#But at least Hancock has the spirit

[theflowerofthecommonwealth]

RoboDad is training Hancock in the ways of the Detective.

This is the Buddy Cop film we need and deserve.

[prentissluvr]

something about being close — sam winchester

pairing : s.2!sam winchester x gn!reader, featuring platonic dean ➖⟢ genre : angst, fluff, ➖⟢ cw : sam and reader are lovingly mean to each other, bad insults (weird, stupid, lame), bad jokes, swearing, canon typical violence and ghosts, arguing, so much kissing, could be ooc but idc, edited but most likely still contains a few mistakes, single usage of y/n ➖⟢ wc : 9.5K summary : sam is acting weird, and when it puts people in danger, you can't let it slide (despite the fact that you're totally in love with him).

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

“hey, check this out,” sam calls to you and dean, not bothering to look up from his computer screen. “think we found our violent spirit.” you part from your own research without a single qualm, resting a hand on the back of sam’s chair as he leans back for you and dean to get a better look. “marissa hancock. she was a student at the college, died a violent death there, just like we thought. it’s thought that the janitor impaled her with his mop while he was working in her dorm hall, but he was never put away for lack of evidence.”

“explains the janitor kabob,” dean quips, already headed to shrug on his jacket. 

“easy solve,” you admit. it only took a solid half hour of searching through records to find the right murder. “but why’s she killing now? she’s had, what?” you lean further over sam’s shoulder to inspect the record, “fifty some years to be killing janitors, why start now?”

“dunno,” sam shrugs, and you can feel his shoulder brush against you, reminding you how close he is. doing your best to stay casual and maybe not stare longingly at his pretty face from this close up, you straighten your back and go to grab your own jacket as sam types away on his keyboard. “looks like her original murderer died two weeks ago.”

“right when the killings started,” dean finishes. “alright, let’s go. you got where she’s buried, sam?”

“yep,” he stands, shutting his laptop. “saint mercy cemetery, not too far.”

“hm,” you laugh out, “second saint mercy cemetery this month. people need to get more creative,” you note as you exit the motel room and head down the short hallway to get to the impala.

“and what would you name a cemetery?” dean asks, ready to catch you off guard or tease you for anything he can get his hands on.

“i should have thought of a clever answer before saying that,” you admit, “but i do wish it were socially acceptable to call them dead people neighborhoods.”

“that’s lame,” sam grins, throwing his arm around your shoulders for just about two seconds before he has to let go to get through the small doorway and outside.

“c’mon,” you complain, “i know it’s kind of lame, and definitely insensitive, but imagine someone just asked you where you’re headed after work and you get to tell them you’re going to the dead people neighborhood. cemetery’s no fun, at least dead people neighborhood is accurate.” you close the back door of the car behind you as you settle in to punctuate your point.

“you’re weird,” sam teases in a matter-of-fact tone, not even looking back from the passenger's seat to see the sneer on your face.

“no, you’re weird,” you fire back.

“alright, kids,” dean interrupts, “enough bickering like we’re four, we’ve got a job to do,” he snickers as he backs the car up.

“okay, dean,” you and sam chime, voices full of mocking and almost totally in sync. dean rolls his eyes hard, because it’s just one of those days where the two of you can’t stop feeding into the antics of the other, regressing the combined mental age of the three of you by at least twenty years. 

having known the brothers since you were kids through bobby, and starting to hunt with them about a year and a half ago, you’ve certainly grown close with the both of them. but a little closer in age, you and sam are nothing but two peas in a pod. and much to dean’s chagrin, that means it only takes a split second for the two of you to switch things up and turn against him when he tries to break up your banter. it’s pretty much all loving argumentation, of course, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t annoying as all hell for whoever has to witness it.

“and for the record, i like dead people neighborhood,” dean offers, ignoring your moment of synchronicity with sam.

“yes!” you celebrate, reaching around the seat in front of you to lightly hit sam’s shoulder. “you’re the lame one, you’re no fun.” 

he scoffs, mumbling something to himself about how, “of course dean likes dead people neighborhood. it’s stupid.”

you resist the urge to tell him that he’s stupid, and instead follow dean’s direction to focus on the case.

“hold on, dean. you should drop me off on campus first, one of us should make sure another janitor doesn’t fall on his mop handle before we can burn the bones,” you suggest.

“no.”

your brow furrows at how fast sam shuts you down, his serious tone a harsh contrast to his practically whiny mumble moments before. you glance at dean to see that he’s got his own eyebrows raised in confusion.

“what’d’you mean, ‘no’?” you question.

“i mean,” he clears his throat as if he’s just realized his strong denial was awkward, “that that could be dangerous alone, so i’ll go and you can stick with dean.”

you send a bewildered look to dean, one he doesn’t catch trying to pay attention to the street name up ahead. “i’m sorry, are you suggesting i can’t handle a measly ghost?” mostly you’re confused by sam’s words, but you can’t help letting a bit of offense slip into your voice.

“n-no, no that’s not what i’m saying,” he fumbles, trying to fix what he said, “i meant– i meant it would be safer for anyone not to go alone. so– so i’ll go with you and dean can stick with burning the body.”

it’s a clumsy, bad save that’s entirely unconvincing.

“you’re seriously gonna stick me with grave digging duty?” dean grunts, “y/n’s right, it’s just one ghost, we don’t need two of us to deal with it. digging up a grave is arguably harder.”

“exactly,” you reason, “which is why i should go scope out the dorm hall, and you should go with dean to the dead people neighborhood.”

“she’s buried in a family mausoleum,” counters sam, “her grave doesn’t need to be dug up, which means it’s a one person job, and since there could be an actual violent ghost in the dorm, two people should go. and don’t try to make dead people neighborhood a thing, at the very least it’s too long, not to mention it’s not funny.”

despite the fact that he’s teasing you, you’re glad to hear something normal come out of his mouth. his hesitancy to let you take on the ghost is odd, especially considering the ghost might not show up at all. it’s not like he’s never been protective of you, it’s in both his and certainly dean’s nature. but he knows full well that you are completely capable of handling one violent ghost, and he’s been weird like this for the past two weeks.

you laugh when you admit, “it wasn’t quite as good in context as i thought it would be, but it wasn’t that bad, i’m just tryna to stick with my bit,” you defend, “and fine, two people at the dorms, one on dead person arson.”

“are you serious?” sam laughs, halfheartedly tossing his head back to give you a judgemental look through the corner of his eye.

“dead serious, pun absolutely intended,” you let out a full laugh at the strangled sigh he lets out. oh how you love to rile him up with bad jokes. “you’re too easy, sam. for that, i’m sticking you on grave duty. dean and i will handle the dorm.”

“you should be on grave duty, for all the bad jokes today,” he argues.

dean practically growls in annoyance, “how about i go on grave duty, so i can get away from your annoying asses.” it’s not a suggestion, and the both of you huff out a sigh, but don’t argue.

dean drops you off a little ways from the dorm hall for you to grab a shotgun and salt rounds with less of a chance of being seen. you leave the other shotgun for dean just in case, bothered that yours is still broken from the last hunt. there hadn’t been enough time to fix it yet. so, you grab an iron rod, hoping to use that before any guns on a college campus. it’d be a sticky situation to get out of, being caught with shotguns in a dorm, and at the very least incredibly inconvenient to scare the hell out of a bunch of college aged kids at eleven pm. sam sticks the shotgun under his jacket, generally hiding it from the view of anyone not looking too closely.

walking a few minutes, you find the right dorm hall and sam hands the gun off to you to pull out his lock pick. but, glancing behind you, you shove the gun back into his hands and yank him into you.

“the hell?” he resists for a split second before you quickly interrupt him.

“shut up! hide the gun and act like you’re piss drunk. someone’s coming,” you hiss. in a swift movement, he tucks the gun back under his jacket as you shimmy the iron rod into your sleeve, then he swings his free arm around you, practically dropping half of his weight on you. “dude,” you complain, before falling into character. “sammy, come on!” you whine loudly. “i can’t reach my id with you like this,” you pretend to feel around for something in your back pocket while keeping him standing, and he immediately picks up on what you’re trying to do. he stumbles forward so that you have to use both hands to keep him upright, and you curse at your false struggle. “help me out here, sammy, will you?” you try to make your voice sound overly desperate, maybe a little innocent too, “why don’t you lean against the wall so we can get inside,” you beg, trusting sam to play his part well.

“nooo,” he slurs, dragging the word out in a whiny pitch, “don’t wanna.” he turns into you and haphazardly wraps his lanky arm all the way around your form, tugging you to him and nearly knocking the both of you over. you feel heat rush to your cheeks at this and desperately remind yourself that he’s only pressing his face into your neck so that he can get a look at the person approaching and keep the shotgun well hidden from view.

you see the girl out of the corner of your eye, young and clearly a student headed for the dorm.

“oh, thank god!” you exclaim, “hey, i’m so sorry to bother you, but do you think you could open the door for us?” you ask as sweetly as you can, pulling your eyebrows together to gain sympathy, before adding on a humorous tone, “my boyfriend is stupid drunk and i can’t get us inside.” you can feel sam stiffen for a split second at your words, and you yourself wonder if you should have just gone the “friend” route for the sake of your own sanity. you’re going to want to keep calling sam your boyfriend, over and over again.

“oh my god, of course,” she laughs goodnaturedly, and you thank the lord she’s laid back, rather than some uptight rule follower ready to report you to administration. she swipes her id and holds the door open for you, and as you struggle into the building, you think that sam is making this harder for you than it has to be. but there’s absolutely no denying you love the way it feels to just have him all over you, even for the sake of illegally entering a building with a gun.

“thank you so much,” your voice is one big sigh of relief, slightly muffled by the fabric of sam’s jacket.

“yeah, don’t worry about it,” she smiles, “you two are super cute, by the way,” she compliments before turning towards the stairs and waving a kind goodbye.

you do your best to not stumble over your words as you thank her, heat once again rising to your face, and you’re sure that sam can feel the warmth of your neck. body stiff, you turn and head down the hallway in the opposite direction, sam still clinging to you until it’s clear.

“alright, get off, you big dork,” you snort, gently pushing him away and doing your best to regain your composure to proceed as if you don’t have a massive crush on him. “did ya have to make it so hard for me?”

he shrugs with a sly grin, “had to make it convincing, didn’t i? besides, it was your idea, you don’t get to complain.”

you stick your tongue out at him and he raises his eyebrows as if to say, “really?”

“she was really nice,” you note, voice almost wistful in a way that sam easily picks up on. about a year into hunting with the brothers and dean was off buying food, you and sam had collapsed onto a motel bed together as you had many times before by then, both exhausted after a long case. that night, as you spoke in tired, hushed tones, with no need for anyone but the other to hear your words, you had somehow ended up with your head resting on his biceps and one of his legs swung over yours. 

that’s the night you told him you were jealous that he got to go to college, even if it wasn’t for long. you’d told him how you liked the idea of that life, even if you had to return to hunting after it was over. you wanted friends your age, to learn, go to stupid parties and have a college partner. you knew the experience wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies, but you wanted it anyway. he’d said, sure, it wasn’t perfect, but it was a hell of a lot better than hunting in his opinion. he wanted you to have that. once this was all over, and you both got justice for your families, he’d help you apply, make sure you got in somewhere, maybe even go with you. a hush fell over the room and he knew you weren’t convinced.

“yeah, she was,” he says, his own voice a touch more gentle than moments ago. “we were lucky.” he doesn’t want to tell you that most college kids would be at least cool enough to let you inside, maybe not as friendly as her, but that it’s true you’d like it here. he doesn’t want to remind you of what you can’t have. 

a silence falls over the two of you, punctuated only by the shuffling of your feet or the rustle of clothes. it’s comfortable and easy because you’ve done it a million times before. you don’t have to say anything to agree that you’ll head to the basement where the original murder occured. the both of you stay quiet and light on your feet, sam always peering around corners before rounding them.

in the basement he stops you with a simple finger to his lips. he leans in close to whisper as quietly as he can, “janitor’s here.”

you resist the urge to call said janitor an idiot, because who the hell is going to be cleaning an area in which three of your coworkers have mysteriously died in the past two weeks, but you just nod instead, taking in the way that sam’s eyes look under the dim light.

“wanna wait around til dean calls or warn him?” you ask, equally as quiet. he turns his head to look back around the corner before continuing.

“well, we should warn him, but we can’t use the drunk ruse on an employee. he probably has a radio scanner on him, might even be connected to campus security,” he points out.

“fbi?”

“we look too much like college kids right now,” he reasons.

“right,” you agree, “well then, stupid college kids trying to see a murder scene? we’ll link arms and you can hide the gun behind your back. just so we’re near him til dean burns the bones. hopefully nothing’ll even happen.” it’s as if you jinxed it all in that moment, as the lights immediately begin to flicker, the buzz of electricity filling your ears and a sudden chill filling the air. “nevermind,” you curse, flicking the iron rod back into your hand and barging around the corner, only a hair behind sam.

“way to jinx it,” he grunts.

you just scoff and beg him, “just try not to use the gun.” this time neither of you attempt to hide your presence as your shoes pound against the tile floor.

“no promises,” sam says, the gun up and loaded in front of him.

“what the hell?” the janitor barely has the time to exclaim before he’s thrown against the wall.

“i got it,” you warn sam, eager to avoid gunshots and sprinting full speed towards the apparition, iron rod in front of you. you throw all your weight into reaching the ghost of the young girl before she can flicker out of reach. the iron in your hand makes contact, and she evaporates for the time being. unfortunately for you, your momentum keeps you going, through the space the ghost just occupied and straight into the section of the floor slick with soapy water. with no time to gain any semblance of your balance, you slip and come crashing to the ground. your back hits the floor and the wind gets knocked out of your lungs in the same moment that the iron skitters out of your hand.

you struggle a bit to sit up due to the wetness underneath you, gasping slightly and letting curses fall from your mouth the moment you can speak again.

in a split second reaction, sam shouts your name, his voice inappropriately taught and worried for such a silly accident. he’s by your side in an instant, strong hands pulling you up and his anxious voice asking if you’re alright. you wave him off easily, unconcerned for yourself.

“help him,” you urge, “i’m fine.” but he doesn’t back off nearly as easily as you’d think.

“are you sure, did you hit your head? you couldn’t breathe for a second there,” his hands stay glued to you as he rattles off his concerns, ones that you find utterly unnecessary and unhelpful considering the fact that you’re fine, and the ghost could reappear any second. his strong grip keeps you from bending down to scoop up the iron rod, but you have to wrench yourself away from him when you hear a strangled cry come from the janitor. he whirls around with you to see the ghost with her hands around the janitor’s neck, crushing him against the wall as his feet dangle just above the floor. the iron rod is back in your hand in an instant, but sam’s shotgun lays abandoned on the floor a few feet away.

he dives for the weapon, but with a flick of the ghost’s hand, he’s knocked against the wall with a noise so loud it hurts to hear. before she can pay you attention, you fling the iron towards her, vaporizing her once more. the iron clatters to the ground as the janitor collapses to his knees. you rush towards him, pulling him away from the wall before tugging a container of salt from your jacket’s inside pockets. apologetically, you haul the poor man to his feet, throwing a quick look over your shoulder at sam. he’s groaning painfully, but already moving to get back up. 

knowing he’s easily survived worse, you turn your attention back to the janitor, who’s sputtering out confused and incoherent questions about what in the goddamn hell is happening.

“just stay there,” you urge him, too pressed for time to add adequate sympathy to your tone. “stay in the circle and she can’t get you.” with practiced ease, you shake the salt onto the ground with barely enough to make a small, solid ring around the man.

you scoop up the gun from the ground, then turn to help sam onto his feet. “we’re gonna have to tough this out til dean gets done,” is all you say when you place the weapon into his hands, despite the urge to ask what the hell is wrong with him and why he’s so off his game. you turn to grab your own weapon, but it seems the ghost is reappearing faster and faster. this time, you’re the one who gets tossed into the wall, but you stay pressed against the cold surface as a mop flies to meet you, the long handle pushing against your throat and cutting off your air supply. you take in a strangled gasp, hands clawing at the old wooden handle and giving yourself a few splinters that you couldn’t care less about in the moment. of course, it doesn’t budge.

the second you’re flattened against the wall, sam shouts your name again, this time with his gun in the air, swinging around to get a shot at the ghost. but before he can react, it flies out of his hand and she reappears right in front of him, pushing him against the wall across from you.

he struggles against her wildly, his hand itching to get free of her hold to reach the hidden iron knife in his pocket. but before he can get there, her grip weakens and she lets out a strangled scream as she bursts into flames. the flames climb up her old fashioned pencil skirt and swallow up the bloody wound in her abdomen. her grip on you and sam falters as she burns away, then dissolves completely as the last of her ashes fade out into the musty basement air.

you drop to your knees, coughing and gasping for breath as the sound of the mop clattering to the floor echoes through the hallway. sam’s saying your name, half through a cough and his voice still so worried as he stumbles towards you. then he’s on his knees too and his hands are sturdy on your shoulders.

“‘m fine,” you rasp out, hand reaching for his bicep to ground you to something solid and steady. he stays right there, completely ignoring the poor man who’s still practically frozen in fear in the tiny circle of salt and the ringing of his phone. one of his hands slips around you to rub soothing strokes up and down your back and it brings you even closer to him, your forehead dipping to rest on his shoulder. you feel silly for how much he’s fussing over you, but you can’t quite scold or question him until you’ve caught your breath. clearly something is bothering him (and you want him so bad), so you let him hold you close.

“are you hurt anywhere?” he finally asks once he feels your breathing even out under his touch. 

you pull away from him gently, shaking your head before verbally confirming, “no, i’m alright sam. nothing more than your typical bumps and bruises.” your voice is a touch raspy from the pressure on your throat, but it’s nothing that won’t go away with some water and rest, maybe some tea if really necessary.

his hands stay on you as he stands. “are you sure?” he asks, and you can’t figure out why on earth, heaven, or hell he’s so overly concerned about you. frankly, it’s starting to worry you. and definitely annoy you. all the sudden he’s acting like you’re fragile, like you can’t take care of yourself. things which he should know for a fact aren’t true.

he lets you slip away from his hold as you swoop down to pick up your lost weapons and face the poor janitor.

“sorry about that all. you can step out of the salt now.” he looks at you as if he can’t be sure, and your tone softens a bit. he’s young, probably just a college kid himself. “she’s really gone this time, i promise. you won’t ever have to worry about her again. though, i wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to look for a different job.”

he nods and thanks you, and you tell him to repay the favor by not mentioning you and sam. then, at a pace you certainly can’t blame him for, he scurries away.

“c’mon,” you nod to sam, “we should get out of here. you should also call dean back. he’s probably worried you didn’t answer.” with that, you turn back in the direction of the stairs without looking back at sam, rolling your eyes when your own cell ring. you pick up with a, “we’re fine, dean,” before he can even ask why the hell it took you so long to answer him. he lets out a sigh, half relieved, half annoyed. 

“what took ya so long?” he asks anyway.

“had a few bumps in the road since little miss janitor-killer showed up, but we’re fine. neither of us are hurt. would’ya pick us up in the same spot you left us?”

“yeah, ‘course. already on my way, see you crazy kids in five.” with that, he hangs up and you don’t have to glance over your shoulder to feel sam following behind. it’s all just the familiarity of his footsteps, the sound they make, and the pace at which he walks. it’s the particular rustle of his favorite jacket, soft and scratchy sounding all at once. it’s the feeling of his tall figure, his broad chest so close behind you that he’d run right into you if you stopped even for a moment. you debate whether to ask him what the hell is up now or at the motel. for now, the priority is getting out unnoticed, so you clench your jaw a bit and continue in silence because you’re beginning to feel a little angry with him. you think he can feel it, so he stays quiet too, all the way out the dorm and down the street to wait for dean.

it’s not uncommon to be quieter after a hunt is finished because you’re all usually tired and more often than not achey from some toss around or another. but sam can tell there’s something else bothering you tonight. from the way you tilt your shoulder away from him, the distance so nearly imperceptible that only he would notice, he’s willing to bet that he’s that something. and though he doesn’t want to admit it, he thinks he knows why. he just won’t be the first one to say something about it because he’s stubborn, a little prideful, and most of all, too afraid to explain why he’s acting this way.

even so, he just can’t help himself. he hovers near, so near that once you’re settled by the side of the road, you can feel him without actually touching him. you’re tempted to nudge him away, just because of how overprotective he’s acting. you’re also tempted to lean back into his chest because somehow you know his hands wouldn’t waste a second in gathering you up and keeping you closer than ever before. it starts to rain a little bit, soft and almost unnoticable if it weren’t for the new chill in the air. for a moment, you can feel one hand hover over your waist, just for a second before there’s a light swish of fabric when it falls back to his side. you wonder if he’s worried about you getting too cold.

you hear dean before you see him, the rumble of the impala coming into earshot moments before its headlights appear around the corner. the car slows as it nears you, pulling to the side of the road with the front windows down and some classic rock guitar riff filtering into your ears. the music’s quieter than you know it was just moments ago from when dean was alone. he greets you two with a simple, “hey,” once he’s fully stopped and you place your hand out, palm up and wordlessly asking for sam to hand you the rifle to put in the trunk.

“i got it,” he says, not waiting for you to argue when he takes the iron from the loose grip of your fist and makes his way to the trunk. you slide into the back seat behind the passengers side and return dean’s greeting.

he twists in his seat to watch you as you close your eyes and massage your shoulder with a wince. it’s beginning to become more sore, just like all the rest of your body.

“you okay?” he asks, voice full of his normal gruffness that tells you cares enough to ask but knows not to be too worried.

you open your eyes back up to give him a nod. “‘m fine. just the usual ghost beat down. y’know, bumps and bruises.”

“mm, sure do,” he agrees, “so what? dearly departed marissa thought you were janitors?” he asks skeptically. you hear the slam of the trunk, and moments later sam’s settling into his seat in front of you.

“no,” you scoff, “some idiot kid was actually cleaning down there. told ‘im to get a new job,” you snort humorlessly.

“well, i’ll say,” dean raises his eyebrows in agreement before twisting back to face the wheel. he sneaks a look between you and sam before switching the car out of park and getting back on the road. for a few minutes, all you hear is the muted music, the constant roll of the engine, the light patter of rain on the metal roof, and the road under the tires. then dean switches off the music. “anything happen back there that i should know about?” he ventures.

“no,” sam answers casually, “nothing, just the usual.” you don’t even answer. you just can’t figure out if you should involve dean, tell him how sam was unthinking and almost entirely uncaring about the innocent civilian involved, all because he was so worried about you.

“alright,” dean concedes, glancing at you through the rearview mirror and sounding entirely unconvinced. he doesn’t turn the music back on, just lets the silence reign, so you close your tired eyes and lean your head against the cold glass of the window. you’ve fallen asleep in the back of the impala countless times before, but your drowsiness doesn’t take over this time in favor of letting your mind wander over what to say to sam. you can’t just let it be, and tonight is certainly the worst it’s gotten. plus, it’s an easy habit for you to wait for sleep when you’re already so close to the motel. 

when dean pulls into the parking lot, he doesn’t turn off the engine. “gonna grab some grub. i’ll be back in a bit with the usual.”

“grab me something for dessert, will ya? ‘m craving something sweet,” you request, leaning towards the driver’s seat. 

“sure thing,” he nods, and you slide out of the car and close the door after a thank you and tired smile. “anything for you, sammy?” you hear him ask.

“i’m good, just the regular,” sam responds as he exits the car. you unlock the motel door, and he’s inside the room just a moment later, closing and locking the entrance behind him. you stand facing away from him at the shitty table, your jacket already strewn across the back of a chair. you can hear him behind you, going through his routine movements. he’s taking off his jacket, setting it down on the edge of the bed. then he’s pulling comfier clothes out from his pack.

“you wanna shower first?” he offers, breaking the silence of the room. you can feel his gaze on your back.

“sure,” you swallow, “thanks,” you say without any sort of edge to your voice.

“‘f course,” he says, and he means that. his eyes follow you as you pull out your own change of clothes, just a tshirt and sweats, and make your way to the dingy bathroom. you’re tired, so you’re quick with it, but the water’s already lukewarm by the time you’re done. you dry off and dress quick, eager to lay in bed.

and yet, when sam takes your place in the bathroom and the sounds of the shower start up again, you sit at the table instead, picking out a few splinters in your hands before folding your arms and resting your head against them. you stay that way, even when you hear the water turn off, the bathroom door open, his heavy footfalls that are only heavy because he’s so tall and not for lack of gentleness, then the scraping of the chair across from you. he doesn’t even say a thing, just looks at the top of your head and the tip of your nose. the shape of your hands, the point of your elbows, and the curve of your back.

with a deep breath and some pain in your neck, you lift your head. you look back at him and slump your chin into your palm.

“i’m upset with you,” you state.

he frowns. even his frown is pretty. “i know,” he sighs.

“so? why are you acting like this?” your voice is tired, but you still manage to infuse accusation into your tone, “sam, why are you suddenly acting like i can’t take care of myself out there? you’ve been weird for nearly two weeks now, and i don’t like it. i don’t like this.”

sam doesn’t know how to respond. he’s used to being yelled at, shouted at, angry at. he’s used to yelling and shouting and getting angry back. and though he’s certainly fought with you before, he’s still not used to the level tone and the way you say each word so slow, like you’re not actually arguing. just upset and rightfully a little angry, like you just want to understand. 

sure, he can hear the plain anger in your voice. you’re not trying to hide it. but you’re not yelling. how’s he supposed to use the heat of the moment to shout back, “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” or “i’m just trying to help,” when there is no heat in the moment? instead, he’s embarrassed and the only answer he can come up with, the only one that he can mean if he answers in that same, level tone you’re using is, one he’s having too much trouble saying aloud. any other answer would just be too wrong like that. or maybe if you were shouting, he’d tell you the truth, because he could yell it out, loud and rash without thinking about it. if he says it now, it’s not because he just let it slip. if he says it now, there’s no way to take it back, to get around everything threatening to bubble over the surface like forgotten water on a heated stove.

“i don’t think that you can’t take care of yourself. i know you can,” is all he says, because it’s true and it skirts around the real questions. his voice is rough, halfway between pleading and holding back from the anger he doesn’t yet know how to control. you heave a sigh.

“so why, sam? why?” you let the heavy question stew for a moment, then go on when he doesn’t even meet your gaze, “or, i don’t know, if you’re not gonna tell me, just promise me you’ll stop?”

he clenches his jaw because he knows he can’t. he just wishes you would shout. then, he’d tell you. he can imagine the words coming out of his mouth, but only if they’re loud, only if you’ve pressured him to do it. he realizes that’s probably fucked up. but the other way is too vulnerable, too vast of a leap to take to when he’s just not sure.

“sam,” you press, “you don’t have to worry about me, i swear. i don’t understand what’s got you like this, but it’s getting in the way of you being able to do your job right. that kid could have died because all you could do was worry about me,” that’s when you begin you raise your voice, just a little. because that’s what’s making you most upset about this. you hate it ‘cause you feel like he’s doubting your abilities as a hunter, but you hate it even more because it’s making him disregard the safety of others and of himself, for you. “sam, i only slipped. sure i got the wind knocked out of me, but you dropped your gun for that? frankly, that was stupid. and the poor kid was being choked, and if i hadn’t been lucky enough to throw the iron before she could react, he could have died. i need you to understand that. i need you to understand that i can do this job, that i’m strong enough, and that if you don’t trust me with that? people could die. and i’m not about to let that happen. so either you tell me what’s up and we figure it out, or you stop and i pay you the huge favor of just dropping the whole thing, okay?”

suddenly he looks all sad. “i do trust you,” he says, voice all sincerity and nothing more.

you close your eyes for a moment, half in frustration and half because you could really use some shut eye right about now. “that’s not– well, it is. it is part of the point. but i need an answer from you, i need you to tell me you won’t let whatever this is put somebody else in danger.”

he clenches his jaw. he’s still stuck. you still haven’t shouted.

“just spit it out. i can practically see something rolling around on the tip of your tongue. just say it, sam.”

there’s an edge to your voice, so maybe he can.

“i can’t lose you.”

there it is. it’s said with an edge, too, like he wanted to shout it but couldn’t. it’s said rough and a little bit angry and full of this undying faithfulness and yes, love. 

but you still don't quite understand it, so it makes you sigh. it makes your eyes soften a bit and it makes you a little angrier than before. it makes you want him to mean that with all his chest and it makes you want to shake him hard until he comes to his senses.

“that’s always been a danger, ever since we met. you know that,” your voice is something so oddly gentle in its frustration, “sammy, you’re my best friend, and i can’t lose you either. hell, i don’t think the words “best friend” even begin to cover the depth of how much i care about you. but we’ll both be safer if we trust each other, if we trust in both of our abilities to keep ourselves and the other safe. tell me that you understand that.”

it takes him a minute to speak again, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he searches for what to say. “two weeks ago,” is all he manages at first. you try to think back to it, and it immediately dawns on you. “i couldn’t prote–”

“sammy, no,” you interrupt, “that wasn’t your fault, okay? i know this doesn’t help to say, but we can’t always protect each other perfectly, to the extent we really want. i’d do anything for you, sammy, you know that.” after that there’s supposed to be a “but” where you explain to him that you can’t let that get in the way of your thinking straight and keeping everyone safe. instead, those last words just hang, suspended and weighty in the air.

“but you could’ve been killed,” the way he says your name is almost desperate. “it was dean that saved you. i was there and i couldn’t even help. what if next time, dean isn’t there? what if–,” his voice breaks, and he effectively cuts himself off from finishing the sentence. you know what he was trying to say.

any answer you give to that, you know isn’t enough. “but i wasn’t killed, sam. i’m here. i’m right here and i’m alive and i’m well and i don’t want to spend all my time worrying about you worrying about me. not like this.” you let that sit for a moment or two, and though his eyebrows are still all sad and pinched together, you think you’re starting to get through to him.

“but i can’t lose you,” he repeats stubbornly.

“sam,” you’re practically begging at this point, frustration creeping back into your voice, “the best way for you to keep me safe from ghosts and monsters and everything else is to take care of the problem, efficiently and effectively, like we always do. if there’s no monster, it can’t hurt me. but if you drop your weapon just because i slipped on soapy floors and lost my breath for a second? then it’s not just you and whatever innocent bystander around who’s more vulnerable now, it’s me too. so if that’s what it’s gonna take for me to convince you to stop fussing over me, then, please, think about it like that.”

sam is smart. he loves logic and reason, and you’ve handed him just that. but even more than that, he loves you. in the end, that trumps all.

“but i love you.”

he says it like a plea. like he didn’t mean to say it at all but it was the only thing running through his mind, and therefore, the only thing running off his tongue.

“sammy,” you breathe out, and then it’s like there’s no more air for you to breathe back in. that sweet nickname of his coming out of your mouth, resting on your tongue before tumbling into the air, is half like a drug to him, half like a bitter wind to sober him up quick.

“i– i only meant that i–,” he meant just that and now it’s said and now he’s never going to take it back, even if you hate him for it. “i meant that,” he says it firm and true this time, “i love you, so i can’t lose you.”

the way he looks at you, right into your eyes like they’re the prettiest things he’s ever seen, like you’re the best thing he’s ever had, oh, it has you hooked like bait has a fish who bit down too hard. it has you praying he never looks at anybody else like that again. it has you rising out of your seat and it’s pulling you across the small, wobbly table. he’s wedged into the grooves of your heart, so deep it could kill you to pull him out, so you follow the tug and he leans in too so the line isn’t so taught, so that it’s easy and comfortable and beautiful to reach his lips. 

his hands are like a net that catches you up in big, lovely swaths. they travel from your own hands, that lean against the table to keep your lips pressed to his, up to your elbows and then he knows he can never get enough. so he pushes up out of his own seat, drags his hands further up your arms until they can wrap around your biceps and push you up. not for a moment does he let his lips leave yours as he stands and pulls the both of you away from the table until he can bring you close, right into his wide, warm chest. then his hands can roam, gentle over your sensitive back, up to your neck then the back of your head to push your face into his. the other hand gets to go from your waist to your hips, or dip to the small of your back and press you flush to him.

you can only get away from him for a second, just enough time to whisper, “i love you, too,” before he swallows you back up. you melt right into him, and he loves it so much, but he feels how tired you are and he remembers he is too. so he only kisses you for a minute longer before letting your head rest on his shoulder. without any reservation, he presses a long kiss to your temple and you sigh a sweet sigh into his worn out tshirt.

unwilling to let go, he waddles with you, all bundled up into his arms, to the edge of the bed. without warning, he collapses into it, taking you right down with him and pulling out a little shriek from your mouth that he finds to be nothing short of endearing. he laughs, a belly laugh that you can feel the vibrations of as it moves up into his chest and out of those pretty lips of his. with some struggle to readjust yourself, you press a sweet peck to those lips. another easy i love you.

then you collapse back into his hold and the low quality plush of the motel bed. “now promise me you’ll pull yourself together next time we get a case?” this time your ask is so much more lighthearted, sweeter because it’s mumbled into the skin of his arm. you mean it just as much, but you can’t help the fact that you feel like you’re floating, “now i really, really can’t have you getting us in trouble. i’ll need to be able to kiss you at any given moment, so you have to promise me that you’ll trust me to take care of myself. because it works, and you know it. it’s the safest way. for both of us.”

the sigh he heaves can be felt through practically your whole body. it’s heavier than you wish it’d be, but he relaxes against you just a bit more. “i know,” he relents, “i’ll do my best, okay?”

“thank you,” you breathe out, too relieved to care that he couldn’t quite promise. you know this all means he’ll just be more protective of you, but you can say the same for yourself. now that you’ve kissed him and he’s told you he loves you and you’ve said it back, right against his lips, you’ll worry about him extra. but the both of you know the best ways to keep each other alive, and that has to be enough for you. you allow yourself to snuggle closer into him before joking, “d’you think dean’s ever gonna come back?”

you feel sam’s quiet laugh more than you hear it. “yeah, he really did us a favor with that one, didn’t he?” you can hear the smile in his voice before he remembers himself, “do not tell him i said that.” having you in his arms like this has got him a little giddy, saying things aloud that he normally wouldn’t.

letting out a laugh of your own, you promise, “i won’t. but i’m starting to get hungry. maybe we should call him and tell him the coast is clear, we didn’t tear the room to shreds or anything like that.”

sam chuckles again, and you decide very quickly that you like the way it feels for him to laugh with you so close. neither of you move, not to get a phone to call dean or to stop yourselves from growing drowsy. not for anything.

you’re half asleep when you hear the familiar sound of the impala’s engine near the room. it turns off, then comes the sound of its front door being open and shut. just because you’re hungry and it spells the arrival of food, you force your eyes open and let out a groan when you wiggle your arms out of sam’s hold to stretch. the way his hands shift to your waist as you do so has you a bit flustered and you wonder if you’re supposed to pretend in front of dean that you haven’t spent the last half hour kissing and cuddling. but sam doesn't seem to care, because he just sits up when the door’s lock clicks, one hand by your head to hold him up, the other still settled decidedly on your waist. so you decide not to care either, and turn your head around to accidentally grin at dean when he peeks his head through the door. you had meant to look casual, but the second someone else becomes a witness to the fact that you’re laying together like this, you’re beaming.

dean visibly relaxes when he takes in the sight, pushing the door all the way open to walk in, then lock the door back up behind him.

“hey, there,” is all he says, shooting the both of you a look that says, really, you’re just gonna keep sitting there like that in front of me? it’s not that bad, but he’s allowed to tease because he just turned a twenty minute food trip into an hour purely for yours and sam’s sake. you clear your throat awkwardly, and only when you sit up does sam’s hand fall away from you.

you pad over to the table as dean places the paper bag of fast food on the surface. he drags over an extra mismatched chair and sam follows close behind you, pulling the remaining chair to sit beside you. as you begin to pull food out from the bag, now clearly gone cold to the touch, dean sits down, complaining that they didn’t have pie, so he bought you two cookies for dessert instead.

“well, thank you for the food anyways,” you smile, hoping he picks up on the fact that you’re thanking him for the other thing too, “damn shame there was no pie, though,” you say, more for his sake than yours. you wonder why he didn’t just pick some up from somewhere else since he was gone so long.

“mhmm, and don’t sweat about the pie. just got a slice somewhere else,” he shrugs, “ate it in the car, there was only one slice left and i didn’t want you to feel like you were missing out,” he explains with that familiar teasing edge which makes you think he indeed caught onto the double meaning of your thanks. you let out a small huff of laughter before tearing into the food, only now realizing just how hungry you are. you’d felt it creep up on you on the car ride back, smiled at the mention of food from dean, even stupidly thought about it during a quiet moment in the argument with sam. but the second your lips found his, that was the only hunger you’d felt. to keep kissing him, to keep him close, keep him loving you. only when you settled all the way into his arms, sure that you’d be able to satiate that hunger again, could your body remember you hadn’t eaten since early this afternoon.

the three of you eating like this, late at night and without much conversation, is common and comfortable. dean is on what you assume to be his second burger, because there’s no way he’d have just sat in the car, probably parked in a random lot and wondering how long he should be gone, and just waited to eat an extra-bacon burger until he came back. sam’s nearly the same as always, too, but tonight he sits so close that his forearm brushes against yours. you bump elbows or knees every so often, and the side of his socked foot is pressed against yours the entire time.

you sigh, content with the nearness of him that’s so much more complete and full than it was just hours ago. now, there’s no need to hover. now, you can just swoop in and land, take what you want, give what the other needs.

dean makes no teasing comments, but you can feel the way he’s been examining, reading the two of you. you’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something aloud, but you know that he knows the two of you so well that he understands almost exactly what must’ve happened while he was gone. maybe he’s not teasing because this is the outcome he wanted to come back to. he probably knows better than the both of you how you were crushing, pining even, over the other.

he takes his turn in the shower when he finishes his food, and you and sam begin to clean up a few minutes later. once all the trash is crumbled up and tossed away, you go around and turn off all the lights but a single bedside lamp. as you turn away from clicking off the lamp in the corner of the room, sam’s right there in front of you. you don’t have the time to be startled by him sneaking up on you, he’s so quick to cup your face with his hands and slot his lips against yours. he lingers a long moment before pulling apart just enough to rest his forehead on yours.

“gonna kiss you forever,” he whispers, and you realize you’ve turned this giant man into a complete and utter sap. 

“you better.” your grin is wide and real and he can almost feel your lips moving, he’s so close. just as you’re ready to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him hard, the steady white noise of the shower shuts off. you sigh and laugh a little, leaning in to steal one more chaste kiss before brushing past him. but he turns with you, hands still warm on your cheeks and not letting go until he’s kissed you once more.

when dean’s gone from the bathroom, sam follows you in to brush his teeth with you. you’ve done so plenty of times, but tonight, sam gets to loop his free arm around your waist and pull you into him, rather than stand shoulder to shoulder in the cramped space. he gets to make you giggle through toothpaste when he does so, and you get to switch your toothbrush to your other hand and wrap your own arm around his waist, too. he gets to make you laugh dangerously harder when he tightens his hold on you to prevent you from bending and spitting into the sink when you’re done. you try to hold back the laughter with your mouth full of toothpaste, then he’s the one laughing around his toothbrush because there’s white, foamy spit rolling down your chin from the corner of your mouth and threatening to drip to your dark-colored tshirt. of course, he lets you spit and rinse your mouth, relishing in the continued sound of your laughter.

“you asshole! almost ruined my shirt til the next time we make a laundry stop!” you take revenge as he rinses out his own mouth, splashing the running water onto his face as he swishes water around in his mouth. 

he spits the water out in surprise and sputters an indignant, “hey!” before he bursts into laughter again.

you’re both giddy, high off of kissing each other, and silly from the exhaustion of a hunt, so he tugs you into him by your hips and keeps laughing into the crook of your neck. you wrap your arms around his neck and thread your fingers up through his soft, newly washed hair. you kiss the closest thing you can reach and he melts right into your arms.

it’s only when you yawn that he pulls away from you. “we should get to bed, huh?”

you nod and twist towards the door, peeking through it to see dean sleeping in his bed, his still form highlighted by the warm light of the cheap lamp. taking sam’s hand with a shy smile, you lead him to the other bed, turning off the last light and climbing under the covers with him not far behind. he loops his arm under your head, then the other over your waist to splay his hand flat across the small of your back. the way he does it is exactly the way you wished he would, as if he’s thought about holding you like this every night you share a bed, just as you had. with a final glance towards dean, he kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

you try to stifle the giggle that the soft, ticklish contact of his lips wants to pull from your chest, praying that dean is really as asleep as he looks. the both of you stiffen a bit when you hear dean’s blankets rustling, but you let out another breathy, quiet laugh when it goes silent again.

sam’s about to kiss you all over again when dean’s voice rings out into the hush of the night, startling you both.

“no shenanigans while i’m asleep, lovebirds,” he grunts.

that brings more laughter out of your lips and a rush of heat to your face that you’re sure sam feels, too. he just groans in annoyance at his brother, because of course dean had to get in at least one borderline dirty comment. neither of you really answer as dean shifts around in his bed again, likely turning his back to you and mumbling something mostly unintelligible. 

the only word you can catch is “finally.”

[sammyluvr]

something about being close — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, angst, fluff, sam and reader are lovingly mean to each other, bad insults (weird, stupid, lame), bad jokes, swearing, canon typical violence and ghosts, arguing, so much kissing, could be ooc but idc, edited but most likely still contains a few mistakes, single usage of y/n, 9.5K words. requested !

summary : sam's being overprotective of you, and it leads to an argument and something more.

“hey, check this out,” sam calls to you and dean, not bothering to look up from his computer screen. “think we found our violent spirit.” you part from your own research without a single qualm, resting a hand on the back of sam’s chair as he leans back for you and dean to get a better look. “marissa hancock. she was a student at the college, died a violent death there, just like we thought. it’s thought that the janitor impaled her with his mop while he was working in her dorm hall, but he was never put away for lack of evidence.”

“explains the janitor kabob,” dean quips, already headed to shrug on his jacket. 

“easy solve,” you admit. it only took a solid half hour of searching through records to find the right murder. “but why’s she killing now? she’s had, what?” you lean further over sam’s shoulder to inspect the record, “fifty some years to be killing janitors, why start now?”

“dunno,” sam shrugs, and you can feel his shoulder brush against you, reminding you how close he is. doing your best to stay casual and maybe not stare longingly at his pretty face from this close up, you straighten your back and go to grab your own jacket as sam types away on his keyboard. “looks like her original murderer died two weeks ago.”

“right when the killings started,” dean finishes. “alright, let’s go. you got where she’s buried, sam?”

“yep,” he stands, shutting his laptop. “saint mercy cemetery, not too far.”

“hm,” you laugh out, “second saint mercy cemetery this month. people need to get more creative,” you note as you exit the motel room and head down the short hallway to get to the impala.

“and what would you name a cemetery?” dean asks, ready to catch you off guard or tease you for anything he can get his hands on.

“i should have thought of a clever answer before saying that,” you admit, “but i do wish it were socially acceptable to call them dead people neighborhoods.”

“that’s lame,” sam grins, throwing his arm around your shoulders for just about two seconds before he has to let go to get through the small doorway and outside.

“c’mon,” you complain, “i know it’s kind of lame, and definitely insensitive, but imagine someone just asked you where you’re headed after work and you get to tell them you’re going to the dead people neighborhood. cemetery’s no fun, at least dead people neighborhood is accurate.” you close the back door of the car behind you as you settle in to punctuate your point.

“you’re weird,” sam teases in a matter-of-fact tone, not even looking back from the passenger’s seat to see the sneer on your face.

“no, you’re weird,” you fire back.

“alright, kids,” dean interrupts, “enough bickering like we’re four, we’ve got a job to do,” he snickers as he backs the car up.

“okay, dean,” you and sam chime, voices full of mocking and almost totally in sync. dean rolls his eyes hard, because it’s just one of those days where the two of you can’t stop feeding into the antics of the other, regressing the combined mental age of the three of you by at least twenty years. 

having known the brothers since you were kids through bobby, and starting to hunt with them about a year and a half ago, you’ve certainly grown close with the both of them. but a little closer in age, you and sam are nothing but two peas in a pod. and much to dean’s chagrin, that means it only takes a split second for the two of you to switch things up and turn against him when he tries to break up your banter. it’s pretty much all loving argumentation, of course, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t annoying as all hell for whoever has to witness it.

“and for the record, i like dead people neighborhood,” dean offers, ignoring your moment of synchronicity with sam.

“yes!” you celebrate, reaching around the seat in front of you to lightly hit sam’s shoulder. “you’re the lame one, you’re no fun.” 

he scoffs, mumbling something to himself about how, “of course dean likes dead people neighborhood. it’s stupid.”

you resist the urge to tell him that he’s stupid, and instead follow dean’s direction to focus on the case.

“hold on, dean. you should drop me off on campus first, one of us should make sure another janitor doesn’t fall on his mop handle before we can burn the bones,” you suggest.

“no.”

your brow furrows at how fast sam shuts you down, his serious tone a harsh contrast to his practically whiny mumble moments before. you glance at dean to see that he’s got his own eyebrows raised in confusion.

“what’d’you mean, ‘no’?” you question.

“i mean,” he clears his throat as if he’s just realized his strong denial was awkward, “that that could be dangerous alone, so i’ll go and you can stick with dean.”

you send a bewildered look to dean, one he doesn’t catch trying to pay attention to the street name up ahead. “i’m sorry, are you suggesting i can’t handle a measly ghost?” mostly you’re confused by sam’s words, but you can’t help letting a bit of offense slip into your voice.

“n-no, no that’s not what i’m saying,” he fumbles, trying to fix what he said, “i meant– i meant it would be safer for anyone not to go alone. so– so i’ll go with you and dean can stick with burning the body.”

it’s a clumsy, bad save that’s entirely unconvincing.

“you’re seriously gonna stick me with grave digging duty?” dean grunts, “y/n’s right, it’s just one ghost, we don’t need two of us to deal with it. digging up a grave is arguably harder.”

“exactly,” you reason, “which is why i should go scope out the dorm hall, and you should go with dean to the dead people neighborhood.”

“she’s buried in a family mausoleum,” counters sam, “her grave doesn’t need to be dug up, which means it’s a one person job, and since there could be an actual violent ghost in the dorm, two people should go. and don’t try to make dead people neighborhood a thing, at the very least it’s too long, not to mention it’s not funny.”

despite the fact that he’s teasing you, you’re glad to hear something normal come out of his mouth. his hesitancy to let you take on the ghost is odd, especially considering the ghost might not show up at all. it’s not like he’s never been protective of you, it’s in both his and certainly dean’s nature. but he knows full well that you are completely capable of handling one violent ghost, and he’s been weird like this for the past two weeks.

you laugh when you admit, “it wasn’t quite as good in context as i thought it would be, but it wasn’t that bad, i’m just tryna to stick with my bit,” you defend, “and fine, two people at the dorms, one on dead person arson.”

“are you serious?” sam laughs, halfheartedly tossing his head back to give you a judgemental look through the corner of his eye.

“dead serious, pun absolutely intended,” you let out a full laugh at the strangled sigh he lets out. oh how you love to rile him up with bad jokes. “you’re too easy, sam. for that, i’m sticking you on grave duty. dean and i will handle the dorm.”

“you should be on grave duty, for all the bad jokes today,” he argues.

dean practically growls in annoyance, “how about i go on grave duty, so i can get away from your annoying asses.” it’s not a suggestion, and the both of you huff out a sigh, but don’t argue.

dean drops you off a little ways from the dorm hall for you to grab a shotgun and salt rounds with less of a chance of being seen. you leave the other shotgun for dean just in case, bothered that yours is still broken from the last hunt. there hadn’t been enough time to fix it yet. so, you grab an iron rod, hoping to use that before any guns on a college campus. it’d be a sticky situation to get out of, being caught with shotguns in a dorm, and at the very least incredibly inconvenient to scare the hell out of a bunch of college aged kids at eleven pm. sam sticks the shotgun under his jacket, generally hiding it from the view of anyone not looking too closely.

walking a few minutes, you find the right dorm hall and sam hands the gun off to you to pull out his lock pick. but, glancing behind you, you shove the gun back into his hands and yank him into you.

“the hell?” he resists for a split second before you quickly interrupt him.

“shut up! hide the gun and act like you’re piss drunk. someone’s coming,” you hiss. in a swift movement, he tucks the gun back under his jacket as you shimmy the iron rod into your sleeve, then he swings his free arm around you, practically dropping half of his weight on you. “dude,” you complain, before falling into character. “sammy, come on!” you whine loudly. “i can’t reach my id with you like this,” you pretend to feel around for something in your back pocket while keeping him standing, and he immediately picks up on what you’re trying to do. he stumbles forward so that you have to use both hands to keep him upright, and you curse at your false struggle. “help me out here, sammy, will you?” you try to make your voice sound overly desperate, maybe a little innocent too, “why don’t you lean against the wall so we can get inside,” you beg, trusting sam to play his part well.

“nooo,” he slurs, dragging the word out in a whiny pitch, “don’t wanna.” he turns into you and haphazardly wraps his lanky arm all the way around your form, tugging you to him and nearly knocking the both of you over. you feel heat rush to your cheeks at this and desperately remind yourself that he’s only pressing his face into your neck so that he can get a look at the person approaching and keep the shotgun well hidden from view.

you see the girl out of the corner of your eye, young and clearly a student headed for the dorm.

“oh, thank god!” you exclaim, “hey, i’m so sorry to bother you, but do you think you could open the door for us?” you ask as sweetly as you can, pulling your eyebrows together to gain sympathy, before adding on a humorous tone, “my boyfriend is stupid drunk and i can’t get us inside.” you can feel sam stiffen for a split second at your words, and you yourself wonder if you should have just gone the “friend” route for the sake of your own sanity. you’re going to want to keep calling sam your boyfriend, over and over again.

“oh my god, of course,” she laughs goodnaturedly, and you thank the lord she’s laid back, rather than some uptight rule follower ready to report you to administration. she swipes her id and holds the door open for you, and as you struggle into the building, you think that sam is making this harder for you than it has to be. but there’s absolutely no denying you love the way it feels to just have him all over you, even for the sake of illegally entering a building with a gun.

“thank you so much,” your voice is one big sigh of relief, slightly muffled by the fabric of sam’s jacket.

“yeah, don’t worry about it,” she smiles, “you two are super cute, by the way,” she compliments before turning towards the stairs and waving a kind goodbye.

you do your best to not stumble over your words as you thank her, heat once again rising to your face, and you’re sure that sam can feel the warmth of your neck. body stiff, you turn and head down the hallway in the opposite direction, sam still clinging to you until it’s clear.

“alright, get off, you big dork,” you snort, gently pushing him away and doing your best to regain your composure to proceed as if you don’t have a massive crush on him. “did ya have to make it so hard for me?”

he shrugs with a sly grin, “had to make it convincing, didn’t i? besides, it was your idea, you don’t get to complain.”

you stick your tongue out at him and he raises his eyebrows as if to say, “really?”

“she was really nice,” you note, voice almost wistful in a way that sam easily picks up on. about a year into hunting with the brothers and dean was off buying food, you and sam had collapsed onto a motel bed together as you had many times before by then, both exhausted after a long case. that night, as you spoke in tired, hushed tones, with no need for anyone but the other to hear your words, you had somehow ended up with your head resting on his biceps and one of his legs swung over yours. 

that’s the night you told him you were jealous that he got to go to college, even if it wasn’t for long. you’d told him how you liked the idea of that life, even if you had to return to hunting after it was over. you wanted friends your age, to learn, go to stupid parties and have a college partner. you knew the experience wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies, but you wanted it anyway. he’d said, sure, it wasn’t perfect, but it was a hell of a lot better than hunting in his opinion. he wanted you to have that. once this was all over, and you both got justice for your families, he’d help you apply, make sure you got in somewhere, maybe even go with you. a hush fell over the room and he knew you weren’t convinced.

“yeah, she was,” he says, his own voice a touch more gentle than moments ago. “we were lucky.” he doesn’t want to tell you that most college kids would be at least cool enough to let you inside, maybe not as friendly as her, but that it’s true you’d like it here. he doesn’t want to remind you of what you can’t have. 

a silence falls over the two of you, punctuated only by the shuffling of your feet or the rustle of clothes. it’s comfortable and easy because you’ve done it a million times before. you don’t have to say anything to agree that you’ll head to the basement where the original murder occured. the both of you stay quiet and light on your feet, sam always peering around corners before rounding them.

in the basement he stops you with a simple finger to his lips. he leans in close to whisper as quietly as he can, “janitor’s here.”

you resist the urge to call said janitor an idiot, because who the hell is going to be cleaning an area in which three of your coworkers have mysteriously died in the past two weeks, but you just nod instead, taking in the way that sam’s eyes look under the dim light.

“wanna wait around til dean calls or warn him?” you ask, equally as quiet. he turns his head to look back around the corner before continuing.

“well, we should warn him, but we can’t use the drunk ruse on an employee. he probably has a radio scanner on him, might even be connected to campus security,” he points out.

“fbi?”

“we look too much like college kids right now,” he reasons.

“right,” you agree, “well then, stupid college kids trying to see a murder scene? we’ll link arms and you can hide the gun behind your back. just so we’re near him til dean burns the bones. hopefully nothing’ll even happen.” it’s as if you jinxed it all in that moment, as the lights immediately begin to flicker, the buzz of electricity filling your ears and a sudden chill filling the air. “nevermind,” you curse, flicking the iron rod back into your hand and barging around the corner, only a hair behind sam.

“way to jinx it,” he grunts.

you just scoff and beg him, “just try not to use the gun.” this time neither of you attempt to hide your presence as your shoes pound against the tile floor.

“no promises,” sam says, the gun up and loaded in front of him.

“what the hell?” the janitor barely has the time to exclaim before he’s thrown against the wall.

“i got it,” you warn sam, eager to avoid gunshots and sprinting full speed towards the apparition, iron rod in front of you. you throw all your weight into reaching the ghost of the young girl before she can flicker out of reach. the iron in your hand makes contact, and she evaporates for the time being. unfortunately for you, your momentum keeps you going, through the space the ghost just occupied and straight into the section of the floor slick with soapy water. with no time to gain any semblance of your balance, you slip and come crashing to the ground. your back hits the floor and the wind gets knocked out of your lungs in the same moment that the iron skitters out of your hand.

you struggle a bit to sit up due to the wetness underneath you, gasping slightly and letting curses fall from your mouth the moment you can speak again.

in a split second reaction, sam shouts your name, his voice inappropriately taught and worried for such a silly accident. he’s by your side in an instant, strong hands pulling you up and his anxious voice asking if you’re alright. you wave him off easily, unconcerned for yourself.

“help him,” you urge, “i’m fine.” but he doesn’t back off nearly as easily as you’d think.

“are you sure, did you hit your head? you couldn’t breathe for a second there,” his hands stay glued to you as he rattles off his concerns, ones that you find utterly unnecessary and unhelpful considering the fact that you’re fine, and the ghost could reappear any second. his strong grip keeps you from bending down to scoop up the iron rod, but you have to wrench yourself away from him when you hear a strangled cry come from the janitor. he whirls around with you to see the ghost with her hands around the janitor’s neck, crushing him against the wall as his feet dangle just above the floor. the iron rod is back in your hand in an instant, but sam’s shotgun lays abandoned on the floor a few feet away.

he dives for the weapon, but with a flick of the ghost’s hand, he’s knocked against the wall with a noise so loud it hurts to hear. before she can pay you attention, you fling the iron towards her, vaporizing her once more. the iron clatters to the ground as the janitor collapses to his knees. you rush towards him, pulling him away from the wall before tugging a container of salt from your jacket’s inside pockets. apologetically, you haul the poor man to his feet, throwing a quick look over your shoulder at sam. he’s groaning painfully, but already moving to get back up. 

knowing he’s easily survived worse, you turn your attention back to the janitor, who’s sputtering out confused and incoherent questions about what in the goddamn hell is happening.

“just stay there,” you urge him, too pressed for time to add adequate sympathy to your tone. “stay in the circle and she can’t get you.” with practiced ease, you shake the salt onto the ground with barely enough to make a small, solid ring around the man.

you scoop up the gun from the ground, then turn to help sam onto his feet. “we’re gonna have to tough this out til dean gets done,” is all you say when you place the weapon into his hands, despite the urge to ask what the hell is wrong with him and why he’s so off his game. you turn to grab your own weapon, but it seems the ghost is reappearing faster and faster. this time, you’re the one who gets tossed into the wall, but you stay pressed against the cold surface as a mop flies to meet you, the long handle pushing against your throat and cutting off your air supply. you take in a strangled gasp, hands clawing at the old wooden handle and giving yourself a few splinters that you couldn’t care less about in the moment. of course, it doesn’t budge.

the second you’re flattened against the wall, sam shouts your name again, this time with his gun in the air, swinging around to get a shot at the ghost. but before he can react, it flies out of his hand and she reappears right in front of him, pushing him against the wall across from you.

he struggles against her wildly, his hand itching to get free of her hold to reach the hidden iron knife in his pocket. but before he can get there, her grip weakens and she lets out a strangled scream as she bursts into flames. the flames climb up her old fashioned pencil skirt and swallow up the bloody wound in her abdomen. her grip on you and sam falters as she burns away, then dissolves completely as the last of her ashes fade out into the musty basement air.

you drop to your knees, coughing and gasping for breath as the sound of the mop clattering to the floor echoes through the hallway. sam’s saying your name, half through a cough and his voice still so worried as he stumbles towards you. then he’s on his knees too and his hands are sturdy on your shoulders.

“‘m fine,” you rasp out, hand reaching for his bicep to ground you to something solid and steady. he stays right there, completely ignoring the poor man who’s still practically frozen in fear in the tiny circle of salt and the ringing of his phone. one of his hands slips around you to rub soothing strokes up and down your back and it brings you even closer to him, your forehead dipping to rest on his shoulder. you feel silly for how much he’s fussing over you, but you can’t quite scold or question him until you’ve caught your breath. clearly something is bothering him (and you want him so bad), so you let him hold you close.

“are you hurt anywhere?” he finally asks once he feels your breathing even out under his touch. 

you pull away from him gently, shaking your head before verbally confirming, “no, i’m alright sam. nothing more than your typical bumps and bruises.” your voice is a touch raspy from the pressure on your throat, but it’s nothing that won’t go away with some water and rest, maybe some tea if really necessary.

his hands stay on you as he stands. “are you sure?” he asks, and you can’t figure out why on earth, heaven, or hell he’s so overly concerned about you. frankly, it’s starting to worry you. and definitely annoy you. all the sudden he’s acting like you’re fragile, like you can’t take care of yourself. things which he should know for a fact aren’t true.

he lets you slip away from his hold as you swoop down to pick up your lost weapons and face the poor janitor.

“sorry about that all. you can step out of the salt now.” he looks at you as if he can’t be sure, and your tone softens a bit. he’s young, probably just a college kid himself. “she’s really gone this time, i promise. you won’t ever have to worry about her again. though, i wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to look for a different job.”

he nods and thanks you, and you tell him to repay the favor by not mentioning you and sam. then, at a pace you certainly can’t blame him for, he scurries away.

“c’mon,” you nod to sam, “we should get out of here. you should also call dean back. he’s probably worried you didn’t answer.” with that, you turn back in the direction of the stairs without looking back at sam, rolling your eyes when your own cell ring. you pick up with a, “we’re fine, dean,” before he can even ask why the hell it took you so long to answer him. he lets out a sigh, half relieved, half annoyed. 

“what took ya so long?” he asks anyway.

“had a few bumps in the road since little miss janitor-killer showed up, but we’re fine. neither of us are hurt. would’ya pick us up in the same spot you left us?”

“yeah, ‘course. already on my way, see you crazy kids in five.” with that, he hangs up and you don’t have to glance over your shoulder to feel sam following behind. it’s all just the familiarity of his footsteps, the sound they make, and the pace at which he walks. it’s the particular rustle of his favorite jacket, soft and scratchy sounding all at once. it’s the feeling of his tall figure, his broad chest so close behind you that he’d run right into you if you stopped even for a moment. you debate whether to ask him what the hell is up now or at the motel. for now, the priority is getting out unnoticed, so you clench your jaw a bit and continue in silence because you’re beginning to feel a little angry with him. you think he can feel it, so he stays quiet too, all the way out the dorm and down the street to wait for dean.

it’s not uncommon to be quieter after a hunt is finished because you’re all usually tired and more often than not achey from some toss around or another. but sam can tell there’s something else bothering you tonight. from the way you tilt your shoulder away from him, the distance so nearly imperceptible that only he would notice, he’s willing to bet that he’s that something. and though he doesn’t want to admit it, he thinks he knows why. he just won’t be the first one to say something about it because he’s stubborn, a little prideful, and most of all, too afraid to explain why he’s acting this way.

even so, he just can’t help himself. he hovers near, so near that once you’re settled by the side of the road, you can feel him without actually touching him. you’re tempted to nudge him away, just because of how overprotective he’s acting. you’re also tempted to lean back into his chest because somehow you know his hands wouldn’t waste a second in gathering you up and keeping you closer than ever before. it starts to rain a little bit, soft and almost unnoticable if it weren’t for the new chill in the air. for a moment, you can feel one hand hover over your waist, just for a second before there’s a light swish of fabric when it falls back to his side. you wonder if he’s worried about you getting too cold.

you hear dean before you see him, the rumble of the impala coming into earshot moments before its headlights appear around the corner. the car slows as it nears you, pulling to the side of the road with the front windows down and some classic rock guitar riff filtering into your ears. the music’s quieter than you know it was just moments ago from when dean was alone. he greets you two with a simple, “hey,” once he’s fully stopped and you place your hand out, palm up and wordlessly asking for sam to hand you the rifle to put in the trunk.

“i got it,” he says, not waiting for you to argue when he takes the iron from the loose grip of your fist and makes his way to the trunk. you slide into the back seat behind the passengers side and return dean’s greeting.

he twists in his seat to watch you as you close your eyes and massage your shoulder with a wince. it’s beginning to become more sore, just like all the rest of your body.

“you okay?” he asks, voice full of his normal gruffness that tells you cares enough to ask but knows not to be too worried.

you open your eyes back up to give him a nod. “‘m fine. just the usual ghost beat down. y’know, bumps and bruises.”

“mm, sure do,” he agrees, “so what? dearly departed marissa thought you were janitors?” he asks skeptically. you hear the slam of the trunk, and moments later sam’s settling into his seat in front of you.

“no,” you scoff, “some idiot kid was actually cleaning down there. told ‘im to get a new job,” you snort humorlessly.

“well, i’ll say,” dean raises his eyebrows in agreement before twisting back to face the wheel. he sneaks a look between you and sam before switching the car out of park and getting back on the road. for a few minutes, all you hear is the muted music, the constant roll of the engine, the light patter of rain on the metal roof, and the road under the tires. then dean switches off the music. “anything happen back there that i should know about?” he ventures.

“no,” sam answers casually, “nothing, just the usual.” you don’t even answer. you just can’t figure out if you should involve dean, tell him how sam was unthinking and almost entirely uncaring about the innocent civilian involved, all because he was so worried about you.

“alright,” dean concedes, glancing at you through the rearview mirror and sounding entirely unconvinced. he doesn’t turn the music back on, just lets the silence reign, so you close your tired eyes and lean your head against the cold glass of the window. you’ve fallen asleep in the back of the impala countless times before, but your drowsiness doesn’t take over this time in favor of letting your mind wander over what to say to sam. you can’t just let it be, and tonight is certainly the worst it’s gotten. plus, it’s an easy habit for you to wait for sleep when you’re already so close to the motel. 

when dean pulls into the parking lot, he doesn’t turn off the engine. “gonna grab some grub. i’ll be back in a bit with the usual.”

“grab me something for dessert, will ya? ‘m craving something sweet,” you request, leaning towards the driver’s seat. 

“sure thing,” he nods, and you slide out of the car and close the door after a thank you and tired smile. “anything for you, sammy?” you hear him ask.

“i’m good, just the regular,” sam responds as he exits the car. you unlock the motel door, and he’s inside the room just a moment later, closing and locking the entrance behind him. you stand facing away from him at the shitty table, your jacket already strewn across the back of a chair. you can hear him behind you, going through his routine movements. he’s taking off his jacket, setting it down on the edge of the bed. then he’s pulling comfier clothes out from his pack.

“you wanna shower first?” he offers, breaking the silence of the room. you can feel his gaze on your back.

“sure,” you swallow, “thanks,” you say without any sort of edge to your voice.

“‘f course,” he says, and he means that. his eyes follow you as you pull out your own change of clothes, just a tshirt and sweats, and make your way to the dingy bathroom. you’re tired, so you’re quick with it, but the water’s already lukewarm by the time you’re done. you dry off and dress quick, eager to lay in bed.

and yet, when sam takes your place in the bathroom and the sounds of the shower start up again, you sit at the table instead, picking out a few splinters in your hands before folding your arms and resting your head against them. you stay that way, even when you hear the water turn off, the bathroom door open, his heavy footfalls that are only heavy because he’s so tall and not for lack of gentleness, then the scraping of the chair across from you. he doesn’t even say a thing, just looks at the top of your head and the tip of your nose. the shape of your hands, the point of your elbows, and the curve of your back.

with a deep breath and some pain in your neck, you lift your head. you look back at him and slump your chin into your palm.

“i’m upset with you,” you state.

he frowns. even his frown is pretty. “i know,” he sighs.

“so? why are you acting like this?” your voice is tired, but you still manage to infuse accusation into your tone, “sam, why are you suddenly acting like i can’t take care of myself out there? you’ve been weird for nearly two weeks now, and i don’t like it. i don’t like this.”

sam doesn’t know how to respond. he’s used to being yelled at, shouted at, angry at. he’s used to yelling and shouting and getting angry back. and though he’s certainly fought with you before, he’s still not used to the level tone and the way you say each word so slow, like you’re not actually arguing. just upset and rightfully a little angry, like you just want to understand. 

sure, he can hear the plain anger in your voice. you’re not trying to hide it. but you’re not yelling. how’s he supposed to use the heat of the moment to shout back, “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” or “i’m just trying to help,” when there is no heat in the moment? instead, he’s embarrassed and the only answer he can come up with, the only one that he can mean if he answers in that same, level tone you’re using is, one he’s having too much trouble saying aloud. any other answer would just be too wrong like that. or maybe if you were shouting, he’d tell you the truth, because he could yell it out, loud and rash without thinking about it. if he says it now, it’s not because he just let it slip. if he says it now, there’s no way to take it back, to get around everything threatening to bubble over the surface like forgotten water on a heated stove.

“i don’t think that you can’t take care of yourself. i know you can,” is all he says, because it’s true and it skirts around the real questions. his voice is rough, halfway between pleading and holding back from the anger he doesn’t yet know how to control. you heave a sigh.

“so why, sam? why?” you let the heavy question stew for a moment, then go on when he doesn’t even meet your gaze, “or, i don’t know, if you’re not gonna tell me, just promise me you’ll stop?”

he clenches his jaw because he knows he can’t. he just wishes you would shout. then, he’d tell you. he can imagine the words coming out of his mouth, but only if they’re loud, only if you’ve pressured him to do it. he realizes that’s probably fucked up. but the other way is too vulnerable, too vast of a leap to take to when he’s just not sure.

“sam,” you press, “you don’t have to worry about me, i swear. i don’t understand what’s got you like this, but it’s getting in the way of you being able to do your job right. that kid could have died because all you could do was worry about me,” that’s when you begin you raise your voice, just a little. because that’s what’s making you most upset about this. you hate it ‘cause you feel like he’s doubting your abilities as a hunter, but you hate it even more because it’s making him disregard the safety of others and of himself, for you. “sam, i only slipped. sure i got the wind knocked out of me, but you dropped your gun for that? frankly, that was stupid. and the poor kid was being choked, and if i hadn’t been lucky enough to throw the iron before she could react, he could have died. i need you to understand that. i need you to understand that i can do this job, that i’m strong enough, and that if you don’t trust me with that? people could die. and i’m not about to let that happen. so either you tell me what’s up and we figure it out, or you stop and i pay you the huge favor of just dropping the whole thing, okay?”

suddenly he looks all sad. “i do trust you,” he says, voice all sincerity and nothing more.

you close your eyes for a moment, half in frustration and half because you could really use some shut eye right about now. “that’s not– well, it is. it is part of the point. but i need an answer from you, i need you to tell me you won’t let whatever this is put somebody else in danger.”

he clenches his jaw. he’s still stuck. you still haven’t shouted.

“just spit it out. i can practically see something rolling around on the tip of your tongue. just say it, sam.”

there’s an edge to your voice, so maybe he can.

“i can’t lose you.”

there it is. it’s said with an edge, too, like he wanted to shout it but couldn’t. it’s said rough and a little bit angry and full of this undying faithfulness and yes, love. 

but you still don’t quite understand it, so it makes you sigh. it makes your eyes soften a bit and it makes you a little angrier than before. it makes you want him to mean that with all his chest and it makes you want to shake him hard until he comes to his senses.

“that’s always been a danger, ever since we met. you know that,” your voice is something so oddly gentle in its frustration, “sammy, you’re my best friend, and i can’t lose you either. hell, i don’t think the words “best friend” even begin to cover the depth of how much i care about you. but we’ll both be safer if we trust each other, if we trust in both of our abilities to keep ourselves and the other safe. tell me that you understand that.”

it takes him a minute to speak again, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he searches for what to say. “two weeks ago,” is all he manages at first. you try to think back to it, and it immediately dawns on you. “i couldn’t prote–”

“sammy, no,” you interrupt, “that wasn’t your fault, okay? i know this doesn’t help to say, but we can’t always protect each other perfectly, to the extent we really want. i’d do anything for you, sammy, you know that.” after that there’s supposed to be a “but” where you explain to him that you can’t let that get in the way of your thinking straight and keeping everyone safe. instead, those last words just hang, suspended and weighty in the air.

“but you could’ve been killed,” the way he says your name is almost desperate. “it was dean that saved you. i was there and i couldn’t even help. what if next time, dean isn’t there? what if–,” his voice breaks, and he effectively cuts himself off from finishing the sentence. you know what he was trying to say.

any answer you give to that, you know isn’t enough. “but i wasn’t killed, sam. i’m here. i’m right here and i’m alive and i’m well and i don’t want to spend all my time worrying about you worrying about me. not like this.” you let that sit for a moment or two, and though his eyebrows are still all sad and pinched together, you think you’re starting to get through to him.

“but i can’t lose you,” he repeats stubbornly.

“sam,” you’re practically begging at this point, frustration creeping back into your voice, “the best way for you to keep me safe from ghosts and monsters and everything else is to take care of the problem, efficiently and effectively, like we always do. if there’s no monster, it can’t hurt me. but if you drop your weapon just because i slipped on soapy floors and lost my breath for a second? then it’s not just you and whatever innocent bystander around who’s more vulnerable now, it’s me too. so if that’s what it’s gonna take for me to convince you to stop fussing over me, then, please, think about it like that.”

sam is smart. he loves logic and reason, and you’ve handed him just that. but even more than that, he loves you. in the end, that trumps all.

“but i love you.”

he says it like a plea. like he didn’t mean to say it at all but it was the only thing running through his mind, and therefore, the only thing running off his tongue.

“sammy,” you breathe out, and then it’s like there’s no more air for you to breathe back in. that sweet nickname of his coming out of your mouth, resting on your tongue before tumbling into the air, is half like a drug to him, half like a bitter wind to sober him up quick.

“i– i only meant that i–,” he meant just that and now it’s said and now he’s never going to take it back, even if you hate him for it. “i meant that,” he says it firm and true this time, “i love you, so i can’t lose you.”

the way he looks at you, right into your eyes like they’re the prettiest things he’s ever seen, like you’re the best thing he’s ever had, oh, it has you hooked like bait has a fish who bit down too hard. it has you praying he never looks at anybody else like that again. it has you rising out of your seat and it’s pulling you across the small, wobbly table. he’s wedged into the grooves of your heart, so deep it could kill you to pull him out, so you follow the tug and he leans in too so the line isn’t so taught, so that it’s easy and comfortable and beautiful to reach his lips. 

his hands are like a net that catches you up in big, lovely swaths. they travel from your own hands, that lean against the table to keep your lips pressed to his, up to your elbows and then he knows he can never get enough. so he pushes up out of his own seat, drags his hands further up your arms until they can wrap around your biceps and push you up. not for a moment does he let his lips leave yours as he stands and pulls the both of you away from the table until he can bring you close, right into his wide, warm chest. then his hands can roam, gentle over your sensitive back, up to your neck then the back of your head to push your face into his. the other hand gets to go from your waist to your hips, or dip to the small of your back and press you flush to him.

you can only get away from him for a second, just enough time to whisper, “i love you, too,” before he swallows you back up. you melt right into him, and he loves it so much, but he feels how tired you are and he remembers he is too. so he only kisses you for a minute longer before letting your head rest on his shoulder. without any reservation, he presses a long kiss to your temple and you sigh a sweet sigh into his worn out tshirt.

unwilling to let go, he waddles with you, all bundled up into his arms, to the edge of the bed. without warning, he collapses into it, taking you right down with him and pulling out a little shriek from your mouth that he finds to be nothing short of endearing. he laughs, a belly laugh that you can feel the vibrations of as it moves up into his chest and out of those pretty lips of his. with some struggle to readjust yourself, you press a sweet peck to those lips. another easy i love you.

then you collapse back into his hold and the low quality plush of the motel bed. “now promise me you’ll pull yourself together next time we get a case?” this time your ask is so much more lighthearted, sweeter because it’s mumbled into the skin of his arm. you mean it just as much, but you can’t help the fact that you feel like you’re floating, “now i really, really can’t have you getting us in trouble. i’ll need to be able to kiss you at any given moment, so you have to promise me that you’ll trust me to take care of myself. because it works, and you know it. it’s the safest way. for both of us.”

the sigh he heaves can be felt through practically your whole body. it’s heavier than you wish it’d be, but he relaxes against you just a bit more. “i know,” he relents, “i’ll do my best, okay?”

“thank you,” you breathe out, too relieved to care that he couldn’t quite promise. you know this all means he’ll just be more protective of you, but you can say the same for yourself. now that you’ve kissed him and he’s told you he loves you and you’ve said it back, right against his lips, you’ll worry about him extra. but the both of you know the best ways to keep each other alive, and that has to be enough for you. you allow yourself to snuggle closer into him before joking, “d’you think dean’s ever gonna come back?”

you feel sam’s quiet laugh more than you hear it. “yeah, he really did us a favor with that one, didn’t he?” you can hear the smile in his voice before he remembers himself, “do not tell him i said that.” having you in his arms like this has got him a little giddy, saying things aloud that he normally wouldn’t.

letting out a laugh of your own, you promise, “i won’t. but i’m starting to get hungry. maybe we should call him and tell him the coast is clear, we didn’t tear the room to shreds or anything like that.”

sam chuckles again, and you decide very quickly that you like the way it feels for him to laugh with you so close. neither of you move, not to get a phone to call dean or to stop yourselves from growing drowsy. not for anything.

you’re half asleep when you hear the familiar sound of the impala’s engine near the room. it turns off, then comes the sound of its front door being open and shut. just because you’re hungry and it spells the arrival of food, you force your eyes open and let out a groan when you wiggle your arms out of sam’s hold to stretch. the way his hands shift to your waist as you do so has you a bit flustered and you wonder if you’re supposed to pretend in front of dean that you haven’t spent the last half hour kissing and cuddling. but sam doesn’t seem to care, because he just sits up when the door’s lock clicks, one hand by your head to hold him up, the other still settled decidedly on your waist. so you decide not to care either, and turn your head around to accidentally grin at dean when he peeks his head through the door. you had meant to look casual, but the second someone else becomes a witness to the fact that you’re laying together like this, you’re beaming.

dean visibly relaxes when he takes in the sight, pushing the door all the way open to walk in, then lock the door back up behind him.

“hey, there,” is all he says, shooting the both of you a look that says, really, you’re just gonna keep sitting there like that in front of me? it’s not that bad, but he’s allowed to tease because he just turned a twenty minute food trip into an hour purely for yours and sam’s sake. you clear your throat awkwardly, and only when you sit up does sam’s hand fall away from you.

you pad over to the table as dean places the paper bag of fast food on the surface. he drags over an extra mismatched chair and sam follows close behind you, pulling the remaining chair to sit beside you. as you begin to pull food out from the bag, now clearly gone cold to the touch, dean sits down, complaining that they didn’t have pie, so he bought you two cookies for dessert instead.

“well, thank you for the food anyways,” you smile, hoping he picks up on the fact that you’re thanking him for the other thing too, “damn shame there was no pie, though,” you say, more for his sake than yours. you wonder why he didn’t just pick some up from somewhere else since he was gone so long.

“mhmm, and don’t sweat about the pie. just got a slice somewhere else,” he shrugs, “ate it in the car, there was only one slice left and i didn’t want you to feel like you were missing out,” he explains with that familiar teasing edge which makes you think he indeed caught onto the double meaning of your thanks. you let out a small huff of laughter before tearing into the food, only now realizing just how hungry you are. you’d felt it creep up on you on the car ride back, smiled at the mention of food from dean, even stupidly thought about it during a quiet moment in the argument with sam. but the second your lips found his, that was the only hunger you’d felt. to keep kissing him, to keep him close, keep him loving you. only when you settled all the way into his arms, sure that you’d be able to satiate that hunger again, could your body remember you hadn’t eaten since early this afternoon.

the three of you eating like this, late at night and without much conversation, is common and comfortable. dean is on what you assume to be his second burger, because there’s no way he’d have just sat in the car, probably parked in a random lot and wondering how long he should be gone, and just waited to eat an extra-bacon burger until he came back. sam’s nearly the same as always, too, but tonight he sits so close that his forearm brushes against yours. you bump elbows or knees every so often, and the side of his socked foot is pressed against yours the entire time.

you sigh, content with the nearness of him that’s so much more complete and full than it was just hours ago. now, there’s no need to hover. now, you can just swoop in and land, take what you want, give what the other needs.

dean makes no teasing comments, but you can feel the way he’s been examining, reading the two of you. you’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something aloud, but you know that he knows the two of you so well that he understands almost exactly what must’ve happened while he was gone. maybe he’s not teasing because this is the outcome he wanted to come back to. he probably knows better than the both of you how you were crushing, pining even, over the other.

he takes his turn in the shower when he finishes his food, and you and sam begin to clean up a few minutes later. once all the trash is crumbled up and tossed away, you go around and turn off all the lights but a single bedside lamp. as you turn away from clicking off the lamp in the corner of the room, sam’s right there in front of you. you don’t have the time to be startled by him sneaking up on you, he’s so quick to cup your face with his hands and slot his lips against yours. he lingers a long moment before pulling apart just enough to rest his forehead on yours.

“gonna kiss you forever,” he whispers, and you realize you’ve turned this giant man into a complete and utter sap. 

“you better.” your grin is wide and real and he can almost feel your lips moving, he’s so close. just as you’re ready to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him hard, the steady white noise of the shower shuts off. you sigh and laugh a little, leaning in to steal one more chaste kiss before brushing past him. but he turns with you, hands still warm on your cheeks and not letting go until he’s kissed you once more.

when dean’s gone from the bathroom, sam follows you in to brush his teeth with you. you’ve done so plenty of times, but tonight, sam gets to loop his free arm around your waist and pull you into him, rather than stand shoulder to shoulder in the cramped space. he gets to make you giggle through toothpaste when he does so, and you get to switch your toothbrush to your other hand and wrap your own arm around his waist, too. he gets to make you laugh dangerously harder when he tightens his hold on you to prevent you from bending and spitting into the sink when you’re done. you try to hold back the laughter with your mouth full of toothpaste, then he’s the one laughing around his toothbrush because there’s white, foamy spit rolling down your chin from the corner of your mouth and threatening to drip to your dark-colored tshirt. of course, he lets you spit and rinse your mouth, relishing in the continued sound of your laughter.

“you asshole! almost ruined my shirt til the next time we make a laundry stop!” you take revenge as he rinses out his own mouth, splashing the running water onto his face as he swishes water around in his mouth. 

he spits the water out in surprise and sputters an indignant, “hey!” before he bursts into laughter again.

you’re both giddy, high off of kissing each other, and silly from the exhaustion of a hunt, so he tugs you into him by your hips and keeps laughing into the crook of your neck. you wrap your arms around his neck and thread your fingers up through his soft, newly washed hair. you kiss the closest thing you can reach and he melts right into your arms.

it’s only when you yawn that he pulls away from you. “we should get to bed, huh?”

you nod and twist towards the door, peeking through it to see dean sleeping in his bed, his still form highlighted by the warm light of the cheap lamp. taking sam’s hand with a shy smile, you lead him to the other bed, turning off the last light and climbing under the covers with him not far behind. he loops his arm under your head, then the other over your waist to splay his hand flat across the small of your back. the way he does it is exactly the way you wished he would, as if he’s thought about holding you like this every night you share a bed, just as you had. with a final glance towards dean, he kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

you try to stifle the giggle that the soft, ticklish contact of his lips wants to pull from your chest, praying that dean is really as asleep as he looks. the both of you stiffen a bit when you hear dean’s blankets rustling, but you let out another breathy, quiet laugh when it goes silent again.

sam’s about to kiss you all over again when dean’s voice rings out into the hush of the night, startling you both.

“no shenanigans while i’m asleep, lovebirds,” he grunts.

that brings more laughter out of your lips and a rush of heat to your face that you’re sure sam feels, too. he just groans in annoyance at his brother, because of course dean had to get in at least one borderline dirty comment. neither of you really answer as dean shifts around in his bed again, likely turning his back to you and mumbling something mostly unintelligible. 

the only word you can catch is “finally.”

[slocumjoe]

Companions react to sole getting seriously injured by saving their life

This falls into two camps.

Angry; Danse, Cait, X6-88, Gage, Nick

Guilty; Piper, Preston, Hancock, Curie, Deacon, MacCready

Cait; Cait is not only of the opinion that she had it handled, but even if she didn't, Sole wouldn't have either. And clearly they didn't. Whole time she's dragging them to safety, stabbing them with Stimpaks, wrapping up their wounds, Cait is cussing unlike anyone has cussed before. It is almost magical. She's seeing red over it. All that anger is thrown at Sole, but its really at herself. She should have been more careful, she's the one who's protecting them. And look, she made a dog's breakfast of it. Sole doesn't get a lick of good bedside manner, but Cait never leaves their side, never takes her eye off them, never lets the painkillers wear off enough for them to hurt.

Curie; Tears. So many tears. If anything would make Curie doubt herself, her intelligence and her capabilities, it's this. The area is clear, and Curie is left with her dearest friend half-dead. Maybe 3/4s of the way there, even. Curie gets them into the first empty building she finds, and can barely perform basic emergency medical assistance, she's shaking so badly. She'll talk them through the process and pain, and even if her voice doesn't waver, her spirit does. Once Sole goes to sleep, sits by them with a hand on their pulse. If they stop breathing for even a moment, hell will break loose. Curie never allows herself to be in that position again. She always has another gun on her hip, another grenade, a shock baton. Never again.

Danse; He wears the power armor, he sponsors them, he swears to them he won't let them end up like everyone else he's cared about...and Sole almost dies for him. Danse lays on the fire support until nothing is left moving, hops out of the armor, and tends to Sole right there on the ground. He doesn't say anything. He has to focus, remember where the Stimpak goes, how tight is too tight for a tourniquet, estimates the bloodloss. Once Sole is better fit for transportation, it's back in the armor, and he takes them into his arms and wherever he deems safe. Danse handles them like glass. He doesn't look them in the face, doesn't speak as tends to them. If he says anything while they're...like this, torn to shreds, broken, he's going to be screaming it till his throat is bloody. Sole needs to sleep. Danse bottles it up until they're fully recovered, however long that takes. The minute he confirms they are healthy, the floodgates burst and he's such a mess, he doesn't even pull rank.

Deacon; Doesn't bother securing the area. Sole is over his shoulder, and they are gone. Over the hills, into a sewer, up a scaffolding if he has to. Deacon does not give a shit about the raiders, or Mutants, or whatever the fuck. He gets Sole outta there. Quickly patches them up however he can, and not once does his smile break or falter. He makes jokes every step of the way. Behind the glasses, his eyes are wide and glassy. Sole's blood stains his hands as he wraps them up, as he isn't as used to performing medical assistance on the field. Not one someone else, at least. Makes a mess of the first aid bag, the floor, their clothes. Sole never gets him to crack, admit he was scared. Deacon reimagines the scene in a comic book art style, dramatic shots of bullets whizzing past them, light glinting off the glasses as he heroically carries them to safety. If he thinks of it any other way, he's going to lose his shit.

Gage; If Sole dies, the last words they will have ever heard are "WHA'TH'FUCK'RE'YA DOIN'–" in a pitch Gage will never admit to reaching. Whatever the threat is, Gage might just suckerpunch it, sling Sole under an arm, and book it for the hills. He'd like to shoot up the place and remind them you don't fuck with my Overboss, but said Overboss is kind of dying. But its fine, because Gage is not panicking. Stimpak goes in left arm, right? Right. No, left, not— fucksake. Gage works so quickly he ends up hurting Sole. Wraps the bandages too tight, literally stabs them with the Stimpak, shoves joints back in place with no warning. He's not thinking of comfort. He's thinking of the lecture he's going to give them, since they're definitely not going to die here. And y'know what? Serves them right. You want to kill yourself in front of him, you deserve an extra bruise, courtesy of your unsuspecting, unprepared nurse. He doesn't even have the skirt for this shit.

Hancock; Also grabs Sole and bolts, also cusses the entire time, also has no idea what he's doing in regards to medical attention. The only thing he's confident about is where the needle goes. Laughs at this and sounds like a balloon getting the air squished out. Not for a single moment does Hancock have his cool. Its not until Sole is patched up and resting that he takes a breath for himself. Blames himself for being too cocky, too reckless, not paying attention. Hancock is a scrapper. Messy and skin-of-your-teeth fighting is his thing. Sole didn't need to...he can't put them in that moment of fear again, make them think he needs saving. The shotgun, the knife...they might have to go. Gets something mid-range, so he can stay closer to Sole. Not have to charge in. Getting Hancock to fight smart, fight conservatively...Sole may as well have moved a mountain.

Nick; Baffled. Absolutely baffled as why Sole would think, for even a second, that was a good idea. He was in a tight spot, yeah. But getting themselves in the same tight spot is not the solution to that, damnnit! Another Grab and Get The Fuck Out Of There. Patches them up pretty well, frets the whole time, grumbles under his breath but doesn't lay them out like he really could. Much like Danse, he can only be angry once they're okay. When they're better, aw jeez. Sole doesn't hear the end of it for a while. As they recover, will read to them and be all coddling, but Sole is not going to remember that. No, they'll walk away having learned the hard way, don't do dumb shit for Nick. Nick might need to see Sturges, get some fuses replaced.

MacCready; Screams a colorful assortment of cusses while headshotting like he never has before. Here's what Sole is going to remember, in between black outs: MacCready yelling at them while fumbling with a Stimpak; MacCready tearfully apologizing as he drags them away; MacCready yelling again, putting something under their head; Oops, more crying as he struggles with a tourniquet; rinse and repeat. MacCready saw it the same way, only half coherent. MacCready can't be mad at them for it, though. He tried to do the same with Lucy. But he can be mad at himself. It was his fault, he was out of position, he wasn't paying attention, whatever it was. Sole almost dies because of him, and he has to wonder if he can keep traveling with them if he's this incompetent. Lucy, he had to tell himself it was a mistake, an accident. A bad luck day. What if its him?

Piper; Sole doesn't look like they have long, so Piper gets the telling out of the way before they pass out/die. Doesn't even look for targets as she shoots, pulling Sole to safety with one arm around their chest, just fires blindly and hopes that keeps the creeps back. Piper knows some field medical assistance from having to save her own life, and that iron will of hers keeps her from shaking or stuttering as she tends to Sole's wounds. You'd think she's mad, calling them crazy. Wait until Sole falls asleep and Piper is, technically, alone. Hides her face in her scarf and sobs. She was supposed to watch their back, and they had to watch hers, and they almost died for it. Doesn't eat while Sole recovers, no appetite. Doesn’t let them see her upset or scared. Doesn't allow herself to forget it.

Preston; All military business. Pretends Sole is just another soldier in his squad. He doesn't mean to, that's just what his brain does. Knocks down whatever he has to, and gets them over one shoulder, and assesses the situation to go from there. Its a blur. There's a bus? Is it liable to explode or can Sole go in there? Empty building actually empty, or will he have to deal with ghouls? Will a Stimpak do for now or does he need to retreat and tend to them immediately? There is no panic until much, much later, when he isn't wholly focused on helping them. Like...a week later. He does whatever Sole needs, and just one day, realizes what the hell happened. Bottles it up because Sole needs him right now. Guilt is not a substitute for medical attention. His feelings, later, when he actually feels them, are a cold, numb dread.

X6-88; He's a courser, God damn it. He doesn't get endangered, he is the danger. X6-88 already had three different plans to get out of that corner, and Sole should have known that. Not only did they risk themselves unnecessarily, they did it for a courser. Sure, kill yourself for an unkillable machine. Smart. Cleans house like a Swiffer Wetjet and is at Sole's side with the medbag in 0.2 seconds flat. Doesn’t bother lecturing them, as he doesn't think it would register in this state. If anything moves nearby, fires a shot off without looking, one hand still tending to Sole. Gives Sole too many painkillers, as he himself, being a courser, needs more. They're fine, but he feels bad about it, seeing them too loopy and little odd-colored in the face. Once they've got their mind back, goes on for hours how dumb that was. If Sole ever does that again, they better hope they die, because X6-88 himself is going to kill them so hard.

[ascorpiosramblings]

For @thecraftywriter 's request

Prompt: "So, hear me out: an extension of the flashback scene in Wano where Coby gushes to Drake about Luffy. It's so sweet to me. I like to think Coby came to talk for an unrelated reason but couldn't resist the opportunity to hype up his friend."

Yellow Lily

"I'm headed to capture the pirate empress, Boa Hancock. We are headed to the isle of women."

"I see, so that's where the ship is going huh Coby."

"Yes- Oh and one last thing... You mentioned Strawhat Luffy earlier right?" Coby said as he relaxed from the earlier conversation. Some stress melting away as he was reminded of a past Ally.

"Yes. There's been no news of a breakout-" "Wait a few hours". The confident declaration form the young marine may seem baseless to the unaware. But to Drake, he knew where this was headed.

"Luffy is not one to sit still. I think we both know that Captain!"

Coby went on. And on. And on.

He remembered the Yellow Lily he had found the day he had started out as a Marine rookie. To him, the little flower looked more like a strawhat. Twirling the flower around in his hand he felt the soft stem against his fingers.

Back in Alvidas ship the strawhat captain knocked some sense into him, quite literally. The idiot made of pure sunshine pushed him to fight back against the darkness that used to surround him. And for that he'd be forever grateful as he admired the petals of the yellow lily.

"honestly, Luffy has the best chance of becoming King of the Pirates"

Meeting him back on Water 7 felt as if he caught up with an old friend. As if he sat in a field of yellow lilies catching up on life basking in the sun. He promised to be a successful Marine back then and beat Luffy in a fight. He was on the road to that now. 'Look at me now Luffy. I'm braver'

"He is like a pheonix. He'll rise from the ashes when Kaido and big mom least expect it."

As he had. Coby still remembered Marineford. He remembered how Luffy lost Ace. He remembered the defeated cry from the strawhat. Yet it wasn't the end of his journey. He bloomed among adversity. Rose from the ashes and showed the world his burning determination when he took down Doflamingo in Dressrosa. Luffy was a force to be reckoned with. Shining brighter than the overwhelming darkness that surrounds him.

"Luffy will surely breakout. If he's in Wano then I think SWORD should take in account how he might move because he will probably end up revolutionizing wano by the time he leaves."

Luffys bright spirit was not one that wilted easily. A strong flower growing among the grime of the world, only to turn the area around him into a patch of green grass. That's what Luffy was. A ray of hope for the downtrodden.

"Whatever it may be I hope Luffy stays safe."

"Aren't you done Coby-"

"Captain, I would never be done with praising Strawhat Luffy , as I stated before a character like his isn't usually found among most men that walk this earth"

"Coby-"

"And I haven't even gotten to his fighting prowess! I mean he bested Doflamingo and even members of Big Mom's crew!"

"Coby-"

"Strawhat Luffy will turn the world upside down, I'm sure of it!"

"Coby you're still at work"

And with that Coby finally kept the den den mushi as it was time for him to finally got back to his job.

A/N: fun fact: Yellow lilies symbolize joy, happiness, friendship, thankfulness, and new beginnings. Even strength in some cases

Also, Happy Diwali to all those Celebrating it and Happy Halloween to all who are celebrating it <3

[fleurdemonio]

SHIP DYNAMICS FOR MY MUSES

Fill out the ship sheet for each of your muses (or your primaries).

MUSE: NICO ROBIN

Attracted To: A good sense of humor; intelligence; strong convictions; curiosity; Weirdos™️; ambition; dreamers; hopeless romantics

Favorite Ship: Wanihana (Robin x Crocodile). It’s so far beyond complicated and that’s what intrigues me. He’s been her mentor, her boss, her captor, her companion, her confidant. He taught her not just how to survive, but how to thrive. They bring out the shadow and light in each other.

Honorary Mention(s): Robin x Nami (do i need to explain??); Robin x Law (nerd love 💕)

Least Favorite: Robin x Luffy. That’s her little brother. He’s just a little guy.

Guilty Pleasure: Robin x Sabo. I just know they were cooking during the timeskip. Bonding over the trauma of growing up lonely, finding their places in the world. I think Robin is a Revolutionary at heart and would absolutely be part of the Army if she wasn’t a Straw Hat.

Platonic Soulmates: Robin x Franky. They just get each other, I don’t know. They’re flirty and fun and they’re weirdly on the same wavelength. I don’t ship them romantically, but

Would Like to Explore: Robin x Koala (revolutionary girlies); Robin x Zoro (flirtatious nerdy girl x grumpy jock); Robin x Sanji (he makes her laugh 🥹) ; Robin x Perona (goth girls club); Robin x Katakuri (I think she’d think his mouth is cute and she would feed him donuts all fkn day okay); Robin x Brook? (weirdo x weirdo)

(More muses below the cut!)

MUSE: BOA HANCOCK (@hebikokoro)

Attracted To: Intelligence; resilience; romanticism; ambition; strength; humility; wit; powerful people who let her keep them on a leash (it’s giving Integra x Alucard)

Favorite Ship: Hancock x women?? Any women?? All women?? WOMEN

Honorary Mention(s): Hancock x Shanks. I just think he would be very reasonable with her and would treat her like a proper lady without inflating her ego. Like he would humble her a little bit, humanize her in a way that she would actually like because it would actually build her character. He would teach her to like puppies, I just know it.

Least Favorite: Hancock x Luffy. I think it works better if she’s like, his sworn protector because she admires his spirit and his resolve rather than being obsessed with him because he just doesn’t like her back. I think that’s a little cheap and their relationship deserves nuance and depth.

Guilty Pleasure: Hancock x Mihawk. LISTEN HE HAS THAT BIG ROMANTIC GOTHIC CASTLE ALL TO HIMSELF AND THEY BOTH DEFINITELY THINK THEY’RE BETTER THAN THE OTHER AND THEIR WHOLE RELATIONSHIP IS A COMPETITION but at the end of the day she still falls asleep against his chest with that snake curled up at the end of the bed, okay

Platonic Soulmates: Hancock x Perona. Do we not love spoiled princesses who know what they deserve??

Would Like to Explore: Hancock x Crocodile (I simply think he’d hate her and she’d tease him constantly and sit on his lap and have fancy dinners and commit atrocities with him); Hancock x Smoker (I saw what she did to him at Marineford and there’s no way he ain’t gaga for her); Hancock x Doflamingo (evil fashionista bitches)

MUSE: YAMATO (coming soon?)

Attracted To: Strength; ambition; dedication; strong morals; recklessness; wild cards; adventurous spirits; heroes who refuse to let you call them heroes

Favorite Ship: Yamato x Ace. Maybe my favorite ship in the whole series. I will cry just thinking about it.

Honorary Mention(s): N/A.

Least Favorite: Yamato x Sanji. Sanji will probably never respect that Yamato is trans masc. But if he did, I think they could be kind of cute? Like it would be a really big character development for Sanji to FINALLY understand that gender is far more nuanced than Boy = Blue and Girl = Pink. As it stands now, however, Yamato deserves someone who doesn’t fetishize him.

Guilty Pleasure: Yamato x Sabo. I swear I’m not just shipping everyone with Sabo just ‘cause. I really think they’d get along so well and swap stories about Ace and find a lot of common ground. Growing up noble with all this pressure to fulfill someone else’s dream that you know just isn’t you, fighting the good fight despite all the obstacles hammering down on you, the desire to be truly free.

Platonic Soulmates: Yamato and Hiyori, but in my headcanon where Yamato swears to protect the Kozuki children on behalf of their father to honor his spirit, not because he insists that he IS their father. That was just weird and I think the story works better if Yamato is embodying Oden’s spirit, taking up the title as more of a moniker than assuming his literal identity.

Would Like to Explore: Yamato x Koala (I just think he’d find her so endearing); Yamato x Zoro (fight fight fight); Yamato x Katakuri (idk they just give me good vibes); Yamato x Law; Yamato x Kid?; Yamato x anyone who would fight him tbh

MUSE: HINA (@kuroori)

Attracted To: Power; strength; determination; conviction; strategic minds; men she can step on

Favorite Ship: Hina x Smoker. Come on, now.

Honorary Mention(s): Hina x Kaku; Hina x Kalifa

Least Favorite: Hina x Akainu. No one ships this but I just have to take the chance to say I hate him.

Guilty Pleasure: Hina x Miss Double Finger. Idk I just think it’s neat. :))

Platonic Soulmates: Hina has no friends. :))

Would Like to Explore: Hina hates everyone so I’m not really sure.

[genericpuff]

Sorry if this has been asked before but what is one of your favorite films + why? It doesn’t need to be an objectively good film either just one you could watch over and over again

Hmm, I've got a few! All for different contexts and genres as I can't pick one definitive "favorite".

Everything Everywhere All At Once is definitely a new favorite. It's probably one of the only newer films that I've happily sat through multiple times, I find a lot of movies these days don't have that kind of rewatchability but EEAAO absolutely does with how well crafted it is.

Spirited Away is one of my favorite animated films, it's a true masterclass of animation and characterization. Into the Spiderverse also falls into that category for me.

Requiem for a Dream is a favorite, but not one that I rewatch as often. I think I've only ever watched it twice and both times I've had to take a shower afterwards LMAO IDK though I've developed a pretty strong stomach since the last time I watched it so might not be so bad now.

An objectively awful film that I still love is Hancock. IDK I think it was just ahead of its time, it did something back then that we see plenty of nowadays but it doesn't get near enough credit. The movie still wasn't without its issues,

"So bad that it's good" favorite is Twilight. I rewatch those films at least once a year. They're awful. I love them.

And then my personal "I just think it's neat" favorite film is Chronicle. Basically scratches that itch for chaotic evil superheroes but done in a found footage format.

Sorry, can't pick just one, it's too hard LMAO

[breezybeej]

Last year I started a project to listen to all 3800 songs I had on my phone at least once because I found I was mostly just listening to the same 500 over and over

In the middle of the project, I added Herbie Hancock's and Paramore's discography to the list and had to backtrack to catch up.

Now that I'm through with the project, here's what I've taken away:

My taste in music is immaculate. You are all jealous.

I have faded on some bands that used to be my very favorites. TV on the radio doesn't really do much for me anymore outside of one or two songs. Their spot was basically fully usurped by Radiohead. By the way the Radiohead is in my top 10 bands now.

On the subject of favorites, I want to talk about some Rising Stars. L'imperatrice has blown me away with how much I've fallen in love with their last album. I am so excited to see more work from them even though they are french. It might be a bit misguided to call Bleed from Within rising stars because they've been putting out albums for a decent little while now but they haven't gotten as much recognition in the US since they are from Glasgow. Their album Fracture is pretty close to being a 10 out of 10. I do have to leave it with a nine though. Tei Shi blew me away when I saw her live and her music is pretty good, she has a lot of potential and I want to see how she goes from here

Chevelle, Gojira, Deftones: these are three bands that have absolutely earned their spot as being among the greats. I love so many of their songs but not as a full listening experience. They are best served in a playlist of other bands so every now and then you get a shot of Excellence.

Ye and Lorde - ADHD struck. Over the course of four fucking months I always forgot to go into my phone and delete these albums I don't actually want to listen to donda. Also this is no hate to Lorde I just don't really like her style.

Red hot silly fellers - these guys are basically ingrained in my brain folds. I will always come back to them but I never really listened to their early work before. I understand now why Blood Sugar Sex Magik was such a big deal now that I've listened to the albums that came before it. Don't get me wrong, one hot minute was really good but it has the unfortunate positioning of being between Blood Sugar Sex Magik and the rest of their early work. Some of the early stuff is rough.

Where is Janelle Monae?? I was obsessed with her music 5 years ago how have I not put any on my phone. that's another thing that I will have to fix just like removing Ye from my device

The Deep resounding Joy that filled my spirits whenever machine girl popped up on the mix was unmatched. Machine girl still reigns supreme

At some point I will upload a few screenshots of fun little coincidences that appeared in my full set list playlist. There are a lot of titles that songs have

Go listen to the full album Dis Is Da Drum by Herbie Hancock

[pebblebbles]

Hello I wrote a thing :O dunno what inspired me to do this but uhhhhh

Here you go! Enjoy?

Sussy Baka: Pebbles's Mount Rokkon Adventure (Part 1)

"…from Kugane?"

Pebbles frowned at Shallow Moor as every mote of her excitement disappeared off into the aethereal sea. Of all the places she could possibly be called to, it HAD to be Kugane. Shallow Moor's first mission to explore the depths of Ul'dah with Nanamo had set the standard for what Pebbles expected of these sorts of things, which made it all the more disappointing that she would have to go to one of her least favorite places on the entire star for her second. Just the exorbitant cost of aetheryte travel was enough to make her head spin, let alone all her other gripes about the place.

Shallow Moor seemed unaffected by Pebbles's lack of excitement.

"Well? Care to give it a read?" she asked, leaning over to wave the letter in Pebbles's face.

Pebbles sighed and snatched it from her hand.

"Dear Pebbles,"

"In the selfsame spirit of friendship which has defined our every interaction to date, it is my pleasure to extend to you a humble invitation."

Oh boy.

"‘Tis because of your endearing efforts to save this star that we may benefit from this rarest of opportunities, for it was in service to your noble quest to build the good ship Ragnarak that I was able to forge a fruitful bond between myself and another of Hingashi’s Elites."

"This lord has seen fit to grant me – and a guest of my choosing – leave to go where few ijin have tread: beyond the bounds of Kugane, to the sacred slopes of Mount Rokkon itself."

"I cannot overstate the significance of this gesture, nor the allure of sights heretofore unseen by Western eyes. Nor is it an exaggeration to say that no one is more deserving of this boon than your magnanimous self."

"I eagerly await our reunion at the gates of Bokairo Inn."

"Ever your faithful servant,

- Hancock Fitzgerald"

Pebbles's eyes hurt from rolling them so much.

"Laid it on a bit thick, did he?" said Shallow Moor with an amused grin.

"I don't know what I expected, honestly," Pebbles groaned. "But seriously, OF ALL PEOPLE it has to be HIM??"

Shallow Moor seemed more fixated on the letter's contents. "Well, I'd expect no less of a consummate merchant. Not too proud to debase himself when sufficient profits at stake."

Sure.

"Still, there may be a crumb of sincerity beneath that slathering of honeyed words. And if not, you still benefit from playing along, right?"

"I guess…"

Pebbles stared down at the letter again. Even though the prospect of working with one of Lord Lolorito's lackeys made her heart drop to the pit of her stomach, she couldn't help but be a little bit intrigued about this holy mountain. And it's not like she had anything better to do anyway.

"So you'll be heading to Kugane then?"

Pebbles shrugged. "Got nothing better to do I guess."

Shallow Moor clapped her hands together joyfully in response. "Perfect! I'll send word that you're on your way then."

"Fantastic." Pebbles faked a smile and turned to leave Scholars' Harbor, her scaled tail curling back and forth in frustration.

Shallow Moor waved after Pebbles excitedly. "Fair fortune and safe travels, Pebbles! You'd best come back with plenty of stories to tell, you hear?"

Pebbles spent none of her strength to lift her hand in response. Sooner rather than later, believe me.

[basedkikuenjoyer]

What? No no, let’s back this whole thing up. Shut it down. I need a full explanation and entire story behind Granny Ori here. Welcome to the inner circle of only the finest minor blorbos girl. I love her. And Shanks’s blasé attitude telling her to worry about old age. Good to know Cavendish, Leo, and the rest of those dudes are solid allied captains. Naturally, if we’re looking at them being involved in Egghead then any amount of fleshing out such a concept in parallel stories bolsters the hype. This has been an idea floating around, needing to have some discretion when it comes to followers. We’ll see a terrific climax for this chapter leading into a break week but ultimately my main takeaway is that 1079 is a bit uncommon in Egghead for simply building on what 1078 started. The more this unfolds the more it all seems to be coming together rallied around a central thematic core.

Figure I’ll finish the thought because we’re back to time not really mattering all that much. It isn’t just seeing Shanks’s interactions with his fleet, we’re getting to see a lot more of how the man operates than we’re used to. Is it not consistent with the type of growth we’ve been on about for Luffy? Especially when you add in the Giants. It’s that whole incidental impact, the idea Kid made things a lot worse by making a pretty stupid faux pas. Shanks is just so damn brutally efficient here and I love every panel of it. Especially the very cool display of Foresight. Put a pin in that. Oh and hey, here we are also answering a little lingering question about Wano’s end again. It was just like Kaido @ Marineford; Shanks consistently seems to be interested in something a little beyond simple good and evil. I’d say it’s consistent with someone who knows his fate is to be “in between” so he’s made his journey about protecting what he fancies. But he lacks a certain drive to be the one to actually pull the trigger. This is what’s always stuck with me about him:

Just doesn’t seem like the type to have grand ambitions of his own and he can be a little too conflict averse. If we’re getting this involved though, and especially with the echo of how nice Uta parallels from Film Red, I think it’s time to give the weird element of how similar Kiku ends up being to Redtaro its due. That’ll come tomorrow and I hope you all enjoy it. As for Kidd? I hate it for the guy but it’s right up our alley here. You had every chance to learn the lesson in Wano and refused, that came around to bite you. Just like Ace & Izo...shoulda listened to Killer dude. He’s the one I really feel sad for. Kidd’s acting like Luffy used to, Luffy on Egghead is at least acting more like Shanks now. There’s a solid point there Kidd is useful for illustrating; seek freedom, but too much of a rebellious spirit and unwillingness to play the part when it’s advantageous leads to things like making new enemies incidentally. The Giants by all accounts should welcome one of the men who ended Big Mom. The Blackbeard ship showing up is interesting too for what it could say about Law...but that’s more nebulous since we don’t even know if it’s actually Blackbeard. Anyways, time for time shenanigans. It’s very cool to combine a big Foresight Haki scene with...

More of this with York! I love S-Snake’s lil “You got it dude” thumbs up. Shit...that means she could petrify me doesn’t it? I feel like I might be able to resist the real Hancock. It’s on brand, we’re seeing York in a light very reminiscent of Monet with the Punk Hazard kids mixed with a dash of this motif of rules and hierarchies. It’s also York, who we argued revealed herself as a pretty solid foil for Kiku last time, using a bit of that same mindset and aptitude. This same logic is why Kiku ran and hid behind Zoro before fucking with Urashima, of course she knows she’s twice his height.

Very trendy, very heirophant. It’s the narrative structure I’ve been looking out for a long time though. Reveal the mystery, go back and fill in the gaps that are all there around the breadcrumbs that were always hiding in plain sight. Like I said last time though, this just feels a little more like a prelude than a payoff. It’s too insular when you have so many ways to roll in what’s come before. The real meat of Egghead is still to come, and I for one am very excited.

[jasleh]

FFxivWrite2023 Prompt 22: Fulsome

character: Cota time period: 6.45 (Mount Rokkon)

Fulsome: Excessively flattering or insincerely earnest. Unctuous.

...

"Cota! Hey Cota!"

Cota paused on their way to the Final Stand to see the towering form of Shallow Moor waving at them. They smiled and waved back at the gleaner.

"Hey Moor. Need something?"

"I'm so glad to see you, we just had an intriguing job come in, and the client insists you be the one to take it up." She jogged over to where Cota waited and pulled out a letter. "That client? The East Aldenard Trading Company!" Cota made a face, but Shallow Moor continued on undeterred. "The missive was dispatched from the Kugane branch rather than Lord Lolorito's offices, but it nevertheless carries the piquant scent of moneyed interests. Care to give it a read?"

Well now… from Hancock then, not Lolorito. Cota didn't exactly trust Hancock, but they could think of worse company, and running into him always had it's perks.

"Sure, give it here." Opening the envelope, they pulled it out and read.

Dear Cota, In the selfsame spirit of friendship which has defined our every interaction to date, it is my pleasure to extend to you a humble invitation. 'Tis because of your endearing efforts to save this star that we may benefit from this rarest of opportunities, for it was in service to your noble quest to build the good ship Ragnarok that I was able to forge a fruitful bond between myself and another of Hingashi's elites. This lord has seen fit to grant me - and a guest of my choosing - leave to go where few ijin have tread: beyond the bounds of Kugane, to the sacred slopes of Mount Rokkon itself. I cannot overstate the significance of this gesture, nor the allure of sights heretofor unseen by Western eyes. Nor is it an exaggeration to say that no one is more deserving of this boon than your magnanimous self. I eagerly await our reunion at the gates of the Bokairo Inn. Ever your faithful servant, - Hancock Fitzgerald

Yeah, Cota just bet he looked forward to that.

"There's flattery, and then there's…. this," they remarked dryly. Fond as he was of it, as far as Cota was concerned flattery was the least valuable use of that man's tongue. Or fingers, in this case. Shallow Moor laughed.

"Laid it on a bit thick, did he? I'd expect no less of a consummate merchant. Not too proud to debase himself when sufficient profit's at stake. Still, there may be a crumb of sincerity beneath all that slathering of honeyed words. And if not, you still stand to benefit from playing along."

"Oh there's a crumb, sure enough," Cota agreed, although they were likely thinking along very different lines from Moor. "I'll take it up. Or at least go find out exactly what he's trying to drag me into in person."

Hancock, after all, knew very well how to make it worth their while. And aside from that…. a mountain that no non-Hingan had seen was worthy bait in and of itself. They would hardly be a shard of Azem if they could pass that up, now would they?

"Perfect! I'll send word that you're on your way."

[kingsragesqueal]

important things to know about one piece if u know nothing else:

luffy IS going to be the pirate king

yamato is a man

o-kiku is a woman

don't let zoro wander off on his own, he WILL get lost

swords and boats are alive/have spirits/souls

nami wasn't stupid for trusting arlong to uphold his end of their deal, she was a literal Child

hancock's obsession w/ luffy is caused by her trauma and is NOT funny/cute, even if oda wants it to be interpreted that way

Brook and Laboon WILL be reunited someday

usopp is NOT a coward actually and deserves better

robin got utterly destroyed by the anime and it's actually so tragic

Whitebeard is the best and most present father in the whole series

sanji is Gross and in the real world would be on at least one government list probably

franky has laser beams in his nipples. there's nothing more to say

[thornfield13713]

Well. Fuck.

Georgia...wasn't sure what she believed about McDonough. The evidence either way was pretty thin, and he did seem awfully worked up about that article. But now she has confirmation.

Which- This honestly feels like it could've been the start of a Hancock personal quest. Like- confirmation that his brother was replaced by a synth, trying to find out when it happened and what happened to the real McDonough (probably dead, but 'FEV test subject' remains a possibility, in which case he might still be out there, admittedly probably not in any shape for a reunion even if Hancock wanted one). But no. Oh, well.

I do think Georgia's going to have to take a copy of this report, though. She can't keep this a secret, not from Hancock, not when it's this. She doesn't know if McDonough was replaced before or after the election - what does the Institute gain from an anti-ghoul pogrom? - but that's something to ferret out later. But it is, at least, an answer to a few questions. For that matter, this needs to get to Nick and Piper, too, and maybe Preston as well - Diamond City is being run by the enemy, and this needs to be taken into consideration.

And also- Can you please lay off the fat jokes, arseholes? You made him that way, you gave him that body, so you can lay off the mean-spirited little digs. Yes, okay, I know those are probably Doylist fat jokes as well as Watsonian ones, but I'm still going to be grumpy about them.

[slocumjoe]

do you think any of the companions drink? what would their habits be?

how the companions booze it 🍻

Cait; Hard drinker who, surprisingly, can't hold her liquor. She gets drunk quickly, but takes some time to drop out of the race, so to speak. Obviously, she used drink out of trauma response, but having gotten clean from the drug addiction, Cait drinks sparingly and rarely. Like, actually eats as she does so. Doesn't drink water because Cait isn't a water drinker. Her drunkenness depends heavily on her mood pre-boozing. Her booze of choice is beer.

Curie; does not drink. However, did try wine. Did not like it. She just makes sure there's water and food available for the local alcoholics, and badgers them to partake in such necessities. The worst days at the clinic are days after a party and she likes to lessen that load as much as possible.

Danse; Alcoholic. One of the alcoholics Curie is always after. Danse drinks when he doesn't have work, to sleep. No exception. And he drinks a fucking LOT. Like...opposite to Cait, he takes a lot to get drunk, and even more to fall down. He chugs vodka, whiskey, tequila...basically, if even one shot isn't for the faint of heart, Danse takes swigs right from the bottle. It impresses some people, but he isn't doing it to impress. Danse isn't that kind of person who takes pride in his alcoholism. This problem gets worse after BB, but he gradually gets better as time goes on.

Deacon; used to have a problem, so now alcohol is kind of a...soft no. He'll have a drink. A drink. And it won't be anything too crazy. A glass of wine, a beer or two, maybe a shot. He drinks as a social thing, just to be polite. Customs, yknow? Besides, he wants to keep his head clear. Also suffers from bad hangovers. The type to spend the whole morning puking even if he didn't have that much.

Gage: Also used to have a problem. He wasn't an alcoholic, but rather, weak to peer pressure. He wanted to impress all the big tough raiders by putting away as much crap as they could. And for the most part, Gage very much could outdrink most people. But being that drunk that often is not safe for a young man in his position, and he learned real quick that its better to the smart stick in the mud than the fun, cool, vulnerable target.

Hancock; the type of guy to think his problem makes him cool and fun. Im sorry, but he is. Hancock is the kind of person who's like "yeah man I was barely walking and shit, I had like, 30 shots or something? Haha I forget dude! So I'm like half crawling back to my place and its fucking...what, 10 in the morning? And I got work in 2 hours man, and everyone on the streets looking at me weird, ahah, shit was crazy!" Hancock drinks whatever he has, with no preference or complaint. However, there's a specific brand of whiskey that burns like a mother fucker that he likes to drink to show off. Doesn't eat or drink water. Curie has yet to give up on him in all but spirit.

MacCready; the most normal, healthy drinker. He likes the occasional beer, but his soft spot is a margarita. Or a sangria. Not into alcohol on its own. He doesn't want to taste it. He'll rarely have a drink without food. Drinking water is his weakness here, as he also isn't a water person. Mac will have a beer with dinner, and maybe another, and maybe another if the vibe is right, and if he doesn't catch himself, will end up tipsy. If he doesn't catch himself at tipsy, homeboy is getting pickled.

Nick; Used to enjoy a martini, a brandy, a wine, a rum. A gentleman of refined taste. At least, thats what he'll say. OG Nick bought his alcohol based on coupons or whatever was cheap. This man drinks bud light. Now, Nick mostly just babysits people who can get drunk. But he used to have his alcohol in accordance to whatever he was eating. Sub from the shop down the corner? Donuts? Afformentioned bud light. Dinner with Jenny, homemade seafood pasta? A wine. He's big on the idea that certain drinks have rules.

Piper; wine bitch. Drinks out of a coffee mug if ones clean. If not...girly gets a straw. She doesn't have a problem, but you wouldn't know it if you saw her while she enjoyed a drink. Wine is pretty much the only drink she likes. Beer is gross, moonshine has done enough to her, vodka is too strong to be enjoyed. She likes wine because it tastes good to her. Her taste sways towards the dry ones. Because she drinks for the taste, she isn't keen on getting drunk, so Piper is good about staying fed and hydrated. When she isn't, her hangovers are...demonic.

Preston; drinks occasionally, and never wants to get drunk. He doesn't like the feeling of being drunk, though he doesn't get hangovers. Even when inebriated, Preston mama-hens and keeps everyone eating and chugging water, so he ends up taking care of himself as well. His taste is both broad and limited. He'll drink anything—provided its local. Preston will not drink a name brand. He doesn't want Heineken, he wants Craig's magic wheat poison. He doesn't want Franzia, he wants a bottle of whatever the twitchy lesbian living in a boat house has fermenting amongst the seaweed and barnacles.

X6-88; the only alcohol you could get this man to drink is alcohol disguised as dessert. Ole Smokey banana cream moonshine comes to mind. He'll know its alcohol, you can't hide it from him, but provided its tasty enough...you might get him to indulge a little. If only for the fact that its basically candy. Otherwise, he isn't drinking. He probably can't even get drunk, not without causing a shortage.

[danses-with-dogmeat]

FO4 Companions React to Sole Wanting to Dress Up for Halloween

Hey guys! Happy Halloween!!

Last minute, I decided to write one more little thing to get in the spooky spirit 😁🎃

I hope you all have fun and stay safe today/night!

Cait: 

At first, it’s a hard 'no' from her, but… Well, after a few drinks, she’s a little more open to the idea. How could she say no to hastily throwing a couple of costumes together and drunkenly trick or treating with you? And scaring the crap out of a bunch of settlers? Sounds fun as hell. 

Codsworth:

Of course he’s 100% down no matter what, but if young Shaun is somehow involved? He’s 150% going to give it his all. Even if he has to make the costume himself from scratch. Codsworth will put more effort into it all than is necessary, but when he sees the smile(s) on Sole’s face, and maybe Shaun’s and the other companions as well, it will all be 150% worth it, no matter how much time he spent fretting over it all and making sure it was as true to pre-war Halloween as possible.

Curie:

Oh, she’s psyched for it! Curie doesn’t need any convincing at all, and she’s all about dressing up, no matter if she’s a synth yet or not. 

As the two of you roam around the settlement at night, she can’t help but give the children some pointers on health and the importance of a balanced diet, but it’s still fun to see the wonder in her eyes each time someone comes up in costume, or a decoration catches her attention. It's a fun night :)

Danse:

It’s hard to get the Paladin to take a day off, but, if it’s to take part in one of these pre-war customs that he’s been dying to participate in… He supposes one day off won’t kill anyone. You’ll have to help him with getting his costume together, and with figuring out what he wants to be, but he’s willing to take part. If, for no other reason, than for curiosity’s sake, or for, ahem, research purposes. 

At least that’s what he says, but the smile on his face the whole night may say otherwise. 

Deacon:

A day where it’s normal to dress up as someone/thing else, to be in disguise? Deacon is all over it, and he’s more than glad to participate. He won’t need any convincing at all, and maybe the day would even be good for testing out the Mr. Handy disguise he’s been working on recently… 

Dogmeat:

He’ll admit (not with words, obviously) that he’s not the biggest fan of dressing up if it becomes too cumbersome to let him trail after Sole while trick or treating, but he’ll do it for them. Come on, he’ll do anything for Sole… and he does like wearing those little goggles and the bandana, so if it’s not too crazy, he’s absolutely into dressing up. 

If Sole puts anything on his feet though, he WILL do the weird little walk where his legs come up way too high, and it WILL embarrass him. So just be aware of that when considering costuming. 

Hancock:

He cosplays as a founding father every damn day, and he’s all about a good time, so obviously you hardly even need to ask to get him in costume and into the festivities. Odds are he’ll end up going as some sexy version of something or another for the slew of Halloween parties raging throughout Goodneighbor, and you’ll be tagging along on his arm with a broad smile on your face. Hancock is really in his element more than ever on Halloween night. 

MacCready:

He actually does require some convincing. Don’t get MacCready wrong, Halloween is fun and all, but without Duncan… it’s hard to participate and have a good time while his mind keeps reeling back to his son, still so far away, still without him. He may still go out with you, to keep his mind off things, but it’ll be hard to get him to dress up at all. 

When him and Duncan are back together again though? It’s all over for you. Him and his boy will have the best paired costumes that caps can buy… or that snipers can find. 

Nick:

He’s actually super into it. Pre-war customs and making kids happy? Nick’s all over it. He loves going out into the town and seeing all the kids dressed up, he loves handing out sweets and scaring adults and winking at the kids with a chuckle and a nod of his hat. It’s one of his favorite nights of the year. 

Piper:

She’s 100% on board from the very start. 

What? You think she hasn’t been planning her and Nat’s costumes since last year’s Halloween? Oh ho, well you’re in for a treat. She’s been working on the costumes for months, and no one trick or treats quite like this reporter and her feisty little sister. 

Preston:

Another one who’s difficult to convince to take a day off, but Preston eventually relents, only when you tell him that he can still be working to protect the settlement even while walking around the neighborhood in costume. He has a lot of fun all through the night, though, and he’s really glad he did it. It makes all of his hard work, to make things more safe, more domestic, more… like they once were, before all the bombs, it just makes it all seem worth it. 

Strong:

Strong doesn’t understand weird human customs. But getting to frighten little humans with his bigness? Getting to dress up even more frightening to scare more humans more than usual? 

Strong guesses that could be fun. 

Try to dress him up cute or funny though, and he will tear the costume to shreds. And then tear Sole’s costume to shreds too, just for good measure. So… y’know, just let the mutant scare some people. He’ll have a great time. 

X6-88:

No. It’s a firm ‘no’ too. 

He doesn’t mind, though, if you want to dress up. That’s up to you, and he won’t stop you, but… Yeah, no. It’s not for him. 

However, after the fact, once he’s seen the way some costumes can be cripplingly frightening, well… X6 is a little more enthusiastic to participate next year and scare the living shit out of as many wastelanders as he can. That sounds like a good time. 

[fallout4reactsblog]

hi! you remember that whole synth!sole saga that you wrote last year? (or at least i think it was last year)

could you maybe do a bad ending version, where sole and nick dont forgive piper and hancock?

(For context, this should come after Piper and Hancock arrive in Sanctuary and are saved by sole)

Hancock is rudely awoken by a rough hand on his shoulder.

"Up," Preston says above him, his voice harder and colder than Hancock has ever heard it. "Get your stuff."

Hancock groans. Across the room, Piper groggily says, "What's going on?"

"It's morning," Preston says. "You were allowed to spend the night, and now you have to leave."

Pipers splutters for a moment. "Leave? We just got here! What about seeing sole?"

"The General will see you out," he replies cooly, and then he's out the door.

For a moment, Hancock can only sit there stunned, still trying to piece together everything that had happened yesterday. He'd met up with Piper, they'd gone to the Red Rocket, there was that Deathclaw... Hadn't sole saved them, though?

He sits up to get his stuff, mulling that over. Why save them just to kick them out again?

"I can't believe this," Piper grumbles, shouldering her bag. "We just got here, for crying out loud."

"Hey, he said we'd get to see sole on the way out. Maybe we can talk to them then."

Piper shoots him a look that clearly says she is unconvinced, but they both know better than to resist. Sole is the most dangerous person in the Commonwealth, after all, and the two of them are sort of in their house at the moment. Going against their wishes would just be begging for something worse than what they've already got.

Preston is waiting for them outside, and Hancock can't help but notice that the grip on his laser musket is a little tighter than usual. When they make eye contact, Preston's expression is a blank slate, devoid of any emotion. An uneasiness begins to build in Hancock's stomach.

Sole is waiting for them at the entrance to the cul-de-sac, Dogmeat at their heels. Nick Valentine is a few doors down, leaning in a doorway, smoking a cigarette, glaring daggers at the two of them. Hancock swallows hard, but puts on his best smile.

"Mornin', sole."

Preston falls into step behind the two of them as they walk. Hancock would swear he can feel the breath on the back of his neck.

"Exit's this way," Sole says in lieu of a reply.

"Kicking us out so soon?" Piper asks, and there's enough snark in her voice that Hancock shoots her a warning glare. Her tone softens when she adds, "We came all this way to talk, sole."

"I don't care why you came, and I'm not interested in talking. You should've sent a message."

"C'mon," Hancock pipes up. "Aren't you even a little interested in what we have to say?"

The glare they shoot him makes him shrivel. "Since when was that favor returned to me?"

He bites his tongue, thinking of sole's confused and angry face, the way they'd banged on the door afterward, the way their screaming echoed off the buildings. "Look, I know I messed up, but-"

"But nothing." Their tone is hard and sharp. "You betrayed me, both of you did. When I was at my lowest, my most vulnerable, you didn't offer me a hand up. You kicked me while I was down. I saved your sorry lives last night in the spirit of being even. Now, for anything you ever did for me, I've returned the favor, and we can call that tab settled. I owe you nothing except the same kindness you showed me. For that, you can get the hell out of here, and don't either of you even fucking dare to set foot on Minutemen soil again."

Piper recoils as if she's been slapped. Her eyes gleam unnaturally in the morning sun. "Blue, you don't-"

"That's 'General' to you," they snap, "and I'm not interested in excuses. Leave."

Their tone leaves no room for argument. Hancock's throat is so tight he thinks he might choke, so he takes Piper's arm and begins to pull her down the street under the watch of Nick's icy glare.

As they pass sole, he whispers, "I really am sorry."

They just glare at him and reply, "I bet you are."

Piper waves to Nick as they pass. He doesn't return it. He drops the butt of the cigarette he's been smoking and crushes the ashes beneath his boot so aggressively that Hancock feels like he's been punched. The message is clear. They are not forgiven. They will never be forgiven. They have done something that is beyond forgiveness.

Hancock realizes Nick Valentine was right. He's a hypocrite in every sense of the word. In sole's shoes, he'd do the exact same thing.

Maybe that's why it hurts so fucking much.