#I can’t believe i’m seeing a guy in his twenties fighting someone pushing sixty

[lovemicheal]

HOLY SNOOZE FEST

[donald4spiderman]

Sweating, And A Lesson On Self-Worth

masterlist

Summary: Spencer finds himself falling for his NAT (new agent training) defensive tactics coach.

Pairing: SR x Fem!Reader *described as petite to give the illusion of assumed vulnerability when IRL she’s a badass— no other specific physical details are mentioned*

Category: Fluff

TW: Mentions of body image, general CM talk, mentions of fighting/grappling/wrestling, small age gap (reader is 28 & reid is 22)

concept inspired by @sierraraeck’s fic “Bad Liar” about Morgan training Spencer. I love wrestling so I wanted to do one about a badass female combat coach/agent.

REBLOG!

-

When Spencer and the rest of the trainees are ushered into the fitness center on their second day at the academy, he almost shits himself. He’s well aware of the physical demands being in the FBI requires, and he’s been dreading the PFT (Physical Fitness Test) since he applied.

There are hundreds of men and women huddled in the middle of the room, anticipating the orientation, and Spencer feels his palms sweat before he’s even started working out. The majority of the trainees are football players, wrestling’s, and weight lifters— he can tell by their muscular build and general atmosphere of strength and confidence.

SSA Jesse Fallon introduces their defensive tactics coach for the next twenty weeks— a petite but athletic woman. She’s dressed in a gray t-shirt and flexible khaki pants— Spencer would be lying if he said she didn’t look gorgeous, even in the bland attire.

“I’m SSA and defensive tactics coach (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” She introduces herself, giving a warm smile to the crowd. “I’ve been an SSA for five years and the head coach of this portion of the academy for two. This is my third official wave of trainees— and believe me— I won’t be going easy on any of you.”

Light laughter disperses through the crowd, and Spencer wears an uneasy look on his face.

“Today, I’ve prepped stations for each of you to cycle through for the next three hours. Agent Rivera is monitoring the weapon defense; Agent Glover is in charge of the takedowns; And I’ll be handling hand-to-hand combat and grappling. You’ll spend an hour at each station, run a mile at the end, and then you’re done for the day. Sound good?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Choruses through the crowd.

SSA (Y/N) clasps her hands together, “Alright, you know your groups. Split up!”

-

Spencer’s assigned to the takedown station first. Agent Glover’s criticisms are primarily nonconstructive, and Spencer struggles with apprehending and cuffing his more robust and much more muscular partner on the floor. He’s never trained this hard for anything in his life, physically, speaking. He’s half-dead within the first hour, and he dreads having to do this two more times.

His next stop is with Agent Rivera, who’s much kinder to Spencer than his prior. Reid is better at disarming his opponent, but his long limbs flail wildly due to his incoordination— he’s trying his best, but he sees the way everyone else giggles at him. It’s a blow to the chest that leaves him defeated more than any gunshot could.

The last hour is spent working at SSA (Y/N) (Y/L/N)’s station. She commands the attention of the entire group so naturally, despite being considered a rookie, she has an intimidating amount of knowledge.

“How many of you are wrestlers or judokas?” About sixty percent of the group raises their hand, and Spencer scans around for who might have the strength to kill him with one blow.

“Good,” She smiles. “This will come naturally to you, then. Now, a head-and-arm throw most likely won’t work in the field— so, sorry, judokas. However, double legs, body locks, and blast-doubles are constantly used to take down an unsub with minimal injury to the agent. Even someone as short as me can use leverage to grapple and control a much taller person.” (Y/N) scans the crowd of trainees for a moment before pointing directly at Spencer.

“You, come here.” She commands, and Spencer waddles nervously up next to her on the mat. “This is...”

He’s confused for a moment before realizing she’s asking for his name. “S-Spencer Reid.”

“Hi, Spencer.” She smiles. “How tall are you?”

“Six foot two.”

“Spencer has the advantage of almost a whole foot of height against me. But, I can use his higher center of gravity to tip him over more easily. We do this a lot in wrestling— being low to the ground and agile is important.”

(Y/N) firmly plants her hands on Spencer’s shoulder, moving him so that he’s turned to the side. “This move is called a modified blast double— it prioritizes attacking the ankles and knees rather than the knees and abdomen.”

She leans in closer to Spencer, “Don’t post your wrist out when you fall.” She whispers in his ear, sending chills down his spine. “Keep your neck tucked too.” Her breath is warm and minty, and Spencer almost forgets that he has 30 other people watching him.

“I’m going to simulate an active attack with Spencer. Doing this move in a wrestling match is much more controlled than against a rogue criminal playing by their own rules. They might have a melee or close-range weapon like a knife or hammer on them, so it’s important to make this move when the best opportunity strikes.”

“Spencer’s going to run at me and attempt to land a punch to my face.” She gives him a nod, and he chambers over to her.

Swiftly crouching lower to the ground, she launches herself towards him, gripping the back of his ankles and pushing her shoulder into his knees, and suddenly he’s flying back onto the mat. She follows through, straddling Spencer’s hips and covering his movements with an arm under his neck.

He’s out of breath as he watches the beautiful SSA leaning above him. His head is slightly sore from the impact, but overall he feels... invigorated.

“You never let your opponent fall onto the ground without covering them. Straddling your opponent allows you to keep them down while having full use of your fists.” She swings her leg off of Spencer, standing up. She reaches a hand out and quickly yanks him up.

“Find someone and drill that move. I’m coming around to help all of you.”

She gives Spencer a firm pat on his back, to which he blushes furiously, pulling his lower lip in between his teeth.

-

Spencer spent the rest of the hour getting slammed onto the mat over and over by various men and women. His entire shirt is soaked, and his breathing is so labored he thinks he’s going to faint. SSA (Y/N) (Y/L/N) might have appeared at ease earlier in the day, but she wasn’t kidding when she promised she would work them to no end. Everyone was at the brink of death when they approached the last lap of their mile— Spencer at risk of passing out more than others.

The relief he feels after completing his tenth lap around the gym is euphoric. Trainees collapse onto the ground with exhaustion all around him.

“Great job today.” SSA (Y/N) compliments happily. “I appreciate all the effort you guys showed today. It better still be here in four months.” And with that, she excuses them, along with the agents monitoring each station.

Spencer’s one of the last agents to trickle out of the gym. His legs feel like jello when he walks, and his lungs burn.

He almost makes it past the threshold of the door before his name is called.

“Dr. Reid.” She beckons him over with a finger. “May I talk to you for a moment.”

Spencer nervously shuffles over. “Yes, SSA (Y/L/N)?”

“I applaud your effort at training today. I can tell you were working hard.” He blushes. “But I’ve been informed that the board is willing to wave all physical training requirements for your acceptance into the FBI.”

“Yeah... I-I uh figured they’d want me for my IQ only.” He jokes nervously, shrugging his shoulders. He knows it’s disrespectful not to look her in the eye, but she intimidates him too much.

She laughs, and it’s a sweet, joyful sound that Spencer can’t get enough of. She’s powerful and radiant— stealing attention from everyone else. “You’re charming, and your reputation precedes you.”

Charming? Since when has little Spencer Reid ever been charming? He smiles awkwardly, looking off to the side to hide his blush.

“You know, the forensics department wants their hands on the trainee with the chemistry doctorate, and the surveillance department wants the kid with eidetic memory, and word has it that you speak more than four languages, so everyone wants their fair share.”

“W-why are you telling me this?” Spencer asks, voice shy and barely above a whisper.

“Because,” she places a tender hand on his shoulder, “You need to carry yourself with more confidence, Spencer. I saw you— surrounded by all those athletes— it made you feel out of place. I get it.”

“How d-do you get it?”

“I was 23 years old when I became an SSA, surrounded by people two decades older than me. I felt like the office secretary— constantly getting pushed around by people I was afraid to upset. But the thing is, Spencer, you need to demand respect from other people. I’m not saying you need to be arrogant or be a bully, but you are one of— if not the most promising agent trainee— and you need to realize your self-worth.”

“I’m smart, I-I know that. But I’m not strong or athletic by any means.” He sighs, gripping the duffle bag slung across his shoulder tightly.

“That’s alright. You’re not going to be Kyle Dake overnight. But you can’t beat yourself up about it.” (Y/N) chuckles lightly.

Spencer thinks for a moment, “T-thank you... for uh saying all those nice things about me.”

“They're true.” She nods.

“I think I’ll continue with the defensive tactics training. I could um use it.” Its partially true, but he’s most inclined to stick around because of the kind and beautiful SSA that’ll be training him.

“Yay! That’s great, Spencer.” She cheers, wrapping him in a hug that’s a little too friendly to be professional. He accepts despite being drenched in sweat.

Her arms are wrapped tightly around Spencer, and she pats him on the back twice before pulling away like a proud mentor would. He can’t decide if (Y/N) would be a better girlfriend or a better teacher. If she would, he’d prefer for her to be both. He’d give her all he had to offer if she’d allow him.

He doesn’t recognize the smile that plays on her lips, and it’s a foreign feeling for the aggressive and focused SSA. She hasn’t felt something like this in a while, especially not for a nerdy trainee named Dr. Spencer Reid.

“Hit the showers.” She teases. “You stink.”

Spencer nods furiously, “Y-yeah, of course. Thank you, again, SSA—“

“Just call me (Y/N).”

“T-thank you, (Y/N).” He smiles, scurrying out of the gym and into the hallway as giddy as ever.

(Y/N) knows she can’t pursue this— at least, not right now. She’ll give it a few years to let him settle in the FBI (his acceptance is inevitable) if she can be patient for that long. All she knows is that eventually, she wants the awkwardly adorable boy to be hers— and she wants to be his.

i’m so proud of this fic but sry i got carried away talking about wrestling i love it sm

[hteragram-x]

Firefighter AU (again)

It’s been a while since I posted anything about this AU, but I got some inspiration and finished new short story. This time about Virgil and Remus briefly discussing their jobs and characters. I think you can read it separately and still get what’s going on, but if anyone’s interested I’ll link previous related posts.

[HERE] is the introduction, [HERE] are some general HCs, and over [THERE] you can find previous story where Remus and Virgil met for the first time :>

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Word count: 1348

Relationships: technically Dukexiety, but they’re not there yet

TW: mentions of fire (what a surprise), mentions of dead animals, mentions of a car crash, swearing

--- ----- --- ----- --- ----- --- ----- ---

-

The phone rang for about half a second before Virgil picked it up and gave his practiced introduction. It was calm and quick. Then he fell silent and let the woman on the other side of the line speak, listening carefully and responding with a few instructions. In an even voice he explained that the team has already been sent, that the fire engine was on its way. That there was no need to panic and that someone else has already called and now the only thing she should do is patiently wait, sit at a safe distance from the flaming car, and keep him updated if anything bad happened before the brigade arrived.

He made sure the woman was safe, said goodbye, and let the conversation end.

 Then he leaned deeper into his chair with a heavy sigh.

“I have a question!”, the loud yell right behind Virgil nearly sent him flying to the floor. He glared at Remus, clutching his headset and trying to readjust it before it slid off his ears. Why was he still surprised by these random outbursts? He should have gotten used to them weeks ago.

“What kind of question”, he asked in a tired voice very much aware that getting mad at Remus would only make his behaviour more annoying. Or worse… it’d make Remus upset... “The one I answered forty nine times already or something new?”

“A new one!”, Remus beamed sitting on a spinning office chair and moving closer to Virgil. “And if you’re exaggerating anyway you could’ve said sixty nine. That would’ve cost you nothing.”

“It would also cost you nothing to not say that right now, and yet you did”, was a slightly drained response.

"I always do!”, Remus giggled in a surprisingly cute way and leaned even closer, still remembering to not push Virgil too far from the desk. They were both currently at work, so distracting his co-worker too much and slowing down his response for even a few seconds could have potentially tragic consequences. Remus was definitely a careless person, but not when it came to other people’s lives. That fact was often shocking even to those who knew Remus for a very long time.

Virgil lifted an eyebrow making a “go on” kind of gesture with his right hand.

“Okay”, Remus started excitedly sounding as if he was trying to hype himself up to do something difficult. “How do you do it?”

Virgil lifted his second eyebrow in a silent question.

“I mean: how do you stay calm during the calls. Why do you even work here? I can scare you by saying “boo” in quiet monotone. And then you talk with panicking people who just crashed their car into the lamppost like it’s nothing!”

To Virgil’s credit he put a lot of effort to making his brain not fixate on the “Why do you even work here?” part of Remus’ words and not see it as a kind suggestion to fuck off. He mostly failed, but the intensions were there.

“I- I’m not sure”, he responded carefully after a moment filled with sounds of a chair squeaking under Remus who was usually unable to stay still for more than four seconds. “I have a separate… headspace for work, I suppose. I dunno how to explain it. Just like… switching to a different mindset when it’s something professional. Don’t you have the same thing with putting down the fire? I assume you don’t stare creepily at other people when you enter the building that’s in flames”, he added with a small smile, reminiscing their first encounter.

“Usually I don’t”, Remus answered with slightly disturbing, cheerful honesty that Vigil learnt to expect from his chaotic co-worker. “But, yeah… you’re right. I can be calm when I’m professional. And I’m way less tempted to taste fire when I’m fighting it. You know? Like… you don’t think so much about eating a bear when it’s chasing you down the extremely narrow path where trees are getting closer and closer until the forest gets very dark and there is no way to escape anymore.” Remus finished a rushed sentence with wide, light-hearted smile that lit up his face not unlike a lighter with which he almost singed his moustache on regular basis.

Virgil blinked at him and slowly shook his head.

“O- One thing at a time, okay?”, he answered finally. “Let’s leave the bear out of this for now. I know I shouldn’t ask, but did you just say that you’re ‘tempted to taste fire’?”

“Yeah!”, Remus answered with enthusiasm sending Virgil another bright smile that somehow still looked nice despite some unhinged glint always present in his green eyes. “You can make so many tasty things with fire. Like grilled vegetables! Or…”

For some reason, the fact that Remus was vegan never failed to astound the confused operator. Maybe his dietary choices would be less unexpected if he also didn’t rate every dead animal he ever saw on the street on a scale from ‘probably inedible, not enough fur’ to ‘no one touch that! It’s my lunch’.

“…or potato chips!”, Remus finished a long list of foods. ”Those are kinda made with fire?”

“…yes?” Virgil said carefully, not really sure where this line of logic was even going.

“See?! Fire makes tasty things. Ergo, hypothesis, fire is tasty too!”

“That’s… that’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard today…”

“Well, jokes on you, because I’ve said something much more stupid only twenty minutes ago. You just weren’t there!”

“I’m not sure this defence is as strong as you think…”, Virgil sighed, annoyed at himself for a tiny bit of fondness that seeped into his voice. “Anyway! Please don’t eat fire.”

“Fine”, Remus said tipping his head back with a huff. “You’re so boring.”

“And you’re a dumbass. I can’t believe I was scared of you at first…”

“You were?!”, Remus asked delighted despite knowing this information before. It was always nice to hear that he actually frightened someone, even if it was a guy scared of drinking with a straw for the fear of chocking on it one day. Or maybe especially if it was that guy.

“Shut up…”

Surprisingly, Remus did fell quiet. They sat in silence for a few minutes glad that the phone stayed silent as well. It was nice to have a few minutes of peace and calm before someone else needed help. It meant that people were safe and it let them just appreciate each other’s company in the half-empty office.

“By the way… I do get the whole ‘work mindset’ thing”, Remus continued suddenly as if they never stopped or changed the topic. “It’s like I have a separate brain and personality that kick in when it comes to these things. I see everything differently.”

Virgil nodded in understanding.

“I’m less scared when I know I have to help someone.”

“Exactly!”, Remus exclaimed, once again almost making Virgil fall out of his chair. “I have that too, but I become more serious instead! So you’re a coward, but a protective one. Got it.”

“Get out of my office.”

Remus laughed and didn’t make a single move to exit the room. He sat more comfortably in his chair, reaching into a pocket for his favourite lighter with luminescent tentacles painted over sparkly black background. It was one of the most “Remus” things Virgil has ever seen.

The next stretch of silence didn’t last as long as Virgil would have wanted. After about a minute his phone rang again, distracting his from very vivid visions of the firehouse burning to the ground because of Remus’ negligence. He gave his colleague a brief smile and promptly answered the call, his head immediately clear – the thoughts about anything irrelevant temporarily forgotten. Few seconds later the alarm went off and the dishevelled firefighter jumped off the chair with a serious expression. He gave Vigil last look seeing his focused eyes and calm, patient face. Then he switched his own brain into appropriate mode and run out of the room towards Roman and the rest of his brigade.

-

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Next part is [HERE].

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My one-person general taglist: @imma-potatoo

My one-person taglist for this AU: @isabelle-stars

I used the term “taglist” very loosely here :D

[jwillowwolf]

Magic and Miracles - Chapter 9

Sanders Sides Big Bang fic, Chapter 9!

< Previous Chapter | Next Chapter > | Masterlist

Summary: “What in Hades happened to you guys?” Remy exclaimed when he saw them appear.

“We fought that giant mole thing guarding the fruit,” Roman answered.

“You what?”

Warning/s: food mention, minor violence.

Characters: Logan, Virgil, OCs, Roman, Remy, Remus, Patton, Janus.

Tag List: @theimprobabledreamersworld @remy-please-come-back

Read on AO3

9 | The After Party

“I think we’re cursed,” Virgil stated as he eyed the giant mole.

The group had not been expecting anything to be inside of the cave, apart from of course the unique underground tree that grew the fruit Remy sent them for. So when they came face to face with a giant mole monster, Roman appropriately began freaking out and would have screamed at the top of his lungs if Janus hadn’t covered his mouth to silence him, because they did not need to be seen or heard by that thing.

And when I say giant mole, I mean giant mole, like whale-sized giant mole. Have I mentioned this is a giant mole enough? I should probably get back to the story...

“Merciful Gods, that thing is huge. What the hel do we do?” Willow asked in a panicked whisper. “There’s no other way through to the fruit.”

“Remy expects us to face that thing? Is he mad?” Remus asked.

Logan felt he half agreed with the question because honestly, this creature looked like a lot for seven teens to handle by themselves.

“Maybe it’s friendly?” Patton suggested.

“Well, average-sized moles are carnivorous, so I doubt a giant one would have a much different appetite…” Logan stated.

“There goes that hope,” Virgil muttered. “There must be another way through.”

“There really isn’t. This is the cave that Remy marked for us, and there’s no back doorway to that tree, and we even can’t go back the way we came to check if there is” Janus said.

Virgil sighed. “We’ll have to fight it then.”

“I’m sorry, but can you see the size of that thing? It’ll squash us like pests.” Willow whisper shouted.

“There are seven of us and one of them. Besides, Remy wouldn’t have us fight something he wasn’t sure we could takedown.” Virgil declared. “Come on guys, we have literal magic on our sides.”

“How do we know it isn’t magical itself?” Remus asked.

“Stat Check,” Logan said. “It could probably give us a good reading on this creature.”

Willow shrugged. “Better than running in blind, I guess.”

Logan pointed his wrist at the animal and whispered the spell, which created a small screen of light that it thankfully didn’t seem to notice.

Unknown

Titles: Killer Mole, Mountain Mole

HP: 100 - Full

Skills: Echolocation, Poison.

“Killer Mole, what a friendly name,” Roman snarked, finally free from Janus’s silencing hand.

“It doesn’t have any magical skills, so that means it probably has no magical defence, and since it uses echolocation, I think it’s safe to assume that it has poor sight,” Logan said.

“We’ll need to keep an eye out for whatever poison it has though,” Janus pointed out.

“Alright. The best approach would probably be a spell to immobilize it. Something that could maybe cause confusion.” Virgil suggested.

Remus lit up. “Ooh, I know just the spell!”

“Remus wait-”

Before anyone could do anything to stop him, Remus lept out from their hiding place and cast his spell. It was a wind spell that made an annoying ping sound echo around the cave. Everyone winced at the sound, including the mole, who had been very much caught off guard. It began to run around and stomp and grunt like it was seeking out the sound’s source to destroy it.

This however caused rocks to fall from the cave ceiling and nearly crush the group. Which of course led to the teens screaming and running around, doing their best to avoid falling rocks and the giant mole. Willow tried to cast an animal communication spell, but their attempts to calm the creature were useless.

"Make the pinging stop Remus!" Patton yelled.

"Right, uh, I'm not very great with reversing spells…"

"Well someone needs to do something or we're doomed!" Willow screamed.

Logan quickly cast a reversal spell to silence the pinging, but that did nothing to stop the mole's rampage.

"Guys it knows we're here and is not happy!" Willow stated.

"What if we explained we mean no harm?" Patton asked.

"I don't think it will believe us after Remus's little stunt," Roman said.

"Run!" Willow yelled as the mole charged them.

Janus shouted some colourful words as he barely dodged another fallen boulder. "We need to stop it!"

Patton tried using an ice spell, but couldn't manage to properly aim while he and the creature were running. "We can't use magic on it directly while it's moving like this."

"Remus, do something about the roof!" Virgil yelled.

"What?"

"You're the one with proficiency in rock type magic, do something!"

"Oh, right!" Remus cast a spell to strengthen the cave ceiling. "This should stop anything more from falling but I'm low on MP!"

"Don't use any more magic then. Patton, get the stupid fruit, Willow how do we take this thing down?" Virgil questioned.

"While I hate to admit it, nothing but brute force is going to stop it. It's out for blood." Willow answered.

“Will our weapons even make a dent?" Roman asked.

"Only one way to find out!" Janus said as he charged at one of the beast's ankles with his staff magically set ablaze.

Roman ran at another ankle with his katana drawn and Remus went for a third leg with his morning star while Willow shifted into their wolf form to attack the fourth leg. Meanwhile, Logan and Virgil charged at its middle from either side. The mole let out a nightmare-inducing scream as it was attacked from all angles.

“HP?” Virgil asked.

“Sixty-two left!” Logan answered.

The mole tried to stomp on Remus but Janus managed to push her out of the way just in time. Roman took another swing at the creature’s back leg, causing it to let out another scream and run forwards.

“I have the fruit!” Patton yelled.

“Look out!” Roman screamed, seeing that the mole was headed for him.

Patton squeaked and ran back up into the tree.

“Everyone, do another rush attack!” Virgil commanded.

The group once again ran at the mole from different angles. The creature screamed as each weapon made contact. Patton chose this moment to take aim at the animal and managed to hit it with a sleeping spell that instantly caused it to fall unconscious.

Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief. Patton jumped down from the tree and ran over to Remus to give him a big hug.

“Never, ever, do that again, please?”

“Pat, I swear to you if I ever see a giant mole again, I will simply run the other way.”

“What do we do with it?” Roman asked.

“Leave it? It’s asleep, not dead,” Janus pointed out.

“It’s only at twenty-three HP,” Logan declared. “And we honestly have no idea if it would have attacked us if it weren’t for the panic Remus’s sound spell caused.”

Remus awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry about that, everyone.”

“Everyone makes mistakes,” Virgil replied. “I think we should at least heal it though. As a sort of sorry for ruining its day and nearly killing it.”

Willow nodded agreeingly. “That’s probably the least we could do…”

“I’ll heal it. Could one of you open a portal back to the manor, so we can get out quickly once the spell is complete though? I don’t know if it’ll wake up and try to kill us again,” Virgil said.

Janus nodded and cast the portal spell for seven entities while Virgil did his healing spell. Once the group crossed through the portal into the familiar manor garden, they all collapsed with exhaustion.

“What in Hades happened to you guys?” Remy exclaimed when he saw them appear.

“We fought that giant mole thing guarding the fruit,” Roman answered.

“You what?”

“Fought the-”

“I heard you the first time, kid, but there is no giant mole in that cave. I checked it out last week to be sure that she’d migrated already.”

“Well, she must have been out for lunch or something when you dropped by. Because we all just barely escaped her,” Janus stated.

The colour suddenly drained from Remy’s face. “Oh f- are you all okay? Did she injure you? You didn’t get hurt badly, right?”

“No, we actually almost killed her after Remus sent her into a panic and we had to fight her because she was out to kill us,” Willow answered.

“Oh my- wait, you all nearly killed her?”

“Yep.”

“How in Hades did you manage that?”

“Teamwork and the collective will to live,” Virgil answered.

“...You kids are going to be the death of me.”

---

That evening, just as they had been promised, the class had themselves a party to celebrate their success. The dining room was decorated with brightly coloured floating orbs that gave the room a festive appearance, and the table held a banquet fit for royalty, including some fabulous pastries from the bakery.

Emile and Everleigh had come up from town and listened eagerly as the group retold everything that had happened. When they got to the part about the giant mole, Emile turned to Remy and gave him a stern lecture.

"You said they'd be safe."

"I thought the guardian had migrated! Besides, it's not my fault they were reckless enough to take it on instead of calling for adult assistance."

"You did tell us only to summon you if we had an emergency," Roman pointed out.

Everleigh raised an eyebrow. "You guys don't think being almost killed by a giant mole, counts as an emergency?"

"Well, we all were trying to just stay alive, so the idea we could call for help didn't really come to mind," Willow answered sheepishly.

Apart from that, the night was full of fun and laughter. Once the group had finished their meal, they went to one of the sitting rooms and continued their light-hearted conversation there. At some point, Emile and Remy went off to get some drinks for everyone, so the kids were left alone.

“Let’s play truth or dare,” Everleigh suggested.

Remus nodded vigorously. “Ooh, yes! Roman, Truth or Dare?”

“I didn’t even agree to play yet.”

“Yeah, but you love this game.”

“...Truth.”

“When was the last time you wet the bed?”

Roman blushed. “I have never wet the bed.”

“Really, I could have sworn you did this morning.”

“You dumped water on me, that isn’t the same thing!” Roman rolled his eyes. “Anyway, Patton, truth or dare.”

“Hmm, truth?”

“Who was your first kiss?”

“Me,” Remus said at the same time Patton replied, “Ummm…”

“Wait, I wasn’t your first kiss?”

“Well… you know the story where a princess kisses a frog and he turns into a prince.”

“Yeah.”

“So, my mom told me and Morgan that story, and then Morgan dared me to kiss a frog.”

“Oh… was it a good kiss?”

Janus raised an eyebrow. “It was a frog.”

Remus rolled her eyes. “I know that, but it’s not the answer to my question.”

“I was like eight, so I don’t remember. It didn’t turn into a prince though. Willow, truth or dare?”

“Um, dare.”

“I dare you to give me a hug.”

“Aw, sure Pat!” Willow got up and gave Patton a quick hug. “Janus, truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

Willow smirked. “I dare you to kiss Roman’s cheek.”

Janus and Roman both blushed while Remus went “Oooooh!”

Janus turned to Roman. “Do you mind?”

“Uh, nope. Not at all.” Roman said as calmly as he could, but failing to keep his voice from cracking at the end.

Janus kissed his cheek and Remus cheered. “They did it!”

Janus rolled his eyes. “Virgil, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

Janus smirked. “Okay. What really happened between you and Logan when you got ‘lost in the woods’?”

“Um, nothing. We just got lost.”

“I can tell you’re lying~”

Logan huffed. “For the last time, Janus, nothing happened.”

“You’re both lying. Come on guys, we’re your friends!”

“Then why don’t you believe us?”

“Because something happened and we can all tell you’re trying to hide it,” Remus answered.

Virgil turned to Logan with a confused expression. “Do you have any idea what they believe happened?”

“Well, the short version is, they think we went off to make out.”

Virgil turned bright red. “What? I- You- We- no, no, nooo.”

“He’s getting flustered! It’s true!” Remus declared.

Roman objected. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

Logan nodded. “Thank you, Roman.”

“Obviously making out would have been going too fast. They just shared their first kiss.”

“Un-thank you, Roman.”

“Uh, shouldn’t we carry on with the game?” Patton suggested.

“Hmm, I think this is a bit more entertaining.” Everleigh giggled.

Logan gave her a look of betrayal. “Et tu Everleigh?”

“Logan, I grew up with you, I definitely know when you’re lying.”

Willow sighed. “Please just tell them before they all drive me crazy with their betting?”

“Betting?” Virgil squeaked.

“Janus has bet that you’re both together already and in a… close relationship. Roman thinks you’re taking things slow. Everleigh thinks at least one of you believes you’re together while the other is oblivious and pining. Patton thinks you at the very least confessed and Remus thinks you’re at least intimate.”

Logan gaped. “What the heck! How much do you guys think about this?”

Remus shrugged. “Often enough to form a Fanclub.”

“Oh my gods.”

“You formed a Fanclub?” Virgil asked.

“Yeah. Remy’s the chairman and Mr Picani is even a member.” Remus declared.

“You recruited Remy?!”

Willow shrugged. “If anything, he recruited us.”

Everleigh nodded. “I don’t even see you guys that often, but it’s super obvious with how you gravitate towards each other.”

“We don’t.”

“You’re literally sitting beside each other right now.” Janus pointed out with a smirk.

“Okay, you know what. You want the truth?” Virgil asked. “We were kidnapped by pixies.”

...silence…

Roman scoffed. “That is the worst lie I’ve heard yet.”

“Actually, he’s telling the truth,” Janus declared.

...silence; the sequel…

“How the f-”

I will save you the boring details of the explanation that followed, but to put it in a nutshell: Virgil explained what actually happened + how his parents met and all that, and now everyone is just sitting in silence again.

“...so, you didn’t kiss?” Remus asked.

“I told you so!” Logan huffed.

“Not even after that? You guys are together like all the time,” Janus stated.

“No, we aren’t.”

“Just last night, while everyone was sitting around the campfire, you two sat off to the side on a log of your own.”

“Actually, Virgil was comforting me because... well, I was worried about what will happen to our friend group after the test.”

“Oh…”

“Well, I would hope we keep in touch.” Roman declared. “You guys are the best friends I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah. I can’t even imagine having to go back to my hometown. I mean, sure, I miss my family, but you guys… you’ve sort of become like my second family.”

Willow smiled. “Aw, Pat, that’s so sweet. I know I’ve got a whole pack to get back to, but I can’t imagine not spending every day with you guys, learning spells and trying to get out of trouble.”

Janus laughed. “I like how you said getting out of trouble instead of trying to avoid it.”

“Well, duh, we’re stupid reckless. Especially me!” Remus declared, causing everyone to laugh. “Seriously though, it won’t be that hard to keep in touch, I think. We can teleport to each other whenever we want.”

“True. plus we still have our book club meetings if you guys want to continue those.” Everleigh said.

“Of course! We have to keep those up.” Patton stated. “And we can even go on our own real-life adventures all together!”

“Yeah, we can form an adventurers party. We’ll call ourselves the Great Eight.”

“No offence Roman, but I don’t think that name works,” Janus said.

Roman shrugged. “We can choose a different one then. Hmm, the Magnificent Eight.”

“Does eight have to be in the name?” Everleigh asked.

“We could just go be, the Magnificent,” Patton suggested.

Virgil shook his head. “That sounds like it’s just one person. If we’re going with a team name, it needs to be something that defines us all.”

“The sides?” Remus proposed.

Janus tilted their head to the side. “How does that work?”

“I don’t know. It just felt familiar…”

“Maybe it’s something weird from a past life,” Roman suggested.

“What was I? Half of a coin?”

“Part of a person maybe? Like, a facet of someone’s personality,” Willow thought aloud. “Nah, that sounds totally crazy.”

“We are great, but it’s spelt G-R-8.” Patton proposed.

Willow frowned. “Why would we say we are G-R-ate? Like we’ve eaten already? Or we’ve... been... eaten?”

“No, like the number eight.”

“Eight days a week.” Everleigh put forth.

“There are only seven days of a week.” logan pointed out.

“The 8th wonder of the world!” Remus suggested.

Roman frowned. “What are the other seven wonders?”

“The octave…? Like a sequence of eight notes.”

“Did you just make a pun?” Patton grinned at Logan.

“...No.”

“Party of Eight?” Janus offered.

Virgil shrugged. “That seems a bit on the nose.”

“Family of Eight?” Patton recommended.

“Again, too direct.”

“The eight musketeers~!” Roman sang.

Logan frowned. “What’s a musketeer?”

“How about we don’t choose a name yet. The greatest heroes didn’t have any titles until they earned them.” Everleigh pointed out.

Everyone nodded in agreement. They didn’t need to give themselves a name. They would earn that later on. For now, they were eight friends, just having fun together. They didn’t have to think about their future plans just yet; they had to all get through the magic license test first anyway. In the end, they were just happy that they’d settled on one thing.

Staying together.

The very next moment, however, everything would change. They didn’t know it yet but their group would earn their name sooner than later. And it started when Remy and Emile walked into the room.

“Remy? What’s wrong?” Virgil asked, noting the man’s forlorn expression.

“Virgil…”

“Remy, you’re freaking me out. What happened?”

"...Thomas and Nico have been kidnapped."

---

A/N: thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this. I'll be posting two chapters a day until the full fic is up, so if you want to be tagged, you can just ask.

I'd love to hear what you thought about the chapter if you wouldn't mind commenting. Thanks again for reading! Here's hoping you have a magical day 💜

[butterflydreaming-writes-fic]

*sweats* I'm excited to offer a gift fic for @imthatpeculiarone in this round of the Profound Bond Gift Exchange: Reunion. 

Title: This Wheel's on Fire 

Word Count: 3,419 

Fluff, Rated Gen

An old Lincoln Continental with faded paint nearly hits Baby in the supermarket parking lot. Dean slams the brakes. His untasted coffee takes a dive, and Dean is quickly slapping take-out napkins from the glove box stash even as he slides into an open parking spot. He takes a minute of the limited time he has for this errand to get himself calmed down.

His temper flares up again when he sees that he’s parked next to the gold Continental. He doesn’t have time to move the Impala to another spot, so he slides over the bench seat. The Fiat on that side is crookedly parked but still leaves enough space for Dean to open the door more than four inches.

Phone in hand,  he scrolls through Jody’s text messages for the list. While he was driving to the store, she’s added more. He grabs a shopping cart on the way in, notes where the freezer with the ice is, and speeds up an aisle toward the bakery section, where he almost collides with a guy striding through the T-intersection.

“Shit! By bad,” Dean says, stopping short of running the startled man down.

The man squints. His blue eyes burn brighter. “That would be the second time today,” he accuses.

“What?” Dean asks.

The man rolls his eyes. “I don’t have time for this,” he gripes as he beelines for another section of the store.

Dean doesn’t have time either. The cake is ready when he gets to the bakery counter, but they’ve written “Congratulations Kelsy” instead of “Kelly.” To fix it, Dean would have to wait for the only person on staff with the rare skill of being able to write with decorator gel to get back from a break of unknown duration. He takes the cake as-is and a tube of Cake Mate. He rattles through the aisles for the rest of the supplies, eyes the coffee cart, but opts to get in the shortest of the long checkout lines instead.

The cranky guy gets in line behind him.

Their eyes meet and lock. For a second it looks like the guy might yield and move to another line, but as Dean is starting to unload his items onto the belt, the guys interrupts.

“Can I go ahead of you? I only have three things.”

“Sorry, buddy,” Dean says. “I’m on a clock.”

“I’m not your buddy,” Blue Eyes snipes. He eyes Dean’s purchases, expression a mix of irritation and confusion.

“Man, what is your issue with me?” Dean protests. “Look, I haven’t had my coffee yet, so maybe I’m missing something. But I’ve gotta finish shopping and be gone in sixty seconds, OK? There’s a pregnant lady waiting for her cake and baby shower games. I’ll be out of your life in five minutes.”

The man’s face suddenly brightens. “You’re going to a baby shower.” The brilliance of his smile is like white sparks. Dean feels his body respond to the warmth of that smile even though the sudden transformation from pissy to friendly throws him.

The checker has started scanning Dean’s purchases. He gives her the sticker with the barcode for the cake. “And six bags of ice,” he tells her.

Blue Eyes asks, “Is the party for your partner?”

That startles a laugh out of Dean. “No,” he answers, a drawn out negation. “My friend is hosting. The mom-to-be is from her church.” He adds, “I’m not seeing anyone currently.” He gives the guys his own friendly smile.

Dean’s lure lands, because the man extends a hand. “I’m Cas. By the way.”

“Dean.” They shake hands. Cas has a strong grip. In the fleeting skin to skin contact notes the slight callous and Cas’s long fingers. He has good hands.

“It's a happy occasion.” Cas sets down his purchases: a guinea pig plushie, pack of gold gift wrapping tissue, and a glossy white bag decorated with rainbows and unicorns. A tween must be having a birthday. 

Dean reaches for his wallet to pay. It’s not in his pocket. “Crap.” This grocery store isn’t set up to take pay apps.

Cas catches on. “Dean, I’ve got this,” he says. “It’s just,” he gestures at the bags, “diapers and candy bars.” 

“It’s a lot,” Dean objects. “I’ll Venmo you the money right now.”

“I don’t know Venmo,” Cas says. He tells the cashier, “I’ll pay for mine with his.” To Dean he says, “Let’s exchange phone numbers and we can settle up later when we’re not holding up a checkout line.”

“Are you sure?” Dean asks.

“I believe in trusting people.” Cas nearly bumps Dean’s hip putting his card into the payment terminal. When the path is clear, Dean pushes the shopping cart past the checkstand, but for a long moment Cas and Dean are crowded into each other’s personal space. 

“You said you haven’t had coffee yet. Can I buy you a cup?” Cas points to the coffee cart. “I know you’re short on time, but we can get each other’s contact info while they make our drinks.”

They both order drip coffee, black. The barista doesn’t have any brewed, and offers a choice between Americanos or a five minute wait.

“We can blame our delay on traffic,” Cas suggests.

They opt for the wait.

“OK, give me your number,” Dean says after they take a table in the tiny dining area. “If you want I can bring you cash after I drop off the party stuff.”

The cart is too big, so Dean takes out the bags and sets them on the table, leaving the cart parked out of the way. He’ll need it when he gets the ice on the way out. They start out chatting about movies and end up in an oddly intense discussion about social justice and the existence of a benevolent God in the minutes until the barista calls out that their coffees are ready.

Dean takes the lid off and slugs the coffee. He can’t help the sound that comes out of him, even though it is borderline inappropriate for a grocery store. “That’s scalding,” he says, eyes watering, “but so good.” Cas is smiling at him. “My friend woke me up with the shopping emergency,” Dean explains. He gestures to his coffee-splattered clothes. “And then some dick in a crappy Continental makes a illegal left on the way in here — “

“Excuse me ,” Cas interrupts with flashpoint ire. “That turn was both legal and clear , and if your boat hadn’t been taking up two lanes we would not have had that near miss!”

Dean takes a long swallow of hot coffee before he gets in a fight over Baby’s honor. He takes a mental half-step back as he realizes that Cas was the driver earlier. Dean has a bad temper, he knows it, and he’s learned to be better about it than he was in his twenties. Cas had saved his bacon with the money thing, and he had done it in spite of thinking Dean was in the wrong.

“Look. Thanks for the help,” he says. He’s sincere but somehow it comes out sounding aggressive. “I mean it. Thanks.” Without saying anything more, he grabs his bags and stalks out. He makes it all the way to Baby before he realizes. He gets the shopping bags in the trunk and goes back for the forgotten ice.

Cas is walking directly toward him. For a solid three strides across the asphalt it is a game of chicken. They stare daggers at each other, oblivious to any traffic around. Nearly simultaneously, they both realize that Cas is walking to his car, which is parked right next to the Impala, and Dean is walking back into the grocery store. They pass each other; the absence of acknowledgement is an acknowledgement in itself.

Dean makes it back into the store, loads up a shopping cart with the ice Cas paid for, and pushes the rattling cart out the door and across the lot to his car. The Continental is still in its spot. Cas hasn’t left yet; he is sitting in the driver seat. Dean can’t get into his driver’s seat until Cas leaves, so he loads the ice into the trunk slowly. He finishes his coffee.

When Cas still hasn’t left, Dean walks around the Lincoln’s large ass end and raps a knuckle on the back window to get Cas’s attention. He waits for Cas to roll down the window a few inches, before pitching his voice to him. “I can’t get in my car until you pull out,” he tells him.

“Your shopping cart is in the way. I’ve been waiting until it’s safe,” Cas informs him.

Dean just shakes his head and walks away, dragging his cart to the corral at the end of the parking row. He lobs his empty paper cup into the same trash can he dropped the mess from his spilled coffee into. He watches Cas back out of the space, smooth and easy, the engine of the Continental bumbling like a contented bee as he drives away. Dean jogs back to the Impala and slides into the driver seat before a car can take the newly empty spot, not that anything would fill the space like that late ‘70s Lincoln Continental Mark V. 

He gets a weird feeling looking at the empty space. It feels like a missed opportunity. He wishes he’d kept his mouth shut about the left turn. How many times had someone cut him off in traffic or made a bad lane change, and how many of those times mattered after? None. He and Cas had been having a good conversation, connecting.

Dean tunes the radio to the classic rock station, relaxes with the comfortable and familiar, and heads out. Kelly’s address is less than five minutes away, but too many of the residential streets dead end, and by the time he finds the right path through, it’s been a quarter hour. there is space for him in the driveway, though, and he pulls in so that he can unload the ice bags. He tosses one on his shoulder and knocks on the unfamiliar door.

* * *

“I should have handled that better,” Cas says to the stuffed animal, his last minute gift for Kelly’s baby-on-the-way. Her house is close by and he knows the way, so he finds himself thinking about Dean, feelings a mix of irritation and deep attraction. Dean, who he will probably never see again.

Because he knows that quite a few guests will be attending her party, he parks the Lincoln around the block to leave space along the street in front of her home. Kelly Kline-Rooney and her husband Jefferson have a newly remodeled, two-story Craftsman home with a large yard and back garden. Cas drew the plans for the remodel, and over some difficulty with the contractor, he and Kelly became friends.

He’s arrived early to help with set up, but Jody, the organizer — who he meets for the first time — shoos him out of the kitchen, so he gets to spend the time with Kelly. “How are you,” he asks her, “and how’s the baby?”

“I’m good,” she says, “we’re both good.” She heaves a little sigh and fidgets in her armchair. “Actually, I’m a little wound up. I haven’t finished painting the mural in the nursery, and all of a sudden I feel like there won’t be enough time to get anything finished before my baby gets here.” She smooths a hand over her belly. Her expression changes and she gasps, “Oh! Give me your hand.” She takes him by the wrist and pulls his hand toward her baby bump.

He feels her baby kick, all that life, gearing up to meet the world. Cas has to admit, because Kelly has enthusiastically roped him into the experience of her pregnancy, he has become more interested in the idea of having children. It has broadened his outlook.

“Kelly,” he finds himself saying, “I met someone today.”

Her eyes sparkle with interest. “It’s not even ten o’clock yet!” she laughs.

“I met him at the grocery store,” Cas says, shrugging. He smiles, thinking about Dean. His smile breaks as he recalls how it played out. “Unfortunately,” he confesses, “we didn’t part on good terms.”

“Cas,” Kelly mourns. “What happened? Tell me all about it?”

“This beautiful man,” he starts, thinking of Dean, his deep voice and the way he spoke with conviction and certainty. The way he made direct eye contact. The sexy freckles and the shape of his lips.

“Yes?” Kelly prompts when Cas gets lost in thought.

He laughs. “He is… very attractive,” Cas emphasizes. “You know I’m not overly focused on appearances, but Dean.” He shakes his head and looks heavenward. His eyes fall to his hands. He picks at his fingernails. “We almost got into a car accident, and that’s what we ended up fighting about. But before that, we got coffee together and talked, and we exchanged numbers.”

“Well that’s good!” Kelly encourages. “Something sparked between you. You can call him and smooth things out.”

“I wasn’t in the wrong,” Cas grumps.

“No, sweetie. I’m not saying you have to apologize or anything. But you can talk. You only just met. Sometimes first meetings don’t go all that well because of sparks.” She gives him a robust pat on the knee. “I’m rooting for you.” Inching forward in her chair to get up, she sighs, “I miss drinks with booze in them. How about we get some fancy lemonade and pretend it’s rosé?”

“I’ll get it,” Cas says so that Kelly doesn’t have to rise. He enters the kitchen with a hello for Jodi and gets introduced to Patience a moment before she leaves to answer the front door. Cas can hear her greeting the newcomer, and he stops mid-pour when he hears the deep timbre that answers. He finishes pouring Kelly’s sparkling pink lemonade before he musters the question for Jodi, “Is that Dean?”

“You know each other?” Jodi responds with cheerful curiosity.

Patience comes back in, holding up a grocery bag. “Dean came through. I’m going to help him bring in the bags of ice — “

“I can help with that,” Cas interrupts.

“Would you? Thanks!”

The look on Dean’s face when he sees Cas is… not what Cas expected. Dean’s eyes light up, and there is a genuine wonder in his surprise.

  * * *

Missouri’s granddaughter, Patience Turner, waves for Dean to come inside. “Hi Dean! Jody’s in the kitchen.”

“Hiya, Patience. Where can I put the ice? I’ve got five more bags like this.”

“There’s a big cooler out on the barbecue patio,” she says. “Through the living room. I’ll get you some help unloading the car.”

The living room already has a dozen people in it. Dean exchanges salutations with the people he knows and exudes charm at the rest. He shakes out the bag of ice into the cooler, which looks big enough, and scopes out the landing spot for the cake. There is a long table already stocked with plates and plastic cutlery; it has some gifts on it that will need to be moved to join the pile of gifts on the coffee table. Dean registers that one is a white gift bag with unicorns and rainbows on it, stuffed with gold tissue.

Patience is in the entry with Cas.

For a solid beat, Dean doesn’t know what to think, because something in his chest turns over like a big engine revving up. Once the wheels of his mind get going, he still continues standing there like an idiot. “Hey, Cas,” he says.

“Hello, Dean.”

Cas turns and goes out the door. When they reach the Impala, they are alone together, and it is awkward. It is definitely awkward. Cas stands by the trunk, expectantly.

“Here, let me get that,” Dean says. As he unlocks and lifts the heavy lid of the trunk, they are standing too close again. Dean should mind that Cas’s keeps getting into his personal space, but he doesn’t. He wants to get closer. This level of attraction makes him stupid, and he feels the urge to make an offhand comment to sabotage himself.

But then Cas says, “I’m sorry we parted on a bad note.”

“Yeah, um,” Dean answers, “me too.” He knows it’s not enough, not when he’s gotten a second chance. “I mean, I’m sorry, too.” It’s hard to believe it can be that simple, but Cas’s face lights up with hope, so maybe it is. 

“Between the two of us, I’m sure we can get all of this in one trip,” Cas says, and now they have to get moving. Apparently, he is also a pro at self-sabotage. It’s weirdly comforting.

They don’t get much of a chance to talk alone after that. Dean fixes the writing on Kelly’s cake and catches up with Jody, while Cas makes party talk with the people he knows. They chat, but not alone, not until Dean is volunteered to fire up the barbecue and Cas escapes outside with him.

It’s a gas barbecue, and clean. There isn’t much to do while it heats up. “How do you like your burger?” Dean asks, because food is an easy topic.

Cas shrugs. “Well done?”

Dean shakes his head. “A good cut of grass-fed beef, medium rare — that’s a burger to sink your teeth into. Juicy, fresh.”

“I don’t eat much red meat anymore,” Cas says. “I sneak a trip to White Castle once in a rare while.”

“White Castle? You’ve gotta let me make you a real burger, Cas.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Trust the Meat Man,” Dean says, pointing both thumbs back at himself.

Cas squints at him. “You’re very confident in your opinions,” he says.

Dean’s not sure how to take that. “Shouldn’t I be?”

“There’s more than one side to things,” Cas answers.

“A right side and a wrong side?” Dean teases.

“Dean.” Cas gives him an eye roll and a look, a real cut the crap look that delights Dean. He knows he likes arguing with someone who can hold his ground.

“You’re easy to get riled up, y’know that?”

“Am I.” Cas’s tone is flirty.

“Or maybe it’s just easy for me to get your wheels burning,” Dean flirts back.

“How, by disparaging my car?” Cas asks.

Dean blinks. “Your car?”

“You called it ‘crappy’.” He does the air quotes. “It’s not. There’s a lot to love about an old car. As I would think you would know, since you have one yourself.”

“Did you just compare my Impala to your land yacht? How does a guy like you even have a car like that?”

“I like it,” Cas defends.

“It’s still not a Chevy,” Dean says.

“I have never understood the Ford - Chevrolet rivalry,” Cas comments. “They’re not sports teams. It’s bizarre.” He’s serious.

“OK, OK,” Dean responds. “I’m not trying to be an asshole,” he says. He adds on, “It just comes easy to me.”

“So we should just kiss and make up?” Cas asks, making eye contact.

Dean licks his lips. Damn, if that isn’t an invitation.

They both glance at the sliding glass doors and the potential audience inside. “Ah, the garden shed,” Cas starts. “There might be some needed equipment.”

“Yeah, barbecue stuff or,” Dean agrees.

As soon as they are inside the painted shed, they are in each other’s personal space again. There is nothing accidental about the kiss that follows. Cas’s hands grip Dean at the hip. Dean puts his hands on Cas’s jaw. He holds his head and kisses him deeply, eager to feel him. He gets Cas’s lower lip between his own and gently lingers as they explore each other’s mouths.

They make out for as long as they think they can get away with. But the barbecue is unattended, and they know someone will wonder where they’ve disappeared to if they are gone too long.

Dean makes the moment they have last as long as he can. “I guess we should get back,” he murmurs, nuzzling at Cas’s neck.

“Mmh,” Cas makes a noise that could be agreement.

“What are you doing after the party?” Dean asks.

“Probably helping clean up,” answers Cas.

“Funny, me too. What about tomorrow?”

“Well, tomorrow I have to run some errands after work. Grocery store shopping.” Cas’s eyes are twinkling.

“Oh. I see. How about I do the shopping, and cook you a nice dinner? My place?”

“You’re on, Meat Man,” Cas agrees.

* * *

[cherryrogers]

bittersweet {2}

pairing: boxer!bucky x rogers!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of illness + death.

synopsis: The world of boxing wasn’t something you knew much about, but after a certain boxer with blue eyes and an irresistible charm wove his way into your heart, you soon learned that it went far deeper than red gloves and gold medals — you thought that the boxer happening to be your brother’s best friend was bad enough, but darker affairs had only yet to come to light.

a/n: this one is a long one folks,,, i just couldn’t help myself :)) also the italics at the start are a flashback, just in case anyone was confused - please enjoy !!

Series Masterlist

Three months.

It’d been three months since Sarah Rogers passed.

You hadn’t even noticed the date as you plodded downstairs, making your way into the kitchen and praying that your brother hadn’t eaten the last of the bread, eager to make yourself some toast for breakfast.

Steve had left early in the morning, heading off to his first training session at the local boxing gym. You offered to go with him, just for some moral support, but he insisted that you spent the morning in bed rather than sitting in a cold training room.

So, you spent the morning wrapped in a fluffy blanket, basking in the darkness of your bedroom. Tired eyes begging to flutter shut. A sad mind not allowing them to do so. The moment that you let exhaustion subdue you, all you could dream about was her. Laying weakly in the hospital bed, a thin, faded blue duvet hiding the equally thin legs she’d barely used for months. Her brows furrowed slightly in discomfort, lips chapped, bony fingers weakly clasped in her lap. You wanted to reach out to her, take her cold hand in yours and tell her she’d be okay. But the moment your fingertips were about to graze her skin, she’d disappear. Everything would disappear, and you’d be left completely alone.

It hurt less to just avoid sleep all together.

After finding the bag of bread, which had three slices left inside of it, you absentmindedly checked the expiration date on the small tag around the twisted plastic. Grocery shopping was something you and Steve were slowly getting better at doing without your mom around, but that didn’t mean expired, untouched food wasn’t still hiding in your kitchen.

The neutral expression on your face saddened quickly, eyeing the date of expiration written in bold, black letters.

OCTOBER 15TH.

You’d heard the phrase before, that time was only a construct. An age-old system to keep humanity in order. Sixty seconds in a minute, sixty minutes in an hour, twenty four hours in a day... You understood the math, but there was a lot of things about time that you didn’t understand. Like how months could pass in the blink of an eye, yet the hours within them felt like years. How you had spent almost eighteen years being raised by someone you loved so dearly, eighteen years of smiles and laughs and always having a shoulder to cry on, yet the three months you’d been without it all felt like an agonising eternity. How could the science of time explain that?

Suddenly, you’d lost your appetite.

Plopping yourself on a stool, you leaned your elbows against the hard marble countertop, letting your chin rest lazily in your palms. And again, time had lost its structure. For what you thought had been thirty seconds, your eyes stared aimlessly into space, not having anything particular on your mind. You wouldn’t allow yourself to wallow in sorrow. To let a frown sit on your lips for more than a moment. That was what would happen if you thought about her, so you didn’t.

The click of the front door unlocking brought you from your empty trance. Soon enough, your brother was in view, looking at you with curiosity. Dark circles were still evident under his eyes, not as bad as they used to be, however. For the first time in a while, his body didn’t look tensed up. The crease between his normally crinkled brows wasn’t so noticeable, and shade of his irises were... well, they were blue.

Not dark blue, or blueish grey, but a bright, sky-blue. Just like they used to be.

“How long have you been sitting there?” The boy asked, placing his gym bag on the counter.

You glanced up at the clock. Thirty minutes. Not thirty seconds, but thirty minutes you’d been perched on the stool, eyes fixed on nothing.

“Not long.” You responded, forcing the corner of your lips to curl into an unconvincing smile.

Steve only nodded, fiddling with his fingers subconsciously. “You know what day it is, kid?”

Your fake smile faded quickly as you lowered your gaze. “Yeah. It sorta still hasn’t, you know... set in yet. That she’s gone.”

“I know,” The blond rounded the counter, placing himself on the stool next to you. In the corner of your eye, you noticed the slight frown on his face. “You’ve just gotta give it time.”

Time. You weren’t sure what time meant to you anymore.

Sighing, you turned your head to the side, still not looking at him directly, but allowing yourself to see him better. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“For ruining your mood. You look sad; you didn’t look sad when you walked in here.”

“You haven’t made me sad, (Y/N). It just... it’s a hard day. But we’ll get through it together, alright?”

“Alright,” You agreed quietly, feeling better when you saw a soft smile reappear on his lips. “How was it, then? Your first training session?”

Steve’s smile widened, appreciating your interest in the morning he’d had. “Good. Really good, actually. Made a friend, in fact.”

You quirked a brow in response. “Really? Didn’t know you were capable of doing that, Steve.”

“You know, for a moment, I thought you were being nice to me.” He playfully glared at you, unable to pretend to stay mad when you giggled quietly.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” You nudged your knee against his. “You know I love you really.”

“Hm, love you too, kid.” Although his tone had a hint of sarcasm in it, you could tell by his eyes that his words were genuine.

“Anyway, carry on. Tell me about your friend.”

“Well, his name is Bucky-”

“Bucky? Never heard of anyone called Bucky before.”

“It’s a nickname - his real name’s James.”

“Oh, right. I guess Bucky’s a cooler name than James.”

“Great; now that’s established, will you let me talk?”

There was a different aura to Steve that day. Sure, like he said, it was a sad day. Except, it wasn’t like the sad days you’d had over the past three months. The boy wasn’t stuck in his pyjamas, living off black coffee and giving you a half-assed conversation like you’d reluctantly gotten used to. He was... your brother. The brother that you hadn’t truly talked to for a while. The brother that you needed then more than ever.

Maybe it was because of that new friend of his.

“Okay, I’m sorry. Go on, Stevie. What’s Bucky like then?”

* * *

“Steve?”

The blond’s head shot up at the sound of his name, raising a brow at you from across the kitchen counter. Elbows pressed against the marble, chin being held up by your palms. You began to feel a little déjà vu in your current position, fragments of a not-so-distant memory piecing together in your mind.

That was two years ago. Two years since your brother finally stopped pushing you away. Two years since you got your Steve back. You wondered if he even knew how important that day was to you.

“I was wondering...” You started, nervously tapping your shoe against the counter. “Could I come with you to the match tomorrow?”

You’d been putting the question off all week, worried that a slight waver in your tone or a glimmer in your eyes would give everything away. There was even a moment where you considered just not going. Maybe you were getting in over your head - going on a date with Bucky. It was only meant to be a one-off. One makeout. One bit of fun with the hot boxer at the gym.

However, he wasn’t just the hot boxer at the gym. He was Bucky Barnes. The person that other than you, Steve trusted with his life. Steve was a good man with good judgement. If Bucky wasn’t a genuine guy at heart, there was no way Steve would think so much of him. Perhaps the boxer wasn’t going to be just a one-off, perhaps he could be more than that. More than just your brother’s best friend.

All you knew was that the way he made you feel, was pretty amazing. If you felt like that all the time, you sure as hell would be the happiest woman alive. You wanted to feel like that again, and you weren’t sure that there were many guys who could do that for you, not the way that he did.

“You wanna go to Bucky’s match?”

“Well, I know how much boxing and Bucky mean to you - I think it’d be cool for me to get an insight into this side of your life.” You weren’t actually lying; Steve had always kept the boxing part of his life separate from you. He knew fighting could get brutal sometimes, and he dreaded every time you’d have to see him with a black eye and bruises scattering his skin.

Steve didn’t fight as often as Bucky did, but he liked the competition every once in a while. He always went to his best friend’s matches, though.

The blond nodded, retrieving a fork from the utensil drawer and placing it into the bowl of noodles he’d made for you. “Okay, sure. I’ll pick you up at six.”

“Okay.” You quietly sighed in relief as the bowl was placed in front you, and you quickly lifted some noodles into your mouth to hide the wide smile threatening to overcome your face.

The boy moved over to the sink, delving his hands into the soapy water and beginning to wash some dishes. A breathy laugh left his lips. “I just can’t believe you hadn’t met him until Monday. College must be keepin’ you busy.”

“Believe me, it is,” You slurped a noodle into your mouth, causing your brother to scrunch up his nose at you. After moving out and starting college, it was hard enough for you to hang out with Steve, nevermind meet any of his friends. “He seemed nice.”

Nice. It sure was nice when his hands were sliding under your skirt-

“Nice?” Steve snorted, making your knit your brows together in confusion.

“Yeah? Why’s that funny?”

“I mean, he’s not an asshole. Must’ve cleaned up his act since he knew he was talkin’ to my sister. Last time I tried to interrupt his training, he almost knocked my teeth out,” He chuckled at the memory. “He’s only nice when he wants something - usually if he’s tryin’ to chat up a girl.”

Restraining yourself from choking on your noodles, you tried to muster out a nonchalant reply. “You think he was chatting me up?”

“Kid, if I thought he was gonna try something with you, his match tomorrow would be the least of his worries.” Oh. “But he told me he’s takin’ a girl out after the match, so I don’t think that there’s anything to worry about.”

Shit. He told Steve he was going on a date? Was he trying to expose the both of you? Maybe he wasn’t as paranoid as you were about the whole ordeal, but you were confident that your paranoia was perfectly justified.

All in all, for the moment, everything was fine. You were going to the match, and you were going on a date with Bucky - Steve wasn’t suspicious. Everything was fine, and everything would be fine.

Hopefully, you could say the same after Friday.

* * *

There was a reason you tended not to hang out with Steve and Peggy.

Not that you didn’t like Peggy, as she was one of the kindest women you’d ever met, and she was perfect for your brother. However, trailing behind them like a lost puppy as you were guided through the gym wasn’t exactly ideal.

You’d never been to the main room before where the proper boxing ring was. It was a lot larger than you’d imagined, and the dimmed lights made it hard to actually, well, see anything.

Steve turned around, taking your forearm and pointing you over to a row of seats closest to the ring. “We’re gonna go find Bucky before the match starts, you wanna sit down?”

“You’re leaving me alone? Why can’t I come with you?” You asked, the numerous amount of strangers surrounding the room making you nervous.

“Someone has to make sure no one takes our seats, kid,” He shrugged, patting your shoulder gently. “We won’t be long.”

Before you could even begin to object, the couple walked away from you, weaving between bodies and eventually leaving your sight.

“Asshole.” You muttered to yourself, crossing your arms over your chest.

Sighing, you quickly paced over to the seats and plopped yourself down on the one furthest to the left, the cold plastic causing goosebumps on your bare thighs. You’d worn your best skirt that night, one that made you practically exert confidence. You were ready for the match to start, ready for it to finish, and super ready for your date with Bucky.

Well, that was if he won.

The thought alone of seeing him again in his boxing attire caused a blush to coat your cheeks - a white undershirt, grey shorts, sweaty, glowing skin, his biceps flexing as he threw a punch, back muscles tensed... fuck. If the night ended without you being able to kiss him again, you’d be pretty disappointed.

While in your daze, another figure took a seat next to you before giving your shoulder a nudge. The contact made you jump a little, but after turning to face whoever just invaded your personal space, you couldn’t help but let out a confused laugh.

Peter Quill had made himself comfortable next to you, hugging a box of popcorn against his stomach as he sent you cocky smile. Oh, lord.

You’d met the guy at a party in your freshman year of college, and you might’ve made out with him for a little while at said party. Easily the dumbest drunken idea you’d had, since the boy never left you alone after that night. However, you liked Peter. He was good company, sometimes. When he wasn’t making stupid jokes and generally be annoying, you were sort of glad you’d locked lips with him that night.

Not that you’d ever do it again. The thought alone made you grimace.

“Peter?” You raised a brow at him. “What’re you doing here?”

“I’m here to watch the match, obviously,” He replied in a ‘duh’ tone, causing you to glare at him. He extended the box of popcorn out to you, waving it in front of your face. “You want some?”

“I’m good, thanks,” You pushed it away, turning your body to face him better. “I didn’t know you were interested in boxing.”

The boy chuckled, flicking his fringe out of his face. “Well, I actually do a bit of boxing myself. I train here on the weekends.”

“Seriously?”

“Uh huh. How d’you think I got as ripped as I am, (Y/N)?”

“Clearly not by your diet,” You nodded your head towards the large box in his hands, causing him to mumble something about Fridays ‘being a cheat day’. “So, do you know my brother?”

“Your brother?” He questioned. “Who’s your broth-”

“Quill,” God, dammit. “You have five seconds to stop talking to my sister before I drag you outta that seat myself.”

A groan fell from your lips, looking up to see Steve with his eyes narrowed at the boy next to you.

“Steve, it’s alright. We go to college together.” You assured him, seeing Peter’s puzzled expression in the corner of your eye.

“Wait... you’re Steve Rogers’ sister?” His eyes darted between you and your brother before shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth. “Well, I’ll be damned. Never knew you were a Rogers, (Y/N).”

“It’s been longer than five seconds...”

“Alright, alright, I’ll leave.” Peter huffed, getting up from next to you and beginning to walk away. You mouthed an apology to him, feeling bad that your brother had scared him away, just like you were sixteen and back in high school.

Steve only sighed contently, sitting down where Peter previously was and motioning for Peggy to sit on the other side of him.

“You know, there was no need to do that.” You uttered, jutting out your bottom lip at Steve, who scoffed at your annoyed expression.

“You can do better than Quill, kid. Trust me.”

“Oh my god, I’ve been friends with him for almost a year. He’s harmless,” You elbowed him lightly, lowering your head and smirking as you mumbled your next words. “Joke’s on you, though; I already made out with him last year.”

Steve had a harsher glare on you than he had on Peter. “Are you serious right now?”

“Uh huh, and I’ll do it again if it irritates you that much.”

“(Y/N), I swear-”

“Shut it, the both of you,” Peggy warned, instantly making you and your brother zip your lips. If there was one thing you admired about Peggy, it was that she never took anyone’s shit, including yours and Steve’s childish squabbles. “The match is about to start.”

After sharing a mutual ‘I’m still annoyed with you but I’m sorry’ look with your brother, you both laid your eyes on the ring, which now had a bulky man standing in its centre. His voice in the microphone bounced off the walls of the room, and hearing him introduce Bucky to the ring sent a shiver down your spine.

Cheers and whistles erupted in the crowd, which you didn’t even realise was so large until you took a moment to analyse the filled seats as much as you could in the faded light. Steve shouted out a supportive ‘you’ve got this, Buck’ from next to you, and your heart skipped a little as your eyes landed on the boxer.

Those fire truck red gloves covered his hands again, squishing slightly as he punched them together while he psyched himself up. This time, however, his top half wasn’t hidden behind a piece of clothing, and dear god, that man had definitely been carved by the Lord himself.

The referee was introducing the opposing boxer, but you weren’t remotely focused on what he was saying as your eyes travelled the surface of Bucky’s torso, deciding that you never wanted to see him in a shirt again. Ever.

Eventually, you flicked your gaze up to his face, and heat pooled in your cheeks as you saw him looking right back at you, blue eyes twinkling under to harsh lights above the ring. A smirk played on his lips, probably having noticed you practically drooling over him. Before he was handed his mouth guard, Bucky sent you a wink, and you were incredibly grateful that your brother was too busy whispering in his girlfriend’s ear to notice - disgusted, but grateful.

The other boxer had a scowl on his face, glaring hardly at Bucky as they both got into position, ready to fight. Anticipation arised in your body, hoping that the following forty minutes would consist of Bucky kicking ass so that he could get you out of the club soon after.

And well? Your wish was happily granted.

You had to reapply your lip-gloss quickly towards the end of the match since you were constantly biting on your bottom lip as you watched Bucky in his element. Sure, he took a few hits here and there. But by the end of the match, you couldn’t shake the smile from your face as you watched Bucky raise his hands in victory, the crowd cheering even louder than at the beginning.

The sound of chatter filled the room as everyone started to get up from their seats, and as you pulled the strap of your small clutch over your shoulder, you felt a nudge on your upper arm.

“You want a ride home?” Steve asked, still noticeably annoyed from your last conversation, but there was a softness to his tone.

You shook your head as casually as possible. “Thanks, but I’m going out tonight. Nat’s gonna pick me up.”

Tell Natasha about the hot boxer you’d got yourself a date with, you noted to yourself, realising you hadn’t even mentioned him to your best friend yet because of the sheer paranoia that Steve might somehow hear it from her.

“Oh, alright,” He nodded. “Where you goin’?”

“Just a party.” You shrugged, earning yourself a sigh from your brother.

“Okay, well no alcohol, kid. It destroys your liver.”

Peggy backhanded his arm gently. “Steve, she’s not a child. Let her be.”

“Drinking age is twenty one, Peggy. The girl’s not drinking.”

“The girl has a name, you know,” You groaned, crossing your arms. “I won’t drink, alright? Now get outta here - Natasha will be here soon.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve took a step towards you and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, squeezing you lightly. “Be careful, and text me when you’re home.”

“Will do, Stevie.”

* * *

“(Y/N)?”

A voice calling your name startled you as you turned around, clutching a hand to your chest. Breathing out in relief, you couldn’t help but curl your lips at the sight of Bucky. While he was no longer shirtless, the look he was styling now was one you’d also love to have him never change out of. Ever.

Bucky was freshly showered, making his hair look softer, and the beads of sweat that previously formed on his hairline had been cleansed away. The dark blue shirt he wore fitted perfectly on his figure, tucked neatly into a pair of black jeans, while a black quilted jacket sat on his shoulders, pulling the look together.

“James,” You greeted him, pushing yourself off the wall of the corridor. “Congratulations on your win.”

“Thanks, gorgeous,” He grinned, stepping towards you and putting a hand on the small of your back, guiding you through the doors of the gym out into the parking lot. “Would’ve been real disappointing if I lost.”

“Yeah, it would’ve,” You nodded, leaning into his arm as the cold air breezed past your skin. “Because I’ve been looking forward to this date, you know — are you gonna tell me what we’re doing?”

“Aw, how sweet.” He smirked, earning an eye roll from you. The boxer lead you over to his car, where he opened up the passenger door for you, allowing you to slide into the comfortable leather seat as he whipped around to the driver’s side.

“And to answer your question...” Bucky shuffled in his seat before starting up his car. “Well, have you ever been to the Fall Carnival?”

Memories of a time far, far back resurfaced in your mind. Crinkled leaves. Loud music. The sweet scent of pumpkin spice. “When Steve and I were kids, our mom used to take us every year. Even if it was pouring with rain, that woman would power through and take us there anyway - even when all the rides were closed, she’d take us just so we could each win one of those massive teddy bears on one of the stalls.”

You let out a laugh, fondly reminiscing on the tradition that had slipped your memory until now.

Bucky smiled empathetically, having knowing what happened to your mom after being Steve’s rock since he joined the boxing club. “Sounds like it was real fun.”

“It was,” You nodded, playing with the silver bracelet on your wrist absentmindedly. “As we got older, though, Steve and I would just go by ourselves. We thought she just didn’t want to parade around a carnival with two teenagers anymore, but... well, that’s when she started getting sick.”

God. This was meant to be your first date with Bucky, and you were already spilling your heart out to him. Not that you didn’t like talking about your mom, but you didn’t want to put a damper on the mood of your date.

“Steve talked about her a lot,” Bucky spoke up, causing your gaze to flick up to him. “Your mom... she sounded like a great woman. Wish I could’ve met her.”

“I think she would’ve liked you, Bucky.”

Bucky. You realised that you’d just referred to him by his nickname, but it just felt right in that moment. To Steve, the guy who brought him out of his funk and helped him become the man he is, was Bucky. Not James, but Bucky.

“So,” You chuckled, noticing the soft smile that had formed on Bucky’s lips at your words, but deciding to end the conversation about your mom on a positive note. “You gonna win me some stuffed animals tonight?”

And his signature smirk had crept its way back into his face. “Only if you win me some too. I’ve already had one win tonight, Rogers. S’only fair to balance it out.”

“Okay, fair enough.” You leaned back in the car seat as Bucky pulled the vehicle out of the parking space.

It didn’t take long to drive to the carnival, and the car ride was rather pleasant. There wasn’t a lot of conversation, but as you hummed along to the melodies playing from the radio and Bucky tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, conversation wasn’t really needed.

After arriving at the enterance of the carnival, Bucky enveloped your hand in his as you walked through the different rides and colorful stalls, eyeing the prizes at each one of them so you knew which games were worth playing. Shrill screams and hearty laughter rang all around you, coming from the families and young couples that seemed to be populating the area. The smell of pumpkin spice soon entered your nose, and it immediately brought a strong wave of nostalgia with it.

A light squeeze on your hand brought your attention back to Bucky, who was almost beaming down at you.

“So, I was thinking,” He started, pulling a curious expression onto your face. “Maybe we could engage in a little... friendly competition.”

You took your bottom lip between your teeth, a little confused, but intrigued. “And what does this competition entail, James?”

“We, are gonna go to every stall here and each play a round at the games. By the end, whoever can collect the most prizes for the other person wins.”

“Wins what, exactly?” You challenged.

“Anything they want,” The boxer smirked. “I’ll let you know when I win.”

With a scoff, you yanked your hand from his grasp and placed both of them on your hips, a confident expression plastered on your face. “Bold of you to assume that you’re gonna win.”

“Bold of you to assume I ever lose, (Y/N).”

“Alright, you’re on.” You smiled, turning your back to him as your eyes darted around the grand selection of games for you to play against Bucky. Skee-ball, the ring toss, whac-a-mole... all games you’d destroyed Steve at as a kid.

This was going to be fun.

And so, the competition began. Grasping onto Bucky’s hand, you proceeded to guide him all through the carnival, determined to make his boxing win the only win he got that night.

You started off on a bit of a winning streak, defeating Bucky at the balloon shooting game and other stalls that required patience and mental strategy. A smug grin sat on your lips as you passed the boxer a large, pink teddy bear with a white bow around its neck, which he took reluctantly. Confidence was surging through you at that point, however, it was soon about to be crushed as you got round to the physical games. Not that you weren’t considerably strong, but Bucky was a boxer. He was definitely at an unfair advantage.

By the time you got to the high-striker, the final game, you were tied. Bucky smiled fondly as you clutched the abnormally large hammer in your hands, eyes narrowed in focus, before you struck it down on the lever as hard as you could. The puck shot up to around the half way point, before falling back down with a clink. During Bucky’s turn, however, the guy hit the lever with a lot more force, causing the puck to spring up and trigger the bell at the top to ring, indicating his success.

Now it was his turn to smile cockily at you, handing you an enormous, soft stuffed penguin as you attempted to bite back a grin.

“What did I tell you, babydoll? I never lose.”

“Alright, James. You win,” You sighed, unable to stop your smile widening. The both of you must’ve looked ridiculous - at least ten stuffed animals, large and small, were tucked under each of your arms. The abundance of fluff and warmth was helpful in keeping the cold away from your body, but you needed to put the damn things down. “How about we put the stuffed animals in your car, and then you can tell me what you want your final prize of the night to be?”

The boxer nodded slowly, and the two of you took a stroll back to the car until you reached your destination, him being immodestly proud of his win against you. Bucky helped to take all of the stuffed animals out of your arms and did his best to fit them all in the trunk, along with the many you won for him.

After shutting the trunk, Bucky turned to you, lips curling up as his eyes swept over your face.

“Can I tell you somethin’, Rogers?”

You nodded, feeling your heart rate speed up a little from the question.

“Steve... he’s my best friend. You told me the other day that you didn’t like hidin’ stuff from him, and trust me, I don’t either. I was thinkin’ that this wasn’t such a good idea, takin’ you out.”

The boxer saw a glint of worry appear in your eyes at his words, and quickly reached forward to grab your hands in his.

“But, I’ve been trying to find a flaw in you, (Y/N). Anything that might be a sign we shouldn’t be doing this. And... and I can’t. Every time you told me somethin’ about yourself tonight, I only wanted to find out more about you. Not Steve’s younger sister, but you, (Y/N) - I wanna know you more.”

God, he looked so perfect under the moonlight. Baby blue’s trained only on you, soft lips parted slightly, a light stubble on his jaw that you wanted to trace your thumb across. A few small cuts and bruises on his face from the fight, barely beginning to heal, but not taking away any of his beauty in the slightest.

You wanted to know him too. Not just Steve’s best friend, but him, James Buchanan Barnes.

“I guess I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better, James,” You took a step forward, pressing your hands against his chest. “Is this your way of asking for a second date?”

“Maybe,” Bucky teased, snaking his arms around your waist. His eyes lowered to your glossy lips, subconsciously leaning towards you as he inhaled a nervous breath. “Is is alright if I...”

His voice trailed off when his lips began to brush against yours, and within a second, he was kissing you.

The kiss was different to your first. It wasn’t hungry, or fuelled by lust. But gentle, meaningful. Signifying the start of something you weren’t at all expecting, but eager and excited to pursue.

The moment was one of those moments, where time didn’t follow its usual rules. Because you swore that when your lips met his, time completely stopped. The world around had paused, and all that was left to play out was the intimate moment that you and Bucky were sharing.

Reluctantly, you pulled back, your nose just grazing his. Time proceeded to continue, the blaring music from the carnival able to be heard again, the coolness of the air hitting you once more.

“Your prize, Bucky,” You said quietly, drawing circles on his chest over the soft material of his shirt. “You still haven’t told me what you want for your win.”

Chuckling, the boxer simply tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s okay, gorgeous. I think I just got my prize.”

Well, fuck. That one made your heart swell.

Your mind wandered back to Steve. Could there be any way he’d be fine with you and Bucky? Would there be any sort of outcome where he didn’t end up hating you?

The answers to those questions weren’t clear, but one thing was - you wanted to take your chances with Bucky Barnes, because when he kissed you, it suddenly wasn’t about your brother anymore. It didn’t matter if it was wrong, on your part or Bucky’s. All that mattered was that this was what you wanted.

And if Steve didn’t like that? Well, that was a bridge to cross when you got to it.

It was bittersweet, really. On one hand, your heart ached from lying to the blond you’d been through hell and back with. But on the other, your heart was positively melting at his best friend’s charm.

Bittersweet. Yes, that was the perfect word to describe it.

[give-me-back-my-rhodey]

Long Have I Waited for You- AUgust Day 23

Title: Long Have I Waited for You

Author: Purple_ducky00

Rating: M

Warnings: Violence, torture, Howard Stark’s A+ Parenting, Child Abuse

Relationships: pre-Tony/Bucky

Squares filled: Y4: Cold for the @buckybarnesbingo​ 

Link: Read on AO3

Summary: Howard agrees that if he has a son, he would give Bucky said son's hand in marriage. Now, 80 years later, will Bucky hold up his end of the deal?

+++++++++++++

“That is not the fucking way to do it!” Bucky screams. “Are you a genius or an idiot, Stark?”

 Howard Stark yells back at him. Steve just wants to be far away from here. Bucky and Howard always clash, and they always seem to be in an argument. And it’s always up to Steve to stop it. Lucky him. “Come on guys. It’s just… not that big of a deal!”

 “Not that big of a deal, Stevie? Do you know what he’s trying to do? Tell me, Stark, did you have a mother? Or sisters? Don’t you know how to treat a lady?”

 “I’ve treated plenty of women, thank you very much!” Howard shoots back. “Never heard a single complaint. But if I’m wrong, I’d hate to see how you treat women. Probably is what makes them think they can take over everything now. Hell, if I had a daughter, you’d be the last person I’d allow to marry her.”

 Bucky shoots back. “No problem. But… I claim the right to marry your son, you asshole!”

Howard opens his mouth to reply, then realizes what Bucky said. Steve gasps. He knew about Bucky, but it’s a hush-hush subject. No one talks about it. Bucky could face some serious consequences if word got out. Steve holds his breath, seeing how Howard will respond. Howard smirks. “Deal. If we both live through this, and I happen to get married and have a son, you can marry him.”

 “Deal.” Bucky shakes his hand. Steve sags in relief.

 After Howard retires for the night, Bucky shakes his head and scoffs. “Th’ idiot. What’s he gonna do, just marry my old ass off to his teenage son? Not gonna happen.”

 “Leave it, Buck. Just be happy that he didn’t decide to tell the whole camp about you.” Steve shoves him. “That was sure a foolhardy thing to say, jerk.”

 “Shaddup punk. I know, but he just gets me so heated sometimes.” Bucky rubs the back of his neck.

 Steve stands. “Whatever, Buck. I’m gonna go to bed now. We got an early day tomorrow.”

 He pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind, but every once in a while, they creep back up. He sometimes wonders what Howard’s son would look like. He often wished that Howard were much older than he. Bucky would never actually marry a kid that’s only twenty when he’s sixty-five. It’s not right, but somehow is more acceptable than a man marrying a man.

++++++

Bucky had scoffed at Howard’s deal, but he can’t get the thought out of his head. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be able to marry whomever you love with no backlash? That would be a perfect world, and Bucky knows this world is far from perfect.

 His last thought as he fell down the ravine was well, I guess Howard can be glad I won’t marry his son.

 ++++++

Tony Stark does not have a happy childhood. His mother loves him, but she travels far too often to be close to him.  His father is either too busy or too drunk to deal with him. When Howard does give him the time of day, it’s to tell him how worthless and stupid he is.

 “Too bad Barnes died in the war,” Howard would often say, “had he lived, I’d be ok with holding up my end of the bargain. Little piece of shit, you never did anything for me. You’d be a great househusband or whatever Barnes would do for you.”

 Once Tony asked what he was talking about. It earned him a slap across the face and a growled reply. “He claimed the right to marry my son. I agreed because I never thought I’d have a child. Children are worthless, and I don’t know why we didn’t give you up for adoption immediately.”

 He had heard this spiel many times over and had become numb to the insults. Therefore, he walked away with a silver lining that someone did, in fact, once want him. Tony went to bed happy that night, despite his stinging face.

 ++++++++

Tony is sixteen when he catches a man lurking around their house. Dressed in bondage-type gear, wearing a mask over the lower half of his face, and carrying many weapons, Tony isn’t sure what he is, except that he’s up to no good. At least, Tony’s almost positive that he saw this. Being hopped up on some kind of drug probably didn’t help his case.

 In retrospect, Tony knows he was stupid, but he walks up to the man and says, “Can I help you?”

 The man’s grey eyes widen. He quickly creates a diversion and disappears quickly. Tony blinks, wondering if this was all in his head. When he tells Jarvis, the man just pats his head and tells him they will better the security. Tony gets the feeling that the older man doesn’t believe him. He’s not quite sure he believes himself either. So, he shrugs and pushes the event to the back of his brain.

 ++++++

Stark is not at the house. The only beings there are the staff and Stark’s son. Son. Winter thinks. Howard Stark’s son… A memory flashes. “I’ve treated plenty of women, thank you very much!” Howard shoots back. “Never heard a single complaint. But if I’m wrong, I’d hate to see how you treat women. Probably is what makes them think they can take over everything now. Hell, if I had a daughter, you’d be the last person I’d allow to marry her.”         Bucky shoots back. “No problem. But… I claim the right to marry your son, you asshole!”             Howard opens his mouth to reply, then realizes what Bucky said. Steve gasps. He smirks. “Deal. If we both live through this, and I happen to get married and have a son, you can marry him.” Howard’s son. His groom. They should be married. Winter knows he must leave HYDRA.

 The boy steps out of the house, clearly under the influence. Stumbling over towards Winter’s direction, he slurs, “Caaan I hellllllllll’ you?”

 Realizing that the boy sees him, Winter throws a flash grenade to the left. The boy looks over, and Winter hides. No point in revealing himself now. He reports back to his handler, telling him that Howard Stark was not home. Winter begins making plans to defect then and there.

 He begins stashing a few supplies here and there, times when he wouldn’t be missed. He follows all orders without fail, not allowing any room for deviance. In about ten months, he believes he is ready to leave. He chooses to leave late one night. Grabbing his supplies, he silently sneaks through the base, avoiding all agents. Winter is almost free when zzzt electricity crackles against his back. An agent hits him with a taser. Winter flails and falls, blacking out. He wakes in the chair.

 “Kept him out of conditioning too long.” His head handler shakes his head, hand on his chin.

 There’s another man there today – he’s tall and bald with a large beard. He crosses his arms and laughs. “He’s pretty stupid if he thinks he can just leave. Make sure he’s properly conditioned and wiped. I have a job for him fairly soon. This will suit you as well, Alex.”

Alex, his head handler, nods. “Of course. I’d be happy to hear it. Wipe him several times, just in case. We may need to revert to original conditioning.”

NO! Winter wants to yell. He remembers original conditioning. He was in pain for too long. He can’t take it again. He can’t… He won’t… A technician gives him the bite guard. He opens his mouth automatically. Winter’s chair tilts back, and the headset comes down over his skull. With the motion of his handler’s hand, a technician flips the switch and the pain starts. Winter knows he shouldn’t, but he screams. He screams over and over again, but they won’t stop. They won’t stop until he forgets. Until he forgets everything except his training. Why can’t he just forget?

 Winter knows pain. Pain is his only friend. No one else is there with him nearly as much as pain. Pain is with him every day now. It will be there until he gives up. Two months of original conditioning, and he gives up. He can’t take any more. Winter knows that does not make him a perfect Asset, but he can take no more. Now, he doesn’t know why they gave him this pain, and he doesn’t want to. All it will do is bring him more. Handler is happy. He freezes Winter quickly, then thaws him quickly. As Winter recovers, a lesser handler says his mission words and tells him where to go.

 They give him a pistol and a motorcycle. “Make it look like an accident and steal the contents of the trunk,” they say. “Bring back all evidence.”

 Winter tails the car, causes it to crash. The face of the man is strangely familiar, and he calls him “Sergeant Barnes”. Winter kills him and the woman. He pulls the bags out of the trunk and notices a roadside camera. He shoots the glass and steals the tape. Head Handler is very happy with the results. He rewards Winter with an easy freezing. To Winter, this is paradise.

 He doesn’t remember why he tried to leave, but he remembers the pain. Winter does not deviate from his handlers’ instructions again… until 2014. He knows the man. Even though the head handler wiped him, he knows the man on the bridge. The man on the bridge will not fight him. It’s… St… Stevie. Stevie calls him Bucky… Is he Bucky? Winter doesn’t know.

 As the hellicarriers go down, Winter pulls Stevie out of the water. He needs to find out about himself before he can find Stevie again. He needs to find out who he is.

 +++++

Tony is now thirty-eight when Steve comes home from the hospital. “Bucky… he’s alive.” He gasps to Tony.

Bucky? Alive? Tony thinks. I wonder… No, he stops the thought right there. “How is he still alive?”

 “HYDRA had him. They must have given him a knock-off serum because he’s still alive today. I can imagine what he went through. I know Bucky would never join HYDRA willingly. When I first met him, he didn’t know who I was. He seemed genuinely confused. Nat gave me the file on him, and I don’t even want to read it. I’ll probably throw up. But he saved me from the helicarrier and disappeared.”

 Tony spins around to a screen. “I can have J scan all cameras and monitors everywhere. We can find him in no time.”

 “Before you decide to help me, there’s something I have to tell you first.” Steve looks down at his hands. “Your parents’ death wasn’t an accident.”

 Tony sinks to a chair. “And it was Barnes?”

 “All points seem to that, but I don’t know for sure.” Steve nods unhappily.

 Tony tries to wrap the whole thing around his head. “You’re going to have to give me time to process.” He tells Steve. “I’m sorry, but I spent the last however many years – since I was seventeen – that Dad was drunk and just spun out. Give me some time, and then I’ll help you.”

 Dad’s probably laughing in his grave right now. Tony thinks ruefully. I wouldn’t put it past him to somehow know that Barnes would kill him. Now, if I want to complete the deal, I’ll have to marry my parents’ murderer. It’s really just his luck.

 ++++++

Winter, no Bucky, spends time figuring out his life. He knows any HYDRA agent can just say those words, and he’ll be under conditioning again. Bucky knows he needs to find a place to go for safety, but it’s a Stark Tower.

 Stark Tower, where Stevie is, where his arranged husband is. Where he has to face all of his memories at once. Figuring his pain is worse than the alternative, Bucky makes his way to Stark Tower. He finds a way in, but he is met with an Iron Man suit stopping him from going any further.

 “Stop right there.” The modulated voice says.

 Bucky’s eyes grow wide. “Husband…” He blurts without thinking.

 “Oh, thank fuck, you remember.” The voice in the suit says. “Dear old dad will be rolling over in his grave right now. Welcome to my humble abode.”

 “I need help.” Bucky says.

 “Come on in. We can figure it out.” Tony Stark stops out of his suit. Bucky can admire his arranged husband’s hindquarters.  Howard was a dick, but his son shows potential in more ways than one. Maybe they can make that arrangement work after all.

[insideoutstory]

Inside Out → Chapter Fifteen

summary: The party goes looking for the gate. But things don’t go the way they’d hoped. word count: 6k warnings: N/A

[ masterlist ]   [ FF.net ]

If Christine lived through this, she was seriously considering trying out for cross country. She’d gotten enough training in, that was for sure, with all the aimless wandering around Hawkins. She was so tired, she wasn’t even sure if she was tired anymore. 

After their doomsday meeting, the party had split up to change and grab supplies. What the boys had told their mothers, she had no idea. If they’d even told them anything before sneaking out. Christine had taken the Dustin-route of preparation. She just filled a backpack with a few water bottles and granola bars in case they needed to hike through dinner. Also a hammer from the garage, just in case. She’d changed into pants, made sure to wear her boots this time instead of her tennis shoes, and put on a warmer sweatshirt. Despite her best efforts, Eleven still refused to change out of her pretty pink dress. 

Once they’d reconvened, they set out for Mirkwood again. They’d learned their lesson from last time. Not enough not to go, of course, but enough to go without their bikes. It would take them longer to get there, but save them time in the long run. They’d spent so much energy slipping and sliding on their last hike, untangling their wheels and handlebars from brambles. And it wasn’t like they could ride their bikes through the trees anyway.  

“Besides,” Dustin had pointed out at Lucas’s impatient groaning, “we’re going to find an interdimensional portal with massive electromagnetic force. Bikes are metal, dude. Get them close enough to a magnetic wormhole and—whoosh! Bye-bye bicycle.” 

“Just shut the hell up and walk,” Lucas had grumbled. 

The two of them had taken the lead as navigators. They kept their compasses out in front of them, cross checking occasionally to make sure they were still heading in the correct direction. Mike and Eleven trailed behind them, and Christine stayed at the back, unable to contribute much after her magnet presentation. 

There was less chit chat today than there had been the first time around. Christine couldn’t be sure if that was because everyone was more tired or more nervous. She certainly was the latter. It was a supposed portal to another dimension—a realm of monsters and death for crying out loud. And they were armed with, what? A super-powered twelve-year-old and a hammer? She was sincerely regretting not grabbing her father’s shotgun instead. 

Christine wasn’t sure where they were headed, or what they’d actually be able to do when they got there. For now, the only thing keeping her sane was doing a head count every sixty seconds. 

One kid, two kids, three kids, four kids. One, two, three, four. One, two, three four. 

From Mirkwood, they trekked through the woods, drifting deeper than they had last time. They were all on high alert, waiting for another twig to snap, for the low, growling, clicking sound to advance on them from the shadows of the trees. But nothing happened. 

The trees stayed close together, until the five of them were spilling out onto a set of train tracks that wound through the forest. Christine had been dead set against it. She was not going to let them get distracted on the tracks and send five more bodies to the Hawkins Mortuary. But Dustin had assured her that the Hawkins Railway had been shut since for about fifty years. There hadn’t been a train on these tracks since FDR was president. After several minutes of the boys calling her chicken, Christine had relented. Only because it was easier to walk on the tracks than through thorn bushes. 

Christine had actively not worn a watch. She did not want to look down and despair about how long they’d walked without finding anything. She did not want to look down and realize it had been twenty minutes when it felt like four hours. And telling the boys it was getting late was not going to make them turn around. So what was the point? 

At some point, after what felt like a very long time, Eleven stopped walking. 

“Hey,” Christine said, suddenly on high alert. “You okay, El?” 

Eleven shook her head, but Mike sighed beside her. “She said she’s tired.” 

“Yeah, join the club.” 

Christine huffed, watching Dustin and Lucas’s backs grow smaller as they forged ahead. There was no stopping them. That was for sure. So she looked down on Eleven with a weary smile. 

“You want a piggyback ride?” 

“A…what?” 

“Come on.” She passed her backpack to Mike. Then she kneeled down, helping Eleven put her arms around her neck and hoisting her up onto her back. “Oof! Okay. See? I can’t carry the magnetic force field of the Earth, but I can carry you.” 

Mike snorted next to her. “Wow. That was bad.” 

“Thanks, Mike. I appreciate it.” 

They started off down the tracks again. Every now and then, Christine had to hoist Eleven a little higher, making her squeal. Christine would ask if she was alright. Eleven would sniffle, wipe her face, and nod into her shoulder. It was so cold, Christine thought nothing of it. 

“Hey, Chrissy?” Mike asked as they walked on. “Thanks for coming with us.” 

“Of course. Mike, I know how important this is. And I wouldn’t want you guys out here alone.” 

He nodded, his eyes trained on the ground. “That was pretty cool what you did before with the magnet. It really helped that you knew that.” 

“I guess,” said Christine. “But Dustin knew what he was talking about. I’m sure he would have gotten you guys there eventually.” 

“Maybe. But you also helped hide Eleven, and made us all listen when we didn’t believe you about her powers. So thanks.” 

“Um…you’re welcome,” she said, unable to mask her surprise. “Thanks for…saying thanks, I guess.” 

Mike nodded at the dirt. It looked like he still had more to say, but being genuine was apparently very hard for him. Christine did her best not to push him. 

“I’m sorry, too. I know that I keep calling you annoying, and telling you that we don’t need your help. But the truth is…it’s kind of nice to have someone to talk to about crazy stuff like this. You know, someone older. Someone outside of the party.” 

“Ouch,” Christine said with a smirk. “We’re hunting down a portal to another dimension and I’m still not part of the party?” 

That made him smile. 

“We’ll discuss it. I’ll let you know when the party decides.” 

“No rush. We’re just trying to travel out of the earthly plane and into the shadow realm to rescue Will from the Demogorgon. Just let me know by Sunday so I can be ready for the next campaign.” 

“Remember when you first moved here?” he asked. “You were helping Nancy with some dumb English project while Lucas, Will and I were planning in the basement.” 

“Ugh, I do remember that project. It was on Huckleberry Finn. I hated that book. I was so glad when you guys started screaming and broke up our study session.” 

“We weren’t screaming. It was a battle cry. We were going to war to save the Paakliah people from the wrath of their warlock overlord.” 

“Right,” said Christine, rolling her eyes. “Well from upstairs it just sounded like a bunch of screaming. Nancy dropped everything because she thought one of you had broken a leg or something.” 

“You guys were pretty cool about it,” Mike said appreciatively. “I really thought Nancy was gonna kick us out to the backyard, but you just picked up a tube of wrapping paper and started sword fighting with Lucas. He had no idea what to do. It was awesome!” 

“Well, you can’t wage a war without a pair of warlock bodyguards to duel. So you’re welcome. And—God, Nancy was mortified at first. She really thought I was gonna take one look at you guys and bolt, make her do the rest of the project by herself. That feels like so long ago.” 

Christine chuckled at the memory. They all seemed too small, even her and Nancy. She’d still been in middle school then, the boys in elementary school. All of them had been wild and energetic, for the most part carefree. She shuddered to think how she’d swapped a tube of wrapping paper for a hammer. 

“Are you still not talking to Nancy?” 

“Yeah. I mean—…” The question took her off guard, and she glared at Mike affronted. “No. I’m…Why do you know that I’m not talking to Nancy?” 

“I heard her talking to my mom about it,” he said with a shrug. “She said you guys had a fight and she was mad at you, and then she did something stupid so you were even more mad at her. She was crying and everything. She told Mom she was really scared, and then that you guys were blaming each other for Barb going missing.” 

“Great. Well…just do me a favor and unhear all of that, okay?” 

“It’s stupid,” he said, glaring at her. “You know it’s not Nancy’s fault if Barb’s gone. And it’s not yours either. If she’s gone like Will is, then we can get her back.” 

“It’s not that simple, Mike,” Christine groaned. “Nancy and I have both done a lot of stupid stuff lately.” 

“Because you both like Steve Harrington?” 

“Just shut up and walk, Mike.” 

“Fine. But it’s dumb that you guys are fighting over some lame douchebag. There’s way more important things happening. Like, life or death things. And Nancy really misses you. Plus, she’s way less annoying when you’re being friends. Fighting’s making her cranky.” 

He hiked Christine’s backpack up onto his shoulders and marched ahead. Christine tried to grumble her curse words quiet enough that Eleven couldn’t hear, and stomped on after him. 

The train tracks curved to brush along the edge of the woods, and the five of them walked out into a clearing. It was some kind of junk yard. Abandoned cars and rusty barrels were strewn across the field. Even an old transport bus sat on the edge of the hill. It would have been a killer place for parties, but there wasn’t a single red Solo cup on the ground. They must have been too far out for even rebellious teens to walk. 

Dustin came to a stop in front of the group, looking around in confusion. “Oh, no.” 

“Oh no?” Lucas repeated in annoyance. “What’s oh no?” 

“We’re headed back home.” 

“What?!” 

“Are you sure?” asked Mike. 

“Yeah, I’m sure. Setting sun right there. We looped back around.” 

“Oh, for the love of God,” Christine sighed. She set Eleven back on the ground, stretching her aching arms. “It’s the sun, Dustin! How are we only noticing this now?” 

“Well it’s darker in the woods! If it’s so obvious, why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Because I’ve been carrying Eleven, and you two idiots said you had navigation under control!” 

“Hey, don’t look at me,” snapped Lucas. 

“What?” Dustin demanded. “Why is this all on me?” 

“Because you’re the compass genius!” 

Dustin sighed, spinning on the spot and looking at his compass again. “What do yours say?” 

“North,” Lucas and Mike replied in unison. 

“This makes no damn sense,” Dustin groaned. “Any ideas, Chrissy?” 

He passed off the compass, allowing her to look at it as well. But the needle was pointing the way they’d been headed. Without seeing the magnetic field, there was no way to tell where the interference was coming from. 

“I don’t know,” she said, spinning it in her hands. “I mean, it could be a third magnet? Layering three magnetic fields? But we would’ve had to walk a perfect circle right around it.” 

“So it’s in the woods?” Lucas asked. 

“Maybe. Still, for the needle to point at neither the whole time…that wouldn’t happen if they were two fixed points.” 

“So maybe the gate moves?” Mike suggested. 

“I don’t think so,” said Dustin. “It’s a tear in time and space. Not exactly portable.” 

“Okay, so…maybe something here is screwing with the compasses. You know, that’s how we ended up in the junk yard.” 

“It’s not gonna be just a bad car battery,” said Christine. “To cause miles of interference like that, it’d have to be like a super magnet.” 

“It’s not a magnet.” 

Lucas was glaring back at the path. Eleven was still standing exactly where Christine had put her down, avoiding all their eyes. 

“Lucas, knock it off,” Christine sighed. 

“No! She’s been acting weirder than normal! If she can slam doors with her mind, she can definitely screw up a compass.” 

“Why would she do that?” asked Mike. 

“Because she’s trying to sabotage our mission. Because she’s a traitor!” 

“Woah, okay! Hold on, boys.” Christine planted herself between Lucas and Eleven as he tried to advance on her. “Look, we’re all tired. We’re all desperate. Why don’t we just sit down for a minute and…?” 

“Will doesn’t have a minute!” Lucas yelled. He tried to walk around her, only for Christine to grab his arm. It didn’t stop him from snarling at Eleven. “You did it, didn’t you? You don’t want us to reach the gate! You don’t want us to find Will!” 

“Lucas, come on, seriously,” Mike shouted. “Just leave her alone!” 

“Admit it. Admit it!” 

He broke out of Christine’s grip, running at Eleven. She jumped back in terror, but not before he could grab her wrist. He held her arm up to the light. In the dying light, dark blood was shining on her jacket sleeve. 

“Fresh blood,” he spat, throwing her arm back at her. “I knew it!” 

“Lucas, come on!” Mike pleaded. 

“I saw her wiping her nose on the tracks! She was using her powers!” 

“Lucas, it’s just cold,” Christine reasoned. “We’ve been walking for miles…” 

“No! She was using her powers, and you and Mike are too stupid to see it because you like her! You think she’s cute and innocent, but all she is is a liar!” 

“Bull,” shouted Mike. “That’s probably old blood. Right, El?” 

But Eleven did not answer. 

Mike squinted at her, fear rising in his voice. “Right, El?” 

“It’s…not…It’s not safe…” 

Eleven was sniffling again. But it was not because she was using her powers, and it was not because of the cold. Christine could already see the water welling in her eyes. She was moments away from bursting into tears. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Christine said instinctively. She dropped down next to Eleven, brushing the hair out of her face. “I know it’s scary.” 

“See?” Lucas demanded. “She just admitted it, and all you two care about is making sure that she’s okay! But what about Will? She’s leading us around in circles and Will’s out there running for his life!” 

“And we’re gonna find him!” yelled Mike. “El’s just scared! We—We all are! Right, Dustin?” 

Dustin, however, seemed to know better than to answer. 

“It doesn’t matter how scared she is,” said Lucas. “She lied! What did I tell you? She’s been playing us from the beginning!” 

“That’s not true! She helped us find Will!” 

“Find Will. Find Will? Where is he then? Huh? I don’t see him!” 

“Yeah, you know what I mean.” 

“No, I actually don’t. Just think about it, Mike! She could’ve just told us where the Upside Down was right away, but she didn’t. She just made us run around like headless chickens!” 

“Alright, calm down,” Dustin said, finally pushing between them. 

“No!” 

 Lucas smacked Dustin’s arm away, storming toward Eleven again. Christine immediately stepped in front of her. 

“She used us!” he yelled. “All of us! She helped just enough so she could get what she wants! Food and a bed! She’s like a stray dog!” 

“HEY!” Christine shouted, but Mike was beating her to it. 

“Screw you, Lucas!” 

“No, screw you, Mike! You’re blind—both of you! Christine’s just lonely cause she’s fighting with Nancy, and you’re blind because you like that a girl’s not grossed out by you. But wake up, man! Wake the hell up!” 

“I SAID HEY!” 

The boys stopped as Christine rose to her feet again. And now, she was shaking with fury. 

“Both of you are going to shut up right now. No one speaks, no one leaves until we all calm the fuck down. We’re not gonna get anywhere throwing bullshit insults like this. We will figure out where Will is…” 

“We don’t have to figure it out,” Lucas snapped, jabbing a finger at Eleven. “She knows where Will is. And now she’s letting him die in the Upside Down.” 

“Lucas, I said stop.” 

But Lucas would not. 

“For all we know, it’s her fault!” 

“Shut up!” Mike screamed. 

“We’re looking for some stupid monster, but did you ever stop to think that maybe she’s the monster?” 

“I said shut up!” 

Mike leapt forward, grabbing Lucas around the neck and attempting to throw him to the ground. Lucas was faster, grabbing Mike in the same way and countering the throw with a harsh tug of his own. They wrestled and screamed, toppling over and still attempting to fight. 

Everyone was screaming. Christine ran forward with Dustin, trying to pry them apart. 

“Stop!” 

“Knock it off, you idiots!” 

“Boys—Mike, just stop!” 

“Stop it!” 

“Mike, get off!” 

“Stop it!” 

“Dustin! A little help, please!” 

“AHHHHHHHHHHH!” 

Before Christine knew what was happening, Lucas was flying out of her hands. His body shot into the air. It was like he was being propelled by an invisible force strong enough to toss him like a rag doll. He hit the ground hard, sliding through the dead grass and colliding with a totaled car. 

Dustin and Mike ran forward. Christine stayed where she was, too shocked to move. Then she turned around to gape at Eleven. Her nose was bleeding again, her hands balled into fists at her sides. She looked horrified already, the reality of what she’d done beginning to sink in. But Christine couldn’t scold her. Couldn’t comfort her or yell. She felt paralyzed in the grass. For the first time, she actually felt afraid. 

“Why would you do that?” Mike demanded. He seemed to have figured out what had happened. He looked up from Lucas’s limp body, glaring at Eleven the same way he had at the quarry. “What’s wrong with you? What is wrong with you?” 

“Mike…” Eleven whimpered. 

It was enough for Christine to push her fear aside. She started toward Eleven, ready to…was she going to comfort her? She had no idea. But Eleven needed to calm down. If bodies started flying when she got upset, the best thing Christine could do was keep the situation under control. But then Dustin called out to her. 

“Christine! Chrissy, he’s—he’s not getting up! W-What do we do if he doesn’t get up?” 

She froze, torn at Eleven’s tearful face and Dustin’s broken voice.  

“Okay. Just—Just hold on, El.” Christine held up a hand and backed toward Lucas’s body. “Eleven, just breathe, okay?” 

“Christine!” 

She turned, and ran to Dustin’s side. She slid the last few feet on her knees, despite the pain. Lucas was still lying unconscious against the car. He didn’t show the slightest response to Mike’s voice, or the way Dustin was shaking him. Christine had to beat his hands back. 

“Stop. Stop, Dustin! If he’s hurt, you could just make it worse. Just back up.” 

The boys followed her instructions immediately, which just proved how scared they must’ve been. Christine braved a straight face. She didn’t want to scare them more by admitting she had no idea what she was doing. 

She looked over Lucas head to toe. His limbs looked normal and he didn’t appear to be bleeding, which was good. Unless all the bleeding was internal, in which case it was very bad. She stroked his hair, trying to ease him into consciousness rather than shout. Unfortunately, that wasn’t working either. 

“Lucas? Come on, bud. Can you hear me? Lucas?” 

“Do we need to give him mouth to mouth?” Dustin asked behind her. 

“What—no!” 

“Fine! If you don’t want to do it, I will. Move!”

“Dustin, stop! He’s breathing! We just need him to wake up.” 

“Oh…” 

Christine was ready to break out a water bottle and pour it over his head. But Lucas stirred before she could ask Mike to hand over her bag. 

“Lucas? Oh thank, God.” 

She sagged back onto her butt, giving the boys more room to push forward. 

“Lucas, you okay?” asked Mike with a relieved smile. 

Lucas did not respond. 

“Lucas, how many fingers am I holding up?” asked Dustin. He waved his hand in front of Lucas’s face. “Lucas, how many fingers?” 

Again, Lucas did not respond. 

“Let me see your head,” Mike offered, reaching out. 

Lucas smacked his hand out of the air faster than a rattlesnake. 

“Don’t touch me!” He struggled to his feet, ignoring his friends’ concern and shoving Mike again for good measure. “Get off me!” 

He pushed his way past the group and marched toward the woods. Christine could hear the fear in his voice. She’d only seen him this upset at the quarry, when his best friend’s body was right before his eyes. It was why she grabbed Mike before he could go after him. 

“Mike, stop,” she said softly. “Just let him go.” 

“But—But what if he’s hurt?” 

“Man, just let him go,” Dustin agreed. 

They watched as Lucas disappeared into the trees. Christine felt sick to do it, but running after him would only make him more upset. Lucas would be alright, she tried to convince herself. He had his compass. And she knew from personal experience how sobering rage could be. So long as nothing else bad happened… 

“Where’s El?” 

Mike’s voice echoed around the yard without response. Christine whipped around, staring at the bus, which Eleven had been standing next to less than a minute ago. Now she wasn’t. Not next to the bus or the cars or the trees. She wasn’t anywhere. 

“Eleven!” Christine screamed, looking around at the tree line. “Eleven, it’s okay!” 

“El?” Mike called, and Dustin joined in. “El! Eleven! Eleven? El!” 

They must’ve screamed for ten minutes. They checked inside every car, behind every bush, searched the forest ten feet deep in all directions. But there was no blonde wig or pink dress in sight. 

Christine bit her lip hard. She’d been trying to bottle it all up, trying to be the adult. But it was exhausting. 

“FUCK!” 

She screamed, and it echoed around the sky. Christine kicked the closest rock, which collided with the closest wreck. The impact chipped the windshield, and Christine watched the crack spider its way across the length of the glass. 

Dustin was at her side in an instant. 

“We’ll find her,” he assured her. “Christine, we’ll find El. We’ll help you look.” 

“No.” Christine felt her body shaking, but her voice was firm. “No, I want the both of you to go home right now.” 

“No,” Mike argued. “El is out there alone! And so is Will!” 

“And you’re not gonna find them in the dark. You two are going home. Now. Before the sun goes down, and before your parents start asking questions. I will look for Eleven, and I will call you if I find her.” 

She did not give them room to argue. She seized her backpack from Mike, taking out both her hammer and a flashlight. Then she walked back into the forest, following the train tracks the way they’d came. 

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. She’d been so worried about Eleven and Lucas that she hadn’t thought twice about marching into the woods alone. It wasn’t until she’d lost sight of the junkyard, after she’d followed the train tracks and trekked back into the brush, that her personal safety occurred to her. It was getting dark. Even without leaves, the trees blocked out the fading light overhead. Unlike the boys, she didn’t have a compass, and she only had a vague idea where she was going. But at a guess, she wasn’t far from Mirkwood—where they’d heard the first twig snap. 

The thought made her tighten her hand around her hammer. 

Occasionally she’d call out for Eleven. Most times, she tried to make as little noise as possible. The darker it got, the more aware she was of the sound of the wind. Trees rustled in the breeze. Twigs snapped. A few times she thought she heard voices in the distance. She’d called for Eleven—and the sound had immediately stopped. After she imagined someone calling her name, she decided it was safest to stop looking and find the road. 

How she got there was as much a mystery as it was a miracle. But she nearly fell to the pavement with relief. She would have sprinted the last leg home if she weren’t so tired. Luckily, someone else had thought ahead. 

“Finally,” said Dustin, perched on his bike where the wilderness gave way to the suburbs. His headlight blinded her like an interrogation lamp as she approached. “If you were gone another twenty minutes I was gonna call the cops.”

“I told you to go home, Dustin.” 

“I did. Where do you think I got the bike?” 

“And you came back here alone? To the place Will went missing? What if something had happened, Dust? Don’t be an idiot.” 

“That’s rich, coming from the girl who was just walking alone for over an hour. Now do you want a ride home or not?” 

Christine was hesitant. She was a lot bigger than Eleven, and she hated to put the burden on Dustin. But he was already turning the bike around, patting his back wheel. And her legs were killing her. So she stowed the hammer and flashlight in her bag, and climbed onto the bike. 

To his credit, Dustin did a better job keeping them steady than she thought he would. It was only a block or two before they were sailing smoothly. So long as he didn’t brake too hard, they had it under control. 

“Did you find anything?” he asked her as they cruised down the street. 

“Does it look like I found anything?” 

“Cranky.” 

“What about you? Anything at Mike’s house?” 

“Nah. He thought El might hide in the basement, but there’s nothing there.” 

“Not really surprising,” said Christine, and Dustin nodded. The way Mike had yelled at her, Eleven wasn’t likely to look for safety in his basement. “What about Lucas? Have you heard from him?” 

“No. But he’s definitely home. I went passed his house and threw stuff at his window until he closed the blinds. So he’s alive.” 

“That’s a relief.” 

They leaned into a curve as Dustin made a sharp turn. She’d just recovered when he threw her for another loop. 

“Why aren’t you mad at Eleven?” 

“Dustin…” 

“I mean, I kind of get it. I’m still worried about her too. But she threw Lucas with her mind. That’s not cool.” 

“I don’t think she did it on purpose, Dust. El was scared, and all of us were screaming. She just wanted it to stop. I think when she gets overwhelmed, her powers probably act up.” 

“Like Jean Gray,” Dustin supplied. 

“Sure. Like Jean Gray,” Christine agreed. “And then she thought we’d be mad at her, so she ran. I just hope she’s okay.” 

“Still. Lucas had a point, you know? She lied. Will needs us, and we still don’t know where the gate is. If Eleven doesn’t come back, who knows if we ever will?” 

“Dustin, if anyone can find that gate, I know it’s you.” 

He shrugged his shoulders, not all that comforted by the thought. Christine gripped his jacket a little tighter, trying to think of a way to explain it. 

“Think of it like this,” she tried. “Say there were two sets of train tracks. On one track, one person’s tied up, and on the other there are four. You can’t move any of them. You can control where the train goes, but it has to follow the tracks. What do you do?” 

“I don’t know,” Dustin said quietly. “Why can’t I save them?” 

“You don’t have enough time. There’s no wrong answer, bud. It’s just a hypothetical.” 

“Okay, well…the one I guess. Cause you save more people.” 

“Alright. Now imagine the same thing, but the four people are me, Will, Mike, and Lucas. What do you do?” 

“Who’s on the other track?” 

“You don’t know. It’s a stranger.” 

Dustin was quiet for a few blocks. “Is this a trick question? It feels like a trick question.” 

“It’s not a trick question,” said Christine. “But it’s hard. That’s what Eleven was trying to decide this afternoon. She wanted to protect the four friends she has, because sometimes that’s scarier than losing someone you don’t know.” 

“I guess. I didn’t think about it like that.” 

They didn’t talk for the rest of the ride. Christine let Dustin mull over the situation, and kept her eyes on the streets. She was hoping to catch a glimpse of pink hiding behind one of the houses. It was a long shot, but she felt like that was all she had for now. There was only one other place Eleven might be hiding, and Christine couldn’t check there just yet. 

She hopped off the bike as Dustin leveled with his driveway, allowing him to shoot up and park his bike next to the garage. 

“Will you come talk to Lucas with me tomorrow?” he asked her. “You’re better at explaining the metaphor than I am.” 

“I don���t know. I think I’m just gonna stay home. In case…you know who comes back.” 

“But what am I supposed to say to Mike and Lucas? What if they won’t talk to each other?” 

“They will, Dust. They just need time to cool off. But they’re best friends. If anyone can make them see reason, it’s you.” 

“Easy for you to say,” Dustin huffed, tugging on his backpack straps. “Whatever. I probably shouldn’t be taking advice from you about it anyway.” 

“Excuse me?” Christine chuckled in surprise and folded her arms. “What does that mean?” 

“It means that Lucas and Mike are fighting about Eleven just like you and Nancy are fighting over Steve.” 

She must have gaped at him for a solid ten seconds. 

“No,” she managed to squeak through the shock. “Dustin, no! That is—That is so not the same thing!” 

“Um, yeah it is.” 

“No, it is definitely not!” 

“Let’s think,” he said, stroking his chin. “Two really close friends get pushed apart because some cute person comes between them. One of the friends gets hurt, and gets mad cause the other friend doesn’t care. How is that not the same thing?” 

“Okay, well—for one—Steve didn’t throw me across a junkyard with his mind.” 

“No. He just made you cry because he used you to get to Nancy.” 

Christine shut her mouth. It felt better than standing there with her jaw dropped as she stared at her miniscule fetus of a neighbor, standing there so sure and so confident and so…right. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. 

“Just go inside, Dustin.” 

She tried to walk back to her house, only for Dustin to grab her hand. 

“Hey,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry. And I’m sorry about what Lucas said too. About you being lonely and obsessing over Eleven. That was dumb. But if Lucas and Mike are gonna make up, I think you and Nancy should try too. It’s easier when everyone’s being friends.” 

“I know it’s easier,” she said wearily. “It’s just not easy to make them that way.” 

“Okay.” Dustin nodded, playing with his backpack again. “Do you wanna stay over? I can ask mom to drive us to the video store.” 

And just like that, he drew another smile out of her. 

“Nah, not tonight, Dusty. Like I said. I’m gonna stay home to be safe.” 

“Alright. If you need anything…” 

“You’ll be the first to know,” Christine assured him. She rubbed his cap on top of his curls. “Get going. Your mom’s probably gonna kill you.” 

Dustin scurried inside at her suggestion. The front door slammed behind him, but Christine could still hear Claudia’s worried shouts. She smiled, backing off the lawn and sneaking around to her own back door. 

It was locked. Not that that meant anything. Christine knocked halfheartedly—two slow, then three quick. There was no response. She tried again, just in case, but got the same result. After a few minutes of waiting, she grabbed her spare key and let herself in. 

Everything was exactly where she’d left it. Her unmade bed, the empty pillow fort, the abandoned waffle plates and ruined magazine. The stereo was off, and though she checked her freezer, there were still the same amount of Eggos. 

“Eleven?” she called hopelessly. “If you’re here, you…you can come out. I’m not mad. No one is. It’s okay.” 

She continued to stand in the dark, knowing she wouldn’t get a response. 

At some point, her exhaustion must have caught up to her. She didn’t bother making dinner. She didn’t even bother turning on the lights. She just changed into her pajamas and grabbed her dwindling box of Cheerios. However, she hesitated at the back door. 

Habit told her to lock it. She was a teenage girl home alone in a town where two people were missing, mysterious scientists were hunting children, and interdimensional horrors were running loose. But a lock wouldn’t stop a mad scientist, and it wouldn’t stop a Demogorgon. The only people it might stop were the boys, or a scared little girl looking for a place to sleep after running away. 

Christine dropped the cereal in her room. In the kitchen, she popped one waffle in the toaster, then placed it on a plate. She left it on the back stoop, looking longingly at the shadows outside. The waffle would get cold fast, she knew. But it wasn’t about whether or not Eleven would eat it. She just wanted to send a sign. It was still safe inside. It was okay to come home. 

Without much debate, she left the porch light on. And when she went to bed, she left the door unlocked.

[colbybrocksbitchh]

Colby’s Confession pt. 2

You’re faced with a difficult decision involving Colby’s cheating

(Check out my page for part 1, I tried to link it but it wouldn’t work)

•Hey it’s Taylor, I didn’t finish it like I expected so expect another one or two•

~Your POV~

“So what are you gonna do?”

It was this simple question that snapped me back into reality. I look across the table at a concerned Kat and sigh.

“Honestly I don’t know.”

She frowns and reaches across to grab my hands.

“Well you have all the time in the world to decide.” She replies stroking my hand with her thumb.

I pull away from her grasp and grab one of my fries, swirling it around in the ketchup pile. I sigh and rest my head against my hand.

“Let’s just not talk about it. How was your massage? Mine was good but that chick definitely had something against my vertebrae.”

Kat laughs as she says this and reaches around to rub her back. I smile and nod my head.

“Same. I felt like the lady was trying to kill me. My back is so sore.”

I laugh and agree with her, ignoring the pit in my stomach. Kat had a lot of fun at the spa, but unfortunately for me we didn’t talk too much... which left me alone with my thoughts. I spent the whole time thinking of Colby.

I take a bite of the fry and chew slowly. I never was good at making decisions, Colby use to joke about it all the time.

I finish off my fry and put my head in my hands sighing. Kat finished off her salad and pulled out her phone.

“Ugh... Colby’s texting me now, Sam is too.”

She rolls her eyes and puts her phone away without replying to anyone.

“Kat you’re an amazing friend but please don’t ignore Sam because of me.”

She laughs and gestures with her hand.

“It’s no biggie, todays a girls day. He’ll understand, especially when he finds out what happened.”

“Are you gonna tell him?” I ask, looking across at my bestfriend.

“No, it’s not my place. I’m sure Colby will...”

“Honestly I doubt it, he took forever to tell me so it wouldn’t surprise me if he doesn’t tell any of the roommates.”

She nods her head in agreement and stands up. She grabs my hand and pulls me up as well, catching me as I almost fall over, tripping over a rock.

“Come in love, we are supposed to be thinking about anything and everything but boys. How about we go to the mall? We can get you something that will make you feel like the sexy lady you are, then we can go out tonight and help you forget.”

I let her drag me to the mall and the next thing I know we are shopping for dresses.

“Ooooh this ones sooo cute! And this one....this would be totally cute, but not on me green is really not my color...”

Kat talks to herself as she browses the dress racks. I watch as she takes dresses off the rack, returns them and sometimes takes them back off. I turn back to the racks as something catches my attention.

I take the burgundy two piece dress off the rack and begin to inspect it. I run my fingers over the sequence and sparkles, I always was the most girliest girl.

“Wow, y/n/n... that is so you. It’s absolutely gorgeous, go try it on, go go.”

Kat pushes me into the nearest changing room and closes the curtain behind me. I hold the dress up over my body in the mirror and sigh. I never was very confident in my body.

Ever since high school I try my best to hide it. I wear a lot of baggy clothes, but In a rare instant I actually feel good about myself I do wear crop tops and skirts. Colby always told me he liked those outfits the best, the ones I wore when I wasn’t self conscious.

I wasn’t “fat”, although I hate that term. But I also wasn’t “skinny” I weighed about one sixty, but because I was five foot three my weight places itself more on my stomach and my hips. Unfortunately for me I also had double d boobs, and literally no butt. I used to not even be able to look at myself in the mirror without cringing, but then I met Colby.

Everyone always says that you can’t love someone else until you love yourself, but that’s the biggest bullshit I’ve ever heard. I never loved myself UNTIL I met Colby. He made me feel beautiful and I eventually started believing him when he told me I was beautiful and that he loved my body. His constant positivity, shall I say “brainwashed” me, in the best way. I finally loved myself. About a year into our relationship I started wearing those crop tops and skirts every day, I felt cute and I knew I looked cute. It was always confirmed when Colby would wrap his arms around me and say “God how’d I get so lucky?” and “You’re literally the most beautiful girl in the world.”

I’m not saying you should go looking for a guy to help you love yourself, I’m just saying the phrase is bull. Without Colby I don’t think I ever would have been confident in my body.

But now that I’m standing here in this changing room by myself, with this gorgeous dress made for someone with a gorgeous body, I’m second guessing myself. I already know I’m gonna look bad in it before I try it on, but I also know there is no way in hell im leaving before trying it on. This is confirmed when Kat yells “Hurry up Boo!” From begins the curtain.

I remove my shirt and then unzip the top of the dress. I slide it on like a jacket and zip it up halfway. Damn it makes my boobs look good.

I know it sounds crazy but along with being insecure about my weight, my boobs and butt were a major issue as well. I always felt like my boobs were too big, which resulted in my shirts sticking out farther which made me look and feel bigger than I was. When you add on the fact that my stomach stuck out farther than my ass did, it was a whole recipe for self doubt.

I take off my leggings and pull up the bottom as quickly as possible, to avoid seeing my stomach in the mirror. I pull the bottoms up over my belly button then put my hands on my hips.

Honestly, I don’t hate it.

I open the curtain and walk out to get Kats opinion. The minute she sees me her jaw drops to the floor and she whips out her phone to take a picture.

“Damn girl, you look goooood.” She says as she snaps a few more pictures.

I walk over to the mirror beside the waiting area and run my fingers down my stomach.

“You sure I don’t look too big? This dress is gorgeous but I feel like it would look better on someone smaller, like you.”

“Shut it y/n. You look stunning, heck I’d do you right now if I swung that way.”

She stands up and walks over to me messing with the dress. She pulls the bottoms up just slightly, and pulls the zipper on the top down a little.

“There.”

She steps back to admire her handywork and smiles.

“You’re totally getting this.”

I look at the price and freeze. I start walking back to the changing room, but before I close the curtain I say “No I’m not.”

As I take off the dress I can hear Kat talking through the curtain. Saying that I should get it, it looks so good and that it can’t be that bad.

I hang the dress back on the hanger and walk out of the room.

“Kat it’s $120, no way I’m paying this.”

She snatched it out of my hands as I try to hang it back up.

“Then I’ll get it for you, also before you object I’m not changing my mind so you might as well give up. Plus I just got paid.”

I ignore her advice and tell her not to buy it the whole time we are in the line to pay. By the time we get to the register I give up, you can never stop Kat once she gets her mind on something.

~Later that night~

“There! Perfect, you look hot as fuck!”

Kat finishes my eyeliner and smiles, happy with her work. I roll my eyes and stand up smoothing the dress.

Kat hands me a pair of heels and demands I put them on. Actually, she’s demanding I go out tonight too.

Kat has decided the best way for me to get over Colby is to go to a bar... and get shitfaced.

“I called the Uber, it’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”

Kat and I grab our purses and walk out the front door to wait on the stairs. Outside we are greeted by the sight of Sams car.

Sam gets out of the drivers seat and walks over to us. He hugs Kat and kisses her on the cheek. He whispers something in her ear and she walks over to the side of our apartment with him.

I pull out my phone and scroll through Instagram as I try to make out what they are saying. When I hear Sam say Colby I decide it’s time to tune them out.

This strategy is going well until I notice someone standing in front of me. I look up from my phone to find Colby standing there. His hair is a mess and his eyes are dark and puffy. He’s been crying recently, it’s been almost twenty four hours since he told me he cheated and he’s still crying.

I try to walk around him to get to Kat but he puts out an arm to stop me. He pulls me into a hug and I have to fight not to give in. I push him away and glare.

“Don’t touch me.”

I expect my voice to come out strong and bold, but it comes out shaky. Even my voice is confused.

“Y/n, please can we talk about this? I love you and these past couple hours have been complete fucking hell.”

At this point I notice Kat and Sam walking towards us from the corner of my eye. At the same time the Uber pulls up.

I pause for a second but after seeing Kat standing at the bottom of the stairs waiting for me I find the strength and push past Colby.

“I have to go.”

Kat and I load into the Uber and I watch Colby’s face fall as we drive off.

~Colby’s POV~

“How’d it go man?”

Sam throws his arm over my shoulder as he asks this question.

“She walked away, I didn’t get a chance to talk to her because of that damn Uber!”

“Don’t worry I’m sure she’ll come around.”

I shake his hand off of my shoulder and turn around to face him.

“How would you know Sam? You never fucked up this bad with Kat?!”

“Yeah because I love her-!”

Same eyes go wide as he realizes what he’s said.

“You think I don’t fucking love her?! She’s the most important person in my life Sam! I’d do anything for her and now I’m gonna lose her!”

Before I realize what’s happening I’ve punched Sam in the face. He stumbles back and holds his hand with his face.

At this point I realize I can’t hold it in anymore as I sink down and sit on the stair. Sam walks over to me, sits down, and puts his arm around me comforting me.

I know this is possibly the most pussy thing I could do but at this point I don’t care. I’m going to lose y/n because of a stupid drunk mistake.

So there we sit. Me bawling my eyes out and Sam, being the amazing friend he is, hugging and comforting me.

[marshmallow-phd]

The Experiments

Genre: Sci-Fi, Thriller, Experiment AU

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Exo (????)

Summary: You were a med school graduate who just wanted to help research cures for the world. Instead, what you got was a dream job at EXO Applied Sciences. That is, until you discover the secrets of Level Sixty-Six and the nine inhabitants that are stored down there….

Warning: none

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I 15 I 16 I 17 I 18 I 19 I 20 I 21 I 22 I 23 I Final

You couldn’t believe what you just heard. After all their talk about logic and strategy and the impossibility of getting Junmyeon out of EXO, they just waltz in here and say they’ll help like that entire meeting hadn’t just happened? What insanity was this?

“Run that by me one more time,” you said acidly. Maybe you’d just misheard. Or maybe you were completely delusional. After what you’d been through, that was a huge possibility.

Luhan rolled his eyes. “Come on, (y/n). Are you really that surprised that we would want to get Junmyeon out of there, too?”

“Yes,” you answered without hesitation. Pointing to Anya, you said, “Just five minutes ago, she was lecturing on about how dangerous it was and how impossible of a task it would be. So excuse me for being blindsided by this sudden change of heart.”

Anya cleared her throat, trying to maintain the stature of a soldier. “I’ve changed my mind. I was wrong. Even with the board’s decsion, you’re right. We should go get him.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That was a quick turn around.”

Luhan stepped forward, almost protecting her in his stance. “I convinced her.”

“How?” Chanyeol demanded. “You seemed pretty set on the first decision as well.”

“I care about Junmyeon, too. But someone needed to be on Anya’s side,” Luhan snapped.

“That doesn’t explain how you convinced her to help us,” Baekhyun pointed out.

Anya dropped her eyes to the ground, a pink dust appearing on her cheeks. She didn’t fight or pull away when Luhan slipped his hand into hers, giving her the most loving look.

“I asked what she would do if it were me that was taken,” he replied in a hushed voice. Eyes widened all around, no one expecting that answer.

“It wasn’t hard to change my mind after that,” Anya finished.

You shrugged, not really seeing the point in continuing the arguement. “Okay. I’m convinced. Now, Miss Strategist, any idea how we’re going to pull this off?”

Letting go of Luhan’s hand, Anya stepped forward, pulling a roll of paper as long as her arm out from her belt behind her back. She unrolled it to reveal similar blueprints to the ones Marcus had shown you, laying them out on your bed while everyone gathered around.

“Our best bet at entering the facility is to go through how you came out,” Anya declared, pointing the exit out on the map.

You smirked. “That’s what I was thinking. But what if they’ve blocked it off?”

She pointed to Kyungsoo. “Isn’t that what he’s for?”

Kyungsoo was fighting a smile; you could tell from the way the corners of his lips twitched, straining the muscles around them.

You held back your own snort, “Okay, so Kyungsoo gets us through, then what?”

“I think I can get a small group to go with us,” Anya continued. “We’ll clear the area, giving you guys’ time to search the basement for Junmyeon. The staircase will be our escape route, too. However, another small group of you are going to have your own mission.”

“What’s that?” Jongdae asked, intrigued.

A mischievous – if somewhat scary – smile grew on her lips. “We’re going to blow that place up.”

You were suddenly feeling very sick.

The van you were all packed in was disguised as a delivery truck, making it the perfect camouflage to get close to the alley without alerting someone. It was hot and stuffy and the tactical gear Anya had insisted you wear weighed at least twenty pounds. The “small group” she’d been able to put together consisted of three mercenaries who had been with us at the rendezvous point. They had no official ties or alliances with the board and therefore able to come along without consequences. Anya, however, would be in a great deal of trouble once you got back.

If you got back.

No, (y/n). Think positive.

Yeah, right. What’s a positive thought?

It’d been a few days since all of you had agreed to the discussed plan and tried to mentally prepare for it. You weren’t sure that you had reached that state mentally yet. But it was too late to turn back now. 

The van slowed to a stop and the nauseating feeling grew. Anya stood up near the back doors. “Alright, everyone remember what they’re supposed to do?”

With heads nodding all around, Anya signaled to Luhan in the front seat. He got out and came around to the back, opening up the door to let everyone out. In a huddled group near the door, Anya went over the plan one last time, just to be sure.

She, along with the mercenaries and Luhan, would go in first, taking out any standing guards with tranquilizers and make sure the coast was clear for the rest of the team. Then those of you remaining would split up: Jongin, Chanyeol, and Sehun would go with you to find Junmyeon while the others would plant the preset bombs all around the basement. After you found Junmyeon and got him out, everyone else would retreat, setting off the fire alarms along the way to evacuate the building of any innocent bystanders. By luck, it was the weekend, meaning most of the day-to-day staff should be gone.

You took several deep breaths as she spoke, trying to calm your system down. When that didn’t work, you just gave up, concentrating on seeing Junmyeon’s face again. There. That’s a positive thought.

“Okay,” Anya nodded, satisfied that everyone was on the same page. “Let’s go.”

The door in alleyway was still unlocked, making the first step easy. Anya went down first, gun drawn and held up at eye level, sweeping the area for any hidden enemies. Her fearlessness and determination made it easy to see why Luhan would have fallen for her.

Every time someone’s step made the rusting metal stairs squeak, the hairs on the back of your neck would rise, just waiting for an ambush. The sound bounced off the walls menacingly. You had to fight back the nausea that was threatening to build up again.

By a miracle, you all made it to the bottom of the stops. The concrete around the door at your feet was darkened, stained from a poor cleanup job. Images of Marcus’ body flashed in your mind, making you stiffen up. You weren’t sure if you’d be able to move again. Feeling your anxiety, Luhan put a hand on your shoulder, giving you a small, sympathetic smile. You tried to return it, although you weren’t sure if you were successful.

The door was still melded shut from when Kyungsoo had crushed the steel handlebar to prevent anyone from coming after you. Said hybrid shuffled his way to the front and began his work on the locking mechanism once again. As soon as it was cleared away and nothing holding it in place, he pushed on the door, but it wouldn’t budge. The door rattled against whatever was blocking its way.

“Don’t make too much noise,” Anya warned.

Kyungsoo nodded before turning back to the door. His eyes searched all around until they settled on the hinges. He ripped them away from their screws and then he lifted the entire door, setting it down gently against the far right wall, out of the way.

Bars. Thick, black metal bars were what kept the door from being opened. Kyungsoo made quick work of them, breaking the bars in half and bending them out of the way. He stepped aside, allowing Anya’s team to head inside.

Four guards were wandering the hall. One spotted the mercenaries right away, but he was silenced before he could alarm the others. Within five minutes, all present guards were subdued and Anya threw the signal allowing the rest of you inside.

Everyone dispersed, Anya’s group checking the first individual labs to the left and right as they went along. The bomb group ran out towards the lobby, hoping to do the most damage to the building there. Out of sight of the others, you took off the tactical gear.

“(y/n), what are you doing?” Chanyeol chastised.  

You threw the vest aside, feeling just a bit exposed in the black shirt and tight cargo pants that Anya had given you. “I can’t move in that thing and right now I just want to find Junmyeon as fast as we can. I’ll be quicker without it. Besides, if they’re going to kill me, Dr. Wang already said she’d aim for my head.”

The boys with you growled at your last statement, but you ignored it.

Your first thought was to check the lab housing the water tank, remembering Dr. Wang’s fascination with Junmyeon’s ability. When you reached the lab located at the very end of the hallway, you stopped in the entrance, not finding Junmyeon, but instead another face you thought you would never see again.

Nada was sitting at the table in front of the empty water tank, filling out papers. When she looked up and met your eyes, she gasped. Jumping out of her chair with enough force to throw it to the ground, she ran at you. Sensing danger, Jongin blocked her advance, sending her to the ground and locking her in against the bottom cabinets.

“Jongin!” you hissed, shoving him out of the way so you could get to the terrified Nada. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” she whispered. Without warning, she threw her arms around your neck, squeezing you in close. “Are you kidding me! How are you okay? Everyone said you were dead.”

After giving her a quick hug back, you pulled away just enough to see her face. “Dead? Why did they say I was dead?”

Nada swallowed, her eyes shifting to the three boys hovering behind you. “Marcus is dead. They said that somehow the subjects escaped and used you to get out, killing Marcus in the process. They said that the subjects would most likely kill you now that they got what they wanted. I thought I would never see you again.”

“Nada,” you shook your head. “That’s a lie. Marcus and I broke them out willingly. I couldn’t stand watching them get tortured anymore. Dr. Kwon and Dr. Wang, they were starting mind control trials.” Her eyes widened in horror, but you kept going. “The guards killed Marcus before we could make it out. Obviously, the boys haven’t killed me. All they’ve done is protect me.”

“Protect you?” Understanding, her eyes settled on Sehun, filling up with awe. The poor guy looked very confused and taken back by the sudden attention.

As cute as it was, you really didn’t have time for this. “Nada! I need your help.” You shook her just enough to get her attention again. “They took Junmyeon back before we could reach safety. We need to find him so we can get him out of here. And you need to get out of here, too. This place is going to blow.”

Nada frowned, not comprehending you. “J-junmyeon?”

You groaned. “Subject Zero-One.”

Her face lit up in understanding again. “He’s back in his cell. Dr. Wang just took him there.”

You hugged her one last time before pulling her to her feet. “Sehun, get Nada out of here and to the van.”

Sehun gapped at you. “But-”

“Now!”

He whimpered before grabbing Nada’s hand and pulling her out of the room. You looked down in your hand where you had snatched her badge.

“Hopefully this works.” You turned to your remaining bodyguards. “Come on. Let’s go get him.”

They nodded and the three of you ran out of the lab towards the lobby. More guards had arrived, keeping not only the mercenaries occupied, but Minseok and Jongdae had joined in the fight as well. Jongin held onto you and zoomed past the lobby, leaving Chanyeol behind.

He put you back down and you ran for Junmyeon’s cell. Just before you could try and swipe Nada’s badge to get through, the door slid open on its own.

Dr. Wang stepped out, scoffing. “I wish I could say that I’m surprised, but I’m not. You just couldn’t let this go, can you, (y/n)? I actually had half a mind to let you live the rest of your life in peace. If you’d just stayed away.”

You took a step back, trying to put distance between you and the woman you once thought of a mentor and a friend.

“They’re human beings!” you yelled. “And you’ve done nothing but treat them like your sadistic little toys! Taking away their free will? What kind of monster does that?”

“The kind that wants to change the world,” she stated simply. She paused, looking off thoughtfully. “Also, the kind that likes to get paid.”

“Who’s funding this?” you demanded. “I know it’s not the government. I know that’s a lie. So, tell me, which billionaire wants to take over the world?”

Dr. Wang laughed. “Oh, dear. There is so much you don’t understand. This was never about ruling the world. What a terrible movie-type motive.”

She stepped out of the doorway, revealing Junmyeon standing behind her, that same blank face still present. His eyes were glazed over and there was no hint of your favorite smile.

“Zero-one?” Dr. Wang called out.

He turned to face her, ready for orders. A guard appeared ready from another cell and shot a Floating Taser at Jongin, who wasn’t quick enough to doge it before it lodged itself in his calf, sending his body into a frenzy at the electric shocks.

“No!” Chanyeol ran down the hallway, ready to attack, but another guard threw an electrified net over him, powerful magnets keeping it on the ground and trapping Chanyeol in. Both of the boys cried out in agony, but there was nothing you could do. You’d been overpowered.

Dr. Wang smirked. “Kill her.”

With no evidence of him fighting, Junmyeon turned to you, his face contorted into an ugly scowl as he stalked toward you, ready for the kill.

[sophisticatedloserchick]

Fanfic - Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue - 1/1

Summary: All the most important people in Iris’s life give her tokens for her wedding day.

Rating: PG

Word Count: 2259

A/N: Day 5 of Westallen Wedding Week : Wedding Traditions

Something old

Iris coughed loudly as a cloud of dust entered her lungs. She was currently on her hands and knees searching in her grandmother's very small, very low ceiling attic. The single light bulb hanging above did very little to help her actually see what she was looking for.  

“Did you find it yet dear?” Grandma Esther called from down below.

“Not yet,” Iris said between coughs.

“Well you better hurry,” Grandma Esther lectured. “Before you lose a lung from breathing in all that dust.”

Iris grumbled under her breath knowing better than to complain outright to her grandmother.

“What was that?” Grandma Esther's sharp hearing as always picked up any dissent.

“Nothing grandma,” Iris answered quickly.

Iris went back to moving boxes around. Trying hard to unearth the one her grandma wanted. Normally Barry did this job. His lean frame and long arms made him the perfect candidate to pull things down from the attic. At every holiday he was at Grandma Esther's beck and call to pull down boxes of decorations. It was no secret this made Barry a favorite in Grandma Esther's eyes. For years she'd made sly remarks to Iris on 'why can't you find a nice boy like Barry?' that drove her nuts. No one was more pleased than Grandma Esther when she found out they were getting married.

“Found it!” Iris called out triumphantly when she found the box at the very back corner.

Carefully she climbed down the ladder with the box cradled under her one arm. Once she got down the two of them headed to the kitchen to sit down.

“Whats in this box?” Iris asked while brushing lint and dust off her clothes.

Grandma Esther didn't reply but got to work on opening the box with her gnarled but surprisingly deft hands. Iris watched as her grandmother carefully pulled out a cotton bag she then pulled out a long bundle wrapped in tissue. Iris's curiosity was certainly piqued at this point.

She leaned forward as her grandmother pulled back the layers of tissue to reveal lace. Gently her grandmother spread the lace out to reveal a wedding veil. Iris marveled at the pure ivory white material to the white satin headband with beaded designs.

“This is beautiful Grandma,” Iris said wonderingly.

“Its yours,” Grandmother Esther said simply.

“What? No, no I couldn't.” Iris said in disbelief not that Grandma Esther was paying much attention.

“This veil has been in the West family for sixty years,” Grandma Esther gazed down at it lovingly.

“Sixty years?” Iris was shocked. “But it looks brand new.”

“I've taken good care of it,” Grandma Esther said proudly. “You need a veil for your big day. The ancients in Rome said a veil warded off the bad spirits and protected the bride.”

“You think that's true?” Iris eyed the veil having seen her fair share of magical items.

“Not at all,” Grandma Esther laughed. “But I do believe it brings good luck to the bride. I know it will bring you good luck.”

“I'll definitely wear it,” Iris touching the lace lightly with her fingers. “But I don't know if I should keep it.”

“Nonsense,” Grandma Esther waved her off, “It belongs to you now. That is until your daughter is ready to be married.”

“In that case,” Iris reached out to grab her Grandmother's hand, “I promise to take care of it. Thank you grandma.”

Something New

“Do I want to know why you've dragged me into this lingerie store?”

Iris was none too thrilled as she glanced around her surroundings. Her eyes straining against the bright neon pink interior of the store. There were posters of women sexily pouting posing in underwear everywhere you looked. She wasn't opposed to buying lingerie, she actually had quite the collection back home especially in the color of red ever since dating Barry. But that didn't mean she loved the atmosphere of the store where you felt like you walked into a Victoria Secret catalog.

Nor did she have any idea why Linda dragged her in here in the first place.

“I'm performing one of my duties as the maid of honor,” Linda answered while her eyes keenly browsed the merchandise.

“Which is?” Iris asked while eyeing a mannequin dressed in leather bustier with too many buckles and feathers hoping that wasn't what Linda had in mind.

“Finding you a garter,” Linda walked through the store with purpose. “For the garter toss.”

Iris winced at the mention of that particularly embarrassing wedding tradition. Don't get Iris wrong, there was nothing she loved more than Barry getting on his knees and putting his head between her legs. Barry himself couldn't seem to get enough of it. However Iris didn't know how she felt about Barry going underneath the skirt of her dress in front of all their friends and family to retrieve a piece of lace to toss it at the bachelors for them to fight over.

“You're doing it,” Linda said firmly, “Don't even try to argue your way out of it.”

Iris openly scowled at her best friend but remained quiet. She had learned many times through out the process of planning the wedding that Linda took her maid of honor duties very seriously.

Iris stood over to the side arms folded across her chest as Linda browsed through their selection. She knew there was no point in fighting this but that didn't mean she had to be helpful in the search.

“I assume you being the proper lady you are,” Linda said while Iris rolled her eyes. “You probably prefer lace over satin. How about this?”

Linda held up a ring of lace fabric with a very large blue bow attached to it.

“Not feeling the bow,” Iris grimaced.

“It is rather large,” Linda agreed. “But I figured the bow will be helpful to Barry. Don't want him losing his way down there.”

Iris felt a wave of protectiveness sweep over her. She bristled at the thought of Barry's abilities being questioned.

“Don't you worry,” Iris said without hesitation. “Barry knows what he’s doing.”

While she didn't regret defending her man but Iris could of done without the dirty grin and raised eyebrow Linda sent her way.

“What about this one then?” Linda held up another garter. This one was a simple white lace with rose designs. Iris did prefer the understated style. While she didn't look forward to the idea of Barry going up her skirt in front of a crowd of people at least she'd like the garter. Plus it didn't have a ridiculous bow.

“I could live with that one,” Iris reluctantly admitted.

Ten minutes later, after Linda paid for the garter, the two of them were sitting at a coffee shop. Iris ordered herself a large mocha with an extra shot and extra whip cream because after today she deserved an over caffeinated, over sugary drink.

“Can't believe you bought me a garter,” Iris said laughing at the surreal situation.

“You'll thank me,” Linda said knowingly. “The last thing you want is a previously used garter. Anything lingerie related should always be brand new. I'm just taking care of you.”

That was one point Iris could never argue against.

“Besides you want a quality garter, nothing cheap.” Linda gave her a sly look. “Its the sneak peek for Barry on what to expect on the honeymoon.”

Linda gave her an over the top wink that had Iris laughing.

“Speaking of...do you need help picking out what to wear on your wedding night?” Linda asked with too much eagerness in her voice.

“Nope, no way.” Iris shook her head. “Some things should stay between a husband and wife.”

“Spoil sport,” Linda pouted which only had Iris laughing again.

Something Borrowed

As Cisco led Iris into his workshop the predominate thought in her head was 'what could he possibly have in here to go with my wedding dress?'

Iris glanced around the workshop at the various gadgets, laser guns and meta-human detectors to name a few, Cisco was in the middle of working on. All the counter space was covered with blue prints and scraps of metal. Not exactly what you'd think of as a place that would make anything to wear on your wedding day.

“Okay found them,” Cisco presented a velvet jewelry box for Iris to take.

Cautiously she opened the box, you never knew when one of Cisco's inventions might combust to reveal a pair of diamond tear-drop earrings.

“Oh wow,” Iris gazed at the beautiful craftsmanship of silver and sparkling diamonds, “Cisco these are gorgeous. And very expensive looking, I can't accept these.”

“Of course you can,” Cisco scoffed at her. “I made them for you.”

“You made them?” Iris arched up an eyebrow. “Since when do you make jewelry?”

“Well these aren't your typical earrings,” Cisco gave a mischievous look. “Both can be used to track you in case aliens abduct you or some crazy evil speedster takes you.”

“I don't think we're expecting either of those things happening at the ceremony,” Iris said dryly.

“Never hurts to be prepared,” Cisco reminded her. “Not in our line of work.”

Iris couldn't disagree with that.

“Now the left one,” Cisco continued on. “If you pull the bottom diamond it becomes a mini grenade. Perfect to use if someone tries to attack you.”

“Exactly how violent do you think our wedding is going to get?” Iris asked in disbelief.

“With the right one if you push down on the second diamond it becomes a flash bomb that will blind anyone within twenty feet,” Cisco continued.

“Just what every bride needs,” Iris said dryly.

“Totally my thoughts too,” Cisco agreed either he completely oblivious or he was teasing her. “I want you to be safe and for nothing to ruin you and Barry's big day. I love you guys.”

“Oh Cisco,” Iris broke out into a smile. “That's actually very sweet.”

Iris reached out to pull her friend into a hug. Sure the gift was a little over the top but that was Cisco's style. Exploding earrings was just his was of showing that he cared.

“Hey listen can you bring the earrings back to me after the wedding?” Cisco asked. “I want to do a couple more adjustments to them before I give them to Cindy.”

“So you're letting me borrow my own wedding gift,” Iris dead panned.

“Well yeah,” Cisco gave her a confused look, “Is that not normal?”

Iris gave him a withering look before leaving the workshop to a very bewildered Cisco.

Something Blue

“I have something for you.”

Iris glanced up to where Barry was standing in front of her. She frowned at the expression on his face. He looked nervous but also eager. And he couldn't quite meet her eyes. She quickly noticed in one hand he was holding a thin white jewelry box.

“Barry,” Iris softly admonished. “You didn't have to get me anything.”

Barry moved to take the empty space beside her on the couch. Iris powered down her laptop and put it away to give her complete attention to him. She shifted till she was facing Barry. Instinctively he reached out to drape her legs across his lap. Happily Iris curled closer into his side.

“Whats going on baby?” Iris ran a hand through his hair to soothe him.

Barry stayed quiet and held out the box for Iris to take. Still confused Iris obligingly open the lid to find an antique blue hair pin. It was long and thin, made from sterling silver that had been recently polished. At the base was a floral design that had been painted a brilliant robin's egg blue.

“Oh Bar,” Iris breathed out. “Its beautiful.”

“It belonged to my mom,” Barry smiled pleased at her reaction.”She wore it when she married my dad. I thought maybe you'd wear it too.”

Iris felt her chest tighten at the sweet gesture. Iris knew parts of the wedding had to be bittersweet for Barry. While he still had family by his side that didn't take away that he lost his parents. Her heart broke at how little was left of the Allen family. She consoled herself knowing she'd be a Allen soon and so would their future children. Thinking of this Iris realized how much weight was in the gesture. How important it was for Barry to include what little of parts of his parents he could.

“Only if you want to of course,” Barry said nervously when Iris didn't immediately respond. “Probably doesn't go with your outfit does it. You don't have to wear it if you don't want to.”

“No, no Barry.” Iris reached out her hand to grab Barry's. “I want to wear it. This is just such a sweet gesture.”

“Yeah?” Barry breathed in relief. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” Iris pressed a sweet kiss to his lips. “I would be honored to wear it. I want as much as of the Allen family as possible on our day.”

“I love you Iris West,” Barry looked at her in wonder.

“Iris West-Allen,” Iris corrected before she pulled him into another kiss.

[alidaalana-blog]

Right Through Me - 1

Brrrrrring! Brrrrrring!

I looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was 3:15 in the morning and my phone was going off! My heart stopped beating as soon as I saw the number glowing at me from my cell’s LCD screen: Jayel (James Lee) Lawson.

He needs me, I can feel it. I hit ignore, pushed my phone under my pillow and rolled over. I was honoring the vow I made months ago not to fall into that trap again.

I closed my eyes and fought every fiber of my being that wanted to call him back. At this time of night, there’s no telling what could be wrong or what kind of trouble he got himself into. The part of me that has always loved him was beginning to panic with worry, she was fighting against the part of me that was stubborn and had a point to prove: Fuck that nigga. He was the one that pushed me out of his life.

In just a matter of seconds, I was forgetting to breathe. My blood was rushing. Or was it my adrenaline? Whatever the case, something about thinking Jayel was in trouble always filled my body with anxiety, knowing that he was capable of doing anything under the wrong circumstances. This time was no different.

Just keep your eyes closed Clark and go back to sleep, I begged myself. He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.

My phone vibrated one time under my pillow as a text message came through.

Jayel (James Lee): Don’t ignore me, Clark. I need to talk to you right now. I’m home. Please come over.

Oh boy. He knew I would go if he asked. It’s our dysfunctional pattern. We hurt each other, breakaway, then one of us comes crawling back when someone else has hurt us more. If I had a shrink she would advise against going over there at the crack of dawn just because he asked me to. But I never had a shrink and sure enough, my legs were moving before I could protest or even stage a good defense. Once again, I was putting my pride, and possibly my mental health, aside to tend to my friend.

All I had on was a wife-beater and my underwear. I quickly threw on the skinny jeans I wore earlier and a zip-up hoodie then pushed my feet into some loafers. I washed my face and pulled a beanie down over the top of my head, letting my hair flow out from underneath. I looked in the mirror one last time and shook my head, what I was walking into was going to be ten times harder to walk out of.

In less than twenty minutes I was using the emergency key Jayel gave me to let myself into his apartment. There was no way I was going to ring anyone’s doorbell and wait outside at four in the morning. He was sitting on the sofa in the living room when I walked in. The glass of brown liquid in his hand almost tilted over when he saw me.

He gave me a pained smile. “You came,” he slurred out. “You never let me down, Clark.”

“Oh yeah?” Well, this was the complete opposite of how our last conversation went. I believe the word he used to describe me then was ‘selfish’. “Can I get that in writing?” I half-way joked.

Normally he would laugh, chuckle, or at least give me a grin then comment on my smart mouth. None of the above happened. This was unlike him. This was serious.

“What’s wrong James Lee?” I was the only one he allowed to call him by his real government. He hated his name so much, in high school he made everyone call him JL, which eventually turned into Jayel. But I still love to say James Lee every now and then to remind him that he’s talking to me, the person that has nursed his heart and his wounds more times than a lil bit. I sat next to him on the sofa and took the glass from his hand. I smelled the Jack Daniels before it reached my lips and took a sip, letting a swallow of whiskey roll down my throat. My face frowned as the Jack turned from a liquid to fire somewhere between my throat and chest.

“I caught her cheating. I saw her.” He said.

“Who?” I was unaware he was even in a relationship. But I’m not surprised, Jayel can’t be alone for one second.

“Jessa.”

“Oh,” his other ex. I turned away from him and rolled my eyes. When we last spoke they were no longer together. Now we were going back down this familiar road once again. I’m so tired of this bitch. And I’m over Jayel giving her the benefit of the doubt. It’s not the first time she’s cheated at all. But for some reason, Jayel just can’t let her go. “Where did you see her? When?” I asked even though I really didn’t care. The story is always the same. The names and places may be different but it always boils down to Jessa being as trifling as she wants to be. But I did care about Jayel and I knew he wanted to vent.

“At her apartment. I came home a little early and saw this dude’s car parked outside. I used my key and walked inside like normal. Thinking maybe I was wrong. Maybe someone else has the same shit green hatch-back. They didn’t even hear me. Clark,” he clapped his claps together, Hard. “I swear by the time I made it to the living room I could hear them fucking.”

“Get the fuck outta here!” This bitch has balls.

“Fucking! In my muthafuckin bed!”

Jayel took the glass back from me and emptied the rest of its contents in one swallow. He reached for the bottle sitting on the table, but I got to it first and placed it behind the arm of the sofa, way out of his reach. I needed him to focus, “What else happened?” Knowing this hot-headed boi, it couldn’t have ended there.

He smirked, “I cracked his head open.”

My hand went over my mouth in shock, but Jayel said it like he was discussing the weather. “You did not!”

“They were on their way to the hospital when I left.”

He was serious. My mouth was hanging open, “What do you mean they? She went with him?”

“Yep.”

“But that’s your girl? You were back together, right?” I was confused by the whole fucking thing already.

“And she left with another nigga.” He looked at me,” Shit was unreal.”

“Jayel, I’m so sorry, but you gotta stop doing this. You gotta stop going back to her.”I felt sorry for this poor fool. I gave him back his Jack.

“I know.” He nodded and refilled his glass and looked up at me. “Still mad at me?”

My eyebrow arched, of course I was still mad. I didn’t forget shit. But I didn’t want to get into our issues right now. That’s not why I came. “I’m here right?”

“That doesn’t mean anything. I know you’re still mad.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

“To hear you say it.”

“Ugggh,” I was in no mood to play these games with him. “Do you know what time it is? I’m not doing this with you. You want to know how I feel? The same way you would have felt if I didn’t show up tonight. Disappointed. Broken. Fucked up. I don’t know. Your friends are supposed to be there for you, not push you away.” Jayel opened a can of worms and I was finding it difficult to stuff them back in.

“That’s what we are, huh? Friends?”

“I’m not doing this,” I stood up and shook my head at him. “With your drunk ass.”

“I’m sorry Clark.”

“For?”

“Letting her come between us.”

“Again.”

“Again. But in all fairness, you made her insecure. What was I supposed to do?”

“Me? How? You know what, don’t answer that. My fault. With you it’s always my fault. I’m sure her fucking someone else is somehow my fault too.” I swear Jayel can rile me up like no one else. He can send me from zero to sixty in three seconds flat.

He ignored my growing attitude and continued, “She says I never stopped loving you.”

This wasn’t a confession. It’s understood that we have feelings for each other. Our friends tease us about it every chance they get. But I never tried to come between him and Jessa. Not once.

“And she knows we use to hook up between relationships and shit.”

“You told her that?”

Jayel is a terrible drunk obviously. He just rambles, mostly telling truths he would normally try to hide. If Jessa was smart enough to ever figure out that two shots were all she needed to find out whatever she wanted from him, there’s no telling what he’s confessed to her.

He shook his head, “No. She told me once that she could tell. By the way, I looked at you. I just denied it. Told her she was crazy. She didn’t believe me anyway.”

These words came out slurred and were beginning to bother me. I’d rather not hear his feelings for me while he was crying over another woman. I don’t know. Maybe that’s just me.

“We’ll talk about it later. Right now you need to focus on staying out of jail. You sent that man to the hospital, Jayel. Now what? I swear in all of the time I’ve known you, You’ve never done the crazy shit you’re doing now. For her! I don’t get it. She doesn’t deserve you. And we both know that. You know how I know we both know?” I held his chin up made him look me in the eye, then tilted my head to the side. He looked so pathetic he was making it almost impossible for me to cough up some tough love, almost, “because we’ve talked about it a trillion and one times, Jayel. We’ve broken it down til it could break no more. That bitch is trash.”

He dropped his head into his hands, elbows resting on his knees.

At that moment I was done asking why. There was no rhyme or reason for the shit we do when we’re in love with the wrong person, when our pride has been defeated. This was the one relationship Jayel ever completely committed to. The one girl he was faithful to and she broke his heart. Stomped on it – like a true cunt. I almost envied Jessa’s boldness, her ability to not give a fuck and keep it moving.

I resisted the urge to point out this is how I felt when he cheated on me. That would be kicking him while he’s down. But shit, it’s the reason I can relate to his pain. Jayel is the one guy I ever let get the best of me.

I sighed hard and released that thought. This wasn’t about me or us. I took his hand, “Come stay with me for a couple of days. I don’t think you should be here alone.”

His eyes widened, “Really?”

“Mmhmm. Go get some things. Think you can manage to do that?”

He nodded and struggled up to his feet, “I think so.”

Jayel packed a small duffle bag with whatever and followed me to my car. I shook my head at the sight. Two hours ago I was asleep, minding my own business.

[starsinursa]

Long After You’re Gone

A/N: This is my fic submission for @wordstothewisereaders for her 300 follower celebration! Congrats, boo, you’re awesome! :) 

The prompt for this fic was the song Gone, Gone, Gone by Philip Phillips, and I ended up writing a coda-type thing for the season 12 finale (gooo figure, like this fic was gonna be about anything else with this song prompt. ;) )

Word count: approx 2,150 Pairing: implied/ pre-Destiel Warnings: cussing, angst, canon MCD, mention of alcohol abuse, spoilers for season 12

Most of the fic is under the cut, please click ‘Read More’.

I’ll shut down the city lights, I’ll lie, cheat, I’ll beg and bribe to make you well, to make you well

Four minutes.

That’s how long Cas has been gone when Dean starts praying.

It takes him that long to surface from his shock, struggling out of it he’s fighting against a current, and do something other than kneel numbly in the dirt.

He’s still praying when Sam comes staggering out of the cabin, looking dazed and shell-shocked, and explains how the confrontation with Jack had gone south and how the nephilim had disappeared through another portal. He’s still praying when he stands with his hands shoved in his pockets, watching the flames of Castiel’s funeral pyre reflect against the surface of the lake. He’s still praying when he slides into the front seat of the Impala to begin the long drive home, running his hands over the wheel. He’s still praying when he thinks about how much work they have to do when they get back to the bunker - what with tracking down a rogue nephilim and finding a way to get Mary back - and he feels tired just thinking about it.

But he keeps praying.

There’s still not much difference between praying and begging, but fuck it, he’s begging then.

When the praying goes unanswered, he turns to threatening. He calls Chuck every name in the book, and then a few that he makes up. He reams Chuck up one end and down the other, because goddammit, Chuck owes him.

There’s no answer. He guesses he wasn’t really expecting one, if history has taught him any lessons, but it pisses him off all the same. Obviously Chuck has fucked off again to who-knows-where, and he’s turned off his prayer radio too. He’s probably reclining on a beach somewhere with his sister, catching up on gossip. Or hell, maybe she killed him as soon as they’d gotten out of sight. Not like Dean gives a fuck at the moment.

Not long after that, he gives up on praying. 

I love you long after you’re gone

Nine days.

That’s how long Cas has been gone when Dean wakes up in a cold sweat from the fading remnants of a dream suddenly turned nightmare. He remembers the familiar blue of Cas’ eyes, crinkled at the corners, and it had been a good dream until they had suddenly flared wide with blinding light -

He doesn’t go back to sleep.

When enemies are at your door I’ll carry you way from more If you need help, if you need help

Seventeen days.

That’s how long Cas has been gone when Dean decides to try the angels.

It’s the logical next step. If anyone is gonna know where angels go when they die, it’ll be another angel, right? Well, that’s the idea, anyway.

Except he has no fucking clue which angel to ask. Every angel he’s ever known who held any speck of regard for humanity and might deign to help him – hell, even the ones who hated humans and would probably refuse on principle – are all dead and gone, wings seared to ash.

As much as he hates to do it, as much as it makes his skin crawl with memories and guilt, he finally sends out a generic prayer to any angels who might be listening and happen to give a fuck, just like he’d done before Ezekiel – no, Gadreel – had shown up and caused them a whole new slew of problems for a little while.

He doesn’t mention it to Sam. 

Besides, it’s a different situation entirely -  there’s nobody to inhabit this time around, no vessels for an angel to dick around in. All he needs is information.

All he needs to know is, where do I start?

I love you long after you’re gone

Twenty-five days.

That’s how long Cas has been gone when Dean stumbles across a coffee mug in the kitchen that Cas had once used, long fingers wrapped around the cup as he smiled gratefully at Dean over the rim.

He smashes it against the wall.

Your hope dangling by a string I’ll share in your suffering to make you well, to make you well

Thirty-two days.

That’s how long Cas has been gone when Dean finally gives up on waiting for an angel, any angel, to show up, and decides to try demons.

In a way, if he’s being totally honest with himself (and isn’t that a rarity), he almost prefers dealing with demons over angels anyways. Demons, at least, are up-front about their shitty nature. Angels… well, most of the angels he’s met are just as bad as demons, except that they hide their ulterior motives behind an obnoxious veneer of good intentions. 

Angels always tend to stab him in the back. Demons, at least, will stab you in the front.

He tries two different crossroads, pacing impatiently and getting progressively more pissed off when the hours pass by with no whiff of a demon, before he decides he’s done asking nicely and does a summoning.

The demon who appears is wearing a small, mousy-haired vessel – probably someone ironic like a kindergarten teacher – and is not impressed. The feeling is mutual.

“We’re all a little busy at the moment, Winchester,” the demon snaps. “Don’t you think there’s a reason no one showed up at your crossroads? In case you’ve forgotten, both Lucifer and Crowley fucked off in the same day, so there’s a reign of succession to figure out. It’s a cluster-fuck down there, Hell’s in an uproar.”

“I don’t give a shit about what kind of state Hell’s in,” Dean says. “All I need is information, and you’re going to tell me or things are going to get dicey. What do you know about where angels go when they die?”

The demon stares at him. He’s about to repeat the question, with a little added emphasis from the demon knife, when the demon actually starts laughing.

“Are you serious? Fuck, you’re dumber than you look. Why do you think demons would have any idea where angels go? I’ll give you a hint: it’s sure as hell not in Hell.”

He’s too tired to deal with the demon after that, anger draining out of him. He knew it had been a long shot, but still…it’d been a shot.

The insults and goading from the demon have lost their sting. It only takes a moment to dismiss it out of his sight.

I love you long after you’re gone 

Sixty-four days.

That’s how long Cas has been gone when Dean catches sight of a dark-haired man wearing a trenchcoat and grabs him around the arm, whipping the man around to face him.

It’s not Cas, of course - even before he sees the man’s face, he knows it can’t be Cas - but he still feels unbearably disappointed.

He mutters an apology to the guy, who’s standing confused and a little angry in the middle of the grocery store, and heads for the exit, desperate to get away from the pitying look in Sam’s eyes.

When you fall like a statue I’m gonna be there to catch you Put you on your feet, on your feet

Seventy-five days.

That’s how long Cas has been gone when Sam finally confronts him.

It’s the middle of the night when Sam finds him in the library, flipping through a book that must weight thirty pounds.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice is rough with sleep. “Have you slept at all?“

Dean doesn’t answer, turning the page. The answer to that question is obvious anyways, considering Dean is still in his clothes from earlier that day and has a half-full cup of coffee in front of him, so Sam can figure it out for himself.

Coffee gets him through the nights, and beer gets him through the days.

“Dean…” Sam sighs, and Dean knows that sigh. That’s Sam’s we-need-to-talk sigh. “Dean, we’re supposed to be looking for Jack and a way to rescue Mom –“

“Spare me the lecture, okay, Sam?” Dean snaps, not looking up. “We spent all day together researching portals, so I know you know that I want to find Mom just as badly as you do.”

“I know you do, that’s not what I meant,” Sam back-peddles immediately. “It’s just that – we research all day, and then you’re up researching all night. You’re running on fumes. You need to rest too –“

“I’m fine, Sam. So just drop it.”

Sam’s silent for a moment, and Dean knows that silence too. That’s the silence of Sam bracing himself to say something that Dean isn’t going to like. 

He hunches his shoulders and steels himself.

“Dean…Cas is dead.”

Even though he’s expecting it, the words still feel like a slap in the face. 

He slams the book shut and pushes back from the table to face Sam.

“He’s not fucking dead, Sam. He’s just –“ He pauses, angrily searching for the words. ”- he’s just – gone.“

Sam rubs at his forehead. “You’re right. He’s gone. So maybe it’s time to focus on the problems we can solve. Like finding Jack, and finding Mom. Maybe it’s time to let Cas go. ”

“That’s not what I meant,” Dean snaps. “For now, Sam, he’s gone for now. And you and I know better than anybody that nobody is ever really gone-gone, there’s always a way to find them, or bring them back, or - or -” He gestures expansively at the books on the table. 

“And you think that’s a good idea? You think Cas would be okay with that?”

“Really?” Dean is suddenly furious. He can’t believe Sam is thinking this shit, much less saying it out loud. “When has that ever stopped us? You’re gonna say that, after everything Cas has done for us? You’re just gonna give up on him like he doesn’t fucking matter?”

“That’s not fair, Dean.” Sam has gotten quieter, more tired. “You’re not the only one who misses him, y’know. He was my friend too. I cared about him too.”

“Bullshit,” Dean explodes, standing up so quickly that the chair topples backwards. “Bullshit. He wouldn’t even be gone if it wasn’t for you. I could have stopped him, Sam, I could have grabbed him and dragged him back through that damn portal with us. I had plenty of time to reach him and if you hadn’t stopped me –“

Dean feels like he’s looking at himself from a distance. He knows he’s not being fair, he knows he’s saying things that are designed to hurt. He can see the stricken look on Sam’s face, but he can’t stop -

Sam interrupts him. “You don’t think I’ve been blaming myself? Jesus, you don’t think I’ve thought about that every day for – for –“

“Seventy-five days,” Dean supplies harshly. “It’s been seventy-five days.”

I surrender honestly You’ve always done the same for me

Seventy-six days.

That’s how long Cas has been gone when Sam shows up with an armful of books and dumps them onto the table.

Dean glances up, and Sam gives him a small, wan smile.

“There was, uh… some more books in the library that I thought they might be useful. Didn’t look like you had found these yet.”

“…thanks,” Dean says cautiously. And then, “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too.” 

There’s an awkward silence. Sam stands at the table, tapping his fingers on a book cover, shifting his weight. 

Then he pulls out a chair, sits down, and flips open the nearest book.

And if your well is empty Not a thing will prevent me Tell me what you need, what do you need

One hundred and nine days.

That’s how long Cas has been gone when Dean stumbles across the cassette tape of Led Zepplin songs that he’d given to him. He finds it wedged between the seats of the Impala, a little worse for wear and bent out of shape. It won’t play.

He spends the next day making tapes, trying to think of every last song Cas might like.

For you, for you Baby, I’m not moving on I love you long after you’re gone

One-hundred and sixty-one days.

That’s how long Cas has been gone when Dean finally gets drunk enough to admit to himself some things that he’d never admitted to Cas.

It doesn’t make him feel any better.

For you, for you You would never sleep alone I love you long after you’re gone

Two hundred and thirteen days.

That’s how long Cas has been gone when Sam comes running into the kitchen looking for him. He’s practically vibrating with excitement, holding a book and flipping through it so quickly that the pages are a blur. He reaches a certain page and shoves it under Dean’s nose.

Like a drum, my heart never stops beating for you

Three-hundred and eighty-eight days.

That’s how long Cas has been gone when Dean finds him again.

And long after you’re gone, gone, gone I love you long after you’re gone, gone, gone

[theliterateape]

Hope Idiotic | Part X

By David Himmel

 Hope Idiotic is a serialized novel. Catch each new part every week on Monday and Thursday.

FOLLOWING THE FIRST MONTH AT THE SALES COMPANY WITH A MONETARY TARGET OF $750 — THE EQUIVALENT OF ONE JOB POSTING — Lou never again hit his goals. As a result, he was never paid more than the $1,430 a month base salary. He would not make sixty grand that year.

And it wasn’t just because he hated his job with every fiber of his being and sucked horribly at it. His team was designated to call on south Texas. The desk jockeys made daily calls to towns like Corpus Christi, Victoria and Galveston. His leads were mostly shipping companies. It was September 2008, and the economy was weak. Lou knew it. He knew it the day he arrived in Chicago over a year ago. And it seemed that it was only getting weaker. It was further evidenced by most of the leads he spoke to telling him, “We’re just not hiring right now. In fact, we’re laying people off.” But like a date rapist deaf to the word “no,” the desk jockeys were encouraged to push forward.

“If they tell you they’re not hiring at the moment, you respond that we’re helping them plan for the future,” the douchey twenty-two-year-old sales trainer said to Lou’s class of trainees. “By having job postings up, they are able to gather names and résumés to put on file so that when the need to fill a position opens up, they already have a large stack of qualified candidates to choose from. Thus, the hiring process is shorter, readying the business to function efficiently!”

ProCore was peddling lies. Before he moved and was looking for jobs, he created an account with them. Not once did he receive any job alerts for anything even remotely resembling the interests he put into the system—although he did get notifications to become an Avon Lady. With no businesses hiring and many job postings advertising unavailable positions, Lou was struggling to sell an antiquated product.

And on September 13, Hurricane Ike smashed into Galveston and other small towns along the Gulf of Mexico. Ike killed nearly two hundred people and caused approximately $29.5 billion in damage. Worst of all, the devastation forced most of the businesses on Lou’s lead list to close.

“Brian wants us to leave messages of condolence on the companies’ answering machines,” Lou told Michelle at home a few days after Ike hit.

“Who is Brian again?”

“My manager.”

“What are you supposed to say?”

“’This is Lou Bergman from ProCore. I hope you and your loved ones are safe. All of us are thinking of you and wishing you the best for a speedy recovery. When you get back on your feet, please give me a call. Let’s rebuild your business together.’”

“That sounds ridiculous.”

“Completely. The stupidest thing about it is that these people may or may not come back to work, possibly after having their home washed away or losing a family member, to a soggy answering machine message from some assholes trying to sell online job postings—but even worse is that we were supposed to make the clients think that we were local. Like, I’m supposed to read the local papers online for each city I was calling so I could have a point of conversation, you know? So let me ask you this, you think they’re wondering why we’re not underwater along with them? Of course they are. It’s a fucking scam. These people are crooks.”

“So you’re not going to hit your number needed for the commission again, are you?”

“I really doubt it.”

Two days later, Lehman Brothers Holdings collapsed, causing a massive wave of panic throughout the financial world. The Great Recession had begun. That day, with no companies to call on, Lou’s entire team was glued to streaming videos and news stories about the collapse. Lou played online Tetris.

He wasn’t surprised or fascinated because he knew something like this was coming. The hiring freezes, the layoffs, the crumpling real estate market—it’s why he removed his house listing a year ago when, after two months on the market, no one looked at it once. And for the first time since moving to Chicago, Lou didn’t feel so alone. Finally, everyone else was panicking. Knowing that relaxed him more than he’d been in a long time.

By early December, ProCore’s downtown offices were looking more and more vacant—like Detroit. Each Monday morning had one less desk occupied as desk jockeys were being laid off. Team managers were being let go, too. Rumors began to circulate about a massive layoff. The panic was enormous. Lou pulled Brian aside one Thursday morning.

“Look, I’m just tired of people talking about it. Is a companywide layoff coming?”

“Not that I know anything about,” Brian said.

“Would you tell me, or the rest of the team, if something were going down?  If there were reason for concern? You know, so we can begin looking for new jobs—not that anyone is hiring, as we well know.”

“I would tell you guys. You have nothing to worry about.”

“I can’t believe it,” she said. “This recession is really real.”

Lou and Michelle met for a drink in the Loop after work that day. Her office was experiencing a similar panic, but with far greater implications. Equity partners were actually being fired, not just at the Chicago office, but also in L.A. and Boston.

“If they’re firing equity partners, they won’t think twice about firing me,” Michelle said.

“No one from your practice group has been let go, right? With all of the firings and cuts, your department will probably see a spike in business. People are going to want to sue. You’re needed right now. It’s all about labor and employment. Besides, you’re a woman. They won’t fire a woman. That would be bad business. Diversity requirements and all that.”

Riding home on the bus, they encountered a traffic jam at the corner of Lake Street and Michigan Avenue. There were ambulances, fire trucks and cop cars with their lights flashing. A large group of people had gathered around the plaza of a residential high-rise. Everyone on the bus looked up from their books, newspapers and magazines and peered through the windows at the scene.

“It’s probably a bomb threat,” Michelle said.

“No way,” said Lou. “If it were a bomb threat, the entire block would be quarantined. Someone jumped. This is a suicide. I bet there’s a puddle of blood and guts and bones in that plaza.”

“You’re disgusting,” she told him, trying to keep her laughter to a reserved level.

The next morning, Lou was shaving in the bathroom when he heard Michelle shriek while she read the morning’s news online. He ran out. “What is it?”

“Last night…”

“Yeah?”

“You were right. It was a suicide. It was Sam Tallisker.”

“Should I know who that is?”

“He was an attorney at my firm. He worked two floors above me.”

“And now he’s working forty floors below you.”

“That’s not funny, Lou. Jesus Christ, I can’t believe this. They let him go last week, which I hadn’t heard. He’d been with the firm for like twenty years. I can’t believe this.”

She stood up from the desk and threw herself into Lou’s arms. She cried. Lou held her and stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. She looked at him. Her eyes were red, tears streaked her face. It was an unusual sight because Michelle so rarely cried. Not during movies, not when she and Lou had fights, not when she read his love letters that she claimed made her “heart melt.” He wiped the salty streams from her cheeks.

“I can’t believe it,” she said. “This recession is really real.”

Nothing had really gotten to her until this suicide. Not living with her unemployed and under-employed boyfriend over the past year watching the economy be ruined. It wasn’t the reports he gave her of hiring managers telling him they were on a hiring freeze or even hearing from a placement-agency headhunter that there just weren’t any jobs out there. It wasn’t his sleepless nights or the pointless fights she and Lou got into about his struggle to find a good job that made her see the recession was real. It was another attorney—someone she occasionally shared an elevator ride with—killing himself. A man who had a strong career under his belt who probably had plenty of money saved up and an absurd severance package equal to the hundreds of thousands he’d been earning for decades. A man who was in a comfortable position to sit back, enjoy the time off and plan a new strategy for when the market improved; maybe even go back to his old firm. Maybe go live on an island and snorkel his life away. Lou was struggling every day to pay for a pack of gum, and he was expected to rise above all the odds in a system working against him.

He wondered why she never cried for him, but tears were appropriate for a barrister who threw himself out of a window. And then he thought that maybe he would kill himself but quickly dismissed that idea because then he’d miss out on the little bit of sympathy she started to have for him.

“Yes, Michelle. The recession is really real.”

✶

FRIDAY THAT WEEK, A COMPANYWIDE EMAIL WENT OUT AT PROCORE letting its employees know that a mandatory meeting would be held at four o’clock that afternoon. The entire floor of the office fell silent after it came through. A few moments later, the collective anxiety filled the floor. People began congregating and talking. Lou concentrated on his Tetris game.

“This is it. We’re all fired,” one of the desk jockeys said. “I bet they’re closing the office. Why would they do this before Christmas? I’m going to have to move back in with my parents.”

Because there were so many employees, several gatherings took place. Lou and Leslie’s team were stuffed into one of the conference rooms with three other teams. Jen Grady, a sweet but pushy devout Christian from the southwest region team was praying with her hands clasped and her head down.

“Ask Him if He’s hiring,” Lou said to her.

One of the HR managers walked into the conference room. She was with a middle-aged man wearing a sharp suit. She introduced him, but Lou missed his name. All he caught was that this guy was the CFO of the company. The conference room grew quiet.

“As you know, we’ve seen a sharp decrease in sales this last quarter,” the CFO said. “This is not because of the fault of any employee of this organization, but rather a result of a variety of compounding effects from the recent economic troubles. Having said that, we are forced to cut our staff significantly. Effective immediately, you are no longer employed with ProCore.”

Jen shrieked and began wailing. Others shifted uncomfortably where they stood shoulder-to-shoulder with their unemployed brethren. There were murmurs and deep sighs. Lou laughed. “Of course,” he said to Leslie.

“All of your logins and passwords have been removed, so you will not be able to access any files you had on your computers,” the CFO said.

“What?” Jen cried out. “But I have photos on my computer!”

“Not any more you don’t,” the CFO said. “You should return to your desks to gather your belongings. Your manager will be there with a box for your things and a packet with your termination papers. They explain everything and include documents allowing you to sign up for COBRA. You should sign the termination agreement and fax it into the HR department as soon as you can so you can receive your final paycheck.”

“Fax it?” Lou asked. “I don’t have a fax machine at home. Can I just walk it in to the office on Monday?”

“We don’t want you to have to take any more time out of your day than you need to,” said the CFO.

“Hey, man. I’m unemployed. I have nothing but time.”

There were some snickers from the others. The HR manager looked away. The CFO stared Lou down. “Find a fax machine. If there are no other questions…”

“I have one more,” Lou said.

“What.”

“You’re not doing this just so we have to use the site to look for work, you know, to increase traffic, boost your numbers?” More snickers from the others.

“No. This decision was strictly based on current economic viability. However, I encourage you to use the job-finding services that ProCore offers.”

“Oh, no thank you. I’ve already got my résumé on ResumeWorks.com.”

The others erupted in laughter. The CEO and the HR manager left. An empty cardboard box was waiting for Lou and Leslie on their desk chairs. Brian was standing nearby.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Lou.

“You lied to me.”

“They told us last week.”

“Was it a seniority thing?”

“Mostly, yeah. I couldn’t tell you. You understand that.”

“Not really. A heads-up would have been helpful. You know, in the interest of being professional at the core.”

At the apartment, Lou sat in the desk chair with his feet on the windowsill looking at the skyline. It was a cold, gray day and the view was a little hazy through the low clouds. The smoke and steam from the other buildings below his window rose out of their stacks and wiggled above their roofs. The cars zipped by on Lake Shore Drive, into and out of downtown. Outside, the city looked alive in the frozen air. Inside, the ice floating in his glass of scotch cracked as it slowly melted. He sat like that, sipping at his drink focused on the billowing smoke until Michelle burst through the door.

“Oh, sweetheart!” she said. “I am so, so sorry.” He had called her while waiting for the bus back home. She dropped her purse and her coat on the floor and ran to him. She threw her arms around him and kissed his lips, his cheeks and his forehead. She put herself in his lap. “They didn’t give you any other real reason as to why?”

“The economy. I told you things were crumbling. I’ve been saying that for more than a year.”

“I know you have, sweetheart. I know. All right, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to move your flight back home for Christmas so you’re with me. Since you don’t have to work now, you can get out there sooner. Because what you need right now is to be around people who love you. You need Chuck and Neal.”

Michelle called the airline and with honest and charming sadness she told the operator about Lou’s layoff situation. It was Christmastime so the operator was sympathetic and changed Lou’s flight without cost.

✶

THAT MONDAY, LOU DROVE TO BRUSHWOOD TO VISIT WITH HIS GRANDPARENTS and see how Pop was feeling. He also needed to use Pop’s fax machine to send in his termination agreement.

Grams made lunch. Grilled cheese sandwiches on rye bread with tomato slices and tomato soup. “Well, I’ll tell ya.” Pop said. He often began conversations this way. It was like he had been thinking of the words long before speaking them. As a result, everything he said was a well-thought-out and deductive idea. Thinking before speaking was one of the few traits Lou didn’t inherit from his grandfather. “It’s not easy out there right now. I read the other day that the National Bureau of Economic Research says we’ve been in a recession for a year already.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you people,” Lou said. “It’s not that I haven’t been trying to find work.”

“Of course not, honey,” Grams said as she ladled soup into his bowl.

“And the only reason I took this job was because I had to. I needed something.”

“Maybe you should consider a different career,” Pop said.

“What do you mean?” Lou asked.

“Find something with growth potential and stability. Maybe you go into the sheet metal business with your father’s company.”

A decade ago, Benjamin purchased a century-old sheet metal factory located a few towns over from Brushwood where the blue-collars lived. Benjamin knew nothing of the heating, ventilation and air-conditioning business, but the land was valuable and the company was profitable. It was purely a real estate venture.

“I don’t want to work in sheet metal. What would I do?”

“I’m not saying you need to be a union worker, but maybe you can learn the business and become a partner eventually. Working for family is always best.”

“Why can’t the family own a newspaper? Why can’t I just make a career doing what I want to do and what I’m good at?

“Because you have to make money and be secure. And sometimes, the things we want to do don’t allow us to always be secure.”

“You didn’t want to go into real estate,” Grams said to Pop.

“That’s true. I didn’t want to follow my father’s footsteps into the family business.”

“What did you want to do?”

“I wanted to be a psychiatrist. I’ve always been fascinated by the mind and the human condition and our environment and how it all affects us.”

“Do you wish you had gone to school and become a shrink?”

“No. I made the choice. And it was the right one. If I’d gone to school, it would have meant delaying starting a family with your grandmother. It would have taken time to build my practice before I could earn a decent living wage. I was home from the war and getting married and needed to earn a living. It just wasn’t feasible.”

“But once your practice was built, you’d be fine. And wouldn’t your dad have helped you out along the way like mine has done for me?”

“I’m sure he would have. But I didn’t want to put that burden on him.”

“And you don’t regret not following your dream of being a psychiatrist?”

“Eh. It all worked out.”

“I can’t do that, Pop. I can’t just turn my back on what I’ve always wanted and change my mind just like that. ProCore was just a job, but writing is—was—my career. That’s what I want to do.”

“Then you have to find a way to do it where you can rely on steady employment.”

“Well, right now, no one has steady employment.”

“We always need teachers. You could be a teacher. Write your books during the summer.”

“Didn’t you talk Uncle Jack out of being a teacher?”

“I wouldn’t say I talked him out of it. He was having trouble finding a job, and I suggested he consider the insurance industry. It’s steady and provides a good living.”

“You’re like the muscle of the Career Mafia.”

Pop laughed and took a sip of his soup. “Oh, God. This tastes terrible. I’m sorry, Adina. Nothing is tasting good to me.”

“Try the sandwich, maybe you’ll like that,” she said.

“It doesn’t even look appetizing.”

“What’s the matter?” Lou said.

“This medicine they’re giving me for the cancer makes everything taste awful. Everything has a metallic taste.”

“Why don’t you get some pot? That will make you hungry enough to choke anything down.”

“I have some pills with THC in them. They cost one hundred dollars each. And they don’t help.”

“So get some real pot. I bet your grandson Aaron can hook you up—and wait a second, you didn’t want to be a burden to your dad by asking for his help. Am I a burden?”

“Of course not, Sweetie,” Grams quickly answered.

✶

THAT NIGHT, MICHELLE WANTED TO GET THEIR CHRISTMAS TREE. The year before, they walked to the empty lot next to the elementary school in their neighborhood to buy the tree and carried it the few blocks home. Now it was a tradition.

“It’s supposed to snow tonight. Just like last year. Can we get it tonight? It’ll be romantic.”

Lou loved Christmas. He loved the songs and the lights and presents and the parties and the movies. It’s the season of giving. But Lou was still broke. And unemployed—again. How could he give anybody anything?

He knew Michelle wouldn’t be okay if he suggested they not exchange gifts. And she sure wouldn’t be okay if he made her something. Like if he were to write her a story or something like that. Plus, he would have to buy gifts for her parents, too.

Fuck, he thought.

He couldn’t provide her with anything. Not a Christmas, not a birthday and not an anniversary.

At the apartment with the tree, she tuned the stereo in the apartment to the adult-contemporary radio station, which had been playing Christmas music since the day after Halloween. She nursed a glass of wine as she sang along to the radio. Lou drank two glasses of scotch before he finished stringing the lights.

“You need to make your gift list and send it to my parents,” she said.

“They don’t need to get me anything.”

“Well, they’re going to, so send it to them. And I need to see it, too. And you and I need to figure out who gets them what. Did you see their lists? Dad sent them this morning. And what about your mom? Did you figure out when we’re doing Christmas with her? I don’t want to do it too close to before we leave for Vegas. And preferably not on a Sunday night because you know I need Sunday nights to prepare for the workweek. We only have two more weekends before we leave.”

“Can we do it on a weeknight when you’re not working too late.”

“I always work late, you know that.”

“So then maybe duck out early one night.”

“Lou. This is my busy season.”

“Why? You’re not in retail.”

“Some of the clients I work with are.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“I’m just too busy to have Christmas with your mother on a weeknight. I have to work so I can pay for our trips, okay? Do you even know what you’re bringing to Cabo?”

That was another thing. Michelle was turning thirty and she wanted to celebrate it and their second anniversary together in her favorite place on earth: Cabo San Lucas, Mexico.

Not only could he not afford Christmas, he was the paid guest of Michelle’s on a trip for her big birthday. That was an expense a boyfriend should cover. Lou should have been able to buy her plane ticket, at least split the hotel cost and not have to worry about emptying out his tiny bank account when the check came from her birthday dinner. And how big a night would their anniversary be on New Year’s Eve? He couldn’t provide her with anything. Not a Christmas, not a birthday and not an anniversary.

He fixed himself a third drink. “I’ll talk to my mom and see what day works. If I take us out to dinner on Saturday, would you be okay to do Christmas with her Saturday afternoon? Like a Christmas brunch here?”

“Sure. That’s fair. We can get cheeses and meats and I can open those new champagne bottles I got from my wine club.”

“That’d be perfect. Thank you.”

“Have you looked at any of the links I sent you for possible birthday dinners for me in Cabo?”

“No. I haven’t.”

“I feel like you’re not excited about this trip.”

“I’m excited.”

“You don’t act like it.”

Lou was irritated because the trip was still three weeks out. He had just been laid off and although he had no money, he had to bribe her with dinner so she’d agree to have Christmas with his mother. Meanwhile, he was borrowing money from Benjamin to pay his half of the rent and buying plane tickets to Las Vegas to spend Christmas with her parents. He had other things on his mind that took precedence over her birthday dinner twenty-one days away. She would veto anything he picked anyway. She always did.

 “I love traveling,” she said. “It’s my passion. You know that. And I love planning trips. And this is an important trip. It’s my thirtieth birthday and our second anniversary. I get really excited about these things, and I need you to get excited, too. I need to know you care about the things I care about so I know you care about me.”

“Jesus Christ, Michelle. You get excited like a puppy piddling on the floor months before every vacation. That’s you. That’s how you do things. I do things differently. I get excited as we get closer to the actual vacation. It doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. It means I have a ton of other shit to do before I pick a restaurant for you that you’ll disagree with anyway. I have to decide what to buy your parents for Christmas first. One expense at a time, please.”

Michelle glared at him for a moment. “You just ruined tree-decorating night. Congratulations.”

They finished hanging the ornaments without speaking to each other. The radio still played holy, jolly Christmas tunes. Lou did everything he could to keep from laughing at Michelle. She was so angry. He was so drunk.

Tree-decorating night, he thought. Who the fuck calls it that?

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX

[rmjagonshi]

Whole Again - Chapter 6

Whole Again on AO3

Stan woke in a haze, confused at why he was in the RV and not the Stan O’War and why Ford was currently tucked in to his side. His arm was being held captive. His brother had always been snuggaly. He’d woken up a number of times when they were young with Ford pressed up against his back or draped over his chest. They’d both sought comfort in one another; being isolated kinds did that. It never bothered him that he didn’t have friends. He had his brother.

He knew Stanford was bothered by it though; Ford always assumed that Stan would have been more popular if it wasn’t for his extra fingers. It was part of the problem, but truth be told, Stan was not really good with people. Sure, Stan was a world class scam artist, always had been even in the second dimension, but he’d always had trouble opening up to people. Stanford was the first in a long chain that had actually broken through to see him as vulnerable. It was embarrassing how much he wanted Stanford Pines to himself. But Sixer Poindexter was haunted by him, the past him, and he needed to do something about it.

Ford woke some short time later and they ate cold beans and brown meat, water and checked on Ford’s wounds. He was healing well, heavily bruised ribs and a swollen hand that hand lost its ability to grip things (though it didn’t look all that swollen), but healthy, infection free, and beautifully alive.  

He’d spent part of the night crafting a simple pleasant dram for his brother; just a short jaunt down a river in the Stan O’War I, looking for Waddles. He’d let Stanford’s subconscious take it from there. It had been worth it when Ford woke up all smiles, albeit a bit sore.

Thankfully the environment had been kind, and no new snow had fallen in the night. They packed up, Stan shrinking the RV, and they made their way back out of the valley; stopping briefly in Aðalstræti to let them know to not send out a search party (they wouldn’t have, not worth it to try and rescue two stupid tourists bent on getting themselves in danger, but Ford insisted).

Stan drove the six hours home. Ford had offered to take over half way, but Stan could see him fighting to stay awake. He, too, felt tired, but he only had to stop for twenty minutes to get through a dizzy spell, Ford napping in the passenger seat. He really needed to get a reign on this burst of magic. It was taking a too much energy from him. He felt punch drunk like after an extended cage a fight, or after he’d entered into someone's mind.

That was one thing he never let on before; entertaining someone's mind was his specialty, but it was taxing and a draw on his powers. That's why he'd preferred making deals. The deal allowed him into people’s minds willingly; he didn't have to fight their mental defenses because there were none. It was similar to the vampire thing where a vampire can’t enter a person’s house unless invited, except it really was nothing like that.  

His human body was much weaker and much more limited. Magic was significantly tiring, it’s really no wonder he’d never tapped into it before; with no memory of magic, his body lacked the energy for spontaneous releases. Well, the magical kind anyway; human hormones were weird, and he should know having been one for sixty years.

Time passed strangely for Stan, the minutes dragging by like hours and yet the six-hour drive ended rather abruptly when he passed the city limits of Reykjavik. He pulled off on a deserted road and shrank everything, excluding their day packs, to make unpacking easier on both of their backs. Ford woke when he got back in the car and was perturbed that he had napped the whole way.

Ford had insisted on taking the rental car back that night. Stan had protested, saying they could pay the extra for dropping it off late and Ford didn’t need to aggravate his injuries, but there was really no arguing. Ford had sweetened the deal by suggesting they eat out that night; find a local pub, get fed and get drunk. “And maybe you can find someone to flirt with” Ford had suggested with a sly smirk. Stan was sold. He liked flirting, and he was kinda terrible at it. Ok, he was abysmal, but it was fun to see the girls (and some guys) play it off or laugh hysterically at his attempts. And Ford needed a reason to laugh. He’d seemed…off. Stan assumed that it was just from the exertion, but Ford had been shooting him sideways looks (when he’d been awake). He’d done it last night too, staring at Stan when he thought that Stan wasn’t looking. Stan felt guilty for not feeling guilty about manipulating Ford’s dreams. Man, If I went to a psych, they’d need a therapist.

He’d messed with Ford’s dreams and mind before, hell he’d freely entered it and possessed his body before, but…this was different. It was more…….intimate? Sort of. Maybe? Stan didn’t know. It just felt strangely different now than it had before. Maybe it was because he was physically here now, rather than just a mental projection through Ford’s mind. Or maybe it’s because I’m his brother and I shouldn’t be messin’ with his dreams. But he wanted to. He wanted to see what Ford thought about, what he dreamed about. Stan wanted to be able to influence that, be integral to it, and that was steering way too close to other issues that would drive his hypothetical therapist to the loony bin.

They dropped the car off (paying slightly more for the dings to under carriage) and Ford asked the clerk if he could recommend a place to grab a bite and a pint. Stan played dumb as Ford and the Clerk spoke in Gaelic.

“Do you have any suggestions where we could get some good food and good alcohol?” The counter attendant paused, assessing both Ford and Stan with a bewildered frown. He spoke slowly, as if Stan and Ford would dislike the answer.

“Aie, there’re a few places ‘round here. Depending on what’re ya lookin’ fer? There’s a club that makes good chips if yer lookin’ to go on the lash, but I suspect ye might be a bit…uncomfortable with the club scene.” Stan can see Ford’s face twitch in confusion at the regional slang, but pick up on its general meaning. This youngin thinks we’re too old. HA! Should taking him out partyin’ with me.

“If’n yer lookin’ fer somthin’ a bit quieter, I suggest The Drunk Rabbit off’a main street. It’s usually hoppin’ on the weekends, but you should be alright. I think a game’s on tonight, so it might be a bit rowdy.”

Ford just held up his hand to stop the guy, wincing slightly as the man’s eyes widened at his six fingers “Thanks for the tip. We’ll check it out.” They both ignored the muttering “Wot, Jesus, freak man has six fingers” as they left. Ford rubbed at one of his extra fingers shamefully. Stan wanted to wring the fucker’s neck, but he’d learned to let Ford deal with his own battles. Besides, he wasn’t supposed to know Gaelic, right?

“Wha’d he say?” Stan tried to force a smile. Ford gave him a sidelong hairy eyeball that lasted too long for Stan’s comfort before responding.    

“He said the Drunken Rabbit is a good place. It’s off main street. Though it might be loud tonight; apparently there is a sporting event being televised.” Ford’s voice took on a slight condescending tone, as if Stan should know what the guy had said. Wait….

SHIT!

He’d read…fuck!

Stan scrambled for an excuse, anything, anything at all. Ah…ah…shit, um…

“Hey, I said I could read it, not that I spoke it.” Ok, so that was kinda believable, now how was he gonna explain how he could read it. Think, stupid, how’re ya gonna play this?

“And how did you come to learn how to read an ancient form of Gaelic anyway? I don’t recall you taking an interest in foreign languages before.”

Stan raised an eyebrow. “¿Entonces soy estúpido?”

Stanford looked understandably speechless. “¿Qué te hace pensar que nunca tuve otros intereses?”

“Stanley, I’m sorry. That was rude. I just didn’t understand why Gaelic of all languages. My apologies.”

Stan smirked and flung his arm around Stanford’s shoulders, “Está bien, Sixer. Puedes pagar por las bebidas como una disculpa.” Ford rolled his eyes. “Don’t I always pay?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After getting lost a few times, and Ford making him try asking directions (Stan had done so, but asking for the “Small Rodent has intoxication” purposefully, had gotten him a few weird looks and continuous laughter from Ford), they found the pub a street over from the park. The place had a mid-sized crowd, mostly locals there for the game. They sat at the end of the bar away from the TV screen with a pint of Guinness each. Stan wasn’t a fan, and he could tell Ford was having a rough go of it, but it was the local favorite so why not? While his Sixer picked at an order of Fish and chips, Stan had to stop himself from inhaling a burger. About halfway through their meal, Ford pushed his half-finished glass towards Stan with a wrinkled nose.

“I always preferred vodka, myself. Or…” Ford looked around subtly, checking to see if anyone was watching before pulling out a small flask from the inner pocket of his jacket. “Can I tempt you?” He said, shaking the flask slightly at Stan.

Stan raised an eyebrow over the glass Ford had given him and downed the last of the beer in a few quick gulps before asking, “What is it?”

Ford smirked, “You’ve had it before. I haven’t got much left, but I think we earned a sip or two.” Ford unscrewed the cap and quickly took a sip before hiding it under the counter from the bartender. A tiny trickle of black, blue and pink with sparkles of white running from his lip.

When Ford turned back to Stan, he was discernibly affected by whatever it was in the flask. His pupils had blown wide and his skin was flushed. Sixer was more drunk than he was and Stan had downed twice as much as Ford. What they heck was in that thing?

When the bartender was again distracted with another customer, Ford brought the flask back onto the bar and gestured it towards Stan with an expectant look. Stan grumbled and snagged the flask, taking a large gulp, and choking slightly at the burn, barely getting the flask out of sight as the bartender came and collected their glasses.  

Stan carefully (and rather failingly) kept a straight face as Ford ordered two shots of Whisky and a glass of flavored vodka for them both. As soon as the bartender left, Stan brought the flask back up, pressing it into Ford’s chest and coughing into his arm.

It did taste familiar. It was the same stuff Ford had offered him in the Fearamid. It had hurt then too, but now he knew what it was. Cosmic Sand?! Where in the multiverse did he get that? But of course, Stan had to play dumb. He just gave Ford a pained look, eyes watering, “Never took you for a fan of the strong stuff.”

Sixer looked smug, smug and predatory. It was a good look on him in Stan’s opinion. “You could fill whole books with the things you don’t know about me. Ten, by my last estimation.” Stan rolled his eyes.

“Alright, smart-guy, how’s about you start by tellin’ me what that stuff is and where you got it.”

Stanford took a second sip before tucking the flask away and began recounting his adventure in Dimension fifty-two and Jeheselbraum the Unswerving. They didn’t even notice the bartender dropping off their drink order until Stan nearly knocked his over.

“You liked her.” Stan gestured with his glass of vodka, sloshing a bit over the side.

Ford blushed, “No I didn’t. Well, yes, I did, but not amorously. She was intellectually stimulating and she knew so much about so many topics. I would love to see her again and pick her brain.” He smiled wistfully while twirling his glass.  

“That’s not all you wanna do” Stan chuckled.

“Stanley, you are impossible!” Ford glanced at Stan from the corner of his eye.

“Did you kiss her?” Ford nearly choked on his drink

“Stanley!” Stan thought scandalized and red was a better look on Ford than smug and predatory.

“Did you?” He wasn’t gonna let this go.

“No” Ford’s tone suggested he’d thought about it though.  

“Did you want to?” Stan really wasn’t gonna let this go.

Ford didn’t respond, just averted eye contact and blushed even harder.

“You did, didn’t you?” Stan arched an eyebrow.

“If I answer in the affirmative, will you shut up please!” Sixer looked like he wanted to fall into another portal or anything to get away from the conversation. Stan just let out a sound of affectionate ridicule.  

“Damn! Wish I’d gotten to talk to the gal that took my brother’s fancy. You were up in a monastery with her, just her for weeks and you didn’t put the moves on her? Not once? Poindexter, common! You gotta do better than that! And she was a party-gal too! Ah! What a wasted opportunity.” Stan lamented his brother’s loss. He couldn’t say why, but he wasn’t going to explore any ideas that involved rebound crushes and one-eyed triangle dream daemons.      

“I was more interested in ending Bill Cipher at the time and recovering from brain surgery. Besides, she knew everything about me. If she’d been interested, then she would have said something.” Stan thought Ford sounded unsure.

“Yer just tellin’ yerself that to lessen the blow that you missed yer chance. Man, Nerd, do I gotta give ya pointers on how to talk to women?”

“I do not need pointers, Stanley. I charmed my way into interdimensional courts, lead rebellions, spoke with professors and scientists that are centuries beyond our understanding of science, and was a speaker at the intergalactic Senate as a representative from Earth 46’\.”

“Ok, but were any of them women?”

“Some, yes.”

Stan looked surprised. “Of those species that reproduced sexually and defined their species by distinctions between those sexes, yes, many of them were ‘women’.”

Stan just sighed. Sixer was so frustratingly accurate and precise about things that didn’t matter. “Ok, check out that one there. She’s sittin’ by herself, but she wasn’t that long ago. Her friend, the blonde over two booths down, went to flirt with some guy and has been over there awhile. She looked lonely and disappointed that the guy flirted with her friend. All you gotta do is go talk to her. Pretend yer a tourist and ask her somthin’ funny, like ya don’t know the language that well.”

“Stan, she’s too young. She looks in her thirties. She won’t respond well to me.”  

“And you look a hell of a lot younger than you are, so just go.” Ford really didn’t look Sixty. He’d aged remarkably well, Stan was jealous.

“What about these?” Ford held out his hands before him, fingers spread to draw attention to his extra pinkies

“Believe it or not Sixer, most people don’t give a flyin’ fuck. They might think it’s weird at first, but tha’s it.”  

Ford took a breath, downed the rest of his glass, and took the shot of whiskey for good measure before walking over to the brunette sitting by herself.

Stan watched his brother make a circuit around the room, weaving in and out of people standing around and coming up to the woman’s side. Stan could tell Sixer was nervous. He opened and closed his hands a few times, gearing himself up to make the opening line.

Stan’s phone beeped. He blinked, attention truing to his pocket. Mabel had sent him a picture text. She and Dipper were shopping for Thanksgiving with their mom. The cart seemed to be overloaded and Mabel was squishing her cheeks with glee at the size of the turkey and the number of pumpkin pie crusts dipper was stacking. Stan could see a bit of Rebecca Pines pushing the cart, but she was mostly out of frame. He grinned and sent a quick text back saying where they were. He and Sixer had agreed that they would call the kids via video chat on Thanksgiving Day; the time difference allowing them to talk to the kids early enough so they didn’t interrupt dinner. Stan also had plans to call Soos and the Mystery Shack. Melody had made arrangements to stay in Gravity Falls and the relationship seemed serious. Stan was overjoyed; Soos deserved to have someone special in his life. He’d just finished typing out a “Goodnight” to Mabel when he noticed Ford approaching him, looking a little awkward and put out.  

“So, it turns out that she’s homosexual and has a crush on her friend who is undeniably heterosexual and was not disappointed that she wasn’t on the receiving end of an unwanted attempt at flirting but rather that her friend didn’t pick up on her own attempts.” Ford said in one breath, slumping down on the stool and burying his face in the empty glass.

“Oh”. Stan knew that, but there was a chance she would flirt with Ford in a desperate attempt to make her friend jealous.  

“Yeah, ‘Oh’”. Ford mumbled dejectedly, running his finger on the damp lip of the glass. Stan tried to signaled for a refill, but the bartender was facing away from him.

“Wha’dya say to her?”

“’Hello, do you have knowing the resting room in the ceiling?’”

Stan spat out his drink. No wonder she’d laughed. Sixer had just about as much charm as he had back in high school. He rubbed at his eyes and tried to stifle a chuckle.  

“’Do you have knowing’, I gotta remember that one. What else?”

“She spoke English, and said that it was probably the funniest openers she had heard. I asked her name, Lisa, and if she would like to sit and talk. She told me about what happened and I said I understood. Unrequited affection is rough.”

“What did she say about yer hands?”

“She didn’t.” Ford seemed reluctant to admit the fact. Stan smiled to himself, glad to be proven right.

“Why did you pick her anyway?” Ford asked, gesturing to the woman whose friend had returned looking annoyed. Apparently, her bout of flirting with the mystery man had not gone well.

“I figured she would be easy for you to approach? Less likely to wave you off if you fumbled-up” Stan had thought it was obvious.

Ford rolled his eyes. “No, I meant, why a woman?” Ford looked shocked at himself for speaking so candidly and looked skeptically at his empty glass.

Stan himself looked a bit surprised, but recovered quickly when Ford showed signs of discontent. “Sorry, I guess I assumed, ya’know, with what I remembered. My bad.” Ford pulled the flask back out, took a quick sip and returned it to his pocket.

“Since I know you are going to ask; that one.” Ford pointed subtly. Stan’s mind had not caught up other than to helpfully supply ‘blue-grey tweed’. He shook his head, “Sorry?”

“My type, in men, I mean. The one leaning against the wall in a blue-grey tweed jacket.”

Stan’s eyes cast around the room before landing on the man in question. The man was tall, about six and a half feet, had salt and pepper hair, looked in his mid-forties, maybe early fifties. The man had a great body. Stan could tell the man was fit and had a tapered triangle shape to him; wide shoulders and a narrow waist. He was wearing the blue-grey tweed jacket, a light blue shirt with a dark blue tie and white pants. The guy was dripping Oxford Professor. Stan could imagine why Sixer would like that.

“So…” Stan prompted

“So?” God Sixer was dense.

“So, go talk to him. And you call me ‘knucklehead’.”

But he didn’t go. Stanford just blushed impossibly redder and hailed the bartender (loudly) for another round of drinks. When Stan prompted him again, Ford just shook his head and avoided making eye contact. When the bartender returned, he pulled the glass to him and chugged like a dying man and his first taste of water.    

“How’d you get there anyway?” Ford looked confused at the non-sequitur.

“You said you’d passed out and woke up in a mountain monastery with tall, dark, and seven-eyed hovering over you. Why’d you pass out?” A soft ‘ah’ escaped Ford’s lips.

“In my travels, I somehow found my way to a second dimension. A flat world from my own perspective, where everything looked like line segments bobbing around. I’d thought it was Bill Cipher’s home-world. After speaking with Jeheselbraum, I learned it was just one of infinite versions of the world Cipher burned. I may have even come across a version of Bill there, and just didn’t know it because of my third-dimensional eyes.”

Ford seemed to go into himself at his next statement, eyes downcast and full of repressed longing. “A dimension where he hadn’t burned his home, where he hadn’t committed such atrocities…where he hadn’t tricked me.”

Stan really should address that. He should. He should also tell Sixer who he was and had been. He should tell Sixer about his feelings and…he should do a lot of things. But he was a coward, always had been, even back then when he was invading people’s minds. The difference now was, he was man enough to admit he was running.

Time to regale Sixer with a round of my misadventures then.

“You said you wanted me to tell you the story of how I chewed my way out of a car trunk, right?”

Sixer perked up, “Yeah, how did you wind up in like that?”

Stan had recounted the tale of getting into a fist fight with a gang member in a bar in Arizona along the border. The guy had lost, but he went and got some buddies. They had cornered him in an alley, beat him and stuffed him in a trunk. Thankfully they were sluggish and uncoordinated and drunk off their asses and had left the car unattended that night. Stan woke up with plenty of time to eat and tear through the cushioning separating the trunk from the backseat and was able to get away. A jagged piece of glass from a broken bottle was enough to cut through the ropes.

Seeing his brother’s expression at his more dangerous misadventures, Stan moved onto funnier tales about running the Murder Hut/Mystery Shack. About finding gnomes breaking into the shack and trying to give him as an offering to their queen which prompted him to use his football skill to punt them out, about going toe to…hoof with one of the manitaurs and losing (he was man enough to admit he’d been no match), about the guy who tried to pay admission fee with a baby goat and the goat just stayed (It kept the gnomes away), and trying to get rid of a Hawktopus that had found its way into the crawl space.

Stan then moved onto stories with the kids. His poor attempt at engaging with the kids at the lake (So then I just found some random kid to show how to tie a barrel knot). Mabel’s endeavor to match him up with Susan Wentworth at the diner (She had soooo many cats. I think I dodged a bullet with that one). His rivalry with Gideon and getting glued to a chair and stuck in the Pioneer Day stocks (I had tomato juice in my underwear). The kids fighting over Ford’s old room (they’d switched bodies and I ended up telling Mabel all about male puberty). Terrifying the attendees of Woodstick with a hot air balloon that unintentionally said ‘I Eat Kids’ (Stan, please tell me you didn’t actually shoot at anyone). His adventure in the cavers under the town and punching a pterodactyl in the face while it was flying (You, WHAT!? But you’re afraid of heights!). And their terrifying zombie escapade that ended in a horrid musical number (Wait, HOW did you break their skulls? You just…just stepped on it? How…how strong are you?). Ford had laughed himself sore and they’d gone through so many rounds of dinks they’d lost count.        

Stan had just recounted his purchase of Summerween props with ‘Stanbucks’. "If I'm not walking out of the store with a great deal, then I'm walking out of there at speed." Besides, it was for the kids. And he knew that fake blood was just going to get tossed after the season was over anyway. He was just offering charity to take it off their hands. They should be thanking him. Ford seemed to disagree.

"Stanley, you can't just steal your way through life."

"Why not, done an ok job of it so far. Its either that or sittin' on a street corner, and I'm not gonna sit here and pretend I still got the body fer that". Well shit. He'd gone and said it, hadn't he? He really was drunk. Now would come the guilt and the water works and god knows what else. Damnit, he'd been trying to keep that tidbit of information from Ford, spare his feelings. It wasn't like he had done it all the time, and he was real choosy about his clients. Only had to get rough a few times and he never let himself get drunk or get messed up with any shitty powders. Only got roofied once, and the guy who did it got the shit beat out of him by Jimmy Snakes. They crashed in some chick's hotel room while she gave an eye witness account that the guy had fallen across some chairs. She had been a sweet gal. Didn't remember her name, though.

He could see the wheels grinding to a halt in Ford's head, lips puckered to take a sip form his drink. The astonishment was clear as day. Then his expression changed, his eyes drooping and mouth twisting up in revile. There's the guilt. Damnit, Poindexter, it does no good to worry now. I'm fine.

To his credit, all Ford did was sigh and run a hand over his face. "I wish I'd have had the maturity enough to pull my head out of my ass long enough to realize you might have needed help." He slid his left hand across the bar and placed it over Stan's. "But we're here now. Doing what we always wanted to do. I'm studding anomalies and you pulled some solid artifacts from that crypt." He chuckled, eyes full of quiet exhilaration. He paused for a moment, grip tightening on Stan's hand. Trepidation creeping onto his face as he swallowed. "That is,...are you....you want to be out here with me,...right?" In that moment, Ford looked like the nervous preteen that clung to Stan's arms after being ridiculed by a classmate; begging Stan to tell him that he wanted to be with him, not just because they were brothers, but because he wanted to be. That used to be Ford's biggest fear, that people were nice to him because they had to be or were supposed to be, rather than because they actually liked him. Stan wouldn't have teased him even if he wanted to (and he did kind of want to). He flipped his hand over and interlaced his fingers with Ford's He took a sip from his drink and flashed a flirty smirk, "Always, Sixer. And forever"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

They stumbled the whole way back to the ship, laughing and grappling at each other’s shoulders. He’d shown Sixer the text from Mabel and they both agreed to pick up a souvenir or something that said ‘Reykjavik’ on it for them. Sixer also agreed to start working on a set of portal mirrors he had scribbled about in his journals and sending one to the kids. It would make communication easier, and depending on the size of a stable set, would allot them to meet their hug quota. Both brothers craved physical affection, having been denied it for so long.

They unsteadily made their way on board the Stan O’War and below decks before Stan collapsed in a heap on his tiny cot. Feebly attempting to kick his boots off.  

“Oy. Beds 're too small. Should'a gotten a double.” He mumbled, arm and leg hanging off the side of the bed.

“This is a double, Stan.” Ford sat on his own bunk to properly remove his boots and undress for bed. Stan just rolled slightly, untangled himself from his trench coat and threw it to the end of the bed.  

“You know wha' I mean.” They had contemplated on installing a queen, but it wouldn’t fit. They’d opted for the current arrangement. Ford just laughed.

Stan was starting to love hearing that sound. Hell of a lot better than screaming. No wait, screaming was good, it was sneezing that he couldn’t stand. He remembered being in Ford's body when it was overtaken with a sneezing fit. He had refused to inhabit Ford's body for weeks after that. Pain was interesting (well it wasn't anymore now that he had become intimate with it, but at the time it had been so strange), but the involuntary spasms irritated his molecules. Ford screaming had been nice to listen to once, he isn't sure if it still was though; more recent memories reminded him that it wasn’t. He might have to ask Ford to scream for him sometime to see if he still liked it.

“And get kicked in the middle of the night on a regular basis? Not likely, not to mention your shedding. And you put out heat like a furnace. We didn’t need to worry about heat in the RV.”

Stan snorted. “You like it though. Crawled inta my bed often enough when we were younger. Think my silver medal boxing match was the last time.” He missed it. There were a number of times he rolled over in the back seat of his car or a shity motel bed expecting his brother to be curled up beside him.

“Stan, we were in high school by then.” Ford had removed his jacket and undershirt, opting for a white sleeveless similar to the one Stan used to sport. Stan eyed the star tattoo on Sixer’s neck. He’d been waiting for the perfect opportunity to play that song and tease his brother relentlessly. For now, he just closed his eyes and hummed.  

“Yup. An'you were so worried 'bout my eye, you slept next ta me to check on it through the night.”  

“It did look terrible.” Ford agreed, sliding under the covers, not bothering to worry about his nightly routine. They’d even forgot to reset the coffee pot. Eh, fuck it.

“Yeah, but I woke up the next mornin' with you all nuzzled up in my armpit.” Stan couldn’t help but needle Sixer. It was too fun to get him riled up.

“I was not!”

“Were to!”

“Oh, enough.” Ford dissolved in to another fit of giggles. Ok, yeah, laughter was definitely a winner. He could listen to it all night. He hummed in contentment, eye closed and arm draped over his face. He was almost asleep when he heard Ford's tentative call. "Stan?"

"Hnmm?" The bed shifted slightly where the mattresses met and Stan felt something fluffy press into the back of his head. He felt the vibrations of Ford's voice travel through his crania to his gums.

"Goodnight"

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