his hands, and you grin at him.

“Great. We’ll have to wait for morning to do this, so, uh…” You trail off, frowning at your car out the window. You had really thought you’d be done by midnight. You can’t afford a motel room right now, and you don’t think Sam and Dean won’t notice you sleeping in your car. Bobby’s car. One of Bobby’s junkyard cars, which was in no way suitable for sleeping in. 

Dean says your name, and you turn your head on instinct alone. “You got a room?”

“Uh, no.” You glance back to your car. You can just drive it away, to a different lot, and make do. You know how to make do. “But I’ll find one, it’s fine-“

Sam shrugs, barely looking up from his book. “Just stay here.”

Heat rushes to your face, and you freeze in your chair. “What?”

“You can bunk with us, we’ve got the space.”

You can’t look at Dean. You and Dean don’t share a room. You don’t know why he’s never offered, but you know why you haven’t, and at this point it’s an unspoken rule.

But Dean’s not shutting Sam down, and the White has started to burst and glow at the idea of it. Of being closer.

You cannot share a room with Dean. It will destroy this. It will give you the opportunity to ruin your friendship with him, give you another place to fall further into him, provide another opportunity for the White to pull you closer and closer, down, down, down into Dean. 

“No, no it’s okay, I’m sure somewhere has a room-“

Dean cuts you off, and you’re going to go insane. “You can take my bed.” 

“It’s- it’s really fine-“

“No,” He says your name casually—like your brain and heart aren’t exploding—and pushes up off his mattress. “You’re doing us a solid, we can put you up. And I’ve shared with Sam before. I can deal with his Sasquatch starfishing.”

Sam glares up from his book. “I do not starfish-“

“But you are a Sasquatch?” 

Dean smirks at Sam, Sam flips him off, and the conversation seems to be over. Sam’s still reading. Dean’s kicking the bag and grumbling about stupid rituals.

But you’re frozen.Time isn’t really flowing, and the world isn’t really moving, because you have to talk your way out of this. You have to figure out what you can say so you can leave, without Sam and Dean being gentlemen and insisting you stay, or asking questions about why you’re so frantic to be anywhere but here.

And you’re not. Every single fiber of your existence wants to stay in this room, where it’s warm and demons might not find you. Your body wants to rest in Dean’s bed, because it will probably smell like grass and spice and Dean. Your fucking tongue keeps trying to move against your will, to suggest you and Dean just share a bed. 

And you’re strong enough to hold yourself back from that, but not from the rest of it. Not from the high that rushes through you when you give in, mumble that you’ll go get your bags from the car, and Dean insists on walking with you. You can’t stop your laugh from echoing through the parking lot at his stupid jokes, or the Darkness from moving out of you in a way that’s not painful. In a way where you can feel how calm the grass is in the quickly sinking twilight, or how soothing the gentle wind is to the tree branches.

Dean guides you back inside, and you stumble. Just a normal, boring trip over your own feet that Dean saves you from, catching you with firm hands and a laugh. 

He’s real, and he’s not gone. The streetlight over his head is casting a gold glow over his skin and hair, and everything about him seems fake—still far too pretty, made of gold but warm under your touch—but he’s real.

And he smiles at you. And that light flickers.

And you’re so fucked.

——————

Dean needed to get a grip. He needed to stop being a freaking creep, and act like a normal person.

He couldn’t. And he wasn’t going to figure out how to in one night. But he needed to, because there was no goddamn way She hadn’t cast some sort of spell on him, and not a chance in hell he was going to make it through the night without acting like She wasn’t only a few quick steps away.

She couldn’t be doing this on purpose. She’d have to be a demon or something, sent to torture Dean with Her… everything. To make him sit at the table while She showered just a room over—if Sam had given him one more amused look, Dean would’ve punched his lights out—and then come out of the bathroom with steam and light surrounding Her, like a beautiful, tempting nightmare. She’d grabbed a little, colorful bag—given Dean a smile because she must hate him—and vanished back into the bathroom.

She’d come out a little while later with soft, almost glowing skin and shiny hair Dean had wanted to touch. She’d passed him on her way to bed, and smelled like sugar and fruit.

The whole room had been surrounded with that fucking fruit smell. Dean had been losing his goddamn mind. 

He’d ended up flat one his back, staring at the ceiling through most of the night, something tight and hot lodged in his throat and gut. Sammy was fine to share a bed with, but Dean wanted to be across the room.

With Her. Holding Her like they were real people, smelling her hair like a goddamn creep and talking to her in the dark. 

Dean really just wanted to be with Her in the dark. To wrap around Her and keep her against him, where She wouldn’t have one of those weird freak outs he’d slowly learned to handle, where no strange, haunting monsters would find Her and take her away.

He didn’t want Her to go away. It was getting fucking crippling, how Dean wanted Her around all the time. How he was so fucking selfish and empty that, since Jessica, he’d started to spiral into thoughts of Her finding out what a mess his life was, and leaving him alone. Of taking all Her blinding, silver light that Dean was more than happy to follow down into the dark, and turn it somewhere else. That he’d been given a chance to see the universe in brilliant eyes, and now it would be ripped away from him.

Worse, he had nightmares that She was on the ceiling. And he’d tried to dismiss them as stress—Dad was missing, Sam was on edge, and Dean was fucking exhausted, so stress seemed reasonable—but they’d persisted. Which was crazy. Jess had been Sam’s girl. He’d had her, and lost her. Mom had been Dad’s, and that was why Dad had become Dad after her death. 

Dean had never had Her. He’d held Her hand once, and kissed Her forehead twice. She wasn’t Dean’s to fear for, or protect, or imagine pressed against him in the dark. She wasn’t Dean’s to keep near him, wasn’t Dean’s to fantasize about, wasn’t Dean’s to want. To get anxious about introducing to his family, because they were all born and made in the mud and She seemed to be created from starlight. He’d never even meet Her family, because she still wouldn’t tell Dean the damn truth about them.

He still didn’t know how to be furious about that in a way that stuck. How to not care when Her eyes went glassy, when She looked small and lost. How to not feel alive when She smiled, and orbit around Her when her world was more colorful than his.

And Sam liking Her had made that worse. Made it more real. Sam liking Her meant Dean wasn’t going insane. It meant that Dad might have simply been wrong, and She wasn’t just an illusion, and that if She left it would just be because Dean wasn’t worth her time.

And She hadn’t left. He’d told Her about Dad and Jessica and Mom, and then watched her shuffle around their motel room in the morning with an adorable, sleepy face. He’d watched Her in Baby’s passenger seat—Sam taking her car for the interviews—and had to force his hand to stay on the wheel and not Her thigh. 

He was looking at Her, across the diner table and poking at Her breakfast with a fork. He wasn’t sure how She managed to look so beautiful all the goddamn time, even when her lips were still swollen from sleep and her eyes were a little glazed from exhaustion. How Her voice always sounded like a song that echoed through Dean’s body, spurring something a little to the right of his heart and making him do almost anything she asked.

Like making a that stupid stick while She wrote on a paper napkin, that adorable furrow in Her brow.

“Sam should be back soon.” She mumbled, crossing something out on Her list. “Are you almost-“

Dean placed the stick over Her napkin, grinning at Her when she looked up. “Done.”

She gave the stick a once over, sighed, and went back to Her napkin without a word.

Dean frowned, leaning over to try and read Her scrawling. “Can you read that?”

“I’m writing it.”

“That’s not an answer, sweetheart.”

She glanced up, Dean winked, and She rolled her eyes.

“Shut up.”

Dean just hummed, leaning at little further forward. “So that’s a no?”

“I’ll stab you.”

“Damn, Princess, I thought you liked me-“

He cut himself off with a grunt, and She was flushing. It was the best color Dean had ever seen.

“I can like you and stab you.” She muttered. “I’d stitch it up after.”

Dean wanted to ask how much She liked him. If She like liked him. If She breathed easier when he was there and felt peaceful when he was by her side. If his voice haunted Her dreams.

He shrugged the urge off, and pushed on.

“You stab me, I’m asking Sammy to fix it. You don’t have good bedside manner.”

“Or you’re just a terrible patient.”

Dean gasped—making his most dramatically wounded face—and when She looked back up, she giggled.

“You’re such a fucking idiot.”

He smirked, nodding in agreement, and Her words didn’t hurt him. People had called Dean an idiot before, and it had always stuck on his skin and coated over his chest. But She said it like it was endearment. As if the softer tone lining Her voice could be affection. For Dean.

She was looking back down to the napkin. Dean needed Her to look at him. To either help Her with what she was doing, or listen to her giggle again. Nothing was ever complicated when She was smiling and giggling at Dean.

“What’s it say?” Dean tried to grab the napkin, and She snatched it away with a glower.

“Hey-“

“C’mon, you’ve been losing your mind over that for like an hour, I could help-“

“So ask like a big boy, Winchester. Say please.”

Dean held Her gaze, grabbed Her wrist, and smirked as she flushed.

“Please, Princess.” He squeezed Her wrist, and he could’ve sworn She leaned into him. “Tell me what’s on your dumb napkin.”

“It’s not dumb.” She mumbled, Her voice a little breathy. It was distracting. “I’m just- I’m trying to figure out the onryo’s MO. Usually they don’t have one, but Joey seems to, and I can’t work it out.”

“What’ve you ruled out?”

“Appearance,” She frowned at Her writing. “Profession. Marital status-“

“Vics weren’t cheaters?”

She shook Her head. “Most were single. It’s just- It’s not making a lot of sense.”

Dean shrugged. He still hadn’t let go of Her wrist. His hand might be trapped there permanently. “Doesn’t matter, right? Long as we gank the fucker, we’re in the clear.”

“Yeah,” She let out a long breath, glancing up at Dean with soft eyes. “I guess. I just- It’s weird.”

“Our lives are weird, sweetheart.” He grinned at Her. “Chill out. Sammy’ll be back soon, and we’ll be done before dinner.”

She nodded, her features relaxing, and Dean felt something loosen in his stomach. He was still touching Her. He couldn’t pull away. She wasn’t even trying to move, not trying to break his gaze, and he had grabbed Her over her shirt but She’d shifted and now he could feel Her skin. It was soft. Warm. It felt so goddamn right under his palm and She wasn’t moving away-

Sam cleared his throat, standing at the side of the table, and She and Dean flew apart. He yanked his hand away—grabbing his fork and tapping it in an uneven rhythm on his plate—and She moved backwards in her seat, hiking a knee up to her chest and looking up at Sam with wide eyes. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Hey, Sammy, you’re back-“

“Yeah.” Sam was looking between them, his lips twitching. “Am I interrupting-”

“No!” Her voice was high, and frantic. Dean frowned. He would’ve said no too, but She didn’t need to say it like that. “We’re just, um, talking about the case. Did you get what we needed?”

Sam nodded, pulling out a folded paper from his pocket and passing it into Her hands. “That should be enough, right?”

“Uh… Yeah.” She scanned over the list, and Dean didn’t miss Sam’s grin at Her approval. “I’ll head out now to set up?”

He wanted to protest. To tell Her to just stay and eat with them. She’d barely touched her plate, and something in his stomach kept gnawing at the idea of Her going off alone. She might hunt alone all the time, and Dean might know she had her knife, know that he’d be right behind Her, but he still didn’t want to Her to just go alone. He had twisting feeling over his heart at the idea of Her going alone-

“Sure.” Sam passed Her the keys to her car, stepping out of the way so she could exit the booth. “Call if you need anything, and we’ll meet you there in an hour.”

She hummed in agreement, giving them both soft smiles, and Dean was rooted in his seat. He should follow Her, or insist she stayed, and she’d get all fucking pissy about him not thinking she could handle this alone, but he still rather get yelled at then watch Her walk away. She was walking away. Dean needed to shout after Her and-

“She walks fast.” Sam said, dropping in Her now empty seat, and Dean blinked.

“Huh?”

Sam said Her name, settling in his seat. “She walks-“

“I heard you.” Dean snapped, looking out the window to watch Her move through the parking lot. She did walk fast. He’d never really noticed it before, because She always walked just a pace ahead of him, matching his speed perfectly. But alone, She did seem to walk faster. With purpose.

Towards Her car. Away from Dean. He could still run and grab Her. Convince her to come back to the booth-

“Does Dad know you were hunting with her?”

Dean turned back to Sam with a frown. “What.”

“Dad,” Sam leaned back, giving Dean a pointed look. “I remember what he said about her, Dean. Shit, dude, he hated her, even before he dug that stuff up-“

“Dad didn’t hate her.” Dean muttered. “He was just looking out for us.”

“He was being paranoid. And, just for the record, that woman,” Sam pointed out the window, and Dean realized She was gone. Fuck. “Doesn’t really seem like a spoiled, bratty con-artist.”

Dean scowled. He fucking knew that. And Sam needed to stop saying it, because it made Her more real. Made Her more possible, made Dean crash further up into Her. Fed the idea that he could, maybe, touch Her and not get burned.

“Dad doesn’t know, does he.” Sam crossed his arms, raising his brows. “You lied to him.”

“I didn’t-“

“You did. There’s not a chance he would’ve let you just go off hunting with anyone, let alone her.” Sam grinned at him, and Dean didn’t appreciate the glee on his face. “You were fucking lying to Dad.”

Dean braced his arms on the table, lowering his voice to a hiss. “I’m serious, Sam. Drop it.”

Sam did not drop it. He might be trying to get punched. “No, Dean. You’ve been lying to Dad. You never lie to Dad about anything.”

“Sam-“

“I mean, you’ve lied for me. But c’mon dude.” Sam let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Even you have to stop and think about why you don’t want Dad knowing about her. I mean, she’s nothing like what he said, but Dad’s Dad.”

“What the hell it that supposed to mean?“

“It means he’s not going to like that he was wrong. That she’s cool.” Sam shrugged. “I like her. The only thing I’d worry about is the, uh…”

He trailed off, and Dean frowned. 

“Worry about what?”

“I don’t know.” Sam’s brow furrowed slightly. “I mean, I don’t know what they are. Panic attacks?”

Dean shook his head, his brow drawn in confusion, and Sam gave him an odd look.

“C’mon, dude, there’s no way you haven’t noticed. I mean, you helped her, when she got here. When you did the, uh,” Sam reached up to his face, running his finger over his nose. “That.”

“Oh, yeah, that always calms her down-“

“But what is that?”

“I don’t know.” Dean muttered. “Probably just some girl shit-“

Sam scoffed. “That is not a girl thing. That’s like… an episode or something. Have you asked her?”

“No. And you,” Dean point to Sam with a glower. “Better not say shit.”

He didn’t need to give Her a reason to leave. A reason to think he didn’t want Her around. Those moments were strange—and had been happening more and more frequently—but Dean had dealt with stranger, and he knew how to handle it now. 

And Sam paused, tilting his head. 

“Holy shit, dude.” His face split into a shit-eating grin. “You really like her.”

“What?! No- I- Why the-” Dean narrowed his eyes. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about-“

“Yeah, I do. I know you, Dean. You don’t want to make her upset, you have a crush-“

Dean slammed his fist on the table, leaning forward with a glower. “Watch it, I’ll kick your fucking ass-“

Sam just shrugged, a shit eating grin on his face. “Whatever. Won’t make you not have a crush on her.”

“I do not have a fucking crush. She’s my friend-“

Sam laughed again, this one louder. “Sure, dude. You looked like you were gonna cry when she walked away. I bet you wanna go after her-“

“Because she doesn’t need to do this alone! We hunt together, that’s the point of partners-“

“Partners?” Sam raised his brows. “Do you not hear yourself? You’re so worried about her-“

“Sam, I swear to fucking god-“

“Fine, man.” Sam raised his hands in surrender, still smirking. “Chill out.”

“I am fucking chill.” Dean grumbled, glancing at Her abandoned plate. “If you’re not eating that, we can go now-“

“No, I’ll eat it. And she’ll be fine, Dean. There was a lot of overlap on this list from the Maggie one, she just needs to find a really specific kind of beer. I mean, you got the perfume, right?”

Dean frowned. “Perfume?”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded, poking at the plate with his fork. “That bottle in his office, same kind you bought for the first ritual.”

Dean sat up in the booth, a creeping, almost painful chill shooting up his spine and through his blood. “Yellow bottle?”

“Uh huh-“

“French name?” 

“Yeah, dude, I just said it was the same-“

Pieces fell into place in Dean’s head, and he felt sick. He’d fucking seen the bottle in Joey’s office, and remembered it because of Her. Then he’d forgotten until last night, and She’d cut him off before he’d had a chance to tell Her, when he’d gotten back. If he had told Her, she would’ve put it together faster. She would’ve seen the overlap on the lists, pointed out that it was strange to keep perfume in your office if you weren’t actually having an affair. 

If you were confronting your wife about her affair.

Dean shot out of his seat. “We need to go, now.”

“Woah, slow down, we still need to pay-“

“No, fuck, it’s-“ Dean ran a hand over his face, snapping Her name. “She uses that perfume.”

“So?”

“So, if you were a woman trying to cover your affair with your girl best-friend, how would you do it?”

Sam looked at him like he was insane. “I don’t know, man, that’s not a situation I’ve thought about once-“

“Would you make your girlfriend use the same perfume you use? Would you buy it for her?”

“Dean, I don’t know-“

“It’s the perfume, Sam!” Dean was shouting. He didn’t care. “We didn’t think about it! We thought it was the wife who got slighted, but it’s the fucking dude, and all the vics had that goddamn perfume! And-“

“The wife and mistress were using it.” Sam’s eyes widened, and his words far too slow when they had to go. “To hide their affair. And if the husband put that together, he’d… and…” Sam said Her name, and Dean felt his lungs tighten. “She uses…  Fuck.”

It was good Sam got up when he did, or Dean would’ve started to drag him out of the diner. The waitress shouted after them to pay, but he didn’t hear. There was red lining his vision and blood in his ears because he had been an idiot. They never would’ve gotten what the spirit was without Her, they never would’ve gone after the right douchebag without Her, and if Dean hadn’t managed to catch it, She would’ve paid the price for helping him. For Dean being unobservant asshole.

She still might pay the price. They hadn’t saved Her yet. Dean was violating traffic laws and testing Baby’s bounds, but She was in fucking danger and nothing else mattered.

“So,” Sam cleared his throat. “How do you know it’s her perfume?”

“Shut it, or I’ll fucking shoot you-“

“No, dude, I swear I’m not teasing. I just want to be sure-“

“I’m positive.” Dean grunted, not bothering to look over and see if his brother was listening. “And you better be ready to exorcise this son of a bitch-“

“I got the Japanese down last night. And I’m sure she’s fine, Dean-“

“Shut up.”

Sam raised his hands, and made the smart choice to close his fucking trap and let Dean focus. 

He didn’t bother with proper parking, stopping right on the curb outside the office and sprinting inside. The building was cold. Too cold. Fucking freezing the closer they got to the office, lights flickering in the hallways and all of Dean’s attention narrowed to listen for screams or bangs or cries for help-

The door to the office was locked. He pounded on it—shouting Her name and making the walls shake slightly—but there was no noise from the other side. The overhead lights sparked and flickered, wind seemed to rush through the half-empty hallway, and Dean took several steps back. This building was probably insured, and he needed to get in that fucking room.

Dean cracked his neck, braced his body, and threw himself forward.  

The room was pitch black when he crashed into it—one the overhead lamps hanging from the ceiling and light flooding in from the hallway—and She was sitting in the corner. Her back was pressed to the wall, Her hand around her throat, and Her eyes glassy as they found Dean’s.

He shouted Her name, dropping to his knees at Her side. “Fuck, are you-“

She shook Her head, pushing at his chest. “Dean, go, you need to go-“

“Are you goddamn crazy, there’s no way I’m leaving-“

“No, I’ve- I’ve got it, please-“

Sam finally caught up, the paper shaker in one hand and a gun in the other. “Shit, where’s the-“

“Don’t know. Get ready.” Dean never looked away from Her bloodless face, keeping it cradled in one hand. “C’mon, Princess, you a target, we’re going-“

“No!” She screamed, and Dean didn’t have time to feel something snap in his chest before She was kicking him away.

Before a large, white-clad and blood covered figure appeared right where he’d been before. Reaching down for Her as she curled further down into herself, not even trying to goddamn defend herself.

Dean was certain his heart stopped. That it exploded through his body in a firework of blood and feral, uncontrollable fear. And there was something else, too. Rioting in his chest, burning and golden and bellowing for Her. To save Her. To pull Her from danger, from the pain, from the dark-

He could only see red, only hear his own roar of Her name as the onryo grabbed Her head, slammed it into the wall, and She didn’t fight back.

Dean tackled the onryo. Wrapped his arms around its throat and yanked it away from Her slightly slumping body on the floor. Slammed his knees into its back and crashed them both against the desk, raising his fist to pummel it fucking bloody and uglier-

It threw Dean off with a guttural, ear-bleeding roar, and Dean felt pain pound over his back as he slammed into the wall. He was vaguely aware of Sam beginning the ritual, but he didn’t care. 

The onryo was heading back for Her. And Sam had realized and was running forward, but he wouldn’t be strong enough if Dean wasn’t, and She wasn’t fighting back.

All the lights in the hallway sparked and flickered, and Dean saw a flash of silver in the dark. He could hear low chanting and muttering in a soft, musical voice, and his head was spinning but he could swear She was moving.

The onryo screamed, and a blinding pillar flame burst through the room. Dean couldn’t think outside of fire. Licking at the ceiling and walls, and he couldn’t see Her anywhere at all-

It was gone in a second, and the room when dark once more. 

A small, weak noise came from the corner of the room, and when Dean’s eyes readjusted, he could see Her in the dark. He didn’t need to think to move to Her.

He just did. 

Holding Her face with his gentlest touch, angling it carefully to check for blood or bruising, muttering Her name until she made another soft sound and he knew she was conscious. He let Her slump forwards into him as Her eyes fluttered, and her breathing eased.

She’d be fine. Dean could see a cut on Her brow, a bite mark on her hand, and a gash on Her shoulder, but he’d stitched up worse for Dad. Her eyes weren’t staying open for more than a second, and her heart was racing when he checked Her pulse on her neck, but her gasps weren’t choked or stuttered so she’d be fine.

“Dean.” Sam muttered from behind them, his voice soft. “Is she-“

“She’s fine.” He grunted, wrapping his arm around her waist to hold Her steady as he moved to his feet. “Hold on,” he whispered Her name in her ear, and she listened, her arms looping around Dean’s neck. 

It was relieving and worrying all at once. She felt fragile again. 

Dean didn’t know if he could live with himself if he broke Her.

“Sam,” Dean didn’t take his eyes off of Her as he spoke, because looking at Her seemed to make just a little bit of the panic fogging his brain clear. He could see Her chest rise and fall. She’d be okay. “I know we still gotta check-“

Sam understood immediately. He usually did. “I can do it. Take her, I’ll meet you back at the motel.”

Dean nodded in silent thanks and—after carefully grabbing Her keys out of her pocket and throwing them to Sam—carried Her in his arms out of the office and into Baby. 

He drove slowly, his grip on the wheel white knuckled as She made soft sounds of pain at his side. Dean had brought Her here. He’d put Her in danger, just because he had missed Her, missed moving in her orbit. She was hurt because he’d been an idiot and brought Her into harm’s way. He’d triggered one of Her episodes because he hadn’t done his job and protected her, and She’d still ended up doing the ritual herself because he was fucking horrible at his job. He’d been lost in his head, just like Dad always told him not to be, and now She was in pain. She’d be okay, safe in a fancy home in some mystery town, if Dean just hadn’t called Her.

And he was a selfish, lonely piece of shit.

And he didn’t want Her to go.

She let him move Her from the Impala to the motel room, leaning into his side and walking in uneven, unsteady steps. At least She was walking. At least when Dean set Her down on his bed, she was able to pull off her own jacket and remove Her own shoes. Her eyes were slightly unfocused, and there was swelling on Her cheekbone where the onryo had grabbed her, but at least She was sitting upright, watching Dean grab their med kit. 

She was a statue, but at least She was here. With Dean. 

Where he could hear Her low, strained noises when he touched her gash, and he could rip his head apart with guilt. 

He’d fucking let that happen to Her. She wasn’t speaking, and Dean couldn’t tell if she was angry, but she should be. Because Dean had failed. 

Dad wouldn’t have failed. Dad would kill Dean if he found out he’d dragged Her into their family business, and she got hurt. He’d yell at Dean for letting Her everything distract him, because she wasn’t a real hunter, she was just a girl.

That’s what Dad had always called Her, when Dean managed to bring Her up. When he’d been testing the waters about telling Dad about Her, and always decided against it because Dad said She was just a lying, spoiled little girl, who didn’t give a damn about Dean.

But She’d killed the onryo. And She’d left him with the Poltergeist, but She’d chosen him with the Demon. When he’d only had Her, even if the worst of his injuries had been a mild concussion. 

Sammy liked Her. She liked Sammy. 

And when Dean glanced back up at Her beautiful face—cast like artwork in the shadows and cool lights of the motel—She was watching him the same way She always did. A little hazier, Her face more open and gentle than usual, but still the same.

Like Dean might be something. Anything at all.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, and Dean’s hands stilled.

“What.”

“I’m sorry.” She repeated it, and Dean felt sick. He might break his jaw. “I didn’t mean to. Please, I’m really- I didn’t mean to do that-“

Dean looked up at Her. Her eyes were glossy, Her features bloodless, and her every word choked as Her body curled into herself. Like She was trying to make herself small. Like She was trying to hide.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispered again, and Dean glanced down to Her hands in her lap. 

Raw and bloody, lined with marks where She’d begun to scratch.

He grabbed them without a word, moving them apart to rest on the mattress. She made a weak, strangled noise, and Dean could feel it in the goddamn cavity of his chest. Echoing around and burning a hole in his body that was shaped like Her.

“I’m sorry-“

“Why.” He muttered, refocusing his attention onto the gash. “You didn’t fuck anything up. You ganked the son of a bitch, and Sammy’s finishing the ritual for you. We’re fine.”

“The ritual?”

Dean nodded, glancing up at Her. The little furrow was back in Her brow, and she was breathing so fucking fast-

His thumb moved up before he could think about it. Running a soft line down the bridge of Her nose until she let out a long, slow breath, and the sound washed over Dean like rain. 

She’d be okay. Her eyes were still clouded, and She still looked far too small, but Dean would patch Her up and She’d be okay.

He rose without a word when he finished the stitches, muttering an order for Her to stay there, and moves to the kitchenette before he can think better of it. Opened the cabinet and started heating some water, just because he had to do something. If Dean was something, She was more, and he had just fucking do this. A silent apology.

A plea to not leave. To stay with Dean, because he was the fucking worst, but he’d never let that shit happen again. 

She’d moved to the headboard, Her legs curled under her body as she rested against the headboard. And She was still watching him. He wanted to brush the sweaty hair from Her face, and kiss the bruise on Her head, and pull her into a long hug to swear that would never goddamn happen again. 

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He didn’t even know how to grab Her face between his hands and tell Her he was sorry. That he’d felt like was suffocating when She’d gotten hurt, that he felt like the lungs and heart—and something else he didn’t even have a word for—were being crush and shredded apart all at once when She’d screamed. 

But he could do this. Dean could walk mix in the cocoa powder, grab one of Sam’s stupid thermoses, and pass the hot chocolate into Her shaking hands. 

He just looked at Her for a long moment. Gorgeous in an almost indescribable way, right before him where he could touch Her if he tried.

He didn't know where to start touching Her. How to start caring about Her the way something like Her—breakable and furious and brutal, brighter than anything Dean had even seen before, would ever see again— would deserve to be cared about. But he had to try. He had to keep Her close, where he could always make sure She’d be okay.

“How’d you know to come?” Her voice was still a breath, but it sounded more like Her, and Dean could take that.

He shrugged. “Got a gut feeling.”

“A gut feeling?”

“Yeah.” Dean gave Her a small smirk, dropping onto the edge of the bed. “Tells you what’s wrong and right, when something’s going bad-“

She whacked his arm, and it was weaker than usual, but still Her. She looked more and more like Her by the moment. “Shut up.”

“Bossy.”

She wrinkled Her nose at him, glowering over the thermos as She drank.

He chuckled. “You know, I mean that as a compliment-“

“Don’t tell me what I know, Winchester.”

The laugh that left Dean was loud, and real, and made Her smile. And he felt alive. Right now, Dean was alive at Her side, golden under Her attention, and more relaxed in the dark than he’d been in days.

“Yes, ma’am.” He drawled, and She rolled her eyes.

When She moved the thermos away from Her mouth, there was a little line of milk above Her lips, and Dean grinned. 

“Nice mustache, Princess.”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“Your- here.” Dean reached forward before he could think better, and wiped it with his thumb.

He froze in place the moment he drew away. He’d touched Her. And She’d been warm and soft and real. His thumb had brushed over Her upper lip for only a second, so now the feeling of it might be branded on his skin. And when he looked back to Her, she was flushed. With the hitched breath. The parted mouth.

He wanted more. He wanted Her. He didn’t ever want Her to go.

“Uh, where are you going?” He cleared, trying to make his voice as casual as possible. He could do this. “Once we wrap up the loose ends here?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged, settling back into the mattress. “Probably home.”

“Which is where?”

She gave him a small smile, taking a long sip of the coco without an answer.

“Never gonna tell me, huh?”

She shrugged. “Maybe next time, if you make me more of this.”

She tapped the thermos, and Dean felt his own mouth twitch.

“I think that’s bribery, Princess.”

“Maybe.” She hummed, raising Her brows at him. “Are we above bribery?”

Dean chuckled. “Guess not. And, uh,” he took a long breath, scratching the back of his neck. “Would you need it to be next time?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if there wasn’t a next time?”

Something flared on Her face, she leaned slightly away, and Dean’s throat tightened. Not like that. Not at all like that.

“Oh.” She mumbled, and the words began to fall out of Dean like vomit.

“No, I’m not saying that. Opposite of that. I mean, I told you everything, and Sammy likes you, and we’re a good team, Sweetheart, so if you want to, I’m sure Sam wouldn’t be pissed. He’d be for it. He said you were cool, and three is ever safer than two. So, uh, yeah.”

She only blinked. “What?”

Dean felt his face heat. He hadn’t actually said the thing. “Stay.”

“Stay?”

“With me. And Sammy. Just to help us find Dad, then Sammy’ll probably go back to a normal, boring life, and you can do what you do. Just, uh, you can stick around after the hunt. If you want.”

“Stay with you, to find…“ She trailed off, and Dean couldn’t read that expression. He couldn’t fucking think, not outside of Her eyes on his, and the smell fruit dragging him into a pure sense of Her.

“Our Dad.” Dean finished Her sentence, and her throat bobbed. 

She let out a slow breath, hugging Her own body and ducking Her head, and Dean felt his chest go numb before she even spoke.

“I can’t.” She mumbled, rubbing that scarred palm over her calf. “I’m really sorry, Dean. Just, my dad-“

“Don’t. It’s fine.” He rubbed his own brow, his gaze fixed on Her hand. Close enough to touch.

But not really close at all.

“Dean-“

“I’m serious. It was just an offer.”

“But-“

He snapped Her name, and it was harsher than he meant it, but something also felt like it was peeling along his ribs. She didn’t want him. Nobody would want him. He’d gotten Her hurt, and he had no good reason to think She’d stick around for him. She didn’t feel this, it was all only Dean losing his mind and falling to his knees for a woman that he could never have. She sounded wounded and desperate, but She wasn’t his to wound, and She’d told him she didn’t want to stay. That She wanted to go back home. Somewhere of the mud, somewhere Dean wasn’t good enough to follow her to.

“I’m-“

“Don’t apologize.” He muttered. She needed to rest, and Dean didn’t need Her sorrys. He didn’t really deserve them. “Go to sleep, Princess. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She took a long breath. “Dean?”

He grunted, unable to look Her in the eyes, and She sighed.

“I know I, you-“ She cut herself off with a swallow, her voice growing softer by the second. “But can you, um, can you please- I don’t want to- Could you please sit?”

Dean frowned at the floor. “What.”

“With me. Sit with me. Until I fall asleep.” She whispered. “You can go after, if you do, but… Please.”

Her voice was so goddamn light, so dream-like, and Dean didn’t think he’d ever learn to not bend for it. Not when his eyes dragged back to Her’s, and they were calling him further down. Drawing him closer with only Her. Still just Her, at Dean’s side, in the whole universe of a motel room.

And She wanted him for this. Only this. 

But at least it was something.

He nodded, and forced himself to ignore the spark up his spine when a She mumbled a thanks, and closed her eyes with a soft breath.

She was passed out in only a few minutes, and Dean stayed at Her side. Just a nod felt like it was an oath, when it was for Her. So Dean sat at Her side, and watched her sleep like that same creep he’d been the night before.

He didn’t really notice Sam returning. He couldn’t look anywhere but Her. Slack faced and breathing slow, drooling onto the pillow in a way Dean wanted to wipe from her chin, hair in her face he wanted to brush away, lips parted that he always wanted to touch. 

Beautiful. Not his to have. 

But She’d be here until morning. And She’d asked him to stay with Her, so he’d sit in the dark for Her and practice how he’d let Her go when she walked away. Remind himself that it was for the better She wouldn’t stay. She wouldn’t get hurt. And he would see Her again.

Maybe, while she was hunting without him, She’d find someone who actually kept her safe. Who did what Dean wasn’t good enough to do, and didn’t just watch Her in the dark. They’d hold Her in the dark. They’d be Her dark, just like Dean irrationally craved, but deserving. Worthy of a star falling into their hands, worthy of holding it with them all the time. 

Dean felt sick. Her hand was splayed across the mattress. 

He let himself hold it. If this was the only chance he had, and She didn’t flinch away when he twined his fingers with Her’s, he’d hold Her hand.

He’d take tonight. 

And he’d learn how get a grip in the morning. 

End Note: Diversity win! These Lesbians were part of a triple murder suicide!

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[briarberrythornedhart]

Haywire

Contains: Eddie Munson & Reader, fluff, sincerity, vulnerability, friends to something more

🦇 ✏️ 🦇

You were just friends. Just hanging out. And you’d thought there would be more people around tonight as human buffer BUT NO it was just you and him in his living room. And he was sitting so close it made you dizzy.

Ope.

He caught you staring. Your gaze was lovingly drifting over his stunning features and when he noticed you looking, his eyebrows shot up.

He waved his hand in a slow figure eight, wiggling his fingers - like he was casting some sort of spell on you.

Maybe he was casting a spell on you? It would explain a lot.

“You okay in there?” He laughed. He snapped the fingers of his left hand a couple times and you must have jumped because then he snorted “Sorry, sorry! You zoned out, though...like...you left me, where’d you go?” He grinned at you, head cocked to the side.

“I’d never leave. I mean I’m paying attention, What is the next step?” You asked, trying to re-focus and NOT on his lips, or his jaw, or the length of his thick pretty neck that you so wanted to kiss and lick and bite down on …oh gawd... how you wanted to taste him all over!

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Ya sure you wanna do this? Right now?? It’s okay if you are bored. This is not the fun part for most folks.”

“Yeah! NO - I’m not bored.” You clutched your notebook to your chest and regulated your breathing. No more yelling FFS you told yourself. ” I told you - I’ve wanted to play DnD for a long time and you know… never got a chance to even roll up a character. The stars just weren’t aligned for it I guess and the group near me didn’t want me in the mix....”

“Well, that’s not a problem here. There won’t be any of that bullshit on my watch. There’s Equal opportunity for doom or glory in Hellfire Club.” Eddie let the words doom and glory rumble in his chest. Theatrical as ever.

“Thank you.” You smiled and felt heat flush your cheeks.

“You’re so welcome, you always are.” he shook his mane of hair and chuckled again, wry and self-effacing. Which you would NEVER have expected from this guy. When you were introduced to him he was cocky as hell, strutting around and getting right into your personal space and teasing you like you’d been close friends forever and then - you get him alone like this- and he transforms into this sweet and modest and shy… total gentleman.

You were so completely fucked.

I mean, if only. You wished you were. But this was all so sadly gentlemanly and platonic.

He licked his lips and tapped his pencil on the DM’s guide while he pondered something seriously. Your mouth watered. And since he was so intently not paying attention to you- you took him in - looked him all over.

Your lips felt suddenly so dry and hot and his lips were the cure for every little thing that afflicted you, you knew this. That his perfect lips were the Answer. They were pink, slightly redder and chapped and plumped by his own teeth worrying at his bottom lip and… oh he was speaking to you. Focus.

“But maybe we should wait till later?? Because you seem very baked right now.” Eddie took your pencil away from you, grinning. Your pencil that had made its way (eraser first) between your lips and was getting bitten to hell. “Sweetheart, It was just a beer and we shared that joint…Did you not eat anything today??” He looked mildly concerned. “Do you want a snack or something? Coffee? I think we have Sanka in the cupboard… although what would be the point....”

You shook your head. No.

You didn’t admit it but You were not high. Or tipsy.

That was the thing. Eddie did this to you.

Yes, you’d faked taking that hit off his joint — hoping to look very chill about him offering you one. You’d barely taken a sip of the PBR he’d offered.

You Didn’t need any single thing to make you feel as high as THIS. When you had those big pretty eyes looking at you?? You were floating!

His lashes fluttered when he inhaled, held in the smoke, and then his eyes stared into your soul when he blew out (blowing away from your face - politely) and that just made you want to do unspeakably depraved things. For him. To him. On him.

“We could just… hang out.” Eddie said. “Plenty of time to make a character before next Wednesday and stuff.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. we don’t need to have an activity to be ummm together, you can just ride that wave you are on and I’ll... play guitar at you or something.” He looked down again and huffed almost a laugh. “Obviously you don’t want That, no one wants that, but we could watch a movie....”

The overhead light cast the shadow of his lashes down over his cheekbones.

“I’d like to hear you play and sing one of your songs.” You said.

“Oh no no no,” Eddie leaned backwards and put his hands behind his head, legs spread at the knees - making you long to climb into his lap “I don’t know who told you I can sing... but they were exaggerating... I can scream my lyrics in my less than an octave range.”

“But you are the frontman, you play and sing lead, right??”

“That’s only until we can get Gareth a better mic set up - he’s got a great voice - like an angel.”

“I still want to hear you.” You crossed your arms over your chest and nodded. “c’mon”

“You know what? I think I like this bossy side of you. Is this what happens when you loosen up a bit, you order people around?” Eddie smirked. “It makes me want to do whatever you say.”

“Really?” You asked, your mind reeling at the impossibilities.

“Yes.” Eddie’s tongue rolled over one canine tooth. He pointed at you. “Don’t use your power over me for evil.”

You may have gasped. Just a little.

“Or do.” Eddie scootched closer and his knee touched yours. “Just don’t get me in trouble.”

“Show me what you wear on stage.” You said. Well... demanded.

“It’s not that different than this...” He gestured down at his ripped jeans and his Anthrax T shirt under his gray hoodie. “No corpse paint, no tight leather - we’re thrash - more substance than style. Noooo, don’t look at me all disappointed...I’m just not fancy.” He rubbed his hands over his face.

“I’m not disappointed, i just really doubt you play your fancy red crackle finish guitar... in a gray sweatshirt.”

“Okay, I wear a tank top or something cropped because it’s hot as balls on stage and I pull my hair back sometimes or put my bandana on to keep the sweat from dripping in my eyes, that’s the sum total effort I put in okay? you don’t Really want to hear about me sweating my ass off, right?? Grossing you out, right?”

“No. are you gonna show me or not.”

“Yes. mistress, if you take that tone I guess I must.” Eddie slapped his thighs and stood, “Be right back.” He turned half way down the hall. “If you laugh, you gotta go. You’ll be out that door, high or not.”

He shook his head as he retreated down the hallway and then in a few minutes he emerged with his hair up in a loose bun.

He did a slow awkward turn for you. He was in a scissor cropped Megadeth shirt, with his pretty red guitar unfortunately, blocking your view of his stomach. As he turned you could ogle the curve of his back - see how his underwear - probably cotton boxers - were visible just above his jeans and belt.

“See.... not much to write home about. Functional, though. Practical.” He shrugged.

“You look hot.” you said. without thinking.

Eddie gave you an assessing look. “That’s probably the ganja talking. Or did you mean I look overheated, because yeah, it’s a little warm in the trailer but...”

For some reason this made you furious. “No. You look fucking hot, Eddie! You always look hot and I’m not fucking high. C’mere.”

His eyes went wide, he unslung his guitar and leaned it gently against a chair. “Okay... mistress.” He jumped over the coffee table and sat at the edge of the couch - leaning forward. Leaning towards you - at attention. “Any other demands?” he wasn’t being sarcastic though...

“At shows, you should crop your shirts higher, you should go commando under your jeans “ you snapped the elastic of his underwear. “…and you should not invite me over when no one else is around because apparently I go a little haywire when we are alone together.”

Eddie leaned in and kissed you. A kiss like spun sugar, ephemeral, impossibly sweet, and over too soon.

“I go a little haywire when you are near me too.” He said.

[charmac]

Danny did a little interview for AARP Magazine in December. I haven't seen it copied anywhere past the paywall and I enjoyed reading it, so wanted to repost here

(Article is pasted as text below the cut)

Noisemaker I was born in Asbury Park, New Jersey. I was the baby, my sister Theresa was 10 years older, my sister Angie was 16 years older, my mom had two sisters, and none of them shut up, ever. It’s an Italian family, so the decibel level is out there. A little smart aleck I went to Our Lady of Mount Carmel School, because if your mother and father didn’t know what to do with you, they gave you to the nuns. … and still a smart aleck I remember when Peter, my nephew, was born. I was 7 years old, and I went over and looked into the bassinet, and the first thing he did was pee on me. It was great! I don’t think there’s a conversation I’ve had with the guy over all these years where I don’t bring up the fact that he peed on me. Also an old softie Do anything you can to keep on an even keel with your family and friends, no matter what happens in your life. That’s all we have. Don’t hide things. You’ve got to get up every day thinking about how you’re going to make it easier for the people that you’re working with or that you love or that you eat breakfast with. Because it’s infectious; everybody starts feeling good. Falling into the business Growing up, I’d spend the weekends at the movies, but I actually wasn’t even thinking about doing it. I got introduced to the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in a roundabout way, took a couple classes, and I got the bug. And I thought, I’m not like Cary Grant, but I got a feel for this thing. So I studied, and then I went and started looking for jobs in New York, like every other actor does. I didn’t care what the description was—“male, 6 foot 4, 250 pounds”—I’d go out for the audition. Once I got in the room, I’m going to do what I’m going to do. Becoming Louie I wanted that part, Louie DePalma [in Taxi]. I walked into the room to audition in front of the four guys who created it, and I said, “One thing I want to know before we start. Who wrote this shit?” And I threw the script on the table. And I had a nanosecond of, did I screw everything up? Then they fell on the floor. Louie walked into their lives. Sudden fame I went to the market the day after the first episode aired, and people are stopping me on the street: “Hey, Louie!” They weren’t calling me Danny. After a couple of days of this, I called my publicist, and said, “This is really crazy. People are chasing me down the street.” He says, “Danny, you don’t have to worry until that stops happening.” Now it’s all, “Frank, Frank, Frank!” because of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, which is good. The fans are all you have. Still evolving I think I’m bolder than I’ve ever been—I don’t monitor myself as much. I do say things that are, like, pretty far out, that are really weird, and sometimes I’m inappropriate. But I am always respectful, and that’s because of my two sisters, I swear to God. You have to respect other people’s space.

My happy place Since my two grandbabies have been born, I am just in- corrigible. You gotta tamp me down in the joy department, you know what I’m saying? I’m just so lucky. Blessings have been showered down on me. I wish that for everybody.And the thing is to be aware of it. Don’t let it go. Rhea [Perlman, DeVito’s wife, from whom he is separated but with whom he still spends a lot of time] and I were always able to see those little, incremental changes when our kids were growing up. And I tell my kids that, with their babies: Don’t miss a thing, don’t look away. A sudden case of holidays I’m in the movie A Sudden Case of Christmas with my daughter Lucy, who plays my daughter. It’s just a real warm, wonderful movie, and I loved doing it. As far as the actual holidays go, we have family dinners. Basically we’re Italian, so you know, anybody who’s around, we grab. We get to celebrate all the holidays, because Rhea’s parents were Jewish, so we did all the Jewish holidays, and we do all the Catholic holidays or Italian holidays. My mantra It’s always a good thing to be positive about life, and always get out of bed thinking today’s the day you’re really going to kick its ass. That’s the way to do it

[moonshinesonic-moonstarslight]

Apparently I am desperate for Cumplane.. i have too many ideas in my head right now (And can't work on any WIPs at the moment...)

So have a little list!

1: Tiny Cumplane aka the OGs get zapped with something and out pops 'younger versions' of themselves. But these little versions act differently... So the villains have the Author and his greatest fan/anti-fan running around driving them up the walls... Cumplane is just having fun and being terrors about it.

2: Lightning and Yogurt aka Shen Yuan wakes up back in the modern world being hauled to the hospital. Questions if it was all a dream, so the first thing he does is try to contact Airplane (once he is able to). Doesn't reach the man and he has been offline for a while according to his search. Worried he ends up talking to himself about his concern for Airplane when his hospital roommate, who just joined him after long extensive neuro surgery, pipes up. "How did you know that I got electrocuted by my computer, bro?"

3: Too Many Plants aka modern Cumplane where Shen Yuan meets an exhausted student assistant at a botanical garden who while obviously dead on his feet gives him the most interesting and knowledgeable tour he had ever been on. So he ends up trying to get in contact with the guy again and talk. (because he made plants of all things interesting not because he was cute!) Combine phone tag with email messages and you have poor Airplane trying to get a clear answer from Curious Plant guy if he is actually looking for a relationship or what. Also Cucumber-bro stop quoting Airplane on how plants work! He knows those lines he said them enough, let him write a smut book to pay his bills in peace!

4: Little Villains aka the opposite of Tiny Cumplane. Little versions of the OGs are running around demanding attention from our transmigrators who are dealing with questions about possible soul splitting (closest thing to what happened they guess), alternative timelines (nevermind, definitely this), or the possibility that these are their newfound offspring... That they had together because of hand wavy magic.... Airplane got an earfull because of that one. (OGs are now teaming up to make it seem like it's the last one. Just a little revenge~, surely their parents understand right~?)

Might go into more detail in their own posts.. which one do you want to hear about?

[fluff-lover]

Healing Touch | Chapter 6: Healed hearts

Logan Howlett x fem!Reader

A/N: It's finally here! The final chapter! If you've made it this far, I wanted to say thank you for reading!!

There are no warnings for this chapter I guess, it's just pure fluff (with a tiny little bit of angst)

Masterlist

-

The mansion was unusually quiet when you and Logan arrived late that evening: no students running through the halls, no sounds of laughter or training in the yard. With the students on vacation and Jean and Scott away on their honeymoon, there really wasn’t much to do around.

“You’re back!” Ororo said from the staircase as she made her way to you. “We missed you!” She added while hugging you.

“Hi Ro.” You said hugging her back. “It’s good to be back home.”

“How was the trip?” She asked.

“I’ll take the suitcases upstairs.” Logan suddenly said before leaving the two of you alone.

Ororo frowned.

“Is he okay?” She whispered and you nodded your head.

“Yeah, don’t worry about him. The trip was… eventful, to say the least. He learned a lot about himself and his past. But you know how he is, he doesn’t talk much about himself. I think he’ll tell you about it eventually, once he’s ready.” You explained.

“What about you?” She asked.

“What about me?”

“Did you have a pleasant trip?”

You had to hold yourself back from giggling like a schoolgirl. You wanted so much to tell her about everything, about Logan and you getting together, but you still hadn’t had the “what are we?” talk with Logan.

“It was… really good.” You smiled. Ororo gave you a suspicious look, but didn’t press.

Logan waited for you in your bedroom after dropping by your suitcase. The second you stepped in he closed the door and kissed you. You smiled against his lips and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Did you tell her about us?” He asked.

“No, I didn’t but I think she suspects something. Should we tell her and the others?” You asked.

Logan shook his head. 

“Not right now. I like the idea of us having something just for ourselves.” He smiled and nuzzled your nose.

“You’re not embarrassed of me, are you?” you asked. It was supposed to be a joke, but deep down there was always a little bit of doubt. Logan pulled back with a frown.

“Are you for real right now?” He asked in disbelief. You shrugged and pouted cutely.

“No, but it’s nice to be reassured.”

Logan rolled his eyes.

“No, I’m not embarrassed and I don’t mind people knowing. You’re free to tell your friends.” Logan said. “I just don’t want to jinx it, you know? this is so recent I don’t want to rush into things and mess it up.” he confessed.

His words made you smile, but it was the vulnerable look in his eyes that made you melt in his arms. You knew he wasn’t the relationship type of man, so this was probably uncharted territory for him, even after 200 years.

“Yeah, you’re right.” You bit your lower lip and caressed his cheek. “Can you stay for a little bit?” You asked wiggling your eyebrows. Logan smirked.

“Baby, I’d stay until you kick me out.” He said before picking you up and taking you to the bed, you giggled and kicked your feet in the air all the way.

With the students on break, you and Logan found yourselves with a rare taste of freedom. You returned to the hospital to volunteer, but you also started visiting places like a nursing home, offering your powers to those who needed it most. Logan, meanwhile, kept an eye on the few kids who had stayed behind: unfortunately, not all of them had homes to return to for the holidays. When he wasn’t looking after them, he’d take the occasional motorcycle ride to clear his head.

You would share short little moments and maybe a kiss or two when no one was watching, but at night Logan would sneak into your bedroom for some alone time. Your relationship was developing into something sweet and comforting and you couldn’t remember the last time you were this happy. It was scary how fast you fell for Logan. You were nowhere near ready to tell him you loved him, not because you didn’t love him, but because you didn’t want to scare him away. In the meantime you showed your affection in other ways and you were planning a little surprise for him: you were in the process of getting his father’s watch fixed.

One evening, he invited you along for a ride on his bike. The two of you ended up at a diner just outside of town. It was everything you could hope for on a date: burgers, milkshakes, and a slice of pie for dessert. Sitting together in a cozy booth, his arm draped casually over your shoulders, you couldn’t help but feel like a teenager out with your crush. The ease of his company, the quiet way he glanced at you when he thought you weren’t looking, it all made your heart flutter in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

By the time you returned to the mansion, the world was dark and quiet. You expected everyone to be asleep, but as you quietly pushed the door open, Ororo was waiting for you in the hallway, arms crossed and a knowing smile playing on her lips.

“And where, pray tell, have you two been?” she asked, her tone laced with teasing amusement. Logan barely missed a beat. 

“What are you, my mother?” he shot back, his signature gruffness unable to hide the slight smirk tugging at his lips.

You bit back a laugh, shaking your head as Ororo chuckled softly. “Just making sure you weren’t up to too much trouble.”

“We went out for a bite. I never rode a bike before so I asked Logan if it was okay for him to take me.” You said, which wasn’t entirely untrue.

“Mhmmm…” Ro arched an eyebrow giving you both an unimpressed look. “Right, well, it’s late so off to bed the two of you.”

“Again, not my mother.” Logan said annoyed. You chuckled and shook your head.

“Thanks for the ride, Logan! Good night!” You said before heading to the staircase.

“My pleasure, Angel.” He replied with a fond smile. 

Ororo narrowed her eyes, she had only ever seen that look on Logan’s face before, and it was when he looked at Jean.

“You two are onto something and I will find out soon enough.” She said.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Logan said before quickly walking away so she wouldn’t see the goofy smile on his face.

Only ten minutes later Logan was sneaking out of his room and into yours, catching you by surprise halfway through your nightly routine.

“Logan! Jesus! I didn’t expect you until later!” You said embarrassed. You had a fluffy headband you used when you washed your face, you wore ratty clothes instead of the sexy nightgown you planned to wear that night, and had under-eyes masks on.

Logan chuckled and pulled you closer.

“So this is what you’re up to before I come here, uh?”

You groaned and hid your face on his chest.

“I have to make myself pretty for you.” You mumbled.

“Oh baby,” He cooed. “You’re always pretty to me. Beautiful. Gorgeous.” He kissed the top of your head. You smiled, your face warming up.

“And you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.” You said before walking him to your bed. “Tonight was so nice! I like our little getaways.”

Logan chuckled.

“We should do it more often, although Ororo will definitely catch on.” He said as he sat down at the foot of your bed.

“And here I thought Charles was the mind reader.” You joked. “Maybe we’re being too obvious?” Logan pulled you closer so you were standing between his legs.

“Nah, she’s just being nosy… Now, no more talking about Ro, I came here to see my little angel.”

You smiled and ran your fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes and hummed happily.

“I’m glad to see you’re not tired of me yet.” You joked.

“Never.” He pulled you even closer and you leaned to kiss him. 

“Let me finish getting ready and we’ll continue this.” You said with a playful tone. Logan shook his head and held you tighter.

“All this sneaking around makes me wanna enjoy every second I have with you.” He said before throwing you on the bed. 

Under-eye masks be damned.

He had a good point: your time together was limited. Logan still opted to sleep alone in his own room. Both of you longed to share a bed, wrapped in each other's arms, but his fear of accidentally hurting you during a nightmare was too big to ignore. 

However, saying goodnight was becoming increasingly difficult and each night took longer. You clung to Logan and begged him not to leave your bed for at least five more minutes. Those five minutes usually turned into an hour and you only let him go when you were already asleep.

Tonight wasn’t any different. Logan said goodnight with several kisses and caresses on your sleepy face before quietly stepping out of the room. He had to be very quiet not to wake up anyone and create suspicions.

“I FUCKING KNEW IT!” Logan jumped and turned around, finding Ororo at the end of the hall with a glass of milk in her hand and a smug look on her face.

“Oh for fuck’s sake…” Logan sighed.

-

You and Logan sat on one side of the table, while Ororo, Rogue, and Kitty sat across from you. Breakfast had been served, but no one was eating. On one hand, you felt like a kid about to be lectured by your parents; on the other, it was as if you were about to be interrogated by the FBI. The tension in the air was palpable, sharp and heavy, like the moments before defusing a bomb.

“Is this really necessary?” Logan asked.

“Yes!” Both Rogue and Kitty replied.

“Fine.” He grumbled. “Let’s get over this, what do you wanna know?”

“Everything!” Rogue answered as if it was the most obvious thing.

“Let’s start from the beginning.” Ororo said with her arms folded over the table. “When did you start seeing each other?”

“During our trip to Canada.” You said.

“And?” Kitty pushed.

“And… what?” Logan asked.

“How did it start? Who kissed who first?” Rogue said.

“Was it snowing? Was it romantic?” Kitty added.

“Was it a “long time coming” type of thing? Or was it an impulse?” Rogue added.

“Whoa, girls, that’s a lot of questions.” You said.

“Not to mention, very personal.” Logan added. You felt bad for him, this was clearly not how he wanted people to know.

“All you need to know is that Logan was a perfect gentleman during our first kiss.” You said. “And that’s all I’ll say about that.”

Logan glanced at you, but you found him hard to read. Was he satisfied by your answer? Or was he mad that you indulge them? You couldn’t tell.

“Alright, that’s good… for now.” Ororo said. “Let’s skip to the important stuff.”

“Oh lord…” You were terrified.

“Are you guys in a relationship? Or are you just fooling around?” She asked.

“That’s none of your business.” Logan hissed. And he was 100% right, but a small part of you hoped he would confirm your relationship status.

“Guys, this is all very recent, we’re still figuring things out ourselves.” You said, trying to defuse the situation. 

“We’re only asking because we love you and we want to see you happy.” Rogue said while pointedly looking at Logan.

“We’re fine.” Logan said, which wasn’t much of an answer.

“Then why are you sneaking around? You left her room in the middle of the night, that sounds like just fooling around to me.” Ororo pressed.

Logan suddenly got up, his chair scratching the floor loudly and making you flinch. Clearly Ororo pushed too hard on a touchy subject. 

“That’s enough.” Logan said before walking out of the room. He didn’t want them to know he was afraid of falling asleep next to you. He felt vulnerable enough as everyone knew about the night he stabbed you.

You watched him walk away with a heaviness in your chest. When you turned back you had all three women looking at you expectantly.

“Logan is right. This is a private matter we shouldn’t be discussing with anyone but each other.” You gave Ororo a look. “I told you he would talk once he’s ready. Now he may close off again.” You sighed tiredly. 

“What about you, though?” Rogue asked. You looked at her confused.

“What about me?”

“We care about you too.” Ororo said. “Logan can be… well, difficult. You spend so much time caring for him, helping him with his memory… is it worth it? I mean, he sneaks out of your bedroom at night, why is that?”

Now you understand why Logan was so upset. The implication that your partner wasn’t good enough for you, or that you weren’t happy in the relationship, was overstepping.

“Not that it is any of your business, but he insists on sleeping on his own bed because he’s too afraid of hurting me again.” You explained. The girls shared a look as they remembered that fateful night. “This is the happiest I’ve ever been and I don’t need anyone mendling in my business. If I ever need your help or want your opinion, I’ll let you know.” You said before getting up from the chair and walking out.

-

The rest of the morning felt heavy after the breakfast interrogation. You couldn’t help but replay Logan’s abrupt exit in your mind. Was Logan upset that everyone knew? Was he embarrassed? Did this mean you weren’t something serious after all? You clung to the conversations you had before where he reassured you, but doubt kept you on edge.

Lost in your thoughts you made your way to your usual bench. The fresh morning air soothed you a little bit, and you felt like you could think a little bit clearer. This is where Logan found you.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gruff but tinged with concern.

“I guess… What about you? You looked really upset.”

Logan sighed, sitting next to you on the bench. 

“They had no right to pry like that.” he said.

“They were out of line,” you agreed. “But… I think they got to my head. I can’t help wondering. Are we… serious? I mean, what are we?” You mentally braced for his response.

“You’re serious to me,” he said firmly, leaving no room for doubt. “You think I’d go through all this sneakin’ around for just anyone? You’re my girl.” He took your hand. “My little angel.”

You thought you would melt there and then, your heart exploded with happiness.

“Only yours.” You smiled. “No more sneaking around, okay? We can continue sleeping in separate rooms, but I don’t want to hide the fact that we’re together.”

“I’m okay with that.” Logan nodded.

“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t expect us to make out like horny teenagers in the hall or the classrooms. We still need to act like teachers in front of our students.” You said and Logan laughed, throwing his arm around your shoulders.

You smiled and leaned your head on his shoulder.

You were officially Logan’s girl.

-

As expected Logan arrived at your bedroom after dinner, ready for your usual nightly routine. Despite sleeping in his own bedroom, you noticed bits and pieces of him scattered in your room: he had a toothbrush and a bottle of cologne in your bathroom, there was a pair of clean socks and underwear in your dresser; a flask and an ashtray in case he wanted a drink or to smoke after sex, which happened pretty much every night… 

You loved it. You loved knowing Logan felt safe and comfortable with you.

Later on you rested your naked body on top of his, a light sheen of sweat covering both of you after some intense activities. Logan was the best lover you had. Not only he focused on your pleasure over his, but he was also very creative in the bedroom. At first you felt a little bit embarrassed that you weren’t as adventurous as he was, and you were a bit shy, but Logan was more than eager to help you explore your body and find what you liked best. He never pushed too hard and he always reassured you there was nothing wrong with liking sex or enjoying your sexuality.

He really was the best you ever had. In every sense of the word.

So there you were, hair all messy, sheets pooling around your legs, his hands tracing lightly on your back, when you remembered something.

“I have something for you,” you said as you sat up on the bed and reached for something on your bedside table. Logan sat up and leaned against the headboard, curious to see what you got.

You pulled out a little box neatly wrapped with a silver bow on top and handed it to him. Logan took it and hesitated to open it. 

“What’s the occasion? I didn’t get you anything.”

You giggled.

“No occasion, it’s not a big deal. Come on, open it.”

What Logan didn’t know is that you took his father’s watch to a clocksmith and got it fixed.

When he unwrapped it and saw the watch his expression softened in a way that made your heart ache.

“My father’s watch…” he murmured, running his thumb over the polished surface.

“I got it fixed for you,” you said quietly. “I thought maybe it’d be nice to have something of his, you know, now that you’re remembering more about him.”

Logan sat there in silence for so long you started to worry you’ve done something wrong. But then he pulled you into a hug, holding you tightly.

“You’re something else, baby” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

When he pulled back, you caressed his cheek.

“I just want you to be happy, Logan.”

He smiled and kissed you softly.

“I am. I really am, for the first time in a long time.”

You laid back down on the bed and watched as Logan traced his thumb over the watch lovingly.

“You know… I have a bone to pick with you.” He suddenly said. You frowned and looked up at him.

“What do you mean?”

“You lied to me.” Logan replied and you jumped on the bed, quickly sitting up.

“What are you talking about?” You asked worriedly. Logan simply chuckled which only confused even more.

“A while back you told me that the only thing you couldn’t heal was a broken heart.” He said, a soft look in his eyes. You remembered that conversation, it was the night Scott and Jean got engaged and you were trying to comfort Logan despite your own heartache. “You lied.” Logan continued. “You healed mine. Thank you.”

Tears pooled in your eyes, overwhelmed by his tenderness.

“And you healed mine.” you whispered. Logan caressed your cheek and wiped a tear away.

“I’m not good at this kinda thing, but… I love you. I really do.”

Your breath hitched at the confession.

“I love you, too.” You leaned down and kissed him. “And just so you know, you’re much better than you give yourself credit for.”

Too happy and excited to sleep, you two stayed up talking almost the entire night. Eventually you reached the subject of his memory since there was still work to do.

“So, what’s next in recovering your memories?” You asked. Logan exhaled, his chin resting lightly on your head. 

“After Alberta?...” Logan sighed. “Madripoor.”

“Madripoor,” you repeated softly. “Sounds interesting.”

“Oh you have no idea.” Logan chuckled lightly, his breath warm against your hair.

“I’ll start with the preparations in the morning.” you said before closing your eyes and snuggling more onto him.

Logan fell asleep shortly after you, forgetting completely about going back to his own room. He never wanted to sleep in another bed without you.

-

Taglist:

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[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Twenty Three - Worrying the Medic

Part Twenty Two

———

Most mech suits were initially designed to have remote pilots, to not have a human being in the cockpit of the suit, hoping effectively for a drone. Clearly, that was not successful and the first countries to get functioning suits were ones who did not initially plan for that. Several other countries attempted that as their main strategy and in turn were delayed by the lack of progress. 

Those suits went on to help with modern design for perception and maneuverability for the use of pilots. 

Now, because of those designs most pilots have a widened visual perception, easier maneuverability, and enhanced UI. Unfortunately the new connections leave the pilots with the feeling of body dysmorphia. Both from the physical connection to the suit through their implants but also the visual, audial, and mental connection.

Scientists are still currently studying the effects of this on pilots, it is not currently in consideration to reduce the enhancements back to previous renditions for safety reasons, but new options are being considered for the sake of the pilots.

It’s unknown what this would do to pilots that have the ability to retire since the new generation of suits came about. 

—

Cosmic rust was not taken lightly among Cybertronian’s. Whenever it was mentioned around Hound or Breakdown it would remind them of the diseases that would run rampant through military units, but this was a lot worse than the flu. It was spoken about in revenant tones, more akin to cancer. 

Hound’s skin crawled and his implants burned. 

Megatron was the first one up and stepping lightly away, “Alright, we know what the regulation states. Medic smells or sees rust then everyone gets checked. Knockout?” With a deep sigh, Knockout nods, “Of course, so, whose first?” Hound glances up and that was the wrong thing to do, “I see I’ve got a volunteer.” He gestures and starts to walk away.

At first, Hound stayed put before Mirage gave him a look, “He meant you Hound.” Sighing slowly, Hound pushed off the bench and started to follow the medic. Even back on Earth he hated going to the medic let alone a doctor. 

Ducking slightly at the doorway, Hound moved into the medical tent, “You’re going to have to tell me if whatever I do is uncomfortable or dangerous Hound, I can’t read a person's visor, I’ve never been able to.” Nodding slightly, Hound moves and sits on one of the medical slabs, “Neither can I, Doc.” Knockout pauses and cracks a bit of a smile, “No one calls me doc anymore, they haven’t since the end of the war.” Hound tried not to smile, nodding a bit.

”And what do you mean, neither can you? Every single one of your kind, at least that I’ve met, has visors.” Hound chuckles lightly and shifts a bit, “Call it a feeling, we can tell in other ways how someone is feeling.” Nodding a bit, Knockout turns back around with a swab and dish, “Like an EM field, except you don’t have those either.” “Can’t say we do.” Knockout chuckles as he started to swab plating, frowning a bit after trying to get a seam.

Hound tries not to kick his feet, tries to sit still but it felt like he was back in the physical he had to take before the mission.

—

The room was white, not grey or blue but white except for the almost checkered floor. It looked like any normal doctors office but how could you call a doctors office one building over from where giant mech suits were stored normal. 

Hound shifted on the examination table, wearing his working uniform, after all he was just on loan to MECHA from the army, as much as he might like it here. 

Boots were shuffling through the hall and there were plenty of people talking outside, slowly he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. What he wouldn’t give to be back in his suit, it had been almost a month since it went in for the upgrades it would need for the Arcturus mission and pilot 2162 was covering his region. She was a fantastic pilot and doing her job well but he’d be more comfortable handling his region.

Then again, space wasn’t exactly his region and that’s where he’d be in a few months time. Sighing, he opened his eyes when there was a knock, “Come in.” The door opened and an older man came in, clipboard in hand and white coat swaying, “Oh thank god.” Hound sighed a bit and Ratchet looked up, rolling his eyes, “Third time I heard that today. Has Shockwave really gotten so bad you’d rather have my medical advice over his?” “Yes.” Ratchet rolled his eyes again.

Although Ratchet was a bio-engineer by trade, he did get his nursing degree before that, which was better than Shockwave and his medical school to any pilot. 

“Alright, well, your chart looks good and your vitals are typical.” It was hard to define anything about a pilot with the quantifiable normal anymore, “Everything else is consistent, I understand they have taken you off your SSRI and ambien?” Nodding a bit, Hound shifts, “Yes sir.” Ratchet hummed and tapped his pen against the clipboard.

Shifting a bit, Hound clears his throat, “I’m feeling fine and sleeping well, my side effects have been limited.” Ratchet hummed again before pulling up the stool and sitting down, grabbing Hound’s wrist for a pulse reading, “Yet, your resting rate is high.” Hound couldn’t help but chuckle, “Yes sir.” Barely sparing him a scowl, Ratchet grabbed the ear and throat light.

They went through the motions, Hound responding to statements or answering questions and Ratchet kept referring back to the clipboard, scowling deeply before rolling backwards to look at Hound square on, “Why do you want to go to space Hound? Hmm?” Hound chuckled slightly, “What do you mean?” With a glare, Hound held his hands up.

Sighing, Hound shifts and fixes his shirt sleeve, “I want to end this damn war Ratchet, I mean look at me. Look at all the pilots, what we go through, what we put our bodies through. The sooner it's over the sooner we stop getting put through the blender.” Ratchet’s gaze softened, “Hound,” “I’m serious Ratchet, this shit isn’t removable and we’re pilots till we die or move up, most of us don’t want to move up.” Ratchet gave him a look and Hound sighed.

“Don’t you think I of all people know that the technology isn’t removable?” Nodding, Hound runs a hand through his hair, “Ratchet, the list of pilots grows every day and there is a longer list of dead ones than active ones.” They hardly could look at each other, but Ratchet sighs, “I don’t want to see your name on the longer list Hound.” Cracking a smile, Hound shrugs a bit, “Come on Ratchet, don’t you have some faith in me?” “In you, yes. In those lambo twins? Never.” Hound laughed.

The room shifted a bit, turning from bright to nearly dull, ”Now, can you shift your weight to the other side for me?” Shifting on the table, Hound sighs a bit, “Sure Ratchet.” Everything was coming back into focus now, no longer was the same doctor's office on Earth but an oversized medical tent. 

“My name isn’t Ratchet,” “What?” Hound glances up and nearly startles at the sight of Knockout. Glancing around he cut the microphone to swear before turning it back on and clearing his throat, “Sorry, Knockout. Uh, Ratchet was my medic back on Earth. Has been since I became a pilot.” He nodded a bit awkwardly.

Humming, Knockout lifts up his tablet, “I’ll mark him down as your primary care then Even if he’s thirty lightyears from Cybertron.” Hound chuckled weakly and adjusted in his seat, shifting on the slab just enough, Knockout looks up, “Alright, base plating shows nothing, mind if I check the under plating?” It took a moment before Hound tilted his head slightly, “I’m sorry?” Knockout smiled, his smile even when kind was wicked looking.

He turned the tablet towards Hound, “Your under-plating, from Jazz’s schematic.” TO be fair, it almost looked similar to the blueprints for the suits back on Earth, but missing the cockpit entirely, “Do you mind if I take a look?” Shaking his head a bit, Hound shifted on the seat again, “Uh, no. Go ahead.” He cleared his throat as Knockout went around to the other side of him.

It was harder to not move when Knockout was behind him and prodding him, while pulling at his— at his suits plating. 

“Alright, I’m going to be removing pieces to scan them, is that alright?” Hound shifted a bit, “From back there, yes, you won’t be near anything terribly vital.” Knockout hummed and gently started to pull the plating away with precision only a medic or engineer could have. Hound was still sitting perfectly still, leaned back against the piloting seat.

All of that had been disorientating, just another symptom, another side effect that he now had to deal with. Rolling his shoulder a bit, he sighs before getting the alert to the missing piece of plating, “You got it doc?” Knockout hummed again and activated his scanner.

It was quiet for a minute.

“What in the name of Primus is this?” Hound tried to shift to look but Knockout had moved away from the direct cameras and was holding his plating, gawking at it, “What?” Knockout came around and showed him a piece of his plating, which was stamped with ‘Property of the United States Government’, “I have a translator for written language, why does this proclaim the plating property of your government?” Hound stared at it, the stencil familiar and sprayed on most military machinery.

It was hard to explain why it was sprayed on the inside of his plating, “Uh,” Knockout nodded before storming out of the medical tent, shouting, “Lord Megatron!” And Hound stayed put. 

He was still wracking his brain when both mechs came back in, Megatron was holding the piece of plating and had pretty well crushed it, taking a breath Megatron’s hands were shaking, “Why is this piece of plating attached to you?” Hound slowly sighed and nodded a bit, “It was a repair.” His voice was a little quiet, Megatron’s fist hit the wall, “Don’t you dare lie!” Hound jumped, he couldn’t help it. 

They stayed in silence for a moment, Hound stared at the pair before deflating slightly, “It was a repair, but it’s part of being a pilot. The numbers across our chests, the paint, all of it is for identifying the pilot in the armor.” Megatron nodded slowly, “Armor?” “It’s not removable, not after the testing, but because I was a military pilot it is technically owned by the US government. Same as any materials I needed in the army.” Hound was recording the conversation and sending it to Jazz, it wasn’t the best of stories but he was no writer or actor. 

Megatron moved over slowly, “So, these people own the plating you wear, put you through apparently incredibly painful testing, launched you into space without a way home, and expected you to die for data. Is that all correct?” Knockout leaned in, “They also reek of iron oxide, for a reason I have yet to find.” Hound’s implants itched, “That would be some of our lines, I’ll attend to the repair myself but it’s likely I have a small leak to my internal system.” Megatron threw his hands up before throwing the chunk of Hound’s plating across the room.

Wincing slightly, Hound sighed as Megatron turned back towards him, grasping his shoulders, “This was the other reason I wanted you in this unit, you don’t see your life beyond your so-called purpose and that is infuriating.” Sighing, Megatron pulled away before starting outside, “Mirage, get in here now!” For a second, Hound thought he heard a cube crack.

A second later the room went from being a medical tent to a get together just about, now Megatron, Knockout, and Mirage had joined Hound inside the tent. Sighing, Hound stood and rested his hands on his hips slightly, “What is this, an intervention?” Glancing at each other, Hound nodded slightly before starting out of the tent, “Now that the mystery of the rust is solved I’m going to get my internals to start patching the leak and get some sleep.” And he somehow made it out of there without being grabbed.

They barely had to spare a glance at each other, “Mirage, I want you to keep an eye on Hound.” Megatron’s voice was still rough with anger. Nodding, Mirage watched the mech go back over to where he’d been sitting and slump, turning off his visor, likely for fuel consumption while the internal repairs were happening, “Is he hurt?” He glances over at the two cons, frowning.

Both spare each other a look before Megatron shakes his head and Knockout shrugs, “We don’t know.” Mirage sighs slowly, “And how can he smell like rust if it’s not rust?” Knockout nods a bit and leans against the examination slab, “If what he says is true, it could simply be a mild corrosion of wires that have iron infused in them.” He shrugs weakly.

Mirage stared at where Hound was, before starting back out the medical tent and moving to sit next to the mech. His cube shattered on the ground but he really wasn’t hungry anymore.

Everyone was silent and staring, mostly worried about rust but also worried for Hound, you didn’t get visited by multiple people in medical at Knockout’s request unless you were dying. They were all sparing each other's looks, especially once Megatron and Knockout returned.

Knockout gave one glance around and swore, “It’s all clear you idiots, do you honestly think I’d let him back out here if it wasn’t?” Only a few people relaxed.

—

Bluestreak was sitting alone, the whole shuttle was lined with seats but he was sitting by himself. Maybe it was the big gun that he had leaning against his knee or the fact that most mecha wouldn’t normally be awake at this ungodly hour, while he seemed to have endless energy, but regardless Sunstreaker took the seat to his right with ease. 

Glancing up, Bluestreak’s face lit up with a smile, “Hey.” Sunstreaker smiled a bit and sat back, adjusting in his seat, “Hey yourself.” Then he sent a private comm invite, which Bluestreak joined near instantly, “I’m gonna unplug from the suit, so it’s going to look like I’m asleep but I still wanted to talk.” The visual input from inside his suit was offered to Blue, who also accepted that.

His smile was small and Blue shifted to lean back as Sunstreaker seemingly fell asleep, leaning his helm against Bluestreak’s shoulder. 

It took a second for Sunstreaker to get unplugged from his mech, removing the top part of his assistance suit and helmet before setting down near one of his internal microphones, “Can you hear me Blue?” Trying to hold back a smile, Bluestreak nodded slightly, “Yeah, I can hear you Sunny, I can see you too.” Sunstreaker smiled, “I wasn’t sure if that was going to work or not.” He brushed a hand through his curls, sighing. 

Bluestreak sat silently, waiting for Sunstreaker to get comfortable, trying to keep the smile off his face, “You disconnect cause that overuse stuff going on?” Nodding some, Sunstreaker grabs a container of food, “Yeah, Hound’s orders. It’s just to try and alleviate the symptoms.” Blue hummed and rested his hand lightly on Sunstreaker’s suit, just above the knee, “So, are you going to get some rest?” Shaking his head, Sunstreaker chuckled and opened the makeshift container.

”Nah, I’m gonna eat my lunch and talk to you. Ask about my new boss and all.” Bluestreak tried not to wince, nodding a bit, “Right, Ironhide.” He sighs slowly and Sunstreaker smiles a bit, sipping some very vibrant blue broth which was just shy of being sweet, “He that bad?” Blue bit his lip, “Uh, well, it's not really that he’s bad per say.” He sighed slowly.

Sunstreaker shifted his attention to the screen right below the camera, “But?” Bluestreak groans a bit, “I don’t think it was a coincidence that you were paired with Ironhide and Sideswipe was paired with Elita-One. Even before the last war, they were, let's say, involved with military affairs. Then during it they were Optimus’s best commanders.” Sunstreaker sighs slowly, setting down his food, “It’s because we're civilians, right?” Blue gave a barely audible answer.

Barely glancing at the camera, Sunstreaker got up to pace a bit, “Is he a hard-ass?” Bluestreak chuckled, “I’m sorry?” Sunny smiles a bit, “Is he grumpy?” “Very.” Blue continues to chuckle, rubbing his neck a bit. 

Whistling quietly, Sunstreaker shakes his head, “Damn, they were conspiring, huh?” Bluestreak shrugged a bit before clearing his throat, “Yeah, it would seem that way, but I think you got off better than Sideswipe did.” Sunstreaker glances at the screen, “Really?” Bluestreak hums, “Oh yeah, Elita is a little more rough around the edges especially to mechs over femmes. It’s not a thing but it’s about trust.” Nodding a bit, Sunstreaker hums. 

Blue shifts a bit in his seat, adjusting Sunny on his shoulder, “Sideswipe is going to be fine though, it’ll probably be good for him.” Sunny nods for a moment before shaking his head, “No, he doesn’t take to authority well. So, Ironhide the grumpy hard-ass, so, what do I need to know about him?” Blue smiles and closes his eyes, leaning back, “I don’t even know where to start.” Sunstreaker smiles softly, “Maybe from the beginning?” Blue grinned. 

“Ah well, I guess I could start with the old prime guard stories. Now, I wasn’t around for those. I wouldn’t come online for a few hundred stellar cycles at the very least.” Sunstreaker goes back to eating, smiling and nodding, sometimes it was just nice to be able to talk to someone or listen to someone without having to talk. He’d usually get that with Sideswipe but this was different and it made his smile turned from a nearly forced one to soft. 

———

A/N

So, this was not what I had planned to post today then I got busy, so it is what was done.

That does mean, on Monday, I might not be posting Part 24 but something else… we will see.

Also a bit of Lore stuff cause I posted it in a comment of the last chapter, the implants as we all know are foreign objects to the human body which our pilots bodies are at present trying to reject. So the reaction is slightly autoimmune but they are also dealing with a shock to their n system as they encounter new bacteria on all these new planets they are going to. They have some anti-biotics but nothing is perfect.

Also if you saw what was at the bottom of that comment… ☺️

Tags:

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And once again thank you to @keferon for this amazing AU

[lumosinlove]

Christmas Eve Will Find Me

part i: leo

(tags for cw)

~

One: Leo

A Nightmare, A Dream

Amsterdam

So far, Leo had been able to hide the dreams. They hadn’t happened during the nights he’d shared with Finn, but that was probably because he never slept those nights. Not deeply. He’d been too wired by the idea of Finn beside him, and too worried by how the pained lines of Finn’s face didn’t relax even in his sleep.

The dreams hadn’t happened with James on the train, but he’d figured that was because Logan had been just one wall away. Safe. As safe as he could be. Logan wasn’t dead. Logan wasn’t dead, he hadn’t drowned, you didn’t let him drown, you didn’t lose him, someone cut the tracker out, you didn’t lose him, it wasn’t you.

And yet.

He should have asked Logan more questions. He should have forced him to tell him what was going on—why he wanted a direct line to Finn, why he had such a faraway look on his face, why he took phone calls where he barely said a word. He should have seen something coming. He should have forced Logan to tell him.

And now, he was here in a safe house, sitting up on the couch he’d volunteered to take, and watching snow fall in the streetlights outside. Stalling. Afraid to sleep. Logan was right there. It should be fine. But if it wasn’t…

He looked towards the bed, which he’d given to Finn and Logan. They hadn’t slept beside each other like that yet, he realized. Not since Logan got back. The train had been bunk beds. No wonder Finn had laid down so carefully. No wonder he’d kept glancing at Logan as they’d all sat up for a little while, wary of the strange new place, waiting for the adrenaline to wear off so they could actually fall asleep. Finn had managed it. Leo knew his breathing patterns by now. He’d spent so many nights listening to the hitching after-math of a hard cry fade, exhausted.

Logan was awake. He was on his side, facing Finn and staring. Just staring at him in the darkness. He’d shift every once in a while, and it took Leo a moment to realize that he had his ankles tangled in Finn’s beneath the quilt. Leo knew Finn did that sort of thing in his sleep. It was painfully sweet that Logan didn’t pull away.

“Can I ask you something?” Logan whispered suddenly.

Leo nodded. Ten thousand possible questions went through his mind. Some of them real, some of them a fantasy. Yes, I missed you. Yes, I never stopped looking for you.

Yes, Logan, I’m in love with you. I’m in love with the love of your life, too. I’m sorry.

“Was I a bad person?” Logan finally asked. “Was I bad?” He looked down at Finn’s sleeping form. “To him?”

Leo sat up fast, hands pushing into the overly plush couch cushions. Logan, slowly so as not to disturb Finn, sat up, too. He looked so perfect in this light. He looked warm and alive—and a bit guilty.

“It’s only that,” Logan paused, uncertain. “I’m not with you. I know that, I…there are parts of my wedding that I can see.”

“What can you see?” Because Leo was awful, and Leo wanted to know. He hadn’t been there. He wanted every detail. “I mean…No. We’re not together.”

“But I kissed you.”

“No,” Leo said. Exactly was he was afraid of. “No, I kissed you.”

“I kissed back.”

“No.” Leo almost wanted to get up. He wanted to sit on the edge of Logan’s side of the bed and shake him. “It was a moment. We were scared and exhausted and lonely. And it didn’t mean anything. I don’t even know why that’s—something that would come back, I…”

The words sounded like some part of a torn up script in his mouth, ashy and rehearsed.

“You…” Leo tried to think how to explain this. How did he explain, to Logan, about the way Logan loved Finn. About the notes. About 1017 and about the weight he saw Logan drop like a heavy cloak whenever they touched onto English ground again. When Finn met them somewhere, how did he explain what it was like to watch them take each other in, uncaring of where they were or who was watching. How did he explain to Logan that he was the richest person in the world because he had found everything, everything, from ease to lust to comfort to love, in one person? 

“1017,” Leo said. “You asked me to break basically the most sacred rule we’re given because you refused to let him worry about you if something went wrong. You protected him, Logan, at risk to yourself. You could never…never be bad to him. You love him so much, it hurts to look at.”

A brief silence as Logan took this in. No blood, though, so Leo thought he’d done all right.

“That’s how I found you. 1017.” Logan shifted again, pillows piled behind him. “I saw those numbers for months, I just didn’t…I woke up one day and I knew what to do with them. Just like I woke up one day and I knew French was my first language. Just like I suddenly knew my wedding band had been silver.”

Leo involuntarily looked to the hand it had once rested on. Logan was touching his ring finger. “Do you remember what happened to it?”

Leo felt bad for asking instantly. Logan’s face turned so hopelessly inconsolable, even if just for a second, that he wanted to yank the words back in.

“Non,” Logan said softly. He closed a fist around his hand. “No.”

“You could never be bad to him,” Leo said. “When your memories come back, you’ll understand.”

“If, you mean. If they come back.”

“They’re already coming back, Lo.”

The nickname made Logan look up, but he seemed to settle into it. “Not everything.”

Leo could argue with that. He had no way of helping Logan. None at all.

“You have to be patient with yourself,” he said in the end. Logan just looked back down at Finn’s sleeping face.

They were quiet again after that, but neither of them lay back down. Logan began to card his fingers through Finn’s hair. Leo didn’t know if he knew how natural that gesture was. How often Leo had seen him do it.

“You can sleep,” Logan said. “I’m not tired. I will keep watch.”

Leo began to protest, but Logan shook his head.

“Leo, please. I’ll never sleep. I don’t feel like I can.” He looked down at Finn again, then back to Leo. “I’ve been exhausted these last couple days, but now I’m just…awake. There is so much I can see. It’s just—as though it’s out of the corner of my eye. I need…I need to keep letting it come back. Please, rest.”

Leo wasn’t sure how to refuse. He didn’t want to tell Logan about the dreams, and Logan obviously wouldn’t take Leo wanting to keep him company as an excuse. He was exhausted. More than exhausted—the ear-ringing, thirsty sort of tired.

“If you’re sure,” Leo said.

Logan’s half smile brought him almost no comfort at all as he lay back against the couch.

He would pretend. He would lay here, close his eyes, keep his breathing regular. But he couldn’t fall asleep. Out of Logan’s sight he dug his nails into his palm. He couldn’t fall asleep.

The next thing he knew, he was plunged into something cold and deep and blue. Salt water filled his mouth.

It started like it always did. The weightlessness of the open ocean was pleasant for no more than a few moments—until he realized how deep he was.

Holding his breath, Leo looked up towards the glimmering surface far, far above. In his head it was miles, fathoms above him. Unreachable. The panic they were trained to master began to squirm. He seemed to be sinking, too. The light from the sun dimmed as the ocean took over. There was the shadow of a boat up there. He didn’t know who’s. He looked around, as if there was something he could push off of, give himself some leverage beyond his own desperate strokes and kicks—and he saw him.

Logan, his eyes closed, dark hair a halo around his slack face, was sinking into the dark waters below him. Remus was a few feet away.

Choose, something said. You’ll never reach them both. Choose.

Leo turned ice cold. Remus was drifting down, his limbs loose and weak in the water. Leo would have to go farther to reach him, and he’d never make it back for Logan.

And that was always the point when, suddenly, Remus’ face turned into Finn’s.

Leo let out a silent scream of his name. Because that was wrong. Finn had been no where near them, that was wrong, Finn was safe.

Choose. You’ll never reach them both.

Finn’s thick, red hair brushed across his forehead as a current swayed him just a little towards Leo. He was pale. So, so pale in the ocean’s thin light.

Leo began to swim down. He pushed, harder and harder, but it was like there was a force working against him. He stretched out a hand towards Finn, reaching even as his other hand worked to pull himself towards Logan.

But they were being swallowed by the water. He was shaking. Finn was being pulled farther and farther away. The next time Leo looked, he was just a shadow in the blue. There was no more air. Logan’s face slipped out of view and Leo shouted his name, letting the water in. When a sob forced an inhale, the water went with that, too, and Leo scratched at his own throat. He couldn’t see the water’s surface anymore. He couldn’t see anything. Logan. Logan. Logan. Logan. Leo—

“Leo.”

Leo was forced back into the apartment like a bright light being slammed on. His entire body was slick with sweat. He could feel it sliding down his temples and soaking the neck of his shirt. He sat up, trying to gasp for air, but none came. None came. None ever came. Finn was kneeling beside the couch with his hands on Leo’s shoulders.

“What…” Finn asked, frantically looking around Leo’s for signs of danger, of a wound. “Le, come on, what’s wrong. Hey, what happened, look at me, Leo.”

But Leo couldn’t answer. Air wouldn’t come. He couldn’t explain to Finn that everything was fine, it was okay, you’re okay—

“Leo?”

That soft voice. That gentle accent cupping the two sounds of his name. Lay-oh. Drowning. Pale, ocean skin, never see him again—

Leo’s eyes met Logan’s, who knelt beside Finn and put a hand on his chest. His eyes were nearly the color of summer in the wash of the yellow lamp Finn had turned on. Leo tried to gasp, but all that came was an awful, retched sound. His heart began to pound in his temples, he could feel the heat of his neck and cheeks as he struggled.

The crease between Logan’s brow was full of emotion, of life, of worry. It was nothing like the death Leo had seem on him in the dream. Nothing.

Breathe, Leo willed himself. He’s right there, you idiot, breathe, breathe.

Finally, it came back. The air. Leo gasped, then coughed hard, swinging his legs down from the couch so he could sit up and cough again, draw air again, even as Finn put a hand on his back.

“Fuck. God, can you breathe?” Finn asked hurriedly. “Leo? Leo, can you breathe?”

“I’m sorry,” Leo said hoarsely. “Yes. Sorry.”

“Oh my God,” Finn whispered. His fingers were pushing through the back of Leo’s hair now. “Oh my God, Leo. Leo?”

“I’m okay,” Leo said. His voice sounded awful. His chest ached. Blood rushed through him and brought small sparks to the edges of his vision. “Nothing happened. Nothing’s wrong. That’s all me. I can explain.”

Which of course sounded ridiculous to them. Finn pressed his forehead to Leo’s shoulder and let out a harsh breath.

“Leo,” he panted. “Jesus.”

Leo’s arms were trapped between them, but he patted Finn’s side, still trying to catch his breath. “I’m okay. I promise, I’m sorry, I…” How did he explain? How on earth did he explain? “It’s just a dream I have.”

Finn pulled back and stared at him, still horrified. “That makes you not be able to breathe? That’s not just a dream.”

“It is just a dream,” Leo said. He groaned rubbing at his eyes. “Thank God it’s just a dream…”

He peeked through his fingers at Logan, who was still watching him. He still had his hands on him. For a moment, it was almost as if he knew who Leo was completely.

To have both of them sitting next to each other again, looking at him, was more than Leo could ever have wanted. He never thought he’d see it again.

“I lost you in the ocean,” Leo said to Logan. “I lost you in the ocean, and so I’m…I’m in the ocean and you’re below me and you’re sinking.” He had to draw in a quick, ragged breath. He rubbed at his chest. “You’re sinking, you’re drowning, maybe you’re already dead, and I’m trying to reach you and then Finn is sinking, drowning, and I never reach you. I never do and—and when I wake up, I just…I can’t breathe. Nothing is wrong with me, but I just can’t. For a few seconds, I can’t.”

“Why did you never say anything?” Finn asked. “To me, why did you never—”

“Because…” Leo shook his head. “Why would I tell you something like that? That’s a horrible image, I didn’t want that in your head, Finn.”

“Why would you…” Finn rose up on his knees, closer. “Leo. You watched me fall asleep crying and wake up crying for months. And you think you can’t tell me?”

Leo, very suddenly, felt that he might cry himself. “I…”

Finn saw it immediately and put his hand back on Leo’s chest. “You know how bad it was. You know I would have understood. You heard those messages I left Lo. Those hundreds of messages…”

Leo’s eyes widened, new heat rising to his chest. “I—no. No, I didn’t…”

But Finn tilted his head, brown eyes soft and imploring. “It’s okay. It’s okay if you listened. I know they went through you now. You kept us connected when I thought it was all lost.”

Leo shook his head, a surprised, hitching sob clawing up his throat. He covered his eyes briefly and willed it away. “Only when—only when I couldn’t be there. I only listened when I was called away and I couldn’t come over, only when I needed to know you were at least a little all right—”

“All the while you weren’t all right—Leo.” Finn drew him close, pressing their foreheads together.

Beside them, Logan sat back on his heels in a jerky movement, like someone had tried to knock him over. He put a hand over his mouth. Leo looked in time to see blood coat his fingers, and then Logan let out a sound that was half a cry of pain, half a curse. His knuckles were white on Leo’s knee.

Leo didn’t think. He drew the hem of his t-shirt forward and cupped the back of Logan’s head while he pressed the cloth to his nose.

“Shit,” Leo said. “Logan?”

“Oh, Lo,” Finn whispered.

“I don’t know,” Logan gasped. His voice was thick from a blocked up nose and his eyes squeezing shut before opening wide to the ceiling. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

“Shh,” Leo hushed. “Lo, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.”

This was too much. Too soon, too heavy. Leo didn’t know how the memories worked, but he’d learned enough to see that these things had to come slowly. Force only brought Logan pain.

“I feel like it was,” Logan said. “I feel—I feel like I knew. Something. I feel…”

Leo could hardly watch him struggle. Leo tilted Logan’s face up towards him to wipe the blood away as best he could. He didn’t realize he was stroking a thumb over Logan’s temple until Logan closed his eyes and leaned into his hand.

“It’s not your fault,” Leo repeated. He looked at Finn, but Finn didn’t seem to mind, so he kept his hand half buried in Logan’s soft hair. “Logan, you didn’t know this would happen.”

“Leo’s right,” Finn said. “Lo, you didn’t know.”

Logan’s voice sounded small. “How can you be sure of that?”

Finn reached out and wiped the last streak of blood from Logan’s nose, then wiped it on his own shirt.

“Because you would never leave me like that,” Finn said firmly. “You never would.”

Leo left them only to splash cold water over his face. He looked ragged and pale to himself in the bathroom mirror. He watched his own chest rise and fall until his breath came easier and his head stopped throbbing. Then he switched off the light and went back into the main room. Finn and Logan were talking in low voices back in bed and Leo made his way to the couch. Maybe he should shower. he was still soaked in sweat. But exhaustion was taking over again.

“Leo,” Logan’s voice came.

Leo looked over his shoulder as he pulled his blanket back. “Yeah?”

Logan looked at Finn, who nodded, then put a hand flat on the mattress between the two of them. “Sleep. Here.”

“I—what?”

Finn patted the space more firmly. “Come here and sleep in a real bed.”

Leo straightened, the blanket falling from his hands. “You want all three of us to sleep in that bed?”

They just looked at him. Logan, a little frustrated now, hit the space.

“Allez.”

Of all the things Leo had expected to do right then, laughing was not among them. Even Finn smiled.

“What?” Logan asked.

“Nothing.” Finn looked at Leo for help.

“That was just…” Leo stopped at the end of the bed. “Very you.”

Logan brightened a bit at that, pleased.

“Oh,” he said, and lay down, folding his hands across his chest expectantly.

Leo felt a little bashful, crawling across the bed, but it was so warm once Leo was under their covers that he shivered and didn’t care whether they were just being kind. Some deeper sort of thaw began to take place in his chest. Finn curled an arm around Leo’s waist, turning into him. He hadn’t even held Logan like that, yet, and here Leo was, wrapped up between them.

“Okay?” Logan whispered, eyes already closing.

“Mhm,” Leo managed to say. Maybe this would keep the dreams at bay.

Finn knocked his forehead gently against Leo’s temple and Leo turned his head to meet his gaze.

“Thank you,” Leo whispered.

Finn just put a hand on the side of his face and pressed a gentle, soundless kiss to his cheek, just near the corner of Leo’s mouth.

When he pulled back, that familiar worry was there, but muted. At least for now.

“He dreams about you, too,” Finn said, and closed his eyes.

[purplehairedwonder]

For the ask summary thing, how about a fic where, for whatever reason, Law and Doflamingo suddenly switch bodies, so now they have to try and find a way to switch back while probably wanting to screw up the other's life as much as possible while they have the chance.

This was so fun, anon, thanks for the idea!

Law groaned as consciousness returned, and he blinked his eyes open to find himself staring up at the ceiling. His head throbbed, and there was a ringing in his ears. Oddly, his vision was red-tinted, and one of his eyes seemed to have impaired vision. Suddenly concerned about an injury from being thrown across the conference room, he lifted a hand to his face. Wait, were those glasses? He pulled them from his face and looked at them, feeling like they looked familiar. And then he caught sight of his hands. They were bare of his familiar tattoos and huge. 

Something was very wrong.

“Fucking hell.”

Law’s head snapped up at the sound of a familiar voice on the other side of the conference table. A moment later, a figure rose shakily to its feet, and Law’s eyes widened. He was looking at himself across the room, from the jeans and hoodie he’d been wearing to the visible tattoos on his hands and fingers. His hat must have come off in the explosion, leaving his unkempt hair visible. He had one hand on his forehead while the other used the conference table for balance.

“What the fuck?” Law said in a voice he knew all too well. He stiffened while the other him snapped his head up, golden eyes going wide. They stared at each other a long moment in shock.

Finally, the other him spoke. “Put my glasses back on.”

Law’s eye twitched. “Don’t tell me what to do,” he said reflexively before registering what he’d heard. He pulled his gaze from the other him across the room and looked down at himself. His figure, even sitting on the floor, was still enormous, and he wore a familiar white top, gaudy cropped pants, and a pink feathered coat that haunted his nightmares. He looked back up at the man across the room as reality began to sink in. “Doflamingo.”

“At your service, little Law. Though,” he added, eyeing Law as he awkwardly pushed himself to his feet in his significantly larger frame, “not so little at the moment.” His eye twitched. “Now, would you put my glasses back on?”

Rather than acquiesce, Law frowned. “How did this happen?” The last thing he remembered was being in a Warlord meeting, doing his best to avoid the smirks Doflamingo had been sending his way. Everything after that was a black box.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know,” Doflamingo said. “This was the Ope Ope fruit’s doing, wasn’t it?”

“Like hell I would ever do this,” Law snapped in return. He looked down at his hands; these were the hands that had killed Cora-san. The very thought made his stomach turn. “You disgust me.”

Doflamingo’s lips pulled back in a smirk, the expression giving Law sudden insight into his friends’ worried looks when he got one of his so-called “gremlin looks,” as Shachi had dubbed them. “Not on purpose, maybe. But you had your fruit activated when the explosion hit. Perhaps the shockwave caused you to do it on accident.”

“Explosion?”

Doflamingo frowned. “You don’t remember?”

“I… No.” He lifted a hand to open a Room and perform a Scan on himself before remembering he couldn’t do that in this body. Instead, he reached up and felt around his head, wincing when he hit a particularly tender spot at the back. While the ringing in his ears had faded, his head was still throbbing; between the symptoms and the physical pain, a concussion seemed likely. “But if I did this, then only the Ope Ope fruit can reverse it.” He winced. “That means you’ll have to do it.”

“Oh? Why the rush, Law?” Doflamingo grinned. “I am very interested in learning more about the devil fruit I had stolen from me twelve years ago.” Law went cold as he remembered Doflamingo’s words from all those years ago: Well, if he’s already eaten the Ope Ope fruit, I’ll need to raise him so he knows to die for my sake.

“Don’t bother,” Law said, aiming for dismissive. “I’ll walk you through the Personality Transplant Surgery and that’s it.”

Doflamingo didn’t seem put off. “We’ll see,” he said before bending over to pick up Law’s hat and put it on his head. “I can’t believe you still have this old thing.”

“Fuck off,” Law muttered as he put Doflamingo’s glasses back on, giving the world a rosy tint once more. There was a metaphor somewhere in there, but Law was in no mood to find it.

“Fufufu, temper,” Doflamingo chuckled as he reached down once more for Kikoku. His hand touched the sheath, but he cursed and pulled his hand back as though burned. “What the hell?”

Law blinked in surprise before laughing. “She knows you’re not me,” he said, delighted. “She’s quite picky about who can hold her.” He made his way around the table, though his gait was awkward in his larger body, and he banged into the conference table on the way by. He let out a pained huff, suddenly feeling more sympathetic toward Cora-san’s clumsiness.

He reached down toward Kikoku, half-expecting a rejection considering his body, but the blade simply hummed as Law wrapped a huge hand around her sheath. He picked the blade up, startled to realize the nodachi was closer to the side of a typical sword with Doflamingo’s frame. It was… strange.

Before Doflamingo could respond, the door to the conference room opened to reveal a haggard Sengoku. “Trafalgar, Doflamingo. There you are. We’ve been looking for you. You’re needed.”

“Needed?” Doflamingo said, raising an eyebrow.

“We’re under attack,” Sengoku said.

“The explosion,” Law surmised.

Sengoku gave a jerky nod. “We need all hands on deck.”

Law opened his mouth to find an excuse not to fight—he couldn’t even walk around a table without banging into things—but Doflamingo shot Law a smirk before turning back to Sengoku and nodding. “Lead the way, Fleet Admiral.”

Sengoku frowned and the easy acquiescence but shrugged, clearly too distracted to give it much thought. “This way,” he said, turning from the room.

“What the hell are you doing?” Law demanded under his breath. “We need to undo this switch, not get into a battle.”

“Lighten up, Law,” Doflamingo said over his shoulder. “It’ll be a learning experience.”

“It’ll be something, all right,” Law ground out as he followed his own body down the hall and toward an inevitable disaster.

Send me an anymous (or not) summary of the fic you wish I would write. (maybe I will write a tidbit)

[getaandlucius]

A brief taste of Honey (Geta x Lucius) 18+

Summary: Before Geta gets on a ship to Sardinia to visit his uncle, he and Lucius spend time together and have some deep talks and intimate bonding time.

Previous parts: part 1, part 2, part 3, Part 4, Part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

Authers note: For all the anxious souls sending me messages about Dondus and Caracalla: I did not forget about them but I must ask you to have patience please :) All will be clear in the end!

Warnings (contains spoilers): 18+ MDNI, childhoodtrauma, mentioning of inc*st in the past, loads of fluff and heavy smutt, you are warned.

"I... I have to tell you something." Geta propped himself up on his elbows, the book now resting face-down on his chest. He yawned, clearly not thinking much of it. "What is it?"

Lucius swallowed, contemplating if he could retreat and offer a half-truth instead. But there was no use. "There is a growing opposition to my rule... in your name. People in the northern provinces are dissatisfied with the new ways, clinging to how it was before." Lucius searched Geta's face, but it remained blank. He cleared his throat. "It's most likely led by someone in the old senate, dissatisfied with his current position and lack of influence—and wealth."

Geta frowned. "Do you know who?"

"No. No names yet."

"Mmm. Interesting."

"What do you mean?" Geta looked at him with a pensive expression. "I... I don't know what you want me to say." Geta's voice sounded drained, completely disinterested in the conversation. Annoyed, almost. Lucius shook his head in confusion. "I guess I thought... we thought it was best you heard it from me." He sat up, all passion and warmth draining from the room like the tide receding from the shore. "I suppose I am... curious how you feel about it." Lucius looked at his hands, feeling awkward. So much had changed. When they first talked in his study months ago, he couldn't have cared less about Geta's thoughts. Geta sighed and sank back into the cushions. "I don't know, Lucius." He looked up at the ceiling. "I don't know." Lucius lay down next to him on his side, head propped up on his elbow. He glanced at Geta's hand spread out over the cover of the book, hiding the painted sea creatures from view.

"I'm too tired to put my thoughts into words properly right now, but..." Geta put the book next to him and turned on his side. "If you're worried that I want to join those troops and turn my back on you, the answer is no." Lucius looked at him, searching his eyes. “Okay.” He nodded and turned on his back. “We can talk about it tomorrow. It’s late.”

Geta didn’t reply for a long time, then started speaking again.

"When my brother and I ruled, we rarely slept a full night," he explained. He seemed sleepy, and Lucius felt a little guilty for having brought it up at 2 in the morning.

"There was always the danger of being murdered in our sleep. We knew the stories, how our uncles, cousins, and nieces suddenly disappeared or turned up dead. We kept watch, taking turns to sleep—well, I more often than Caracalla..." He smiled faintly, as if recalling a specific memory. "For me, being in that position was never about power because we never truly had any. We were manipulated, forced into symbolic roles from birth. Ruling, for me, was simply waiting for death and who would betray us first." "But you're not safe here either." Lucius placed his hand over the scar on Geta’s midriff. "You were attacked here too." Geta nodded slowly, an intense gaze in his beautiful brown eyes. "But not by my own people," he said. His eyes swept over Lucius' face, softening. "It's a big difference." He added, placing a hand on Lucius's cheek, thumb sliding over his bottom lip. "Remember how you wanted to put me on trial a few months back?" he asked. "I do." His eyes left Lucius's mouth. "I don't mind being beneath you in rank," he said. "But I do want you to treat me as an equal. Don't force me to stay or do things I don't want to do. Freedom is most important to me." Lucius nodded. "I know." "Good." Geta let his hand drop down on the sheets. "Did I answer your question?" "Yes, you did. Thank you." Geta yawned. "Can we sleep now?" Lucius turned on his back. "Yes." Geta came closer and lay down on his chest. Lucius took the sheet and pulled it over both their bodies, then slid his fingers into the soft curls on the back of his scalp, scratching gently until Geta fell asleep.

Lucius stirred awake as sunlight streamed through the window, casting a warm glow across the room. It had been a strange night—Geta had been restless, mumbling in his sleep and tossing about, keeping Lucius awake. As he waited for him to wake, Lucius decided it was time to ask him the question he'd been meaning to for a while. "What happened with you and your mother?" Lucius asked when Geta was awake for long enough to stretch and open his eyes fully. "What do you mean?" "You talk to her, in your sleep. Often." Lucius explained. "Oh." Geta rubbed his eyes. "She, uh..." He stretched his arms over his head, groaning softly, then turned on his side to look Lucius in the eyes. "She was hard to be around, I suppose." "What do you mean?" "She was kind of all over the place." Geta waved with his hand. "She was either cruel... calling us names, pushing us away, ignoring us..." He frowned, clearly uneasy delving into those memories. "Or she would be too... sweet." "Too sweet?" "Yes." Geta didn’t say anything for a long while, just stared into the distance, brow furrowed and jaw tense. "She could turn into the complete opposite in a matter of minutes," he continued, "often after she would have hurt us badly." Geta looked away. "She would say sweet things and be very... touchy." Lucius felt nauseous, already sensing where this was headed. "You mean..." "Yes. All over," Geta replied curtly. "Even if you said no?" It was more a statement than a question. Geta nodded, tears pooling in his eyes now. "I am so sorry." Lucius swallowed, immediately regretting that he had asked. "You don't have to talk about it." Geta sniffled softly and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Lucius didn’t know what to do, thought that maybe the last thing Geta wanted now was to be held. So he just stayed silent. After a while of watching him cry into the pillow, he couldn’t take it anymore and pulled him into his arms. "Shh," he whispered, holding him close. "That’s all in the past. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again." He kept stroking Geta’s back and shoulders, wishing he had been there to protect him and his brother Caracalla from the terrible people around them, giving them a better childhood. When Geta calmed down, he lifted his head from the crook of Lucius’s neck. "You know... I often wished your mother was mine." He looked up at Lucius. "That she would adopt us." Lucius raised his eyebrows. Geta shook his head, resting his cheek against Lucius’s shoulder again. "It’s weird. I’ve known her longer than you." Lucius frowned, staring ahead. "It is." "She was kind. And warm." Lucius nodded, thinking of his mother and how strange it was that, for part of their childhoods, they had shared the same one. "Do you miss her?" Geta inquired softly. "Terribly so." "I'm sorry. I miss her too." Lucius nodded. They stayed like that, their breaths in sync, keeping each other company in their sadness. After a while, Lucius suggested, "We should have something to eat and then head to the beach. What do you think? I feel like going for a swim." "That sounds like a splendid idea," Geta agreed, pushing himself up.

After getting dressed, they had breakfast together and headed to the beach to spend the afternoon and evening there. It was a warm day, and when they arrived, covered in a thin layer of sweat, the sea offered a welcome plunge of freshness. They dove underwater, the clear water surrounding them, and Lucius felt content. He looked at Geta’s skin, which was beginning to turn slightly sun-kissed. No matter what he had been through, Geta somehow maintained that elegant, prince-like essence and radiant air. Lucius reached out and grabbed his ankle, giving it a gentle tug. Geta, accustomed to Lucius’s ways, let him do it, calmly allowing him to press his lips against the soft ball of his foot and toes. There was no tension, only simple surrender and trust. They surfaced for air, clinging to each other as if they could never get enough—which, truthfully, they couldn’t.

The next day, they resumed their fighting lessons, and the day after that as well. Two weeks passed, and Geta began to develop new muscles in his arms and back. They had started sleeping in separate rooms again to avoid drawing attention to their bond, but it seemed futile. Everyone already knew that if one of them were taken, the other would be broken beyond repair.

Some mornings, one of them would sneak into the other’s room to spend time wrapped in each other’s arms.

"I hate that I can't sleep here anymore," Geta said one morning when Lucius had to leave for battle. "I hate it too," Lucius confessed. Geta buried his head in the crook of Lucius’s armpit. "What on earth are you doing?" Lucius asked with a chuckle. "I like it here. You smell nice." He wrapped his arms around Lucius’s waist. "When will you return?" "In a week or so. Just some small raids and checking the repaired forts." "Okay."

A week later, Lucius returned bearing new scars and the good news of victory. Geta waited for him by the gate, his eyes bright with excitement but keeping his distance. He had grown used to the unspoken rules of how they now interacted in public.

As they walked inside, a young man with blond hair and dark blue eyes, whom Lucius did not recognize, approached them. "Geta?" the young man called out. Lucius took him in. He wore a finely made tunic of deep blue material, matching his eyes, decorated with silver fish. It was clear he was of higher rank, though his accent was hard to place. Geta raised an eyebrow. "Yes?" The man cleared his throat. "I have a message for you. From your uncle." He handed him a letter sealed with beeswax. Geta accepted it. "Thank you." Lucius observed as Geta broke the seal and opened the letter. The tension in his shoulders, the way he clenched his jaw—it was clear he wanted nothing to do with it. The message was short, and seconds later, Geta folded the paper and handed it over. "Alright," he replied in a serious tone. "I'll make sure I'm ready in the morning." Lucius frowned. Ready in the morning? He was leaving so soon? "Perfect, my highness. I will wait at the shore." Highness? Lucius thought to himself. That's how he still referred to him? Geta gave a short nod, and the young man disappeared as quickly as he had come.

Lucius and Geta went their separate ways in the halls and prepared for the festivities held in the garden. Lucius felt a slight unease at the thought of Geta leaving the following morning but couldn't place what exactly made him nervous. They found each other outside as the light faded, torches illuminating the pillars and olive trees stretching throughout the garden. Geta was dressed in white and buttercup yellow, one bare shoulder showing his scar. It pleased Lucius that he was starting to accept them, but it also worried him as it was a display of vulnerability. They stared at each other for a bit, not saying anything. Lucius wanted to speak to him before his departure but decided to save it for later and went to look for Laurentius and Marcus to discuss the events of the past week as Geta went looking for Marcella.

Almost an hour later, they reunited near the fountain. "How are you feeling?" Lucius asked, taking Geta's hand and giving it a soft squeeze. "You alright?" "Yes, I'm alright." Geta erplied, "Dreading it, but alright." "You'll be fine. You’ll have some nice, fancy dinners... eat some Sardinian fish, talk to your uncle a bit, and then you'll return home. To me," Lucius reassured him. Geta smiled. "Sounds good." Lucius desperately wanted to ask what precisely was in the message to make Geta agree so fast, but didn’t want to pry, so he let it be. "I should get some sleep," Geta decided, looking around the garden at the guests drinking wine and dancing. Nobody was paying attention to them. "You can stay of course." Lucius rubbed the inside of Geta's wrist with his thumb, wanting to understand what was going on in his mind. "Alright." He pressed a swift kiss on top of his head. "I'll walk you to the harbor tomorrow." Geta breathed in. "I'd like that."

That night, Lucius lay down on his bed, unclothed. It was too hot for even the thinnest of night garments. He was deep in thought, feeling pathetic over how sad he was about Geta's impending departure, reminding himself that it was only for a week or two. Then suddenly, he heard soft voices on the other side of the door. He got dressed quickly, walked over, and pressed his ear against the wood. His guards were talking to someone. Lucius strained his ears, then shook his head.

It was Geta.

He opened the door and took him in. He was standing there in his blue nightrobe, hair disheveled and a look in his eyes Lucius could not place. Lucius gestured with his head for him to come inside, and Geta immediately walked forward and pressed his lips to his. Lucius kicked the door closed.

"It's dangerous, what you're doing, Geta," he murmured. "I don't care," Geta insisted and kept kissing him all over. "What is with you?" Lucius grinned. "I don't know." Geta bit down on Lucius’s bottom lip, making him wince. "I feel weird." "Nervous?" "Something like it." "Want me to distract you?" Lucius requested between kisses, already feeling heat pooling low in his stomach. "Yes, please." Lucius groaned softly. "Okay." He pulled back and sat down on the edge of his bed, gesturing to the middle of the room. "Undress," he ordered.

Geta's eyes widened slightly, then the corner of his mouth tipped up slightly.

Lucius stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing his ankles. "I want to look at you." Geta walked over to the spot Lucius pointed at and started untying his robe, pushing it down his shoulders, down his chest, his waist, his hips...

Lucius swallowed, leaning back on his hands. He could never get enought of the sight of Geta's naked form, the way he moved— unselfconscious, confident and utterly captivating. Geta stepped out of the fabric and straightened, a hint of shyness suddenly returning, cheeks flushing pink.

“You’re staring,” he said softly, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed that he didn’t mind.

“I can’t help it,” Lucius admitted, standing and closing the space between them. "I can never help it." He reached out, placing a hand on the side of his hip.

"Turn around." Lucius ordered gently and then tapped the inside of Geta's foot. 'Spread sligtly.' Geta stepped wider. Lucius walked around him and went to his knees, put a hand on his lower back to push him forward a little.

'Let me take care of you." His voice was soft. He reached out to take Geta's hands and put them on either side of his butt. "Spread please."

Geta whined at the sound of that and did as his was told, opening himself up.

Lucius moved closer and stuck out his tongue, licking inbetween the valley of his cheeks from the bottem to the top.

Geta let out a gutteral moan, wanting to collapse forward.

'Nuh-uh, stay upright darling." Lucius demanded and wrapped his hand around Geta's thighs to steady him. He licked him again, closer and closer to where he wanted him most, then pressed in slightly.

"Relax." He mumbled, pushing deeper. Geta's breathing turned laboured. He kept wriggling and shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

Lucius squeezed his inner thigh, massaging upward. Geta's breath hitched, making Lucius chuckle.

Geta whimpered. "Please."

"Mmm." Lucius kept licking, reveling in the way he felt, tasted, the sounds he made. Geta's hand came to lay on top of Lucius, a plea for more.

Lucius pulled back a litlle. "Okay lay down on the bed."

Geta got up, using Lucius shoulder to steady himself and walked over, then lay down stretched out on his back.

Lucius shook his head. "No on your tummy."

Geta did as he was told and Lucius lowered himself inbetween his legs. "I am going to put a finger inside of you. Is that okay?"

"Yes." Geta breathed.

Lucius bent over the slope of his ass and spit, wachting the saliva disappear in the crease. He licked his ringfinger, slipped it inbetween, and started rubbing small circles. Then he pushed it in slightly, fully tuned in to Geta's reactions.

"Is this okay?" He asked.

Geta nodded.

"I need your consent in words, sweetheart."

"Yes." Geta groaned in the pillow.

"Good." Lucius pushed in deeper, waiting for Geta to adjust before he pushed it in in it's entirety. He stayed there for a moment, pushed to the hilt, before slowly moving it in and out while gaging Geta's reactions. Geta started grinding his hips against the sheet slowly, face still burried in the pillow.

"I need more." he ground out, teeth clenched, desperate.

Lucius tried adding his middlefinger. "You're too tight honey." He rubbed his hand over his lower back. "You need time to adjust. No use in rushing."

"You dont know what my uncle will do to me." Geta whined. "He might kill me."

"No he wont." Lucius said. "You will come back and we will do much more of this." Lucius kissed the left cheek of his ass, then bit into him, soothing the sting after with tongue. "Now think of other things and close your eyes." Lucius replaced his ringfinger with his middle one, which made Geta gasp for air like a fish on dry land.

He kept grinding against the sheets, desperate for fricture. Lucius loved seeing him this desperate. When he felt Geta was reaching his limit he pulled his finger out, flipped him over. Geta was breathless, eyes closed, somewhere else completely.

"You don't have to hold on Geta." Lucius said, then stroked the length of him. Even the slightest touches made his face contort like he was in pain almost. "You can let go, I am right here. I will hold you thought it." He pressed his lips against his lower belly, then licked his finger and pushed it in again. "You are safe." He ghosted his lips over his skin. "With me, you’ll always be safe."

These words pushed Geta over the edge and he came making a desperate sound, spilling all over his belly. Lucius took him in, the way his hands clenched around the linen, the way his hips came off the mattress, then down again. He wished he could stay in this moment forever. He moved his lips down the inner part of Geta's legs listening how Geta's breathing slowly came back to normal and his eyes fluttered open.

Lucius, still clothed, took him in his arms and held him untill he was fully aware of his surroundings again. He brushed a stray lock of hair from Geta’s forehead.

"Are you ready to sleep?" He asked. "You have a long journey ahead of you tomorrow. Geta looked at him, cheeks still flushed and shook his head.

"No." He took in a sharp breath. "I want to see you touch youself." His voice was low and sensual, full of longing. "I have thought about it for so long. I want to see you now."

Lucius swallowed. He looked around the room, feeling uncertain. No one had ever watched him do that. Not even Arishat. He looked at Geta who looked at him with eyes full of expextation. Lucius gave a quick nod and got up from the bed. He took a few steps, turned around and slowly started to undress himself. When he was fully naked he sat down on his knees again and took himself in his right hand. At first he kept his eyes closed, but then he opened them. Geta was lying on the bed, propped up on his elbows, lips wet and slightly parted. His legs were stretched out in front of him, feet dangling over the edge. Geta looked at him intently, following every move.

"You have no idea how beautiful you are." Geta said, eyes almost sad.

Lucius kept his eyes on him as he started moving his hand up and down, skin warming. Geta's chest was rising and falling quicker and quicker until suddenly he got up and walked over to him. He lowered himself in front of Lucius. His hand went to his jaw and he stroked the seem of Lucius lips, just as he had done before.

'Can I spit in your mouth?' he asked then, as if it was the most natural thing.

Lucius swallowed and nodded.

"Don't stop touching yourself please.' Geta whispered as he got closer and smoothed the hair from Lucius' face.

'Now open your mouth.'

Lucius did as he was told and parted his lips.

Instead of spitting, Geta opened his mouth and waited as his saliva dribbled in. Lucius groaned and swallowed, reaching up to lick the rest off his bottomlip and tongue, drinking him in. He wanted more more more.

Geta shook his head and pushed him down.

'No." He shook his head again, a grin playing on his lips. "Keep touching yourself. I want to see you come."

Lucius did not know why he listened. He was way stronger than Geta, he could do anything he wanted to him. Yet he reveled in Geta's power and prince-like arrogance. He was royalty at heart after all.

Lucius quickened his movements, jerking his hips slightly upward into his hand.

He was getting close now, and Geta could sense it. He walked behind him and sat down, chest pressed up against his warm back. He dropped his chin on Lucius shoulder.

'Here. Let me finish.' He gently pulled Lucius' hand away and replaced it with his. Lucius whimpered and let his head drop backwards. Geta started moving his hand in the same rhythm and pressed his lips against his ear.

''Let go.' Geta whispered. "Let me take care of you now."

Lucius groaned softly and tried to hold back, but he was defensless against Geta's soft but firm grip, his low whispers and his hips pressing up against his backside.

"Come for me, Lucius. It's okay."

And he did. His awareness slipped for a moment and all he felt was warmth, light and bliss. He felt both extatic, and completely held. Geta kissed his neck, hands rubbing over his chest and lower abdomen.

"Feels nice hmm?" Geta breathed into the skin of his neck.

Lucius was unable to reply, everything felt warm and fuzzy. He had never in his life let himself go like that. He wondered if he should feel emberrassed.

Geta traced the outer shell of his ear with his tongue. "Thank you." He murmured. "Thank you for letting me look at you and touch you."

Lucius felt a little lost in everything he felt and could not place. He turned around and took Geta into his arms. I love you. He thought. But he did not say it. I love you felt like a goodbye. Like it was the last time he'd be able to say it. And that couldn't be. So instead he said: "Let's try to get some sleep."

Geta nodded against his shoulder. "Yes."

----

The next morning, Lucius walked Geta to the harbor.

The water was emerald green and shimmered under the summer sun. It was a beautiful day, but neither of them cared.

A small ship waited close to shore, with a smaller boat ready to take Geta to it. The blonde man stood by the water’s edge, waves almost touching his boots. Lucius wanted to kiss Geta goodbye, but he knew better. He didn’t trust the young man, nor the fishermen milling around nearby.

Geta pulled Lucius into a tight hug, burying his face in his shoulder.

“We have to say goodbye far too often,” Geta said, his voice low. “I’m starting to hate it more than anything.”

Lucius pressed him closer, his chest aching. “I know.”

Geta pulled away first, his eyes dropping to the ground. He rubbed the back of his neck, then glanced at the boat waiting for him.

“I guess it’s time,” he said with a sigh.

Lucius Squeezed his shoulder. “It’ll be okay. You’ll be back before you know it.”

Geta managed a weak smile. “I’ll look forward to it.”

He hesitated, then met Lucius’s eyes. “Last night was special to me Lucius." His eyes searched Lucius's, looking for confirmation perhaps that he felt the same.

Lucius swallowed, feeling overwhelmed all of a sudden. “As it was to me.”

They stood there in silence, caught in the weight of the moment. Lucius noticed the blonde man watching them from the corner of his eye and sighed. “You better go.”

Geta nodded, his steps reluctant as he walked toward the boat. “See you soon.”

Lucius dipped his chin in agreement. “See you soon,”

Please let me hear your thought in the comments :) <3

Taglist: @potato1d-blog1 , @joan2914, @maryan028

[coraniaid]

Standard disclaimer that I understand themes and motifs and I'm aware that the reasons characters do things in fiction is because the writers have decided it will drive the plot, rather than because of those fictional characters (who do not in reality exist) being inherently "good" or "bad" people.

Additional disclaimer that I don't think there's any one single reason that Faith ends up spiralling after Finch's death and siding with the Mayor, that the necessary dominoes started falling years before Faith was even Called as a Slayer and that by the time Faith had lost her first Watcher and been living out of a motel room for months and been tricked and betrayed by Gwendolyn Post and accidentally killed a man there probably wasn't anything anyone could have done to stop her from doing all of that.

One more disclaimer: I do not, despite what the rest of this post (or any other posts I may have made or fanfiction I may have written) might suggest, think that Faith's story in Buffy the Vampire Slayer would be somehow improved if she hadn't had the character arc she has in canon. I do not think it would improve the story if Faith hadn't ended up making a series of terrible and short-sided and selfish decisions which ended up making not only her own life much worse but also many other peoples' lives worse [and a couple of other peoples' lives much shorter]. I do not think Faith's fall and eventual redemption is a problem that somehow needs to be fixed.

That being said though ...

Why on Earth, when Giles realizes Faith is lying to him about who really killed Allan Finch, does he decide the best course of action is (1) to pretend to believe her, and (2) make a big show of acting as though Buffy's in a lot of trouble before sending Faith back home to her motel room? In Consequences itself the only excuse he gives is that he "needed [Faith] to think he was on her side" but .. well,

First, newsflash, Rupert: you are meant to be on her side. That is the job you signed up for and are still insisting on doing despite nominally being fired!; and furthermore

This only explains why he pretends to believe Faith. Why does he make a show of throwing the book at Buffy, something that can only help to convince Faith she was right to lie? ("If this is what he's saying to Buffy, his first Slayer and obvious favorite, imagine what he'd be saying if he knew it was me?")

Why not pretend to believe Faith, reassure her she did the right thing by coming to tell him -- and that he's sure she only did it because she knew Buffy needed help -- and then give her the speech he later gives Buffy about how "this isn't the first time something like this has happened" and he "has no plans to involve [the Council]"?

Why not tell Faith that this isn't the first time Buffy herself has been accused of killing a man and questioned by the police? Why not tell her that he himself once accidentally killed a man, and that's something that he and 'Buffy' now have in common? If possible, he could even take Buffy aside and explain the truth to her, and ask her to play along with the charade for now?

Surely if Faith sees that Giles isn't prepared to throw Buffy under a bus, and that he acknowledges that "the Slayer is on the front side of a nightly war" and that "accidents happen", and he's more interested in making sure both of them get the help they need than meting out punishment, she's much more likely to actually admit the truth eventually?

Even if she doesn't want to do that, why not just ask Faith to "sit in" while he talks to Buffy about what "she" did and asks her to explain how she was feeling, so that Faith is in earshot for any advice or suggestions he makes about what to do next? Giles says out loud in this conversation with Buffy that he's worried about "scaring [Faith] off", so ... why is that exactly what he decides to do?

Again, note the disclaimers above: I know the real answer to my question is "that isn't the story the writers wanted to tell". It is necessary for the short-term twist that Faith seems to have convinced Giles to blame Buffy for Finch's death, and for the longer term plot that Giles be unable (or unwilling) to offer Faith any help. I understand that.

But -- in-universe, pretending Giles and Buffy and Faith are all real people -- is there an explanation for this that doesn't boil down to "Giles is a pretty lousy Watcher and should probably not be acting in a mentor role at all?". Why has he decided that the number one priority before anything else must be for Faith to admit it was her, and not the girl Giles can't help but see as a daughter, who killed Finch, when he accepts that -- whoever did it -- it was entirely accidental? If he's not telling the Council anyway and nobody is going to be sent away to be punished, what is the actual issue here?

"There is no help for her until she admits what happened." Okay, Giles, but why have you decided to unilaterally invent this rule, and why do you never use it for anyone else? We saw way back in Faith, Hope & Trick that Giles has no problem at all lying to people who aren't willing to admit the truth in order to help them. If, that is, by "people" we mean "Buffy Summers". Why can't you do the same thing for a girl you don't personally like?

[ciaosonounapersonalol]

Ok so we've heard about the bishops regaing some powers after their indoctrination, nothing wrong with that ofc

But what about the bishops gradualy losing it? What about slowly becoming less and less "Godly" and more and more "mortal"

What about Leshy trying to grow a flower and realizing it took longer and more effort than last time? About how the shame hits him when the flower wilts in his hands, dying, petals slipping away from his fingers like his godhood? About the dreadful realization that he couldn't do anything about it, just when he thought he finally could shape his fate to his liking?

What about Heket changing her bandages and noticing that the stain wasn't the faded, dark, reddish-black of ichor, but the vivid red of blood? The almost dysmorphic feeling she has when the smell of iron its her nostrils? How umilianting it feels to try to make a crop wilt or bloom, only for it to remain the exact same? How wrong it feels to not have the feeling of her power flowing trough her veins?

What about Kallamar slowly losing his earing? How each word feels more faded than the last? What were you saying again? I can't hear you i wasn't quite listening. How he feels naked without his beatiful earrings, treasured gifts from his lovers, but also how munch it hurts to even try putting one on? How he slowly learns to read lips just to avoid telling others he can't hear their words? Just another thing you can't do right, can't you Kallamar? How he can't look at himself in the mirror without his bandages on? How guilty he feels when a patient dies because his powes didn't work? How he feels like he could have done more even though he knew he couldn't at the funeral? Watching the patient's loved ones cry at their grave?

How Shamura fails to remember things? How at first it's just small slip-ups? How it worsens? Who's that one? It feels like i should know them but who are they? Why do they look so familiar? What am doing here? Where am i? "Shamura, what's my name?" Why does their voice sound so worried? So... sad? "Your name is... your name... i don't know...". Why are they making that face? Why are they crying? What's wrong? Why does my head hurt so munch? Who's that one?It feels like i should know them but who are they? Why do they look so familiar? What am doing here? Where am i?... who am i? Why does it hurt to see them like this? Calm down Shamura. You're a god. Everything will be fine. It will all be fine. ...right?

And Narinder, oh poor Narinder, how does it feel like to see that damned usurper use your powers? How does it feel like to have the envy eat you inside out when you see them resurrect long-dead followers with ease, while you need help lifing a mere box? Damned chains. You where once a feasome god worthy of praise, now forced to lay in bed in agony because you just can't move today, oh how low did have you fallen, One Below. All of this was supposed to be yours. It was your rightful reward for all those years spent suffering, yet that damned lamb wanted to keep it all to themselves. But your s- the bishops suffered too, didn't they? You thought it would all be worthy in the end, thats what you said to them, and now, where are their souls? Are they still wandering in the Gateway? They must hate you. You where their master. You failed them. The One Who Waits waits no more but he'd rather be dead than this umiliation. Than this pathetic form and existence. They only spared you so you could suffer, yes, that must be it. Wretched thing

[theallianceofcelestials]

A big what if scenario for SEA!AU ; but how would KC and the rest of the family react to Eclipse somehow getting turned into a child / baby for a few hours / days?

You just opened a can of worms friend. I'll just use a similar format as to what I used with the WN and SEA characters meeting.

More under, because this is a bit long, and I should have done this last time too

The only way he can turn into a kid is obviously with some SCP shenanigans, though I'll admit I haven't done my research and don't know if there's any SCPs able to turn people into children (though with how many of them exist, I wouldn't be surprised) But even if there is one, he's an animatronic so it'd probably work differently.

Let's just say there're 2 scenarios, one where it's just a childified body his adult self is in, and one where he's both child sized and acts like one too with no memories of his adult life.

In the first scenarion he'd be very annoyed and angry. He's also try hiding probably once he realises the "danger" he's in. He does not want to be a plush toy.

Killcode

First scenario

The moment he sees his grumpy animatronic son in the child body, most likely after having searched the facility for him because he did not come back for dinner and he didn't mention any work related stuff that might take a bit, it'd be over immediately. There'd be no way you can get him off of Eclipse.

He'd always want to cuddle him, keep him close, and maybe tease him lightly over getting turned into a child. It's his right as a father, and if he's shouted at more than not, then he's just going to have to keep his laughter in more.

He'd mostly do this to cover up his worry, because this is his most fragile kid turned even more fragile. Eclipse is not known already in their family as a fighter, more a runner, but with those stubby short legs how is he going to get away from danger? He obviously can't let his kid leave his sight, otherwise he may die. He hopes the Foundation is working on a solution already, because if not there'll be hell to pay.

He'd be unwilling to let his kid out of his sight like this, going into full on helicopter mode. He'd insist Eclipse stay on his shoulder at the very least if he doesn't want cuddles, and he'd be reluctant to give him up even to their family. It's the I'm-the-parent-of-small-child instincts, and they've revived with a vengance he didn't experience even when his kids were young. Probably because his kids were always hardier.

Second scenario

In this scenarion the panicking scientist he was working with would probably call Killcode in, because he's becoming a personnel member anyway, and because they fear if they didn't, and tried to hide this, they'd all be brutally murdered. They're all correct obviously.

The child Eclipse, with no memories of his life, wouldn't know who or what Killcode is, only that he's been told he's his dad. Perhaps his daycare programming would tell him information about these things, so he'd know what a dad is. He'd just light up at the sight of his papa, happily reaching out in what his code knows is normal behaviour for children. It'd actually be kinda funky if he immitated how a human child would act with their parent based on what his programming tells him is normal.

Killcode, obviously, wouldn't know how to react. On one hand, that's his kid, on the other, he finds this whole thing unnatural. Kinda uncanny valley. He'd also be pretty scared his child was deleted and thus basically murdered. It gets proven wrong thankfully when Eclipse starts babbling about stuff only his adult version would know, like how he wants to go back to their room and play with everyone, and can they pleasee have lava cake today? It'd greatly calm KC, who'd go into indulgent dad mode.

He'd still be constantly cuddling, but he'd be much softer. He'd take this as his chance to make up for the time they weren't together, because maybe if they can make nice memories for Eclipse in this young stage of him, his past wouldn't hurt that much.

He'd obviously be overprotective, happiest when he can cuddle this toddler version of his child, and he'd fold to the faded-gold optics whenever they widen and make more sweets than he ever did. He'd be humming sillier songs when he cooks, watching the child toddling around happily, without a clue to the dangers and horrors he's faced.

He'd absolutely melt when Eclipse calls him papa, or when the little one pounces on his legs because his paws are funny, he'd sit on the floor all day sometimes just helping Eclipse build something out of legos, read him bedtime stories, and just fall asleep on the couch while Eclipse is in his lap.

Solar Flare

First scenario

Seeing its big brother so small and adorable looking would make its perpetual expression into the happy little smiling squints it's able to do. They're just so happy to see their big brother like this.

He'd obviously ask Killcode to cuddle his brother plenty of times, but'd make a bunch of drawings of Eclipse sitting grumpily on Killcode's shoulders. The wall would be filled with all of them, and Eclipse can't even be mad at it properly.

Whenever it wants to dance though Eclipse would deny it. He's just unwilling to embarrass himself even more than he already is. Solar Flare would be sad over that, and would want this to be over with soon. He wants to go back to hanging out with its big brother like usual.

Second scenario

The toddler version of its brother would have its heart in a tight-fist clench in seconds, and there's no stopping it. Even if it's a bit confused on who's the big brother anymore. The kid is still trying to fit that older sibling place, but because he's just a toddler it's... a bit questionable.

They'd draw lots together, do silly dances and Eclipse, despite their spikes, would happily climb onto their back and point it in directions to go in. It'd obviously comply, quickly finding amusement in being the horsey once they get over their fear of him stabbing himself on his spikes.

The two of them would also become very 'judgy' about their siblings, playfully poking at them together. Because of the toddler, Solar Flare can get away with playfully bullying its other brothers, who have to grit their teeth so the baby doesn't cry.

Bloodmoon

First scenario

They'd laugh their asses off. No question in that. They'd also be unbearingly overprotective, no question about that either.

They would curl up around Eclipse, despite him hissing and grumbling at them to leave him alone, surrounding him with safety and warmth. It doesn't sit well with them to see him so small, especially when the child body's battery is smaller and he just generally gets more tired easier. But seeing him plug in to charge more would be a torture. But seeing him yawning more would be funny.

They're also barred from dancing with him, which makes them slightly annoyed but they suck it up, mostly able to play Scrabble with him. Which is fun, don't get them wrong, but they're more physically inclined creatures.

The funniness of it would just wear off after some point and leave them with loads of anxiety, because he still wants to do dangerous things, but his body just doesn't allow for that anymore. They'd be freaking out by day two

Second scenario

Blasted SCPs! They're the eldests again!

Bloody would feel terribly shaky with their big brother being a toddler, even more unsure than ever, because now they're adults and Eclipse is soft compared to them. He'd be freaking out. Rusty wouldn't be so obvious, but he too is scared of screwing up.

Eclipse wants to do stuff with them though. He remembers playing Scrabbles with them, but now he finds it boring which'd panic the twins. He also doesn't like horror anymore, crying at the more grusome scenes, so watching movies/playing games they did before is out too. All that's left is dancing too, which they'd be happy to do, watching stuff like Jurassic park where they root for the dinos, and playing tag.

They're a bit rusty (haha) at this whole child appropriate thing, especially because they were kids themselves when their siblings were kids, but they'll try their best.

They play tag with Eclipse, play hide and seek with him too, pretending not to see/hear the little toddler. They'd be absolutely down to play horsey, get into tickle fights and just generally have fun.

They'd jump on top of the shelves near the ceiling of the room, leaving the tot up there, and playfully threatening to keep him there if he doesn't behave. They'd also throw him in the air a lot, and give him playful shakes whenever they're holding him.

They'd feel kind of nostalgic over it, despite never having interacted with children before as an adult.

Lunar

First scenario

He's laighing. Eclipse is struggling with life in general, and he's laughing.

He'd bully him so much about his height its unreal. All the shortie jokes that he has to deal with. He'd be epecially insufferable if he was taller too.

He's consequently be basically ignored by Eclipse thus, who would be a sore loser about this. Because he didn't sign up to be made fun of. (he obviously ignores all the times he calls Lunar a midget, those don't count because he is, while Eclipse is just an unlucky bastart)

Lunar would be busy laughing his ass off to truly realise how uncomfortable he actually feels about this all. He'd sometimes wake up in the night though, wishing to snuggle into a silicone chest, only to remember his big brother is small now. He wouldn't admit how much that bothers him though

Second scenario

He's uncomfortable. Very, very uncomfortable. He doesn't know how to handle not being the youngest anymore. Even if only temporarily.

He'd be the most withdrawn because of it in the beginning, only to feel horrible at the obvious hurt in the toddler's optics. He'd fold before long eventually, but only because he misses his big brother.

He finds he doesn't much mind the kid, maybe even has fun with him, even if they do have to play less or even different games to their usual. They can't exactly play scary games when the tot freaks out over it. So they'd play more stuff like Mario Kart and what not, even if Eclipse's coordination like this is not the best. Lunar has to throw a lot so he doesn't end up with a crying toddler next to him. He wouldn't mind it all that much as he gets into it, happily losing a couple times so the kid can be happy too.

He'd miss his older brother tho. He gets it the others are having fun with the toddlerified Eclipse, but he personally misses the Eclipse who's confident, smart and doesn't freak out over jumpscares. He's kind of sad about him not being there anymore. Even if only temporarily, Lunar doesn't like being an older brother, Feels wrong to him.

Sun

First scenario

He'd be having the time of his life pretending his nephew is an actual child. After Killcode he's the worst offender of cuddles.

He'd just hug Eclipse to himself, ignoring the angry mumbling and escape attempts. He'd however also make sure Eclipse knows he's just messing with him. He doesn't actually want there to be any bad blood between them.

He'd probably keep his cats away from him like this, unsure how they'd react. It's an amusing attempt when all they want is to snuggle to the snuggle-sized Eclipse. They'd absolutely bully him

Second scenario

He'd melt. And he'd go into full uncle mode.

He'd be doing arts'n'crafts constantly with the kid, snatch him playfully off the ground to nuzzle, and make loads of pancakes. He'd also have fun knitting clothes for the child, making a full winter get up with the mittens, oversized scarf and big sweated and cutesy hat.

He'd be careful when introducing him to the cats, making loads of pictures of them snuggling on the couch and bed. He'd be absolutely delighted to have Eclipse toddle after him curiously, and he'd ring his bells for him just to get his attention.

He'd be all into reading stories for him too, making all the silly voices he can. He'd also sew a plushy probably, maybe a little kitty to match the little Eclipse, squealing in delight when he brings it with him to everywhere.

He'd be doing fun bathtime routines too, making extensive bubble baths so the toddler can have all the fun. One night he'd just show up with a bunch of bathtime toys, and no one dares question him.

They'd also make a solar bot club with Solar Flare, and Sun'd teach the toddler Eclipse (whose normal, adult version taught Sun) how to make friendship bracelets, so all the club members match.

He'd probably almost fistfight Killcode too over who gets to snuggle when. He barely holds himself back, because that is still his brother's kid.

Moon

First scenario

After having a good laugh, he'd immediately start looking for a cure. Eclipse appreciates this, and would probably try sticking to him the most despite how he also makes fun of him extensively. In Eclipse's opinion, that's still better than all the coddling. That's just kinda the norm for Moon.

He'd try to act less jerkish though, simply because he's not immune to the size no matter what he tells himself. It's just his touch averse nature keeping him from actually cuddling. He'd probably do more heatpats, which he'd disguise as condescending so Eclipse doesn't realise he finds him adorable too

Second scenario

He'd keep away, afraid he'd fuck up somehow. This obviously wouldn't go down well with the tot, who does remember his uncle Moonie doesn't like tocuhes, but his programming is telling him to at least sometimes give him a hug because that's what you do with uncles. Moon would obviously fold eventually.

He'd allow the occasional hug, but'd still make it pretty clear it's only good if it's allowed touch. Instead of all the physical touches, he'd opt for quality time and gifts.

He'd teach the kid how to build things, proud when the skills he got as an adults kinda shine through. They'd build stuff from all sorts of things, from legos, from building blocks, from jenga and etc. He'd also get one of this for kids mini robots that you have to build yourself and can practice programming on. He'd also let the kid 'make' a video game, which would just be him sitting in Moon's lap and telling him what to do.

He'd also unwillingly go into naptime mode, reading bedtime stories so he falls asleep, singing lullabies when it's just the two of them, and even rocking him occasionally when he feels comfortable with a bit more touch. Because of this Eclipse would go to him whenever he feels tired during the day. He'd then curl up next to Moon, or even in his lap, while his uncle reads him a story and pats him like a kitty.

He'd be especially happy with all the ray skritches Moon can do, sometimes being annoying on puprose so his uncle will shut him up by going for his rays to make him sleep. Moon would be irritated by how he's outsmarted by a toddler each time.

He'd also take it upon himself to make him learn stuff, unwilling to let his knowledge maniac nephew sit idle. Eclipse enjoys these lessons, bringing notebooks he can scribble into. His notes though would be half badly spelled words and half drawings. Moon will never admit he finds it adorable.

After he's back in his normal body in the first scenario he's pretty mad and humiliated, and would be withdrawn and angry for a couple days. Lots of groveling would be needed to make him forgive people.

The second scenario would also end with him embarrassed in the end, but he's feel pretty touched by all the things they did for him. He doesn't want a repeat though

[nthspecialll]

Hi! I genuinely really appreciate all the time and care you put into your analysises of the characters and the world surrounding them, and they genuinely make me love the red dead franchise even more than I already did!

I’m just wondering if you have any thoughts about how and why Arthur plays up the act of being nothing more than a ‘dumb brute’? I know that he does it to cope partially with his own guilt and such, but I was just curious to hear your take on it, if that makes sense haha? What also intrigues me is the fact that Hosea seems to always poke fun at Arthur for being ‘stupid’ but at the same time seems to see through Arthur’s act?

Sorry if this doesn’t make any sense haha <3

It makes sense, don't worry! And also thank you! I put a dumb amount of time into this, like underneath the rdr2 fan wiki it said "you visit a lot" like okay thanks PFT.

But as to why Arthur plays a dumb brute, it is due to the way Hosea raised him. Hosea raised him to put on this mask because those are Arthur's good traits, he is big, intimidating and with the canon fit does look kinda dumb, he plays exactly into a role that people already know and fear. Dutch himself says that the sight of Arthur would make even statues talk and it would be dumb for them not to play into that, even Stauss plays into it. They don't have a lot but they play into what they have.

Arthur himself did not do this, Arthur when he joined the gang he was an angry little kid but he was raised into acting dumb, you can actually observe Hosea's way of raising by looking at Sean because the exact same thing is being done with Sean:

As to why Hosea plays into it at some times and doesn't in other. See it like acting, when Arthur was young Hosea put this mask on him and told him to play a part, Hosea was his stage partner and now they need to convince everyone else that Arthur is in fact this character and not jsut acting. That would be utterly impossible if Hosea, as his stage partner (because we know the two made a lot of jobs together) did not refer to Arthur like that.

Imagine you go to see a movie but one of the side characters keeps treating the main character like the actor who plays them and not the actual character, it would be so hard not just for the viewer to get into the story but it would also be hard for the main character's actor to get into the character because they are pulled out.

So Hosea plays into it because he needs Arthur to keep that mask, but why does he then go out of it? This is best explained by using the interaction where Hosea, Lenny, Tilly and Arthur talk about how they want to be buried. Arthur says he doesn't think much about it but Hosea says "I know you aren't that dumb" or similar. Here Hosea is not asking the brute, he is asking Arthur behind the mask, he is asking the actor and not the character.