#Chloroform Bellows

[holmesillustrations]

Vote for your favourite, the top 9 will proceed in the bracket. Since theyre all different shapes and sizes, make sure to click into the full views!

Paget Eliminations // Other Artist Eliminations

Full captions and details for each illustration below the cut:

"The old woman faced round and looked keenly at him" Charles Doyle, Study in Scarlet (1888 Ward, Lock, & Co. Novel) Characters: ‘Mrs Sawyer’, Holmes, Watson

[Holmes entering Watson’s consulting-room] Harry C. Edwards, Final Problem (McClure’s) Characters: Holmes, Watson

"Miss Violet Smith, Teacher of Music." FD Steele, Solitary Cyclist (Collier’s) Characters: Violet Smith

Collier’s Cover FD Steele, Missing Three-quarter (Collier’s) Characters: Holmes, Pompey

"She fought her way out again." Arthur Twidle, Wisteria Lodge (The Strand) Characters: Warner, Murillo, Lopez, Signora Duranda

"The fellow gave a bellow of anger and sprang upon me like a tiger." Alec Ball, Lady Frances Carfax (The Strand) Characters: Hon. Phillip Green, Watson, Holmes

"Well, Holmes," I murmured, "Have you found out anything?" Frank Wiles, Valley of Fear (The Strand) Characters: Watson, Holmes

"He was gripped at the back of his neck by a grasp of iron, and a chloroformed sponge was held in front of his writhing face." Alfred Gilbert, His Last Bow (The Strand) Characters: Von Bork, Holmes

"A nick in the parapet, fifteen feet from the body, interested Holmes strangely." GP Nelson, Thor Bridge (Hearst’s International) Characters: Holmes

"Here you are!" he cried, waving a paper over his head." HK Elcock, Three Garridebs (The Strand) Characters: Evans, Nathan Garrideb, Holmes, Watson

"I extend the same warning to you... take your reputed talents to some other field." FD Steele, Blanched Soldier (Liberty) Characters: Holmes, Col. Emsworth, Ralph (Butler), James Dodd

"One night my cries brought Leonardo to the door of our van." FD Steele, Veiled Lodger (Liberty) Characters: Leonardo, Griggs (clown), Mr Ronder and Eugenia

[narangmedical]

Chloroform bellow and sigmoidoscopes double bellow are available in 500ml and 1000ml sizes. https://www.narang.com/medical-rubber-products/chloroform-bellows-sigmoidoscope-bellows/index.php

[xmachinamedia]

[EPISODE 2: BUSTER RAINE]

2:30 PM

          “BWAAAAHAHAHAHAAA!!” The man cackled, the seven passengers and staff he had successfully rounded up amid the panicking masses all cowering before him, a black-and-white mask obscuring the top half of his face – freeing up room for his scraggly beard attached only at the edges of his chin and his proudly bellowing laughter. “Ladies and gentlemen, kind citizens of the Atlantean continent and tourists alike, the mighty Bomberhead appreciates your patronage in foisting such a grand supply of ether across the wildlands! This energy will fuel my operations and funds alike for several months to come! I deeply appreciate it!”

            Bomberhead – Age 36, D-Rank supervillain – “The Explosive Bandit”: A small-time crook and bandit known for assaulting traveling convoys across Atlantis utilizing his ability to create small explosions, backed up by a seemingly limitless salvo of explosive devices. D-Ranked due to his ability being exceedingly limited, only able to cause lethal harm to a human with direct contact or use of his arsenal of explosives, and generally lacking skill, always only narrowly evading Enforcer capture.

            Notable for tending to always announce his presence with an explosion, making it easier for first responders to quickly mobilize in retaliation whenever he strikes. Intel suggests this may be either a compulsion or some sort of “signature” he attaches to his crimes as iconic as his gaudy name.

            A waiter from aboard the train spat out a handkerchief stuffed in his mouth and glared at Bomberhead. “Y-you idiot! How do you plan to haul the ether off the train?! Each of those ten tanks is almost six-thousand kilos apiece! I know you’re a super, but you aren’t exactly a strong one…”

            Having his grandiose speech interrupted sparked Bomberhead’s fury immediately as he rushed over to the waiter, indignance plastered across his mien. “How, DARE you insult my destructive capabilities?!”

            The back of his hand graced the young waiter’s cheek at high speed, sending some spit flying from the tied-up captive while a young woman tied up beside him screamed.

            “You don’t seem to understand the situation you’re in! It matters not how I get the ether tanks off the train, what matters is that they’re mine now!”

            “Not very strong… lemme add not very bright to that as well.” The waiter growled, earning another slap across the cheek.

            “I appreciate your concern.” Bomberhead sarcastically grumbled, stuffing the hankie back into the waiter’s mouth. “But I do have a plan, in case your tiny mind can comprehend that. As soon as I decouple this train car, some of my ‘associates’ will arrive, recouple the train from behind, and guide us deeper into the Eastern Wavord Wildlands – where, once we’re far enough in the forest, we’ll have you, our captives in the event of Enforcer interference… earn your keep by assisting us in unloading and selling these tanks. Then perhaps a local crime lord will take you all under their wing and repeat the cycle. Until all of you have outlived your usefulness.”

            The young woman wailed once more, tears streaming from her eyes.

            “And quit screaming!!” Bomberhead bellowed, gnashing his teeth in frustration. “Can’t I finish a speech in—"

            Just then, the door in the back was kicked down, and Bomberhead slapped his forehead as soon as he sensed a pair of auras enter through them – clearly not the armed gunmen he had explicit measures to deal with, like gun-jamming EMP grenades or chloroform knockout grenades. No, this was a pair of supers, Enforcers, inevitably. Suddenly, his foolproof plan felt like it had a major hole as he asked himself; “Why didn’t I check for any Enforcers possibly running guard duty…?!”

            Immediately, the blond-haired one took center stage, proudly grinning before Bomberhead with his young lantern jaw on full display while a spiky blur rushed all the hostages out from the train car faster than Bomberhead could comprehend.

            “What the hell was that?!” Bomberhead thought to himself the moment he realized he was alone with two adversaries, his hostages kept as insurance all gone in a split second – leaving the aforementioned blond-haired kid, and a new, grimmer-looking spiky-haired kid, carrying a massive sword in one hand.

 “I-I couldn’t even sense someone moving! Was it the spiky-haired kid?!” He hurriedly thought to himself, trying to catch up with the present as the blond-haired one began to speak up.

            “Sorry, Bomberhead, but you won’t be hijacking any transport vessels today.” Ezekiel bellowed with a wide grin.

“Tch. Jr. Brats. I won’t waste my time figuring out how you snatched all my hostages – that doesn’t matter at this point.” Bomberhead snarled, cracking his knuckles and leaping from his barrel position. “You kids better back off, unless you feel like getting yourselves and this entire train blasted sky-high!!” He snarled, whipping out a stick of dynamite from his pocket and arming himself with a lighter in his free hand.

 “Enforcers indeed – here to bring you to justice and save these innocent people! I’m Ezekiel Reis, and that’s my partner Buster Raine, and we’re the Prodigies of the South, on the job! I suggest you surrender - before your plan explodes in your face!”

            Buster, close behind, only groaned and slammed his palm upon his face. Bomberhead meanwhile, looked entirely confounded, unable to reconcile what he just heard with reality.

            “Uhh… fantastic introduction, kid, but… this is your first time doing this, ain’t it?” Bomberhead muttered with an uncertain frown.

            Ezekiel frowned. “No!” He then relented for a moment. “A-actually, sort of? I was gonna apprehend a supervillain in a museum but—y’know what, forget it. You’re under arrest, asshole!”

[EX: I WANNA BE THE HERO - EPISODE 2: BUSTER RAINE]

(Discord Server)

[capaimagines]

lee felix ft stray kids - mute

Pairing: Mafia Leader!Lee Felix x Reader, Stray Kids x Reader | Genre: angst & fluff | Warnings: mentions of murder, angry lix, use of chloroform | WC: 2.5k

Request: SKZ mafia/a bond or something with one of the members x reader. The reader is mute by choice but rarely speaks. SKZ kidnap the reader because they know she saw something & knowing this information is important because it will help them in some way maybe, I don't know, up to you. They interrogate her & eventually figure out she cant talk. so they keep her around for a while hoping that they can get her to write down the info. Eventually, she trusts one of them & talks to them quietly one day.

fifteen years ago

Tears streamed down your face as you held your breath as best you could. Hiding in the small wooden cabinet underneath the sink in the kitchen, you could barely see out of the slight crack in the wood. Though, you could see enough. The tall man with a gun aimed at your parents. The short, stout stranger that had them tied up. They didn’t know you were there.

Your mother had tears in her eyes and fear written across all her features. She was staring straight at where you were hiding because she had told you to hide when she heard the glass breaking. You hadn’t made a peep. 

“It’s okay,” She whimpered and while the two strange men in your home had no idea what she was talking about, your three-year-old self knew it was meant for you.

“Where is he?!” The one with the gun bellowed and you couldn’t help but tremble in fear. You may be three, but you knew guns were bad and could hurt people. This wasn’t some elaborate prank that your parents were pulling. You only wished your brother hadn't run off before you were born so he could be here to protect you all.

You didn’t hear what your father answered but then you heard a loud bang that made you yelp. Thankfully, the men didn’t hear it and ran out of the house. When you were sure they weren’t coming back, you crawled out of your little hiding hole with tears and snot dripping down your face.

Your mother lay on the ground, eyes dull and lifeless as blood poured from the back of her head and her stomach. Your father’s eyes were closed, but the pool of blood on the floor didn’t look good, even to a three-year-old. It was your mother’s eyes that would haunt you for the rest of your life.

The police showed up hours later, finding your parents dead in the kitchen and you sobbing and screaming for your mom and dad to wake up. Your pink onesie stained with their blood.

You stopped speaking after you got to the hospital. The police and doctors and nurses tried to ask you questions, to see if you saw anything but you only gave them a dead stare and didn’t speak.

You didn’t speak at all, to anyone. And you never would again. Those men were still out there and they could come back.

They could come back for you.

present 

You smiled widely and waved goodbye to your boss at the bookshop as you left for the evening. Not speaking was rough at first; no one could understand what you needed or wanted but you didn’t care. You couldn’t talk. You didn’t want to remember. You just couldn't bring yourself to do it again.

As you closed your eyes for a moment to intake the fresh air, a brief image of your mother’s dull, lifeless eyes stared back at you. Your eyes snapped open and your breath was ragged. You tried to breathe in a few times, but you were starting to feel dizzy from the panic rising up in you. You hated how even fifteen years on, this was still a regular occurrence for you.

You had seen therapists, grief counselors, doctors, all the likes. But you never spoke a word. You’d draw pictures of butterflies and ponies, but never of what you saw. If you didn’t talk about it, you hoped it would become a distant memory that never happened. But that's not how these things work. And for the most part in your last fifteen years of life, it had. The only thing that was still carved into your brain was the look in your mothers eyes. Leaning against the brick wall a few buildings over, you closed your eyes and tried to ground yourself. 

Once you felt a little better, you opened your eyes to continue your way back home. Just a little further you thought to yourself. The little old lady at the bookshop was more than happy to hire you to work for her. She was sweet and would fill the store with stories from her past or sing some songs. You viewed her as a grandmother, one of the only people who paid no mind to you being mute. 

As you began to walk again, as cliche as it sounded, you felt as if you were being followed. You couldn’t see anyone but you could hear the footsteps that were in step with yours. If you sped up, you could hear the slight second it took for the person behind you to match your pace. Same with when you slowed down.

More panic began arising as you tried to remain calm. You were almost to your building and all you needed to do was get inside. Once you got inside you would be safe. Though, you didn’t make it inside. You don’t even know what happened, but someone had their arm around your neck and a cloth over your mouth.

Your world went black before you could even blink.

 ***

You silently groaned as you fluttered your eyes open. Your head was pounding and you felt extremely tired. Trying to remember what had happened, your eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and you started to panic at the unfamiliar surroundings.

Someone was following you. Someone had grabbed you and put something over your mouth and nose. You didn’t even catch a glimpse of them. Your worst fear reared it’s ugly head. The men from all those years ago had come back for you and now they had you. They had you and they were going to finish what they had started.

You started taking in uneven breaths, vision getting spotty from the lack of oxygen. The concrete room had no windows so you had no idea where they had taken you. Of course, you sat up and tried to run to the metal door, but you fell to the ground after a few feet. Your eyes went wide as you realized your right ankle was chained to the metal chair that was bolted to the floor.

The door slammed open and you jumped, cowering as far away as you could, “Fucking finally,” The boy muttered, “You’re awake.”

You peeked over the table to see two boys that looked like they were definitely more than a few years older than you. One had dark brown eyes and freckles scattered all around his face. His silver hair was styled in a mullet and his red lips were dry.

The other boy had short brown hair, eyes just as dark as he glared at you. You could see the gun holstered on his side. You started to tremble, tears burning your eyes. They were going to kill you.

“Get up and sit down,” The one with the silver hair barked and you listened. Whatever it took to keep you alive just a little longer, you would do. You sat on the chair, pulling your knees up to your chest and peeking at them from behind your bangs.

“You have information we need,” The other said, much calmer than the first. He pulled a chair up and sat across from you. His body language read open but his eyes were dark and fierce. You didn’t doubt he would hesitate to put a bullet in your head.

But what information could you have that they needed? You were a mere college student that worked at a bookstore. All you did was live your life silently and with your head down. How could you have anything they needed? You barely had enough to get by.

“You witnessed a murder and we need to know everything. Now," The silver-haired boy placed his hands on the edge of the table, glaring at you. You gulped, but didn’t say anything. There was only one murder you had witnessed in your life and you didn’t want to go back there.

Why did these two boys need to know about that? It dawned on you that they probably worked for those men. They were here to see what you knew and then kill you off the second you told them everything. You stayed silent, biting on your bottom lip, piercing the skin as you stared at the top of your knees.

“ANSWER ME!” The silver-haired boy bellowed, slamming his hands on the table. You flinched and squeezed your eyes shut. You wanted to tell him that you couldn’t. That you physically couldn’t answer him. But you were too terrified to even try and gesture that out.

“Felix,” The other one said a little sternly, “Maybe you should step out for a minute," He sounded almost concerned but you doubted that concern was aimed towards you. You whimpered as you felt the one called Felix grip the back of your hair and pull your face up to meet his. 

“You’ve got an hour to tell me everything you fucking know,” He spat, before roughly releasing you and leaving the room, the door slamming shut behind him. The other only followed him out and you started shaking, letting the tears pour down your cheeks.

If you could, you would tell him everything if that meant you would live. But you couldn’t, you couldn’t talk about it.

A few minutes later the door swung open again, but this time it was shut gently. Your head snapped up to see a different boy walking in. He looked younger and a little kinder. His black hair stopped just above his eyebrows. Though his eyes were dark, it didn’t hold the same anger and fierceness as the other two boys had.

“I’m Jeongin,” He said nonchalantly, sitting down across from you. You didn’t say anything, “You met our leader, Felix. Sorry he was a little—rough. He’s just stressed. Would you like something to drink?” He placed a bottle of water in front of you but you refused to touch it. Your immediate thought was that it definitely hadn't been untouched before you.

He chuckled with a grin adoring his lips, “Smart girl," He swiped the water bottle and took a gulp from it before placing it back in front of you before smirking, “See? It’s fine," Timidly and with shaking hands you grabbed the water and took a sip.

“At least we know you can understand us,” He snorted, "We need information that only you have. And we need it now. Boss won’t hesitate to rough you up so it’s probably better to just tell us," He looked at you expectantly.

Your eyes went wide with fear and you started wildly gesturing towards your throat. He cocked his head to the side, confused as to what you were trying to get at. Then within seconds, the door slammed open again and Felix stormed in, eyes blazing with rage as he flipped the table, the water bottle slamming against the wall and to the floor. Two other boys you hadn’t met ran in behind him, grabbing his arms.

“You need to calm the fuck down, Yongbok,” The dark-haired one said. 

“Take a breath, dude,” The blonde haired one said. You were trembling again. 

“NOW! TELL ME NOW!” He bellowed in your face, a few drops of salvia splashing on your face.

You only squeezed your eyes shut again, still wildly gesturing towards your throat, “Felix,” the younger one who had given you water a few moments ago snapped, “I don’t think she can talk.”

“Her fucking tongue isn’t cut out. We would’ve known that,” Felix snapped.

“She’s mute, you moron!” Jeongin said with a roll of his eyes. You saw when it finally clicked in Felix’s head. He shook the two boys off that were holding his arms and ran shaky fingers through his hair.

“Get out. All of you. Now," His voice was cold and firm and the three men listened to him. You wanted to scream out for them not to leave you alone with him but you couldn’t make a sound. You didn’t want to be alone with him.

He knew you saw what happened, but you couldn’t speak. He’d kill you to keep you silent forever.

However, the door closed and it was just you and Felix staring at one another. You noticed that you two shared similar features. You could see the brown peeking out from the roots of his hair, almost the same color as yours. His eyes were the same shade and shape as yours and while you didn’t have nearly as many freckles on your face as he did, you did have some.

“My family was murdered fifteen years ago,” He said through gritted teeth, fists clenched at his side.

“We have intel that you’re the only one who saw and heard anything. I need to know what they looked like, what they said. I need to avenge their death.” 

He had since slumped into the only chair still upright besides yours. Your eyes widened in realization. Your brother, who had run off before you were born. Could this be him? Your parents had gotten rid of all the pictures so you had no idea what he looked like.

But sitting across from him, you could see similar features of your mother and father as well as yourself. Something bubbled in your chest; something you could only describe as a glimmer of hope.

“B-brother?” You spoke, feeling shocked at hearing your own voice after all these years. His eyes snapped to yours, eyes wide.

“Brother?” He asked and you only nodded, “T-they had a-another baby?” It was more like he was asking himself but you nodded your head anyways.

“I-I’ll t-tell you,” You stuttered and his eyes were trained on you. Half shocked that this was his sister sitting in front of him, half shocked you had spoken to him.

“L-let’s do this somewhere else,” He murmured quietly, standing up and unlocking the chain around your ankle. You were still terrified, but your curiosity and excitement from not only having found the brother you always dreamed of, but from speaking. You finally heard yourself speak for the first time in fifteen years.

You silently followed him out of the concrete room, four boys staring at the two of you as you walked by with wide eyes and mouths dropped open in shock. Apparently it seemed no one knew you existed until now. Or he had thought they killed you off too.

Things were still awkward and scary and you were still terrified, but you had a brother. You really did. This next conversation wasn’t going to be easy and you don’t even know if you would be able to get through it. But at least you would have your brother there next to you.

[uselesssomebody]

𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕜𝕚𝕝𝕝 (drabble) - peter parker x reader

original wattpad post | complete masterlist | mcu masterlist | peter parker masterlist

"𝕪𝕠𝕦'𝕣𝕖 𝟙𝟙 𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕦𝕥𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕨𝕒𝕪, 𝕤𝕠 𝕨𝕙𝕪 𝕒𝕣𝕖𝕟'𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖?"

- eleven minutes | halsey + yungblud

words || 𝟠𝟘𝟘

a/n not gonna lie, this is a personal favorite. it's just purely fun and stupid. also, once again - old.

➵ originally called '11 minutes'

summary || in which the reader is peter's girlfriend, and is subsequently captured by the worst villain ever.

warnings || fluff

i woke up to a toothy smile. but it wasn't the smile i fell in love with, it was a crooked, yellow grimace, one that i had no wish to see anymore. i whip my head around, looking at the familiar objects around me. a small groan escaped my mouth.

"aron? this again?"

"for the last time, my name is overkill!" he grunted, whining in a similar fashion to a teenager. i snorted.

"more like "i can't kidnap for shit'." i pulled at my hands, feeling the usual cheap-ass ropes binding me to this plastic chair. i was back in the dusty apartment, looking grimier than ever. "so, what was it this time? mild poison? or did you just hit me with the chair?" i asked, striking up conversation. i didn't know how long i'd have until he'd arrive, but i assumed it would take a while.

"chloroform..." he murmured, leaning against a table.

"damn! good job, dude, you're getting better!" there was a moment of silence. "aron, can i call him please? i gotta ask him something." i raised my head, a pout on my face.

"aron? that's not my name!" he moaned. i rolled my eyes.

"fine! overkill, can i please call him?" he nodded, satisfied, before pulling a phone - my phone - out of his pocket. he held it up to my face before, pressing one of the first contacts in my call list.

"y/n! where are you!" peter's concerned voice rung out in the small room.

"i'm with aron- er, overkill."

"what'd he do?!" peter shouted through the phone.

"he invited me for tea, what do you think?"

"Ddd he hurt you?" 

"no, i'm fine. how long are you gonna take?"

"i'm about 11 minutes away."

"you're getting faster, peter! can you pick me up a muffin on the way?"

"i'll see. is he there with you?"

aron decided to chime in now.

"why, yes, spider-boy. yes i am. if you want t-"

"yeah, yeah: if i want to see her alive, i should be prepared to get through you. right?"

"shut up! our battle will be legendary, arachnid!" aron bellowed, before ending the call.

there was a heavy air of silence, with aron breathing heavily. i sighed in pity.

"when are you gonna give this up, dude? this is like the 2nd time this week! it's just a waste of time for everyone. i have a chem test to study for." i spoke quickly, yet animatedly. he held up his hand, indicating me to stop talking. i listened, only because i didn't have anything left to say.

the loud banging on the window indicated peter's arrival. aron laughed to himself.

"this will be fun!"

"like the 4 other times you've done this?" he threw the first thing he could grab in my direction. luckily for me, it was a pen, and he had shit aim.

aron opened the window, but was immediately pushed back by a incredibly strong force, which I soon realized was Peter's webs. i watched as they both ran around each other for a hot minute, before aron finally slumped, raising his hand in defeat. 

"i'm done, i'm done. just go." he went quiet, leaving peter to catch his breath.

after a moment, he turned to me, kneeling so we were face-to-face.

"are you okay? did he hurt you?" i smiled, happy to see him.

"no, no, i'm fine. just got some hand cramps." his eyes widened in realization, before he jumped to his feet.

"right, sorry." he walked to look at the cupboards, and picked out a pair of scissors. he walked back to me, and snipped the ropes away.

"oh, that's so much better." i sighed, and rubbed my wrists. he extended a hand to help me get up, and i took it, rising to my feet for the first time in a couple of hours.

i looked around myself.

"did you get the muffin?" i asked.

"hmm, oh. yeah, give me a second." he rummaged through his bag, which he had placed in the corner, and retrieved the small baked good. "blueberry!"

"thank you!" i pecked him on the cheek, before we both made our way out, this time through the front door.

at the doorway, though, i paused for a second.

"what's up?" peter had obviously noticed my behavior.

"give me a second." i turned back around, and picked up a spare sheet of paper from a notebook lying on aron's desk. i grabbed the pen he threw at me, and the click of it opening rung out in the small apartment. i quickly scribbled a short message on the first page.

bye, overkill (a.k.a. my boy aron!!),

see you monday. wanna see what you'll do next.

- y/n

[diary-of-deadweight]

Stab first, ask questions at a later date.

Pairing: deadpool x reader (their relationship is up to you.) ft Negasonic teenage warhead, Yukio, Cable and Colossus.

Summary: retuning to the x mansion after a close call with the authorities over a fucking tissue seems pretty petty doesn’t it?

“I can’t believe you wade!” You stormed into the living area where colossus sat with a book in his hand which was soon discarded the moment the door was violently slammed shit and your angered tone of voice followed soon after.

“Oh come on! You can’t be THAT mad.” Wade played off your tantrum as being that time of the month, plopping down on the couch with about as much grace as a newborn trying to run for the first time, stripping his face of his red and black mask, bearing his scared flesh to the two of you. “What did wade do (y/n)?” Colossus asked giving Wade a stern stare when he groaned exaggeratedly before turning his attention back to you in hopes of getting to the bottom of this.

“Wade.stabbed.someone.” Colossus’s eyes widened as he turned to the male who somehow changed his attire to cat pyjamas and bunny slippers. “WADE!”

“What it was in self defence!” The merc tried to justify his actions as completely okay only made him look even worse then he realised. If he even cared for the matter. Making you roll your eyes as you placed your hands on your hips like an angry mother. “The man was handing you a tissue!”

Oi,” Wade jumped from his spot to get into your personal space, hazel eyes peering into yours, “it could have concealed a weapon or chloroform!”

“Or it was just a normal tissue!” You argues back which drew the attention of Yukio and her girlfriend Ellie from their room as they peered their heads round the corner just in time to see colossus getting in between you and wade the second you both pulled out your daggers and him his katanas in means of making the other submit/back down. “Hey Wade, (y/n).” Yukio cheerily waves at the two of you with an innocent smile plastered upon her face, completely unaffected by what was transpiring before her eyes.

“Hi Yukio.” You and Wade replied back refusing to tear your gaze from one another while Ellie rolled her eyes at the two of you. “What did the shit head do?”

“Murdered a man who was only offering him a tissue.no biggie.” You shrugged nonchalantly. “I keep telling you it was in self defence!” Wade roared from the backside of Colossus, shaking his Katanas to emphasise his outrage as if he was a cartoon character.

“Bullshit, we had to evade the authorities afterwards.” You spat as Colossus only shook his head like a disappointed parent just as Cable entered the room from where ever the fuck he was before with an annoyed expression etched upon his ageing face. “The fuck did the sex toy do now?”

“Now Thanos is here! How many more times is some random character that has appeared in my movie going to make the reader insert repeat the same shit for comedic effect?! Get your act together Megan and come up with something original.” (Me: aye fuck you.) the cat pyjama cladded dickhead bellowed to the ceiling as the rest of you waved this off as Wade being Wade since he would do this at least three times a day without warning.

‘Francis really fucked up with that one.’ You thought before telling Cable the same exact thing you told Yukio, Ellie and Colossus, “ he murdered a man for offering him a absolutely normal tissue thinking it was coated in chloroform or concealing a weapon which we then had to evade the authorities for.” Cable made a face at wade that obviously said ‘wtf dipshit.’

By the end of the week everyone knew about the incident, yes even Charles Xavier heard. He was not surprised but he was disappointed none the less.

[mrs-mikko-rantanen]

The echo of the bowl Jadè had been holding rang through Nyar’s ears as he looked up, first at his youngest crew member, then as followed her gaze. Time slowed, inching forward as he stood up from his seat on the couch, his eyes fixed on his lover as ey stood in front of him, like something out of a nightmare.

“Jace? Tell me this is some sort of sick joke…” Caelum’s voice shook as he stood up as well, hands shaking. 

“It’s not.” Nyar shook as he spoke. His fists were clenched and his throat was tight. He tried desperately to find any way to prove that this wasn’t happening, any way at all for this to be some twisted dream. 

But when the apartment door opened, and Regimental soldiers spilled out of his bedroom, he knew that there was no way around it. This was happening. He had prayed that it never would. He didn’t resist as he was cuffed, his hands trapped behind his back as he was forced to his knees, a gun pointed at his head. 

The rest of his crew were not as cooperative. Carina’s scream was cut short as a cloth; probably drenched in chloroform-  was clamped over her mouth, and she fell limp into the arms of the Regimental soldier behind her. Caelum swung an angry punch at one of them, and was dropped like a stone to the ground as the butt of a rifle was smashed into the base of his skull. Jalev let out a horrified scream, scrambling away from their captors, trying to reach their boyfriend before they were dragged back. Avanda screamed and shouted in Gaelic, insults and threats he had no doubt. It was Thane that broke his heart the most though. Thrashing and writhing against the grip of his captors, sobbing loudly as he pleaded for mercy. But not from the Regiment.

“Jace! Jace, please! Please, don’t do this!” He begged, “Jace! Jace! You can stop this, Jace, help! Stop this, stop it! Help us, Jace, please!”

Nyar wanted nothing more than to be begging the same thing. Finally, he found his words.

“Stand down.” It was quiet, barely a whisper, spoken with eyes still fixed to Jace. “Stand down!” He bellowed it the second time, eyes finally breaking away from Jace, glancing to his crew. They all froze, staring at him wide-eyed as their guards took advantage of the pauses, grabbing hands and forcing them to their knees. His gaze shifted back to Jace now as he spoke again, tears rolling down his face in thick rivers.

“It’s not worth the fight.”

********

Nyar hadn’t said anything else after that moment. He had sat silent in his cell, back to the wall, and eyes staring at the bars before them. The last time he had been here, he’d had Caelum to share a cell with. This time, however, they had been separated. He could hear his crew, but couldn’t see any of them in the dark around him. Caelum was in the cell to his right, whispering prayers between panicked gasps as his claustrophobia got the better of him. Thane had been humming to himself a little earlier, but had fallen silent now, save for the sniffles as he tried to hide the fact that he was crying. Avanda had sang the Keridwen national anthem at the top of her lungs. The act of defiance had earned her a beating, and it had broken Nyar’s heart that she had kept singing between pained gasps and grunts, only falling silent when she fell unconscious. The rest of the crew had begged her to stop, pleading and sobbing with both her and the guards.

Nyar was glad he had the cell to himself. His crew couldn’t see him cry that way. As far as they knew; he was in his cell, angry and planning an escape. They had no idea that he was actually crying silently. That the tears hadn’t stopped flowing silently down his face since Jace’s promotion. 

The questioning would start soon, no doubt. And Nyar was confident that it would start with him. Mentally, he was already preparing himself. He had nothing to tell them, no information to give them. And the Regiment had nothing that they could use against him. Not anymore. His lover had abandoned him, for reasons unknown. And his crew? His crew was no safer if he spoke than they were if he remained silent. No matter what, they were doomed. Hope was lost. This was the end of the Archangel crew, and Nyar was beginning to accept that.

[moonlightpirate]

So originally I wasn’t going to post this but I think I’m going to anyways but here’s chapter 4 of my midsomer murders story. I would appreciate it if I could get some reblogs and comments please let me know what you guys think!

Tags @neptunium134 @bluesfortheredj @ihaveacrush @aureatemoonshine @secrets-ill-take-to-my-grave let me know if you want to be added or removed!

chapter one chapter two chapter three

 Chapter 4 

John awoke early, eager to put the last pieces of his current case together. It was well after noon before he returned to the station, happy with the arrest he and Nelson had just made. Well, at least until he saw his wife sitting in his office with a stern look on her face. “Sarah what brings you here?” inquired Nelson. “So John hasn’t told you then eh?” Sarah glared over at her husband. “No word from Elizabeth then?” John stuttered, attempting to avoid eye contact with Sarah. Curiously Nelson looked back and forth between John and Sarah, waiting for someone to tell him what was going on. Sarah finally looked over at Nelson, seeing his concern, she walked towards him, “Elizabeth is missing, I can’t seem to get a hold of her, and it has been 24 hours since I last heard from her. Please go search for her, this is the paper she left me that tells where all she intended to go yesterday. All her important numbers are on the other side of the paper, I also made sure to jot down her number as well.” Sarah handed Nelson the paper, as she turned to leave she made sure to give her husband one final glare. “Well guess we better get looking then! Hmmm, seems she went to Badger’s drift, sorta an odd place to go. Wait, should we call her parents?” pondered Nelson. “No! Well not yet at least, lets just go look around Badgers drift first see what we can find. No point alarming them if everything is fine.” John replied. Nelson stared at John inquisitively before slightly shrugging his shoulders and heading for the car. They spent the rest of the afternoon interviewing the people at all the stops she had made trying to find some sort of lead. Most everyone claimed they saw her but hadn’t noticed anything suspicious.

 Finally, at the church, they found some answers. “Hello I’m DCI Barnaby and this is DS Nelson. We have some questions for you. Did you by chance happen to see this woman at all yesterday?” John asked the priest, showing him a picture of Elizabeth. “Yes I did. She came here shortly after lunch, and said she wanted to admire the church.” the priest replied. “Did you happen to notice anything out of the ordinary? Or perhaps seen where she went after admiring this church?” Nelson inquired. “Well, while she was admiring the church, I could have sworn I saw what looked like a man and a woman watching her through the windows. After she left I saw her head towards that park. I’m uncertain if the couple followed her over or not.” he responded. “Thank you sir. Nelson let’s go.” Barnaby replied sternly. “Sir, he said a couple was watching her. That doesn’t match Elizabeth’s description of an old woman.” “Well Nelson if she has indeed been kidnapped, it’s not like an old woman could easily do that herself.” John replied as they began to walk over towards the park. They began to scour the park for any form of clues, “Over here sir!” Nelson shouted at John. John ran over to where Nelson was crouched down under the shade of an enormous tree. He could see remnants of food wrappers, carefully he put on a glove and picked up one of the wrappers. Sure enough Elizabeth’s name was written on it, meaning they belonged to her. Among the few wrappers was an out of place black cloth. “Nelson please pick up that cloth and take it to Kate in forensics to look at. Have her test it not just for fingerprints but also for drugs.” John asked. At that moment John’s cell started to ring, it was Sarah. “Hey Sarah, it seems you were right, it appears Elizabeth has been taken. Sarah, what’s wrong?” All John could hear was sobbing on the other end of the line. “Oh John, they sent a video to my phone, using her phone! It was awful! She was tied up, and they were making awful threats!” Sarah sobbed. “We’ll be right there!” John bellowed, hanging up the phone. “Sir? What happened?” Nelson asked, confused at the sudden urgency. “We have to get back to the house now. They sent a video to Sarah’s phone.” he commanded. They immediately drove back to John’s house, and watched the video. It was truly awful, like Sarah had mentioned, they had Elizabeth tied up and were threatening her life. They offered to possibly spare her if they called Gavin Troy. Elizabeth hollered at them to not call him because they would kill him, but before she could finish the sentence the video cut out. John sighed as he sat down at the table next to Sarah. “Sir we definitely need to call her parents now. There’s no way we can do this without telling them, and sounds like we will need her father to have any hope of saving her.” Nelson said, as the shock slowly wore off. “I know Nelson, please just take the cloth sample to the lab. It’s late, I think it’s for the best if I just wait until morning. I need some time to get my thoughts clear before I tell her father. Now goodnight Nelson.” John dismissed him. Reluctantly Nelson left, calling Kate as he made his way to the lab asking her to meet him there. Early the next morning John met Charlie and Kate at the lab. “Well it was as I suspected Chloroform. Probably used to knock her out so they wouldn’t meet any resistance or draw any attention to themselves. Though unfortunately I was unable to find any fingerprints.” Kate stated. “Thank you Kate, well I guess I can’t keep avoiding it, time to call her father.”. Gavin was in the middle of interrogating a prime suspect for his case when his phone started to ring. At first he was just going to ignore it, but he noticed the area code was from Midsomer, so he stepped out to answer it. “Troy here.” Gavin answered casually.  “Hi Gavin this is John Barnaby. I’m calling with some well, bad news. I’d recommend you sit down before I continue.” John said. “What happened?! Tell me now please.” Gavin replied, starting to sound frantic. “Well a little over 48 hours ago your daughter went missing. All we have is a video that threatens her life, unless we got you involved, and a few witnesses.” Gavin almost dropped the phone in shock. Trying his best to use a calm voice he replied, “I’ll be there as soon as possible.” He immediately hung up the phone and darted back into the interrogation room, motioning for his sergeant to step outside with him. “Elizabeth has been kidnapped, I need to get to Midsomer and help them to find her. I’m putting you in charge of this case, but do not make an arrest without getting a hold of me first. Are we clear?” Gavin asked, his voice shaking. “Yes sir! Best of luck,I hope she will be okay.” The sergeant shouted at him as Gavin had turned and started to sprint towards his car. Frantically he hopped into the car and started to drive. After a few moments it hit him that he should tell his wife what was happening. At the first stoplight he quickly grabbed his cell phone and dialed his wife. “Hey honey! How’s the case going? You would not believe what happened today.” Cully answered cheerfully. “Cully, honey, please sit down….I have some bad news.”. There was silence for a moment before Cully replied, “Gavin, what’s happened? What’s wrong? Please don’t let it be Elizabeth.”. Gavin could tell she was starting to cry. “Honey, relax please, but yes unfortunately it’s Elizabeth. John just called me, apparently she has been kidnapped. I’m on my way to Midsomer right now.” All he could hear was his wife sobbing, he felt terrible for leaving her behind, but it was probably for the best. “Cully, please go to your parent’s house, let them know what is going on. I may need your father’s input on this as well. I’ll call you when I arrive and am able to get more information dear.” Gavin said, in an attempt to comfort Cully. “Oh Gavin, this is terrible! Please be careful dear, and make sure you both come out of this in one piece.” Cully sobbed. As the call ended Gavin had become even more determined to get to midsomer as fast as he could and find their daughter. He just hoped he wasn’t too late.

[michael-langdon-appreciation]

part 11 of the foursome please queen? ❤️

Your wish is my command. 

Hold onto tight and keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times please. 

Part 11

——————————————————————————————-

JIM

He knows he’s being a helicopter dad, but Jim can’t help himself. Nothing matter more in the world to him than the health of his little baby. It is paramount as he lifts his head up from Y/N’s laptop for the third night in a row. Her hand strokes his back gently, a cup of coffee wafts in front of his face as Jim blinks and rubs the sleep out of his eyes.

Y/N’s expression is forlorn, ‘You can’t keep doing this to yourself.’ She cautions, her voice light as if speaking to a nervous cat. ‘You’re burning yourself out.’

The research has become one big fog of mumbo jumbo for Jim anyway. He takes the mug of coffee and blows on it, ‘Anything I can do, anything I can try to help-’

‘You aren’t helping anyone by not taking care of yourself.’ 

Jim swallows a big gulp of coffee. It’s strong and a little too hot still as it travels down his throat, ‘You’re right.’ He mutters, putting the mug down. ‘I just-’

‘You just can’t help yourself.’ She finishes off, making Jim smile. 

‘Bingo.’ 

Y/N pulls up a seat beside him, sharing the desk space with him. She closes the laptop lid and ruffles Jim’s hair, ‘You’re going to be an incredible father.’ 

Bitterness burns Jim, the rage he still carries with him every single day. The outrage and spark for justice, that his baby is fighting for its life every day, every minute, every hour. His hand falls onto Y/N’s stomach, the bump noticeably prominent since Jim has been living at the apartment. ‘It’s only been two weeks,’ Jim mumbles. ‘But already they are getting so big.’ 

‘They are playing hell on my back.’ Y/N smiles, ‘Every time I wake up I feel completely wrecked.’ 

‘A good wrecked?’ Jim asked, ‘Like you used to say after we’d gone a few rounds?’ 

His hand squeezes her thigh as Y/N’s laugh fills the office, ‘You could say that I suppose. But a bath would usually fix me right up.’

‘Then that’s what you need.’ Jim decides, finding the energy to drag himself and Y/N to the bathroom. ‘A good long hot bath. Some aftercare, just like the old times.’ 

Jim starts running the tub, putting the plug in and dumping in some bath oils. Y/N watches him, her tongue poking out of her mouth, it’s adorable to Jim, mostly because Y/N never realises she does it. It’s a habit she displays whoever being spoiled. Usually Duncan was the most privy to it, but Jim’s vision seems to brighten as he drops a couple suds on her nose. ’Are you going to pamper me, Jim Mason?’ She asks, her voice coy. Y/N teases the bottom of her pyjama shirt, running her fingers along it to expose a hint of flesh. 

Jim’s eyes are glued to it, ‘Yes.’ 

‘Will you do whatever I want this morning?’ The top slips higher, revealing the bump and just under Y/N’s breasts. It reminds Jim of his favourite swimsuit at once, the one that teases him all day with the under-bust visible for everyone’s eyes. Jim swallows, forcing down the rush of blood that is running to his cock. 

This morning is about Y/N, not him. 

Y/N’s eyebrows rise, waiting for his answer and Jim supplies it on instinct. ‘Yes.’ 

She could have asked him to jump off Mount Everest and Jim would still say yes. 

Jim tugs off his own shirt, along with his trousers. ‘I’m getting in.’ He decides, ‘I think we are long overdue for some alone time away from Duncan and Jerome.’ 

Y/N climbs into the tub, waiting for Jim to take his place. ‘Such much male ego about the place, it’s nice to have some time just us.’ 

Jim leans back against the bath, his muscles singing at the hot water. Bubbles flutter around him as Y/N relaxes back against his chest, jasmine and honeysuckle trickle through the air as she presses a kiss to his chest. Jim’s eyes fall shut, his girl’s weight resting against him. His fingers dip into her hair, stroking gently. 

Paradise. 

How Jim took the simple things for granted. 

‘I’m glad you stayed.’ She murmurs, ‘You’re growing Jim. You put aside your temper and…possessiveness for the good of us and our baby.’ She peeps up at him, ‘That’s still so weird to me. Our baby.’ 

The chloroform rag dances in Jim’s mind and he squashes it immediately.

No.

He’s past that. 

Y/N right, never again will he resort to such levels. 

‘I was reading about this hospital in Philadelphia who specialises with difficult births.’ Jim reveals, ‘They have an incredible success rate. Most of the births happen in water and stuff so it’s natural and helps. You know, gravity and stuff.’ Y/N nods, her mind not really with him. Her eyes have that far-away look as Jim peers closer at her, ‘What is it?’

She hesitates, and then plunges on, a finger tracing over Jim’s chest. ‘I know you have your concerns.’ She begins, ‘But I believe with every fibre of my being that Michael will never let anything happen to our baby.’ 

‘It’s about precautions.’ Jim fights to keep the edge from his voice, ‘It’s about being in the right place. Michael is…many things but he isn’t infallible.’ 

‘I have faith in him.’ 

‘Yeah.’ The mood has been ruined for Jim, he’s over-heating in the hot water. He wants to be back at the laptop, just as he does every time the Antichrist is mentioned these days. 

‘You won’t keep him away Jim.’ Y/N’s voice too has hardened, ‘No one will be able to keep Michael from the birth of his child.’

‘As long as he stays back unless needed.’ Jim says, ‘And lets me have my moment with my child.’ 

Y/N’s eyes glint, ’Our child.’  

Jim smirks down at her, ‘My apologies, our child. Of course.’ His lips press against her forehead, ‘Our beautiful child.’ 

The moment relaxes, Y/N turning round to rest her back against Jim. His hands skirt over her belly, cupping water to pour over her exposed shoulders. ‘Have you thought about names yet?’ 

Jim thinks, ‘Not really.’ He admits, ‘I’ve been too focused on making sure the pregnancy goes well. That our baby survives.’ 

‘Maybe we could look up names that mean fighter, or survivor?’ 

Jim scrunches up his nose, ‘Nah, I don’t want this moment to define her.’ 

‘Her?’ 

‘Them.’ Jim corrects himself, ‘I feel it’s a girl.’ 

Y/N hums, ‘I’d like a girl and a boy.’ 

Jim grins, ‘Well what you want, baby. You get.’ 

Y/N splashes some water at him, ‘I’m not that entitled.’ She protests, ‘Not my fault Duncan likes to splash his cash.’ 

‘Yeah adding a specially modified twin baby-seat to his jet was real necessary.’ 

Y/N giggles against him, some of the water slopping out of the bath. ‘Oh absolutely.’ She grabs the shampoo bottle and squirts some into her hand, reaching for Jim’s head. ‘Either way, they will be…blank Mason.’ 

‘Blank?’

‘Till we have a name.’ She grins, ‘But the baby will carry your last name.’ 

‘I never expected anything less.’ 

The bathroom door swings open as Jerome walks in, newspaper in hand. Y/N freezes beside Jim, her hands stuck in his hair. Suds drip down Jim’s face as he makes sure Y/N is obscured by bubbles. Jerome recovers first, ‘Can I join?’

‘Get out!’ Jim bellows, tugging Y/N to him.

Jerome smirks, ‘You really should lock the door, that’s what it’s for.’ 

‘Out, Jerome.’ Y/N echoes watching as the Salesman backs out of the bathroom with a snicker. 

‘Well don’t be long.’ He calls, Shepherd is in the en-suite and you know it takes him an hour to do his beauty routine and my bladder won’t hold out that long.’ 

——————————————————————————————-

DUNCAN 

The bathroom door squeaks, the hinges protesting horribly as it is treated to yet around round of pounding. ‘You’d better be taking that long cause today’s the day.’

‘None of your business.’ Duncan calls back through the door. He smoothes a strand of hair into place, his fingers jumping through the array of hair products dumped along the sink. 

‘Come on man I’m dying.’ Jerome whines, ‘Y/N and Jim are having a precious moment in the bath and you’ve beaten your hourly record. I’m sure you’re beautiful, sport. Now let me in!’ 

Duncan sighs, opening the door as Jerome barges inside. ‘You’re welcome.’

Jerome stops his watch as he sits on the toilet, ‘An hour and twenty minutes, congratulations on the new record.’

‘Fuck you.’ Duncan turns back to the mirror as the Salesman starts undoing his belt, ‘Seriously?’

‘You won’t leave.’ The trousers fall down, ‘I’m desperate. This is what you get, buddy.’ 

Duncan rolls his eyes, abandoning the task. ‘Fine, but you’re cleaning up.’

‘Abuse the Nanny, I see how it is.’ 

Duncan slams the door shut and leans against the wall. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t left as he waits for Jerome to finish up, ‘Maybe today is the day.’

The toilet flushes and Jerome emerges, his eyes triumphant. ‘It’s about time. I’ve had to hide the ring twice to stop Jim finding it.’

Duncan’s insides twist. He is hiding this from Jim, isn’t he? 

Jerome leads the way to the kitchen, ‘So how are you doing it? Dinner? Walk by the beach? Take her up in the jet?’ 

Fear grips Duncan for the umpteenth time that day, ’I….don’t know.’

‘You’ve had two weeks.’ 

‘Someone else plans events for me.’ The panic is evident in his voice, but Duncan can’t calm himself down. He twists his fingers together, ‘My Mom or someone. I don’t do this kind of thing for anyone.’ 

‘Well it’s time to toughen up, cookie.’ Jerome starts cracking eggs into a pan. ‘If you don’t do it tonight, I’m telling her.’

‘You’re an asshole, you know that?’

‘Yes.’

Duncan groans, ‘Fine. Tonight I will do it.’ 

The bathroom door opens, Y/N emerging first in just a towel. She smiles at Duncan, before catching Jerome’s eye. ‘Be out in five for breakfast, thank you so much Jerome.’

The Salesman winks back at her, ‘Sure thing. Just no Round Two with Jimmy boy in the bedroom.’ 

Her cheeks flood with colour, her eyes skipping too Duncan. The spark of jealousy is there, but not as strong as before, as if the tip of the knife has been dulled. 

Duncan offers her a small smile, ‘When you’re out, can we talk?’

Y/N frowns, ‘Never good words, Duncan.’

‘I promise it is.’ 

She nods, ‘Sure. I’ll just-’

Jim appears in the doorway. A towel hangs low on his hips, exposing that perfect V sculpted from so much swimming and surfing. He flicks his wet hair out of his eyes, droplets dancing on his chest. ‘Do I smell bacon?’

‘In the oven.’ Jerome supplies, busy slicing peppers. 

Duncan tears his eyes from Jim to help with breakfast. From behind he can hear the shuffle of Jim as he shuffles into the spare bedroom while Y/N makes her way to Duncan’s. 

Jerome eyes him over the omelettes he’s got on the go, ‘You don’t get mad, seeing them like that?’

‘Like old times.’ Duncan says, pouring orange juice into four glasses. ‘You get used to it and cooking for four.’ 

There’s a slight pause, the absence of Michael echoing in the air. 

Duncan presses on, ‘Besides, Y/N sleeps with me every night. It’s only fair Jim gets to spend some time with her on their own.’ 

‘Seems like things are back to normal than for the three of you.’

‘It will never be normal without Michael.’ Duncan blinks, having spoken before he realises it. He brings the glasses onto the dining table and rests his hands on it. 

Jerome brings over the plates, ‘Well you said it. Not me.’ 

The weight of his words drags Duncan down. 

He misses Michael. 

It’s not that surprising. Not really. Michael has been there since Day One, a couple days after Duncan was released from prison. Together they scraped Duncan’s life back together, Michael giving Duncan a senior position with Kineros before the Media Mogul had enough to win back his empire. But Duncan cannot overlook what Michael has done. Every time he sees Y/N, sees that bump and how Jim isn’t functioning properly out of fear and desperation. He cannot forgive him for putting the two people he loves through hell. 

Maybe that is what Michael will always do.

He is the Antichrist. 

Jim emerges first. His denim jacket is strung over one arm as he takes a seat at the table, ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ 

‘More like thinking about one.’ 

Jim’s eyes flick down to his lap, ‘I miss him too.’

‘We all do.’ 

When Jim’s eyes flicker up again there’s something defiant in them. ‘It doesn’t change anything.’ He spits, ‘I won’t kill him when I see him, I won’t do anything stupid but I’m not having him near my kid.’

‘That’s your decision to make.’ Duncan nods, he knows it isn’t his place to fight Jim on what the beach boy thinks is best for his child. Duncan takes the seat opposite Jim and waits till Jerome is out of earshot before speaking. ’Does that mean…the plan is off?’

‘I…don’t know.’ Jim’s fingers run over his plate, ‘I kinda made a promise to myself not to do underhand shit again. Trying to be a better person.’

The ring flitters through Duncan’s mind.

He has to tell Jim.

If he doesn’t, he’s just as bad as Michael. 

Isn’t he? 

‘You two seemed to have a nice bath.’ 

Jim smiles, ‘It was nice, if not punctuated with Michael.’

‘He’s everywhere.’

‘Always.’ 

‘I’m going to ask Y/N to marry me.’ The words rush out of Duncan before he can stop himself. ‘I have a ring, I’ve had it for about two and a bit weeks now. Made my mind up before you came back.’ Jim’s eyes burn into him. He doesn’t say a word as Duncan rushes through his words, ‘You have a baby coming.’ He says, ‘Michael has a baby too. ‘I….’ Duncan gulps, ‘I have nothing. There’s nothing that ties me to her. To all of you, not in the same way. Nothing that meaningful or official. You’ll always be together because not only do you both adore each other, but you have a child to care for. I….I need something like that too. And the only way I can think to do that is to marry her-’

‘Okay.’

The air is punched out of Duncan’s lungs. ‘What?’

Jim’s eyes are soft. The softest Duncan has seen them in a very long time. His hand reaches out across the table and rests over Duncan’s. ‘I can’t imagine how hard it is for you. Seeing Y/N pregnant. You knew before anyone else and you’ve done nothing but respect her and me. You’re a good guy, Duncan.’ Jim presses his lips together, his eyes becoming glassy. ‘I know you’ll give her the life she deserves. I hope I can continue to be part of it, God I need it so bad. But you should marry her. You deserve each other, so…you have my blessing. If that’s what you want.’

Tear tracks drop down Duncan’s cheeks, he sniffles hard unable to keep himself in check. Jim stands and crosses round the table, Duncan stands too as Jim pulls him in for a hug. Duncan holds his Beach Boy as tight as he can, taking in the scent of jasmine lingering on his skin. ‘Thank you.’ 

‘Don’t cry.’ Jim orders, ‘Ask her, today. You put a ring on that finger and make it the most special proposal a girl has ever had.’

‘She still has to say yes.’ 

Jim smiles, ‘Do you think she’ll say no?’

‘Maybe!’

Jim chuckles, ‘She shares a bed with you, Duncan. You have nothing to worry about.’ 

They pull away as Jerome sets down breakfast. The Salesman is astute enough to make himself invisible, but Duncan catches his smile of approval. 

Bastard must have been listening in.

‘This doesn’t mean you aren’t in her life.’ Duncan is quick to say it as he takes his seat again, ‘It’s just like before, before this whole mess. When we’d go to dinner all of us and get up to…things under the table and have fun and love each other. That’s all I want.’

‘Just with babies added in the mix.’ Jim supplies, making Duncan smile.

‘I guess it was gonna happen someday.’

Jim glances at Duncan’s bedroom door, ‘As for the plan…I think we keep it on the back burner and see if we need it. She’s only like…three months right now. Anything could happen.’

Duncan downs his orange juice, wishing he could slip a little vodka in. ‘If that’s what you think is best, I’ll respect your decision.’ 

Y/N emerges, her hair up in a towel as she takes her place at the head of the table. ‘Sorry! I was trying to get the hairdryer to work but the fuse has blown. It’s just growling at me and might explode so….’

Jerome is the last to take his seat. Together the four begin eating, Duncan shoving his omelette down as fast as he can to try and settle his stomach. 

Jim is okay with it.

Jim said yes.

Now he has to do it. Now Y/N has to say yes too. 

Her eyes slide to Duncan, Y/N putting down her knife and fork, ‘So Duncan. What did you want to talk to me about?’ 

——————————————————————————————-

MICHAEL 

He knows the risk she is taking by seeing him. Michael has the evening set out with the most perfect precision. A finger straightens the wayward fork, just a centimetre off-kilter. Before it threw off the perfection of the night, but now, now Michael is sure that nothing can ruin the evening. He waits sitting in one of the chairs, his jacket pressed and freshly dry-cleaned. The velvet, so luxurious against his skin comforts him. The only friend he’s had for a month, the only touch he’s received. 

Tonight that all changes.

Tonight he will remind her why she loves him. 

Why it is he who she risks everything to see. 

The knock comes and Michael opens it with a wave of his hand. No one can see him at the door, he cannot trust Shepherd not to have had her followed. 

Y/N steps into the apartment, her eyes roving round the dark interiors. Everything is black marble and stonework, the high arched windows each a work of art. Michael rises to greet her, taking her coat in his hand. She hands it to him without giving anything away. Without the coat there, her baby bump is evident. Peeking through and smiling at him through her red dress. The dress Michael gave her, his beast purrs with satisfaction. 

It proves she cares. 

‘I am so glad you came.’ 

‘It isn’t right to deny you the chance to see your child.’ She says, ‘To have a part in the pregnancy.’ Michael’s arm beckons her to the dinner table, the single candle flickers and illuminates the two plates set out. The silverware glimmers as Y/N ventures closer, ‘This is very elaborate.’ 

‘You know that’s how I do things.’ He turns her round, capturing her lips with his before she can protest. Michael engulfs her, his arms holding her gently to him as he takes her breath away. He’s determined to give her his entire everything in one kiss. To show. To prove to her. When they slip apart, Y/N’s eyes are wide. She has that same look in her eyes she did that first night, when Michael stole their first kiss, sucked on those succulent lips and bruised them as he pounded into her. 

‘That may not be such a good idea.’ She whispers in the gap between their lips. 

‘Why, because of this?’ Michael lifts the ring, nestled on Y/N’s finger. ‘You must know I’d find out about it.’

‘It wasn’t a secret.’ Y/N pulls her hand, complete with the engagement ring out of Michael’s grip. 

‘I’m happy for you.’ 

‘Don’t lie. She scolds, crossing to the dining table. 

Michael’s jaw clenches, ‘Do I wish it was me, of course. But I understand Duncan’s desire to make you his. I know it all too well.’ 

‘You’ve made your claim pretty clear.’ 

Michael takes his seat opposite her, ‘Yes, I did.’ He uncorks the wine and pours a decent measure into her glass, Y/N holds it aloft in a practised manner for him. She makes sure to sample the wine with her engagement ring on show. ‘Let me guess, Harry Winston?’

‘You know my motto.’ Y/N smiles, ‘If it isn’t Harry…’

‘Don’t marry.’ Michael finishes, ‘You used to love singing that whenever we were in Barneys.’ 

‘Jim said I was spoiled.’ She says, ‘I think maybe he’s right.’ 

‘You are completely spoiled.’ Michael smirks, ‘But we can’t resist treating you. You’re so precious to us. I’d do anything for you.’

She nods, Y/N’s eyes flickering back round the apartment. She takes a long drink from her wine glass, ‘They’d be mad if they knew I was here.’

‘I’m sure they would.’ 

‘They don’t trust you.’ She offers, ‘But they do miss you. I heard them talking about you.’ 

‘I miss them too.’ Michael makes sure he is looking directly into her eyes, ‘They may think all I wanted was to put my child in you, but I want all of them.’

‘Seems like we all want the same thing.’ 

A silence falls as Michael rises to take dinner out of the oven. It’s takeout, he can’t cook for shit but he knows Y/N will appreciate it. He puts the steak with Bourderlaise sauce before her complete with new potatoes and asparagus. ‘I don’t think that’s exactly true.’ 

She doesn’t take a bite. Michael knows that Y/N knows him well enough to catch the subtly in his words. ‘Why am I here, Michael?’

Michael sighs, putting his own plate down. ’Straight to it then.’ He laces his fingers together, ‘I would give my life for you and our child. Do not think I don’t know my actions have caused me to be ostracised. Perhaps I was right to do so, perhaps I went too far. What I do know is the plan that Jim and your fiancee are planning. Something I will not let happen.’ 

She stares at him. ‘I am sick and tired of your drama, Langdon.’ 

‘Oh believe me, I would rather my own Grandmother rise from the dead before this happened.’ Michael’s tone has a bite, ‘You will hear me out.’ 

Y/N sits there, waiting for him to continue. She waves her hand, gracing him to do so. ‘When you check in for your next appointment, Duncan has the measures in place to abort my child-’

‘Our child.’ 

‘Our child.’ Michael nods, ‘It’s been in place for rather a while now, but ever since the Doctor’s last reports indicated the runt’s trouble with getting enough nutrition they’ve become desperate.’ Michael leans forwards, ‘When you next go in, they will drug you and remove our baby. They will kill it, the monster, to ensure Jim’s lives.’ 

He watches as the horror slowly expands all over Y/N’s face. ‘You’re a liar.’ 

Michael’s hand slams on the table, ‘I have NEVER lied to you.’ 

She’s stuck to her seat, completely frozen in place. ‘I…won’t let them.’ 

‘They won’t give you that choice.’ The Antichrist explains, ‘It’s already been decided for you. They’re going to force your hand.’ 

‘I can’t believe you.’ 

‘Because you thought they had changed.’ Michael nods, ‘I had hope for Shepherd. I thought he would be shining example for the rest of us. But sadly, it isn’t the case.’

‘I won’t marry him. I’ll fight it. I’ll go and challenge them about it right now.’ She stands, heading for the door. ‘Why would you go through all this just to tell me!’ She demands, ‘You have a dinner in place with fucking candles only to tell me one of my babies is going to be ripped from me.’ 

She tries the door, but it doesn’t move. Y/N doesn’t face him, ‘Unlock it. Now.’ 

‘I’m afraid that isn’t going to happen.’ Michael drifts closer to her. His hands ghost along her shoulders, ‘You see, my sweet Y/N I cannot take any chances when it comes to my child. You are potentially carrying the next Antichrist in your stomach, our child.’ His hands snake around her middle, resting over her bump. ‘I will make sure both your babies are born alive, happy, healthy.’ He coos into her ear, pressing a kiss to her temple. ‘But you won’t be leaving this apartment again until after they are born.’ 

——————————————————————————————-

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[ruhibagga]

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[scrollofthoth]

Fear and Loathing in Innsmouth

About a month ago, I had an idea for the story I was born to write. After finishing off a couple of other projects and doing some research, I’ve finally started to spill ink. For your reading pleasure, the introduction to Fear and Loathing in Innsmouth, my homage to H.P. Lovecraft and Hunter S. Thompson.

 ...

We were somewhere around Ipswich on the edge of the Great Salt Marsh when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like “It looks like it might rain; maybe we should put the top up….” And out of nowhere the world began to curve along the edges. The tall grass to the left of us twisted and swirled, as if caught in a cyclone, yet we detected no wind. Not that we would, screaming down that crooked road in a cherry-red, convertible Cadillac DeVille at a hundred miles per hour. To the right of us, the green, fetid water boiled and released noxious gasses, a smell reminiscent of rotting fish and burnt motor oil. Once again, what one would expect when abusing a 375-hp, V8 engine while cruising through 30,000 acres of saltwater mudflats, if it weren’t for the intensity of it.

What I didn’t expect was a huge mass of writing tentacles bursting forth from that water. It’s skin, black and shiny like a leech, and covered with sucker-rings which contained long, needle-like teeth, dripping with ichor. The tentacles shot along the highway, chasing us at a speed no known land/water based creature could achieve. The tentacles rose up, slapping at the trunk, trying to drag us back to its brackish lair. This instilled panic, as I worried not so much for the car or our potential demise, but for the satchel full of drugs and eight pair of clean underwear I had stashed back there. And a voice was screaming, “Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn animals!”

In an instant, it was nothing but road again in the rearview mirror. My attorney had taken off his shoes and hung his massive feet out the side of the car, revealing the thick, yellow talons on the ends of his toes while he tried to pour tanning oil on them, which whipped back in thick strings, plastering the backseat.

The rest of him reclined, the seat all the way back, his face pointed toward the iron-grey sky, a fuzzy pink sleep mask covering his eyes. He bellowed skyward to be heard over the roar of the wind and the engine. “What the hell are you screaming about?”

“Never mind,” I said. “It’s your turn to drive.” I slammed the brakes on the Great Red Whale and skidded to a stop on the deserted stretch of road. No point mentioning those tentacles, I thought. The poor bastard would see them soon enough.

With the sun obscured, I had no idea of the time. My watch was no use, as the swirling lines and arcane symbols on the face no longer held meaning for me. I did know that we had at least twenty more miles to go, and my senses indicated we may not be able to hold it together for that long. But there was no going back now. I had my first assignment in six months, and I was a doctor of journalism – I always get my story. A small quiet room at a local bed and breakfast awaited us in Innsmouth, already paid for. We would have to ride it out. Get there in time for press registration for the 53rd Rum Runner Regatta. A glossy, high-classed sailing magazine in Boston had taken care of the reservations, and a photographer waited for us at the yacht club.

We were in for more than a penny now. Before leaving Boston, the magazine gave us $300 for expenses and we spent most of it on necessary supplies – five sheets of high quality blotter acid, seventy-five pellets of mezcaline, fifteen vials of amyl nitrate, two ounces of grass, a small change purse full of cocaine, a case of Ballentine, two handles of rum, a bottle of chloroform, and four hundred whip cream cartridges and two whip cream guns to suck out the nitrous oxide.

[sydkn3e]

A Divine Hand

“ Dean Winchester. ”

Dean tries to hide the fact that the eerie sliminess of the demon’s adenoidal voice alone gives him chills, and he stubbornly resists pulling at his bindings as he comes to. The bindings aren’t particularly tight in that they don’t exactly cut into his wrists and ankles, but there’s no escape. He knows this. He’s tried.

The smell of the godforsaken place stings his nostrils, a weird mix of chloroform and ammonia and blood and piss. He can hear someone retching nearby and it’s only a matter of time before that scent blends in with the rest of them. It’s overwhelming. The lighting is blinding and he squints against it as he opens his eyes and focuses on the source of the voice, an ugly fucker with a pointed chin and crooked teeth, the four top teeth in the front set a little further back than his canines, jaw set forward. A short and scraggly salt and pepper beard covers his face, his nose long and pointed, wrinkles extending from the corners of his black eyes out to large, almost elf-like ears. He’s grinning devilishly- pretty fucking fitting, given the circumstances- and despite the fact that he’s not one for patience, he doesn’t push Dean for an answer. He knows how to get Dean to talk, and he knows that Dean knows his methods well enough to not make him use them for something so simple.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” Dean says lamely, feeling smug about it all the same.

Alastair chuckles darkly and rolls his shoulders back, tilting his head to the side and cracking his neck. The sound makes Dean cringe inwardly, but he clenches his teeth and stares the man down, his eyes following his every movement as he comes closer, clasping his hands behind his back and leaning forward.

“Do you know where you are?”

He’s inches from Dean’s face now, the breathiness of his voice cascading Dean with putrid hot air.

“That a trick question?”

Dean’s head is swimming, and he’s having a hard time telling if Alastair dosed him with something or hit him over the head to knock him out. The blood he’s smelling could very well be his own, but he doesn’t feel the familiar wet stickiness that’s usually accompanied with it. He supposes it could be dried by now, since he has no idea how long he was out.

“There are no trick questions,” Alastair drones, emotionless, dragging out each word like he has personal attachment to them. “I just want you to tell me where you are.”

“I imagine you get off on this, seeing someone like me occupying the same miserable space as the rest of you bottom-feeders,” Dean says instead, pulling in vain at the chains around his wrists. “Cause see, you...you were born into this wasteland. I guess it’s fun for you to drag others down with you and watch them burn right before your eyes.”

“Answer the question, Dean.”

“Hell, okay?” Dean snaps, and even through his pissiness he feels the burn of failure at the admittance. “I’m in Hell. Guess this is the part where you tell me it’s no better than I deserve.”

Alastair doesn’t speak for so long that it actually makes Dean look up at him, and his eyebrows are knitted together, a thoughtful look on his face, his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek.

“Why do you think you’re in Hell?”

“I know I’m in Hell.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re here.”

Alastair huffs a laugh through his nose, rubbing a rough hand irritably over his mouth. He pulls up a chair and sits at Dean’s feet, between where his legs are spread and bound to what appears to be half-rotted boards that cross into an ‘X’ underneath him. Alastair clasps his hands between his legs and leans forward, watching Dean with dark, dead eyes.

“Apologies about all this.” Alastair pulls half-heartedly at one of the chains around his ankle. He doesn’t sound at all apologetic. “But you gave us no choice, you see. Fighting us is only going to make things worse.”

Dean scoffs. “I just assumed you guys were into the kinky stuff.”

Alastair ignores the snarky comment. “Despite what you may believe, Dean, I don’t take pleasure in any of this. You could hurt one of us, or more importantly, hurt yourself. We couldn’t take that risk.”

Dean looks down at him and raises an eyebrow. “Like any of you give a shit about what happens to me.”

Alastair quirks a smile and leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other and securing his locked hands over his knee. “Why don’t we start from the beginning, hm? Why are you here?”

Dean groans and rolls his eyes, letting his head fall back with a thunk . “You know why I’m here.”

“Humor me.”

Dean huffs and blinks up at the ceiling. It shifts weirdly, almost flashing between yellowed, peeling plaster and reddish-tinted black smoke. Demon smoke, he realizes.

Man, is he fucked.

“Made a deal.”

“A deal?”

“Yeah. For Sammy’s life. Obviously, it didn’t work out so well for me, seeing as I was supposed to get ten years on the outside and here I am. Guess I can only hope that since Sam’s not here, though, at least one part of it worked out like it was supposed to.”

Alastair is quiet for a long time, and when Dean finally looks down at him again he finds him scratching idly at his scraggly patchy beard. The red-black of the room swirls relentlessly around him and it’s enough to make him dizzy. He blinks hard, scrunching up his face, then opens his eyes wide, and the ugly yellowed plaster is back, if only briefly, before plunging him back into swirly darkness.

“Now, when you say you ‘made a deal for Sam’s life’-”

“He was dead. I made a deal, my life for his, and the next thing I know I’m here, with all you ugly fuckers.”

Alastair sighs and leans forward in his chair again, and Dean pointedly avoids his scrutinizing gaze. The twenty questions is somehow worse than the torture itself, and he considers how fucked up he must be to actually pray to be tortured instead. Although, ‘pray’ isn’t necessarily the right word for it...of all the things that shouldn’t exist in the world that do, he’d never seen any evidence of any kind of higher power. The world isn’t kind enough for that.

Monsters had been after both him and Sam for as long as he could remember. Ever since his mother was burned on the ceiling by a demon when he was four years old, directly over 6-month-old Sammy’s crib. Ever since they grew up with their dad doing everything he could to find the thing that killed her, eventually being killed by the thing himself. He raised the two of them in the life of hunting; they were destined for it, right from the jump. Ending up in Hell for Sammy was no more than Dean should’ve expected, considering the circumstances that had led up to it.

“Sam was never dead, Dean.”

“Bullshit. I saw it with my own two eyes. How the hell else did I end up here?”

Alastair holds his hands out for a beat, then clasps them together again. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

Dean frowns, then scoffs. “I’m done hearing your crap.”

“It’s true. Sam was never dead. What I’m trying to understand is what happened that made you believe-”

“I sold my soul for him. I’m here, for him. So that he could live a normal life, away from me, because I’m fucking poison and anyone close to me always suffers.”

Alastair gives him that weird smile again and tilts his head to the side. “That’s not true. And Sam, he can come visit you whenever you want, whenever he wants-”

“No…”

The man grins wider and nods. “Yes, he can. In fact, I could call him now-”

“No!” Dean arches against the rough wood, pulling hopelessly at his chains. They cut into his wrists, his muscles burn, the effort feeling like it’s pulling his arms out of their sockets, but he doesn’t stop. He’s sweating and the exertion is making him dizzy again, but he struggles earnestly, gritting his teeth and panting.

“Dean, calm down-”

Alastair’s voice is far away and much too calm for the man who’d spent the last almost forty years torturing him. It only serves to piss Dean off further. He vaguely registers the demon moving closer, the echo of his voice bouncing off non-existent walls, the black smoke around him tumbling and swirling and finally converging down and in on him. He screams; or rather, he opens his mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. He’s suffocated by black smoke, a demon once again forcing its way inside him, and all the many years of torture flood back to him, all the different things Alastair and his groupies have done to him as he lay defenselessly bound.

Dean realizes he’s squeezed his eyes shut and he opens them again, hot tears escaping and running down into his ears. Alastair’s mere inches away now...not smiling, for once, but watching him intently as he holds up something shiny and sharp. He feels restraints in addition to the chains already there, and he finds two more demons holding each arm. Meg on one side, Ruby on the other, both grinning evilly. They’re stronger than they look, and between them and the chains his struggle is fruitless. He fights regardless, though, and at one point Meg loses her grip, allowing Dean to reach up as Alastair leans down. He scratches him across his face and the demon howls, pulling back and dropping his knife as he presses a hand to his face.

“ Hold him still!” he bellows, and Meg struggles to grab him again. Dean gets a couple of good hits in before she can secure his arm, and she pushes down on it, hard enough Dean swears he can hear something pop. He can’t feel the pain, though, not through the heat and the pain he knows is inevitably coming, right in front of his eyes, at the tip of Alastair’s blade. Ruby’s nails dig into the flesh of his bicep and he flexes involuntarily as he tenses, feeling them finally break the skin.

Alastair closes in again and Dean screams as the searing blade is pressed to his thigh, as the girls’ grips tighten on his arms and their trilling laughs flood his ears. The site of the wound is burning, too hot, and despite the blackness clouding his vision Dean can imagine the blood running down his thigh. He feels the ripping, tearing, pulling of the demons at his arms and the dark chuckle of Alastair, so close Dean swears he can smell his reeking breath again.

“I think he needs more,” Alastair taunts, and Dean thrashes wildly, managing to break free of the girls again. Suddenly one arm has way more leeway than he expects, and the full force of the pain of his apparent dislocation doesn’t hit him until he attempts to throw his arm forward at the demon. He shrieks, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Ruby covering her mouth, trying to hide her laughter. Then they’re all on him again, holding him down with their own body weight, and Dean braces himself for the next blow- however or wherever it may be- but instead there’s a bright, glowing light. He squints against it until he’s finally forced to close his eyes completely, and his thrashing lessens as the pain and heat in his thigh and his arm radiate through his body.

“Enough.”

The voice is deep and authoritative, not nasally like Alastair’s. It’s pleasant to hear, rumbling but gentle, and something about it has Dean’s soul quieting. Dean pries his eyes open and they’re blurry with unshed tears, but he can see that the demons are shying away. They seem confused, wary, looking at someone Dean can’t see yet. He blinks, long and hard, letting the tears roll out of the corners of his eyes.

Hands are still on him though, and Dean feels the warmth of another gently on his chest.

“Dean?”

Dean blinks once, twice, clearing the wetness and blurriness. All he sees are colors at first- not pitch black or blood red- but a beautiful dark brown, a complimenting tan surrounding deep cobalt blue eyes. The colors slowly take the form of a man, who squints down at him with concern, the hand moving up to his good shoulder and giving it a squeeze. A pink tongue darts out to wet the man’s dry lips, and he gives Dean a half nod of acknowledgement.

“Dean, I’m Castiel. Would you like to come with me?”

Dean stares wide-eyed at him, eyes searching the man’s kind face, thoughts quieting in his head and his heartbeat slowing in his chest. His panting becomes less erratic and his muscles untense as he stares at him, and before he even considers whether or not he should trust the man, he nods.

Castiel presses his lips together and stands, looking back at Alastair, his jaw set.

“Leave us. Now. ”

Alastair doesn’t speak, but sheaths his blade and leaves in a hurry, the girls hesitantly letting go and following him out. Against the backdrop of swirling black clouds there are two big arching things coming from either side of him as he extends his arms, ruffling as the demon smoke whooshes around him and disappears completely, leaving almost blinding white light.

Wings.

It’s the last thing Dean remembers before the light becomes too bright for him, and he’s plunged into darkness.

----

Sam bursts inside the hospital, hair wild and eyes red-rimmed and swollen, immediately striding up to the long desk parallel to the long sterile hallway.

“Where’s my brother? Where’s Dean Winchester?”

The nurse wisely presses her lips into a thin line and types the name into her computer, reading the screen wordlessly for a few moments before nodding and pointing down to the hall.

“Rec room. Follow the hall all the way down, take a left. It’s the second to last on the right.”

Sam isn’t sure what he expects as he walks down the hall. Perhaps the sounds of his brother screaming down the corridor, or the horrified looks on the faces of the nurses as they frantically scramble to lend help to others trying to subdue him. He wouldn’t be surprised to see him bound to the bed again to keep him from hurting himself, or sitting up in his chair by the window with a nurse keeping him company as he mumbles to himself, words and names that Sam doesn’t understand or recognize.

Acute primary psychosis.

That’s what the doctor had said. Sam knew what that meant. A psychotic break. His brother- if he hadn’t before- had officially lost his mind.

He’d expected that, somewhat. It made leaving for school harder, since the older Dean got, the worse he’d become. He’d never been what one would call stable- not since they were kids- not since their mother died in a fire and their father died from the smoke inhalation he sustained trying to save her.

But age and change made it worse. Sam ultimately making the difficult decision to go away to school had finally done it, and he’d never forgive himself for it. Dean didn’t want to believe that Sam would leave of his own volition, that he would willingly choose to move away from his brother and start his own life. Dean’s condition made Sam reconsider, but Bobby insisted that he go. He couldn’t stay just because Dean might not like it.

But neither of them were prepared for the full on fit Dean threw, screaming about his brother being carted off to Hell, demons pulling him away from him, from his family. No amount of reassurance from Bobby could convince him otherwise. He screamed, threw things, attempted to hurt himself. When Bobby had finally calmed him down, he caught him in the kitchen hours later cutting himself.

For a summoning spell, he’d said. To make a deal to get Sam back. Spouting off about demons and black eyes and ten year deals.

When Bobby called the hospital, Dean was carted off bound to a gurney, screaming about being dragged to Hell himself. Screaming to Bobby to “take care of Sammy”.

Sam couldn’t bear to see his brother that way, out of his mind on sedatives and depression medication and whatever else they pumped him full of in the hospital. Bobby called to fill him in every once in awhile, but from what Sam could tell of his description, Dean was all but catatonic during his visits. He didn’t eat, didn’t speak, didn’t acknowledge Bobby’s presence. He’d sometimes mumble to himself about Hell and the demons that tortured him there. The same names came up over and over: Alastair, Meg, Ruby. A doctor at the clinic and two of the orderlies. Nice enough people, Bobby’d said, if not a little curt and textbook with their methods.

But it was for real this time, a full-blown psychotic break.

Sam bought the first plane ticket he could find back to Sioux Falls for the following day after Bobby called him with the news of Dean’s outburst. He’d effectively dislocated his shoulder and scratched his own arms and face so badly that he’d required stitches in a few places- all before they’d been able to successfully sedate him.

Sam reaches the end of the hall and turns left, picking up the pace a little when he hears agitated screams coming from the wing. It’s not the right room, though, and he slows back to a walk when he passes it, listening intently for the sound of Dean’s voice.

Finally he reaches the rec room, and he’s surprised to find a decently light and airy room inside, with tons of windows- albeit barred for the patients’ safety- and at least one nurse per patient inside. Most of them are sitting by the television on covered couches by the windows, enjoying the views of outside. He doesn’t see Dean at first, not until he hears his laugh, and he didn’t know what to expect coming here, but it definitely isn’t what he sees.

His brother is sitting across the table from a dark-haired man in a white doctor’s coat, playing what looks like Chess. Despite all the scratches and stitches on his face, he’s practically glowing, his eyes lit up and his grin wide. Sam doesn’t remember Dean ever laughing like that, in all the years he’d lived with him. The doctor has his back to Sam, but Sam can see him talking to Dean, who’s listening intently before laughing again, his face a picture of genuine delight.

Dean looks down at the game board and moves a piece with his good hand, the other arm resting in a sling. Something clatters on the board and he looks up with a cheeky grin as the doctor throws his hands up in defeat, and Dean pumps his fist into the air in triumph. It’s at that moment that he notices Sam standing there, and he’s on his feet and halfway to him before the doctor can even stand.

“Sammy?!” he breathes disbelievingly, wrapping him in a bone-crushing, one-armed hug. He pulls back and lays a hand on Sam’s cheek, looking him over as if he doesn’t believe he’s real.

“Dean, I thought-”

“Thought I’d look a little worse for the wear? Yeah, I look fantastic, huh?” He grins and drops his hand to Sam’s shoulder, clapping it there. “Man, I’m so glad to see you. I thought for sure I’d be stuck in that place forever, never get to see you again-”

Sam frowns and shakes his head. “Stuck...stuck where, Dean?”

Dean gives him a look and cocks his head, taking a half-step back. “In Hell. Where I’ve been the last forty years? Where’ve you been?”

Sam opens his mouth to speak, but he’s interrupted as the dark-haired doctor finally joins them, laying a hand gently on Dean’s shoulder and giving him a small nod. Sam doesn’t miss the way Dean’s face lights up at the touch, his excitement as he introduces the man.

“Heya, Sammy, this here’s Cas, and he-” he looks around the room quickly and lowers his voice, leaning in close, “he’s an angel. Like an actual angel, with wings, a harp, you know...all that shit.” He grins that cheeky grin again and looks over at Cas, who’s giving him a soft smile and shaking his head slowly.

“An...angel,” Sam says slowly, trying to hide his bewilderment.

“Yeah. Who woulda thunk, right? All those years huntin’, you’d think someone woulda come across one at some point. But Cas here, I’d still be in Hell right now if it weren’t for him. Anyway,” he waves a hand, then claps Cas on the shoulder. “Cas saved me. He put his hand on my shoulder just like this, and he pulled me up out of Hell. Can you believe that? Can you believe an actual angel wanted to save little old me?”

Sam looks to Cas, who licks his lips and nods marginally. There’s something about the look that the man is giving him that tells Sam to just go with it...so he does.

“Y-yeah, Dean. Of course I can believe that. You’re a good person. If anyone deserves saving, it’s you.” He tries not to tear up at the end- since Dean’s obviously not bothered- and fails.

“That’s exactly what he said,” Dean grins, nudging Cas’s shoulder with his own. “We’re gonna make a good team, the three of us. Won’t be a monster or demon out there can handle the likes of us. Hey, hey- I’m fine. No chick-flick moments, dude.” He gives Sam a wink, then taps him playfully with the back of a hand as he walks past. “I’m gonna go get my stuff. I’ll be ready to hit the road in ten.” He stops in his tracks, turning around. “You better not’ve douched my Baby up while I was gone.”

Sam frowns, then relaxes as it hits him. The car. Of course.

“No,” Sam clears his throat, “no, ‘course not. She’s the exact same.”

Dean smiles and clicks his tongue as he points at him, then he’s out the door, an orderly in white following closely behind him.

Cas watches door until Dean is out of view, then turns his attention back to Sam, bright blue eyes looking somewhat sad and completely apologetic, holding a hand out in a calming gesture.

“What the hell are you doing to my brother?”

“I’m trying to help him, Sam,” Cas says gently, looking once more over Sam’s shoulder then inclining his head, intending for Sam to follow. They sit at his and Dean’s table, where Dean had honestly clobbered the man in Chess. Sam huffs a sad laugh at the sight of the board.

“I’m Dr. Castiel Novak, or Cas, as Dean prefers to call me,” Dr. Novak smiles warmly. “I’m your brother’s new therapist. I took over his case yesterday, and I will be in charge of his care from here on out.”

Sam tongues the inside of his cheek. “Why? Why did he need a new doctor?”

Dr. Novak sighs deeply, clasping his hands together on top of the table. “Sam, are you aware of your brother’s condition?”

Sam falters. “Well, I...I mean, I knew he was always...he struggled, from the time we were young. But it was never- never this bad. Our Uncle Bobby mentioned maybe schizophrenia?”

Dr. Novak nods slowly, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “I’ve pored over Dean’s official case file, hours and hours of time deciphering his behavior. According to what I’ve read in his file, combined with my previous knowledge of the subjects and the time I’ve spent with him… I’m convinced that I have a correct diagnosis. Dean is a paranoid schizophrenic with narcissistic personality disorder and a tendency for religious psychosis. He can be highly dangerous, to himself and to others. What he’s telling you, about Hell, angels, demons, all of it- he fully believes it is real. For him, it’s his reality.”

“And...what? You’re just letting him believe that he’s spent years being tortured in Hell?”

“The method of treatment his previous doctor was using was ineffective at Dean’s stage, I’m afraid,” Dr. Novak explains. “I have the idea that maybe if we play into Dean’s delusion- let him act out what he believes is happening to him, what he believes is his life- a radical roleplay, if you will...perhaps we can pull him out of his own mind.”

“I don’t...I don’t understand how that will help him.”

“Dean’s a very intelligent man, as you know, Sam,” Dr. Novak says calmly. “But despite his narcissistic tendencies, he has an extremely low sense of self worth. Dean’s delusions are intensified by his belief that he doesn’t deserve to live a normal life. My belief is that if we let him act this out, I can convince him- or rather, help him to convince himself- that the things he’s seeing, the life he’s built in his own mind… that they’re not real. My objective is to help him prove it to himself.”

Sam swallows and looks back to the door Dean disappeared out of, scrubbing a hand over his face. Dr. Novak’s expression is unreadable when he turns back to him, somehow stoic and confident, and Sam nods.

“Do you...do you really think you can help him?”

Dr. Novak takes a silent breath, letting it out slowly as he looks past Sam to the door as Dean re-enters with a smile. He’s dressed in his old clothes and has John’s old canvas bag thrown over his shoulder, smiling from ear to ear.

“Dean doesn’t yet think he deserves to be saved, but I know he does. And eventually, he will too.”

Sam lets out a sigh of relief, and they stand as Dean joins him by his side.

“You two all acquainted now? Ready to get on the road?” Dean looks back and forth between the two of them with a childish grin, and Sam forces his own smile and a nod.

Cas smiles and steps forward, laying a hand gently on Dean’s left shoulder.

“Come, Dean. We have work for you.”

Like my work? Buy me a coffee.