#Part 19 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zepskies · 1 year ago

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Smoke Eater - Part 19

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

🔥 Series Masterlist

AN: Deep breaths, my friends. We’re almost to the end. ❤️

Word Count: 5,800 Tags/Warnings: Violence, peril, blood and guns, character death…

Part 19: “Sacrifice”

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted…but you didn’t answer.

“You there?” he asked. There was a pit forming in his stomach when he glanced up at John. His father met his gaze with furrowed brows that betrayed concern.

The line was silent for one more painful moment. Dean opened his mouth to call out to you again, but a smooth voice interrupted.

“Dean, Dean, Dean,” a man replied. “Forgetting something?”

Dean’s heart began to pound. His mouth parted, but for a moment, the words wouldn’t escape.

“Who is this?” he said. His voice was a hint unsteady.

“I think you know, son,” the man replied.

Dean’s wide eyes flicked up to John’s, and the other man sprang into action. He shot a look and a whispered order at Cas, who went running for some IP tracking equipment back in the police car.

Meanwhile, John guided Dean to sit down on the couch. Sam followed them on his brother’s right, while John sat on Dean’s left.

Dean put the phone on speaker between the three of them.

“You’re Daniel Savage, huh?” Dean said. He tried to inject some more control into his tone, like he wasn’t freaking the fuck out. “Man, do I feel special.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Dean-o. I’m doing the same thing your dad’s doing. Hooking the bigger fish.”

Dean’s lips pursed. He glanced at his father, but his attention on the phone turned steely.

“What the hell do you want?” he asked. “Your lackey’s on lockdown. So’s your bastard son. If you want to help him, I’d suggest you turn your ass over to the cops.”

“Yes, Nick’s an idiot. But family, right?” said Daniel. He breathed out a sigh.

But then his voice was firm and calculating. It made Dean’s skin crawl.

“Cards on the table, son. Your daddy’s got something of mine. I’ve got something of yours.”

Dean’s face hardened, but John raised a placating hand; a warning to keep calm. Dean tried to take a breath.

His heart clenched at the mere thought of you being in the same room with that man. Having been taken and hauled to God knows where. He couldn’t imagine how scared you were. And if you were hurt…

Fuck. There was a roiling pit forming in his stomach, his head starting to pound in time with his heartbeat.

Already Cas was back with a laptop and program designed to track the caller’s phone. He connected a USB-like cord to Dean's phone and began fiddling with the settings, trying to get a read. Dean knew he had to keep this fucker talking.

“You have her with you?” he asked.

“Sure do. She’s a pretty little thing.”

Dean’s jaw clenched in a furious glare. “Don’t you fucking touch her, you son of a bitch.”

“Quid pro quo, Dean. What can you do for me?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, as desperation began to escape him. “There’s no way they’re letting Nick go before the trial. It’s out of my dad’s hands.”

“Your dad has no real evidence that my son is anything more than a successful businessman,” said Daniel. “If you really need someone to pin these unfortunate murders on, you had your man in custody…but, oh wait. You gave him immunity.”

Dean’s eyes were desperate when they met Sam’s worried ones, then their father’s. It didn’t matter that John and Cas did have evidence besides Alastair’s testimony. All Dean cared about was you.

He swallowed. “What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing. It’s what I want John to do.”

Dean took a moment to close his eyes, pull himself together. His hands squeezed his knees to brace himself. When he next opened his eyes, he let out a sharp breath.

“What do you want then? Aside from Nick somehow breaking loose,” he asked.

“I want your dad to back the fuck off, once and for all,” Daniel said. His voice was more edged, with both warning and a hint of frustration. “Or I’ll make his son live the same pathetic existence he does.”

Dean’s next breath came out harsher, as both John and Sam sharpened at the threat.

“That’s right, Dean. These are my terms of engagement, else I’m gonna have a bonfire with your girl here.”

It all gripped Dean at once.

Panic, anger, and desperation.

He grabbed the phone and spoke harshly into the speaker.

“Put her on the damn line," he said. "I wanna hear her and know this isn’t a trick.”

Daniel sighed, like he was getting bored. “Oh, all right.”

There was some shuffling, the sound of Daniel’s steps echoing in what sounded like a large room. Dean’s brows furrowed as he heard sounds of your struggle, then your labored breaths, as if a gag had been removed from your mouth.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Go ahead and talk to him,” said Daniel.

Soon enough, your tremulous voice reached him.

“Dean?” you said. You sounded like you were fighting tears; maybe even losing. Dean’s heart broke all the more for it.

“Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah…yeah, I’m okay,” you said, though your voice shook. He hoped you weren’t lying for his sake.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He raised a fist to his mouth, ignoring how it shook. “You’re gonna be okay. I’m going to find you—”

All too soon, the phone was taken away from you.

“Rule number one of negotiations, kid. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Dean’s eyes widened. The next thing he heard was a hard slap. It echoed into the speaker, along with your shout of both surprise and pain, a chair toppling over.

“You fucking bastard!” Dean seethed. “When I find you—”

John interrupted this time, taking the cell phone from Dean. He shot his son a look that was meant to be reassuring, but Dean was too incensed. Sam gripped his shoulder and earned his brother’s gaze. Dean’s chest heaved with the effort of calming his breathing.

“What do you want?” John said into the phone. His voice was clipped and direct.

While he continued to speak, Cas was frowning in frustration over his laptop.

“Anything?” Sam asked.

“I can’t get a lock on his signal. He must have something throwing off the scanner,” Cas replied.

Dean growled in frustration and pushed off the couch. He began to pace the living room, all while he tried to keep an ear on what John was saying lowly into the phone.

By the time he hung up, Dean was raging.

“Fuck this, I’m gonna find her,” he said. John tried to stop him from going anywhere with a hand on his shoulder. Dean knocked him off angrily. Sam also stood, for once on the same page as his father, no matter how much he sympathized.

“Dean, you need to calm down,” John tried.

It was the wrong thing to say.

“I didn’t ask for this!” Dean shouted. The force of it echoed on the apartment walls. “Matter of fact, I’ve never asked you for a damn thing until now. Only that you’d keep me in the loop on Azazel, and keep her out of this. But you couldn’t even do that, could you?”

Sam was at a loss, looking between his father and brother. Cas was also caught in between, watching the scene with concern, and bated breath.

John’s broad shoulders sunk a bit, along with the deep breath he expelled.

“You’re right,” John said. "You're right, son. And I'm sorry."

His eyes held the weight of his words. Of sincerity. And by degrees, Dean’s anger lessened.

Again, not by much.

“Let’s fix it,” said John. “Once and for all.”

Dean wasn’t fully recovered from his TBI. He’d been cleared for driving, but not yet for full physical exercise, let alone going back to work. The stress of all this was giving him a powerful headache, but there was no way he was going to be sidelined now, on any part of it.

Sam was forced to withdraw the case against Nick Savage, citing lack of evidence to support a trial at this time. The judge gave Sam permission to refile when he was able to build a better case.

John was then tasked with escorting Nick out of prison. Cas, meanwhile, was sitting in his personal car outside the county jail with Dean in the passenger seat. Cas didn’t trust what his friend would do behind the wheel once he saw Nick.

“What happens after Nick gets out?” Dean asked. “Dad’s been cagey about the whole deal.”

“We’re escorting him to the airport,” Cas said. “There we’ll wait for Daniel and make the exchange.”

Nick, for you. That was the deal.

“And then?” Dean asked, his teeth already clenching.

Cas blew out a sigh. “We’ll have a unit waiting on standby. We’re going to try and get ahold of whoever has her, though I doubt Daniel will come himself.”

“What if you can’t catch him?” Dean pressed.

Cas didn’t want to have to tell his friend something he didn’t want to hear, but he didn’t make a habit of lying to Dean. He wasn’t about to start now.

“Then it’s over, for now,” he replied. “We each go back to our corners and regroup.”

“Dad’ll never stop hunting this guy,” Dean said.

“That may be,” Cas nodded. “But he does have a line.”

“My father’s an obsessed bastard,” Dean groused. “He doesn’t have a damn line.”

Cas looked over at him then. He was calm and sympathetic, and yet, still disagreeing in his silence. Dean knew he was probably wrong, but in the moment, he didn’t care. He was still angry.

He perked up, however, when the prison doors slid open. Out came John escorting Nick and his lawyer, Amelia. Nick looked as smug as ever now that his cuffs were off. He was given the clothes he was arrested in—a blue silk shirt, pants, Italian leather shoes, and a silver Rolex watch.

Screw this, Dean thought. He unlocked the car from his side and climbed out. He didn’t care that he could hear Cas mutter a curse behind him and follow suit.

Nick saw Dean coming and couldn’t help but smirk, even as John grasped his arm and led him to his police car.

“Hey, fireman,” Nick taunted with his waggling brows. “Where’s our girl?”

Dean’s lips edged at a dangerous smile. Cas came up just behind him, ready to restrain him if need be.

“You can finesse your way out of this, but remember our little chat,” Dean said. His eyes burned with a thinly veiled threat. “Not a dime in this world can protect you from me.”

Nick pretended to shiver.

“Ooh, I’m so fucking scared,” he snarked. He resisted John’s manhandling and ripped his arm out of the other man’s grasp to step further into the open, leaving just a few yards between him and Dean.

“You can’t touch me,” Nick taunted. “You won’t dare. Not unless you want—”

Three shots rang out in the open clearing.

All heads ducked, but Dean’s eyes widened. He watched Nick crumple to the ground as scarlet red plumed in the man’s silk shirt. The shock etched on his face drained along with his life, leaving blue eyes staring up at a clear sky.

Forensics at the scene found traces of a sniper on the rooftop of a building directly across from the county jail.

John and Cas already were mounting an entire unit search in locating Alastair Rolston, but he had apparently moved out of his apartment as soon as he was released from prison with his immunity deal. (The police officers escorting him into witness protection had been found dead at the scene of his designated safe house.)

The detectives were later called into the medical examiner’s office on the case of Nick Savage—not to examine the body, but the bullets that had carved into his heart, right lung, and throat.

One of the bullets had a special casing. Inside was a rolled-up note, not unlike a carrier pigeon. It had a simple message:

JOHN — STULL STORAGE. COME ALONE.

Once again, Dean refused to sit idly. He’d pushed back hard enough that John had eventually relented. This time, however, Sam stepped in to make sure his brother was reigned in. Dean’s knee was already bouncing with anticipation and nervousness.

It was nearly midnight on a Tuesday. The brothers sat in the surveillance van with Jody Mills, all wearing protective Kevlar vests as precaution. The van was removed from the immediate site of Stull Storage, which was made up of a main warehouse and several rows of storage units on the other side.

Cas was leading another police unit on standby, but John was going into the warehouse. He wore his usual leather jacket over his rumpled shirt, pants, and boots, but also a protective vest and hidden wire under his collar.

Sam, Dean, and Jody were able to listen in as John entered alone.

He had a flashlight positioned over his raised gun as he walked into the building. He found some light switches along the wall and was able to turn on half the room’s fluorescent ceiling lights.

He heard a whimper.

Moving towards the sound cautiously, John soon found you tied to a chair. You looked a bit worse for wear; though you were dressed for an interview in black slacks and a blouse, your hair was in disarray, your cheek still sported a fading red mark, and you likely had other bumps and bruises.

Your eyes widened with hope when you saw John. You made sounds of surprise around the gag tied in your mouth, but he shushed you with a finger held to his lips.

He went over to you after lowering his gun, cocking back the safety, and re-holstering. He went to untie the gag first. You breathed deeply when it was gone.

“You okay?” he asked, touching your arm in comfort.

“Yeah,” you nodded, but your widening eyes still darted behind him.

Another safety clicked back. John immediately drew his gun again and turned. He was met with the man of the hour.

Standing mere feet away with his own gun was Daniel Savage. AKA: Azazel.

“Ooh, you’re getting old, John,” he said with a smirk. “Wasn’t expecting to get the drop on you so easily.”

John subtly moved so he was standing in front of you. He hadn't had time to untie you from the chair. Your breathing came out shallow as you tried to spy around John to your captor.

“Daniel,” John greeted. “It’s about time, wouldn’t you say?”

“You cheated though,” said Daniel, despite his cocky smirk. Like father like son. “I know you’ve got a team waiting in the wings.”

“If you wanna get technical, you cheated first,” John pointed out.

Daniel shrugged. Behind him came around ten of his own hired men, armed with their own guns. “Hate the player, hate the game, my friend.”

John’s lips pursed, but he didn’t lower his gun. He had a straight shot at Daniel’s chest.

“Even if you do get off a shot, you’ll be Swiss cheese where you stand,” Daniel said.

“Small price to pay for ending your miserable fucking life,” John remarked.

Daniel’s brows rose. “Are you gonna make her pay for it too?”

He gestured behind John, where he glanced back at your face. Your red-rimmed eyes were shining with tears. And John knew that once his gun fired, his body would hit the ground. Yours wouldn’t be far behind.

His brows furrowed, and the hands holding his weapon wavered.

“So how you do think this is gonna play out?” John asked.

“Well, for starters, you’re going to drop that damn gun,” said Daniel. He cocked his own weapon. “Then, you’re going to get down on your knees and take this bullet, like putting down a rabid dog. Then maybe, I’ll let her go before the cops rush in.”

John’s hesitation was mere seconds. He clicked the safety back on. He set down his gun, and lowered to his knees in slow movements.

Your eyes widened further as incredulous tears slipped down your cheeks. You shook your head.

“Don’t!” you said shakily.

John didn’t look back at you this time, but he did answer you.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” he said.

Daniel’s grim smile made you shiver.

“What a caring father-in-law,” he said, and he slowly stalked forward. “You know, I prided myself on delegating my operations well. Oh, it was a well-oiled machine back in the day. But some things…well, some things are just better handled yourself. Know what I mean?”

He tilted his head down at John.

“For example: I really regret the way I had your wife killed,” he said. “For all the trouble you’ve given me, I wish I’d actually burned the bitch myself.”

John glared up at the man with pure fury and hatred.

Though his eyes widened when the first shot split the air, and buried a bullet in Daniel’s left arm. Daniel shouted in pain as he unconsciously dropped his gun. John dove for it, and everything started to happen at once.

Daniel kicked at John’s chest while holding his wounded arm, tossing the other man back. John rolled onto his feet, and their full out brawl began. Meanwhile, a unit of police officers swarmed into the warehouse and sparked a shootout with Daniel’s men.

And in all of this, Cas came out from behind your line of vision to untie you. He wore a protective vest over his usual white dress shirt, now rolled up to the elbows.

“Cas!” you gasped. He gave you a smile, then used a pocketknife to cut through the zip ties holding your wrists behind you and your ankles to the chair.

“Come on, let’s go.” He helped you up and guided you out the back of the warehouse.

The last coherent sound Sam and Dean heard was a bullet fired and hitting its target. They couldn’t tell if it was John or Daniel that had been hit, or even you.

Above all things, Dean was a man of action.

He just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fuck this,” he growled. He got to his feet and went for the door of the surveillance van, but while Jody voiced her protest, it was Sam who reached him first.

“Dean, stop! You can’t go out there!” Sam said.

“The hell I can’t,” Dean said. The punch he reared back and threw was precise when it cracked Sam in the cheek. He went down hard. It was all Jody could do to keep him from knocking his head on the metal floor, but Sam was out cold, with his hair flopped over his face.

"Dean!" Jody yelled after him. She stared after the open door of the van with wide, worried eyes.

There were rows upon rows of storage units behind the warehouse. It felt like a maze in itself, one that you and Cas were forced to navigate alone in the crisp January night. Both of you saw your breath on the air as you tried to move quickly, but quietly.

Until a long arm reached out on the other side of a unit, and a hand closed on Cas’s gun, pushing it down and ripping it out of his hands. An elbow cracked into his face, making him grunt and stumble.

Your scream of surprise echoed in the night. You stared up into the familiar face of Alastair, whose mouth formed a sly grin.

“Hey there, beautiful,” he said.

Cas distracted him with a blow that Alastair blocked, but it gave Cas room to break the taller man’s stance and knock his head against the unit wall—once, twice, until the man stumbled and fell. He wasn’t knocked out, but Cas didn’t wait for Alastair to recover. He grabbed you and forced you to run.

“I thought he was in protective custody for the trial,” you said, through huffing breaths.

“Evidently he escaped,” Cas replied.

“God, Cas. You really need to hand out some pink slips,” you said, with a tremor in your voice. The police were supposed to have been watching you as well, before you were kidnapped. Cas conceded your point.

“We really shouldn’t have given him immunity,” he grumbled.

Dean knew he was being some kind of idiot.

Knew it as he carefully approached a side door of the warehouse. His vest wouldn’t protect his whole body if he entered the no man’s land shootout he could hear happening on the other side of the door.

Already he could see policemen escorting some of Azazel’s captured team around the front exit. Dean kept to the shadows, and he cracked the side door open.

There was still plenty going on inside. A few bodies were already strewn across the dusty warehouse floor. Large crates stacked up to the ceiling offered meager protection for both sides of the siege, including Dean as he kept to the wall and slid his way inside and behind a formation of wooden crates. He scanned the room until he found his dad.

John was fighting hand-to-hand with who had to be Daniel Savage. Even though the latter had blood dripping from his arm, John had his share of bruises and scrapes, including a long cut across his cheek from the knife clenched in Daniel’s non-injured right hand.

What the hell do I do? Dean assessed the situation, his eyes darting quickly between the men. He came in here without a weapon (another smart move). He went through most of the training a million years ago, but Dean wasn’t a police officer. He was a firefighter.

However, when he spotted a forgotten Glock on the floor, just a few yards away where the men were still tousling, Dean inched his way closer. He’d have to leave the relative safety of the crates and throw himself out into the open to reach the gun. At this point, Daniel was closer.

And he’d noticed the gun too, at the same time that John glanced up and saw his son. His eyes widened, and just for a moment he lost his grip on Daniel. The other man went for the gun at the same time Dean dove.

John yanked Daniel back by his collar and kneed him in the stomach. But Daniel had the longer reach. He cracked an elbow into John’s face and followed by a swift punch to the gut. John grunted and doubled over at the impact to his already battered ribs and stomach.

Daniel threw him head-first into a pile of nearby crates. He was breathing hard, but his lips twitched in satisfaction at the way John fell into a heap of broken wood. The detective was clearly waning.

Daniel stalked forward. Ignoring his still bleeding shoulder, he grabbed John by the jacket and collar of his shirt and hefted him up to his feet, prepared to deliver another blow. The cocking of a nearby gun made him pause. But in a moment, he twisted John in front him with an arm wrapped around his neck to face his next attacker.

While Daniel had been distracted, Dean had managed to dive and roll across the concrete, scooping up the gun on his way back onto his feet. Now he’d had the time to take aim and wait for his moment, which was right fucking now.

Slowly, Daniel tilted his head to look past John’s shoulder. He was met with Dean’s smirk and a gun pointed directly at his head.

“I think I’ve got something of yours,” Dean remarked. His fingers slid over the trigger.

Daniel tilted his head. A dry smile edged at the corner of his lips. “All right, Dean. Well played. But…”

He tightened his arm around John’s throat and held the knife poised at his neck.

“We’re at what you’d call an impasse, don’t you think?” Daniel asked.

“Dean,” John said. He met his eldest’s gaze as uncertainly crept into Dean’s stance. His hand was still held aloft, but there was an almost imperceptible shake.

“Just shoot him,” said John, with full conviction. “Don’t worry about me.”

Dean’s mouth pressed into a line, his brows furrowing. He wasn’t doing that.

“See, I don’t think he’s got it in ‘im,” Daniel said, speaking lowly in John’s ear. His knife tightened against John’s neck. “You’re out of your fucking depth, Dean.”

Dean flinched as a bullet zoomed past his head from across the room. He was reminded that there was still a fight going on, and the three of them were very much out in the open. John’s face turned more urgent, with thinly veiled worry.

“Dean, either shoot him or get the hell out of here,” he said tersely.

“I’m not leaving,” Dean said, with a small, stubborn shake of his head. But he was nervous. Despite how close he’d come with Nick Savage, Dean had never shot at someone, let alone taken a life. The gun was heavy in his hand.

“Running out of time, son,” Daniel taunted.

“I’m not your fucking son,” Dean gritted out. “Speaking of, did you have Alastair do your dirty work, taking out Nick, or did you pull that trigger yourself?”

Daniel’s smirk faded, his gaze tightening with resignation.

“Sacrifices, Dean,” he said. “We make ‘em to survive. To make sure our legacies survive.”

Dean’s eyes widened as he looked at this man, and he finally understood what his dad had been trying to tell him.

He ain’t a man. He’s a monster.

The gun was heavy in his hand…

“Come on, Dean!” Daniel shouted. “Make a decision—”

Dean still remembered most things he’d learned at the Police Academy. He’d lived, ate, sweat, and breathed those drills and tests for months. And yet, there was only one score he’d truly been proud of. It was the one record of his dad’s that he’d managed to beat.

You could guess which one.

Dean let his fingers squeeze the trigger on some instinct he couldn’t name. Daniel was forced to choke on his words.

Cas pulled you around the corner of a storage unit that blocked the light of the moon. It was just in time for a bullet to rip past where his head used to be.

You leaned heavily against the wall and heaved for breath, but Cas held a finger to his lips while he tried to calm his own breathing.

You held a hand over your mouth to try and stifle the sounds from getting out. Your eyes were wide and panicked, but Cas could only reassure you with a brief hand on your shoulder. He nodded and signaled with his free hand. Wait.

You gave a jerky nod in return. So he reached for his belt and brandished the only weapon he had left—the knife he’d used to cut through your bonds. The air was quiet, except for the distant shouts of police officers; it sounded like Azazel’s men were finally being rounded up.

Cas had called for backup earlier, but he didn’t think they could wait for it. Nor would he know if they were coming. He’d long since turned off the radio on his belt so that it couldn’t tip off his position with you.

He chanced looking around the wall of the storage unit. The coast looked clear, though he knew it wasn’t. Still, the best Cas could hope for was to cover you on the way back to the police barricade. He leaned back and reached for you. He guided you, both with his eyes and a hand on your back.

On the count of three, run, he mouthed. You wordlessly agreed. He saw the fear shining in your eyes.

One…two…

An arm shot out to grab Castiel’s collar the moment he stepped out from his cover, making you scream. The first punch came swift; Alastair was taller, perhaps stronger, but Cas recovered quickly.

He ducked the other man’s arm and delivered an uppercut that had his adversary careening back. With a well-placed jab to the wrist, Alastair’s gun clattered away across the ground.

Cas managed to shoot you a quick look. “Run. Now!”

You paused for a mere moment while Cas continued to grapple with Alastair. Then, in your frozen fear, you finally managed flight. And you took off running, even though Alastair tried to grab at your hair. Cas held him back and continued the fight.

You’d only managed a few yards of distance though, before you couldn’t help but look back. Something in you just couldn’t leave Cas behind.

You took cover behind another storage unit and watched Alastair slowly get the upper hand. He managed to pin Cas against the ribbed metal wall of a unit. He winced as it dug into his spine, but he had bigger problems.

He spat blood after the third blow to his jaw and tried to blink dark spots of his vision. Alastair looked down on him with the lean look of a predator. His smile betrayed the enjoyment he took in his work.

“Contrary to what you might think, I’ve never killed a cop before,” he said. “Just a cop’s wife.”

Cas’s eyes widened a fraction. Alastair’s smile deepened. He raised a bloody fist to finish his work, but he winced and weakened with a shout as a knife embedded deep in his thigh.

It was Cas’s knife that you’d found on the ground.

Alastair’s angry eyes looked down and met your scared ones. You let go of the knife and scrambled back. He backhanded you roughly. You cried out and fell hard on the pavement.

Alastair reached for the knife, but Cas grabbed it first. He twisted as he yanked it out, then jabbed it into the taller man’s neck. It choked his scream as he stumbled back. And yet, even that didn’t manage to kill him.

Cas dove for the fallen gun. It was mere feet away from where he’d forced it out of Alastair’s grip. Cas felt a hand grab his shoulder. He reacted fast—he turned and shot two rounds of hot led into Alastair’s gut.

His gray eyes went wide. Blood gurgled in his mouth.

And slowly, Alastair slid to the ground.

Cas was bloody, his shirt stained and torn, but he was still standing with ragged breath. You had managed to sit up, though your shocked eyes were trained on the body you’d just seen fall into a heap. The horrific spell of it broke when Cas gently touched your shoulder.

You gasped and raised your head.

“It’s okay,” he said, reaching a hand to you. “It’s over.”

Cas escorted you back to the police barricade. There you found Sam, and the mere sight of him relieved you so much you didn’t realize you were crying when you stepped into his embrace. He hugged you tight and asked if you were all right.

You couldn’t give him an honest answer, but at least you were alive.

“I’m okay,” you said tremulously, but you pulled back at grasped his arms. “Where’s Dean?”

Sam looked anxious as his gaze flit between you and Cas.

“That goddamn idiot, he went in there! They won’t let me through—”

“What?” Cas said incredulously. “Into the warehouse?”

Your tears fell anew as a new frantic worry took hold, churning in your stomach and making you feel sick. You turned, and both Cas and Sam had to stop you from heading towards the warehouse.

“Get him out of there!” you cried. “Dean!”

You tried to push past Cas and his attempts to calm you, but you stopped the moment you saw him…

Dean was helping John limp out of the warehouse. Jody was on John’s other side, supporting him as well. John looked beat to hell, and exhausted, but there was no mistaking the calm look on his face. Like he’d finally sleep tonight.

Dean, on the other hand, looked pale, haggard, and worried. However, his head perked up as soon as he heard your voice. His eyes widened. He turned to Jody to make sure she could support John on her own, and she nodded at him.

It let Dean make his way straight for you.

Sam and Cas finally released you, like a horse waiting to bolt out of the stables. Your tears blurred your vision as you went to him.

When Dean swept you up into his arms, you were able to throw yours around his neck and cling to him for all you were worth. You buried your face into his neck and sobbed your relief.

You wouldn’t know that Dean’s eyes were shining and red, his mouth trembling slightly as he sucked in a breath and held you as tight as he dared. His hand came up to cup the back of your head, over your wild hair. His lips pressed to the side of your head as he closed his eyes for a moment.

“You okay?” he asked, when he was able to speak.

“Mhmm,” you nodded, though his question prompted you to pull back and find his face. Your heels came back to the ground, and you reached up to stroke his cheek and search his gaze.

“What about you?” you asked tremulously. “Your head?”

“’M fine,” he said. Though the truth was, he was reeling. His ears still rung from the bullet that hit Daniel between the eyes.

The weight of that decision was almost too fresh to be real, but it was heavy on Dean all the same. He could even get in legal trouble for this. He wasn’t supposed to have entered that building. Hell, he’d picked up a gun and shot a man.

Though he already knew what Sam would say.

Justification. Imminent danger. Self-defense.

Dean just didn’t know if that would fly here, especially with the Fire Department.

Right now, however, you were his lifeline. You grounded him in reality when you held his face in your hands. Just beyond you, he could see the relief on both Sam and Cas’s faces.

Dean gave them a smile, but he focused back on you. He held your hand to his cheek.

“Promise me you’re gonna stay put for a while,” he quipped. “Preferably where I can see you.”

You scoffed at him through the tears glittering in your eyes.

“Dean Winchester, if that isn’t the most hypocritical thing that’s ever come out of your mouth!” you said, punctuating your words with a slap on his chest.

“Hey!” he protested, but you ignored him. You gripped his shirt and felt the Kevlar underneath. It might’ve protected his chest, but he hadn’t had anything to protect his damn head.

“You run into fires, not bullets, you idiot,” you said, now wiping frustrated tears from your cheek.

Dean’s tension began to ease with a smile. He held you more securely, pulling you flush against him.

“You sound like Bobby,” he teased.

“Good!” you snapped. “You’re not allowed to scare me like that. Do you hear m—?”

He didn’t think he’d ever miss you giving him shit, but this time, it just made him smile until the corners of his eyes crinkled. Shortly before he cut you off with a searing kiss.

You made a sound of surprise, even as you gripped at his shirt, then his face to keep him there. You both knew this night was long from being over. An even longer way from recovering.

But for now, this was a good start.

AN: And so, we're drawing near to the end. 🥹 What did you think of the respective ends of Nick and Daniel Savage, and even Alastair? And of course, her and Dean's reunion. 💗

Soon (this weekend), we have the epilogue...

Next Time:

“So…I’ve gotta tell you something,” said Dean, after he parted from your lips for a moment, and allowed you to breathe. His tone made you tilt your head in suspicion.

“It’s nothing bad,” he said, though he looked a bit nervous.

Your brows furrowed. You led him to the couch, where he took your hands in his. It took him a moment to get started. He seemed stuck on what he wanted to say, or maybe just how he wanted to say it.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure I can handle it,” you teased.

Dean gave you a smile. His shoulders relaxed a little...

Keep Reading: THE EPILOGUE

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420 @illicithallways

#Sacrifice #Smoke Eater #Part 19 #dean winchester #Firefighter!Dean Winchester #dean winchester x reader #Dean Winchester x female reader #firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reader #dean winchester x you #firefighter AU #dean winchester AU #spn #supernatural #john winchester #sam winchester #Castiel #zepskies writes

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thevoidstaredback · 5 days ago

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It was easy to draw the portal, even going so far as to colour it. Nightwing, John, and Deadman all stayed with him and didn’t allow any of the others back into the room until he was done. He was meticulous with his drawings, getting down every tiny detail he could remember, but none of the semantics. He trusts the heroes, sure, but one can never be too careful.

He’s sure Batty Man will appreciate the sentiment.

Nightwing laughed at his explanation.

Two and a half hours later, Phantom handed over two drawings. The first was of his parents’ portal, clean silver, electric blue, and radioactive green. He even wrote down the scale. The second one was of Vlad’s portal. There weren’t any major differences aside from the activation switch being on the outside, but it was dark gray, ocean blue, and toxic green.

Nightwing had taken one look at the colour and said he has a suspect in mind.

The rest of the investigative team was called back shortly thereafter.

Connie held onto the pictures.

“The League of Assassins.” Bludhaven’s vigilante started as soon as everyone was seated, “With the information Phantom gave me, the LoA is the most likely suspect.”

The Flash cocked his head to the side, “Why would the LoA need a portal into the afterlife? Isn’t their whole thing, like, being immortal?”

“They’re Eco Terrorists,” Batman corrected gruffly, “Ra’s is the only one who’s effectively immortal.”

“Oh, yay,” Raven drawled, “Eco Terrorists with a portal to the afterlife. What could go wrong?”

“Well, for one they won’t actually be able to survive,” Phantom said, “The environment in the Realms is toxic to anyone who doesn’t have the proper protections.”

“What do those look like?” Aquaman asked.

“Depends,” Deadman said, “If they have the tech to build a portal, then they’ll have the tech to build protections against the Realms and Her people. Or, they could be exposed…”

There was a moment of silence.

“Deadman?” Green Lantern asked tentatively, “You good there?”

“The Lazarus Pits,” the ghost said, “Ra’s won’t need protection to get into the Realms because he’s been in the pit so much!”

Green Arrow hummed. “Then we can assume that the same ‘natural’ protections will fall to Talia and his closest servants, too.”

“So, we have an army of assassins who can be brought back to life and are trying to gain access to the afterlife.” Captain Marvel summed up. “Why, though? Why do they need to get into the lands of the dead?”

“To look for someone?” Wonder Woman offered, “Maybe answers?”

“There’s a lot in the Realms that they could be looking for,” Zatanna said, “Do we have any way to narrow it down?”

Nightwing shook his head before looking at Batman. “B? Any clue?”

Batman was quiet. “We’ll need to speak with the others.”

Oh, that was probably a bad idea. “All of them?”

“Just your brothers.” Was the answer. “Phantom, I would like for you to join us.”

That is decidedly a worse decision.

Phantom thought for a moment. “Alright.”

A horrible idea that just keeps getting worse.

“Alright,” Constantine stood. “You start asking questions in Gotham, we’ll get started on actually looking for the thing.” The Justice League Dark were the first out the door, though Deadman had grabbed Captain Marvel’s shoulder to lead him out with them.

“We’ll keep the rest of you updated. Dismissed.” Batman stood and left the room, Nightwing and Phantom following closely behind him.

***

Gotham was just as Phantom remembered it. Though he wasn’t above ground, the cave he was in had the same air around it as the city proper did, if only ever so slightly warmer. This was a place that was frequented by family. Sometimes hostile, but still family.

“Welcome to the Batcave!” Nightwing cheered, throwing his arms wide and spinning in a circle.

Phantom raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything about the name. He can’t really judge.

The Batcave is exactly as it sounds. A cave full of bats. Flood lights lit up the area, leaving the cave ceiling as dark as they could. There’s a massive computer setup on and around an equally massive desk, exactly one chair tucked into it. A large table with thirteen chairs around it, a door leading to what’s probably a med bay, another door to somewhere, a winding staircase going up around an elevator shaft, a straight staircase going down, and the door they’d just left the ZETA Tubes behind through. Down below was a T-rex, the largest penny Phantom’s ever seen, a million display cases of old costumes, and a memorial.

Phantom paused, his eyes locked on the memorial case. Whoever it was connected to is no longer dead, but that didn’t do anything to overwrite the importance of a grave marker like that.

“My little brother’s,” Nightwing said, his tone sad.

“He’s no longer dead.”

“I- Yeah, I know. He wanted to take it down, but B wouldn’t let him, so we started covering the glass with stickers and notes.”

Phantom smiled at the case. “It must mean a lot to him.”

“Huh?”

“Grave markers and memorials and the like mean a lot to the dead. It gives us a place to rest or pick up a snack. Anything left, like food, notes, spoken word, emotion, are all transferred to whom they’re meant for, even if the recipient can’t reciprocate the motion.”

Batman made a soft noise in the back of his throat that Phantom pretended not to hear. After half a moment, he said, “Nightwing, go get your brothers; tell them we have company.”

“No costumes upstairs, B!”

“Um, if it makes you feel better, I kinda already know who you all are?” That did not make the Big Bad Bat feel any better. If anything, his mood seemed to get worse. “I-I’m willing to go civvie if it’ll, um, so that we’ll have no choice but to trust each other.”

There was a long pause. Batman’s eyes never left Phantom. Then, he nodded, but he didn’t remove his cowl.

“Right. I’ll, hu, I’ll go first, I guess.” He felt the familiar cold of his Phantom Form dropping in favor of his living form. He didn’t actually feel anything other than a cold wash over his body, but he knew he was taller now, warmer and in jeans and a hoodie.

“Oh, my god.” Nightwing gasped, “You’re a magical girl!”

“I’m not a magical girl!”

“You totally are!”

“Enough, you two.” Batman growled. He removed his cowl now, slowly. Nightwing did the same with his domino mask. “How do you know our names?”

And, whoa. Danny knows who most of Gotham’s vigilante’s are, but he still can’t stamp down all of the awe of seeing Bruce Wayne in Batman’s costume.

Fuck! He thought he was over this stupid celebrity crush!

“I thought you, um,” he swallowed, keeping the rising blush from actually showing itself. “Nevermind. When Red Robin - should I call him Tim right now? - ambushed me and Billy in the park, he introduced himself. I kinda fell down a rabbit hole from there.”

Bruce - Batman? It’s hard to make any distinction between them right now - made another humming noise before sitting at the head of the table, the foot being the only spot without a chair.

“I actually don’t know all of you, either. I know you, Nightwing, Robin, Red Robin, Black Bat, and Signal, but not anyone else.”

“Are ya sure there’s anyone else?”

“Yeah, at least thirteen of you if these chairs are anything to go by, but I wasn’t able to piece together anyone else. Though, I didn’t really try to, either. Professional courtesy and all that.”

“Hm.” Bruce hummed again. Where did Nightwing - Dick? - go? “You’ll meet them all when they come down.”

That wasn’t helpful in the slightest, Mister B-man sir.

“Not even a clue?”

“No.”

“Damn.” He blinked. “I thought it was just supposed to be Nightwing’s brothers?”

A smirk - an actual, honest to god smirk - took over Bruce’s face. “You really think I have any control over any of those hellions?”

Danny laughed hard. Yeah, there’s the Bruce-Batman distinction he was looking for.

“I’m telling them you said that.”

“They’ll take it as a compliment.”

Part 18 Part 20

#Enough Caffeine to Kill an Elephant #part 19 #dc x dp

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forgers-therapist · 7 months ago

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t.i.n.y.p.e.o.p.l.e. (part 19)

#part 19 #spy x family #sxf #sxf manga #sxf tiny people #tiny people #anya forger #loid forger #yor forger #damian desmond #becky blackbell #sxf henderson #sxf anya #sxf loid #sxf yor #sxf damian #sxf becky

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ice-hockey-is-pretty-cool · 1 year ago

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Examples that show goalies are the best, part nineteen

1. Hunter Virostek with this beauty of a save

2. I love it when goalies are a part of the goal celebration (Kolby Hay)

3. What are you even doing? (Jacob Otto)

4. A classic, Ken Dryden taking out his French-English dictionary on tv (SRC's eight gala 1973)

5. Just warming up (Martin Brodeur

(30) & Patrick Roy (33))

6. Gloveless saves are my love language (Charlie Lindgren)

7. You have already seen it, but I just love it so much (Marc-André Fleury)

8. Zoning out or getting dialed in? (Left: Martin Jones, right: Stuart Skinner)

9. The Swedish national team is too precious

{part 18}

>part 19<

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hazbin-luciferalastor · 9 months ago

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#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin lucifer #radioapple #hazbin valentino #anastasia crossover hazbin hotel #part 19

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locitapurplepink · 6 months ago

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Taglist: @photogirl894 , @kanerallels , @bigfrozensix , @lucy-shining-star , @animationfan3000 , and anyone else who's a fan of this series.

#disney tangled #tangled the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure #tts season 2 #rta season 2 #you're kidding me !#the return of quaid #tangled polls #tts/rta round 1 #part 19

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mixvillainousandtcoaal · 3 months ago

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Andrew sighs, as he turns to you.

He closes the cabinet door, a slight frown on his face.

YUCK MILK! I'm glad it's over.

Andrew chuckles softly, amused by his over-the-top act.

Andrew's smile falters slightly as he remembers his impending departure.

It's noticeable that his smile has failed: you assume he's remembered the argument he had with brat-I MEAN sister.

#the coffin of andy and leyley #tcoaal #villainous au #tcoaal oc #tcoaal au #villainous #the coffin of andy and leyley au #gravekeeper au #au #oc #gravekeeper #i do not support incest #gravekepper part 1 #part 19

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thewritingowl · 1 year ago

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It's over.

Danny won the court case. His parents are going to be in jail for the rest of their lives. The GIW have been disbanded. Danny's rogues have mostly settled to bothering him solely in the Ghost Zone, and Danny has fully integrated himself into his new family. Hell, he even had a post-victory smooch with his best friends and crushes. Everything should be fine, and Danny should be more than happy.

Why, then, does he feel so empty inside?

#dpxdc #dpxdc fanfics #But I Want To Be Let In; Not Out #Owl Writes #Part 19 #So close yet so far to the end y'all

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angelynmoon · 9 months ago

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Merlin burst into the Council Chambers, normally Arthur would ignore this as Merlin had a habit of doing such, however, the Warlock seemed irritated.

"Arthur, I crave Violence." Merlin shouted as he stormed across the room, grabbing the king by the arm and dragging him out of the hall.

"Should we be concerned about that?" One of the Lords asked.

They looked at one another and then carefully stacked their notes and decided that their Council Meeting could wait. It was best not to stand in the way of a Warlock that could level Camelot, especially when he was craving violence.

Three days later Merlin and Arthur returned to Camelot, an egg held gently in Merlin's hands, the Warlock was covered in blood and dust and Arthur looked a little dazed as he trailed after Merlin, covered in the same amount of dust but much less blood.

"What happened to you?" Gwaine asked as they entered the courtyard.

"Got you an egg." Merlin said with a grin holding the white egg aloft.

Lancelot looked at Merlin and then Arthur, "It's different when he actually fights, huh?"

"He... he..." Arthur looked at Lancelot, "All this time, I thought I was protecting him and then I saw him destroy an armed contingent of bandits because they were going to crack that egg open and sell the dead Dragon parts to the highest bidder." Arthur looked at Merlin again, "There wasn't even a shard of bone left after he was done, just blood."

"Yeah, Merlin's like a Dragon that way, we don't usually leave a bit of our enemies behind lest they return stronger." Lancelot shrugged.

"You don't seem shocked." Arthur said as he looked away from where Merlin was guiding Gwaine on how to Hatch the Dragon, Percival hovering nearby.

Lancelot shrugged, "I've seen Merlin do terrifying stuff to keep you safe, things that would make your father justified in killing him, of course, I've done things that would get me killed under your father's law too, so that's not saying much." Lancelot looked at Merlin, "But I love him, and I know he does what he does for the right reasons. The question is, does this change how you see him?"

"I..." Arthur looked at Merlin as he cooed gently at the newly hatched Dragon, "I think I forgot, that Magic can be used for fighting, Merlin uses it for that so rarely."

"Magic wants to be good, it's growth and renewal, Magic is Life and connections and that's how Merlin tends to use it, he guides it to grow plants, to heal the sick, but when it comes to protecting what's his, Merlin will do what needs to be done, he'll reshape that Life giving Magic until it becomes death for those that oppose him." Lancelot explained, "It's why Nimueh had no hope of defeating him, it's what saw Freya become the Lady of the Lake, it's why Morgause and Morgana failed to keep Camelot. Merlin would never have allowed them to succeed, even if I hadn't killed Morgause myself, she still would have ended up dead, one way or another, just as Morgana would have if Merlin hadn't chosen to save her that day." Lancelot looked at Arthur, "He did that for you, you know."

Arthur looked at Merlin, "I know. What do I do with that power? That my wants might have him overthrow a kingdom if I decide I want it?"

"Make sure there's a good reason to want that kingdom." Lancelot suggested, "Make sure it's for the good of the Kingdoms' people."

"You're not being helpful." Arthur said.

"I'm just a lowly Knight, Sire, I follow my orders, I'm not supposed to pollute your royal mind with my commoner thoughts." Lancelot teased before he nudged Arthur's shoulder with his own, "You haven't done so bad, so far."

"Thanks, Lancelot, I'm glad Merlin decided to keep you." Arthur told him.

Lancelot grinned, "Me too."

A/n: is this me wanting Merlin to say that he craved Violence, why, yes, yes it is three guesses on who the Dragon is and the first two don't count.

Got a question, how would you feel about a Freya/Elyan pairing, because I'm thinking about having her come be an Auntie, I'm giving her and Merlin more sibling vibes than Romantic, because she deserves it.

#a knight #part 19 #mercelot #lancelot/merlin #implied violence #merlin bbc

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goldenamaranthe-blog · 7 months ago

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No no imagine Charlie has the baby and she and Vaggie are surprisingly handling it all well for their first baby but damnit they have a hard time keeping the baby cause if it's not Angel or Lucifer stealing the baby is Abuelita Carmilla and Tias Odette and Clara....or Rosie for whatever reason

Hi, Anon!

I actually just made this its own blurb! Check out Chapter 19 on the Apple Seed Masterlist! Thank you so much for giving me the idea! It's super cute!

Stay Golden!

#Golden answers #Thanks anon #part 19 #apple seed

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zepskies · 11 months ago

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And So It Goes - Part 19

Pairing: Billy Butcher x OFC (Latina!OC)

Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job, and more importantly her life—or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.

Word Count: 4,200

Tags/Warnings: Angst, tension, and a plan made…

ASIG Series Masterlist

19: Collateral

The morning after Butcher, Ben, and Hughie returned to the house came yet another bomb of information Helena wasn’t prepared for.

Homelander had been created in a lab…using Ben’s DNA.

Holy fucking shit, Helena thought, as she sat down heavily on her couch. That seemed to be the anthem of her year.

Ben explained how Vogelbaum had framed it to him back in 1980—as a simple genetics experiment (the details for which, Ben may or may not have tuned out at the time). After the weight of that fell between them all, he left the room with a large bottle of bourbon Helena had hidden under the sink.

“We’re all packed up for the road,” Butcher said. He looked over at Helena and Hughie, who sat together on her couch. Frowning, she noticed how Hughie discreetly blotted at some dark-colored substance coming from his ear. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t earwax.

What the fuck? she wondered.

“Where’s Soldier Boy?” Butcher asked, breaking her from her thoughts.

“You mean, ever since he told us he was supposed to kill his own son?” Hughie retorted. “He locked himself in the bathroom, with a bottle of Old Granddad.”

“My alcohol, you mean,” Helena quipped.

“Homelander ain’t really his son, and he knows it,” Butcher pointed out. He seemed tired, to Helena’s eyes. She could hear it in his voice. She also thought he wasn’t giving this news the full weight it deserved. It had clearly shaken Ben, no matter how much Butcher didn’t want to hear of any kind of hang-ups to their mission.

Before she could say anything about it, Ben finally came out from down the hall. He glanced at them all before he ventured into the kitchen, grabbing a soda from the fridge.

At least it’s not my beer, Helena thought.

“All right, let’s be off then, ey?” Butcher said, hauling on his black trench coat. “We’ll swing by the office and grab some more V. Then Hughie’ll bring us to where the cunts are. And we’ll pop off Noir, then Homelander.”

Helena shot him an incredulous look.

“More V,” she said, gesturing at Hughie. “Really. Because the black sludge coming out of his ear isn’t enough of a warning sign?”

Hughie grimaced, but Butcher gave her a tight, resigned look.

“You know the score, love. We’ve got two more on the list. That means heading to the Tower,” he said. “I’d appreciate it if you stayed here.”

She crossed her arms and gave him a narrowed look. After last night, she thought he would’ve understood her by now. She didn’t want him to go through with all of this, for his own sake, but if he wouldn’t listen to her, then she would at least try to make sure he and Hughie lived through this.

Because if she let him and Hughie go without her now, knowing she could’ve done something to help…then she’d never forgive herself.

“Well, there’s no sneaky way you’re going to get V24. The R&D lab is below ground at Vought Tower, Level 0. Even when I worked there I didn’t have clearance,” Helena said. Though as an idea grew in her mind, she bit her lip, and finally sighed.

“But there’s a way we can go about this without just bulldozing through the front door…I can get you in there from the control room.”

“Not necessary,” Butcher said. His brows drew together as he looked down at her, drawing closer. She met his gaze with a stubbornness he should’ve expected.

“It is if you want to maintain any kind of element of surprise against Black Noir, let alone Homelander,” she said. Butcher’s lips pressed together, but she made it clear, even in her silence, that he wasn’t leaving without her this time.

Butcher crossed his arms and met her stance, just as bullheaded as ever.

“You’re not coming,” he said.

An hour later, Helena was breezing through radio stations, sitting shotgun in Butcher’s car, while Hughie was forced to sit in the back with Ben. They were cruising at full speed down the highway towards New York City.

“Fucking land on something already,” Ben sniped from the backseat. If he heard one more station change from girly pop to heavy metal, he was going to lose his shit.

Helena rolled her eyes and settled on something they could all agree on: John Lennon, “Give Peace a Chance.” She had to stifle a sardonic smile at the irony.

After a while, Ben started to snooze in the back, while Hughie stared out the window. Helena turned to Butcher and asked something she’d been wondering for days now.

“How’d you even get ahold of V24 to begin with?” she asked.

Butcher expelled a sigh, but he was honest, after swiping a hand over his mouth and beard. “Through Maeve. She gave me the tip on Payback, on a weapon that supposedly killed Soldier Boy, the whole thing. She wants that golden cunt dead as much as we do.”

Helena nodded slowly. “I guess that makes sense.”

She’d been seeing a lot about Maeve on the news; that supposedly she was in rehab, according to Vought. But Starlight fans were teaming up with Maeve fans on social media, demanding proof that she was actually where Vought said she was.

If what Butcher said was true, then maybe Vought had found out about what Maeve was up to. Maybe they’d decided to take her off the playing field.

Helena shook her head in contemplation. This was it. Homelander, Vought—the entire thing needed to crumble. As much as she hated the plan, she could admit that with Ben on board, there was a shot that it wouldn’t all end in even more blood and misery.

Helena woke after a doze to Butcher climbing back into the driver’s seat. They were stopped at a gas station, for which she assumed he’d filled up the tank. Something wasn’t right though, she thought, as the car started moving.

Ben groaned as he woke up from his long nap, and he noticed the same thing she had.

“Oh, there he is,” Butcher said.

“Where’s the cum guzzler?” Ben asked. Helena rolled her eyes; she could only assume he meant Hughie. It was a valid question though. She turned to Butcher with a frown.

“You were spot on about him. There I was, filling up the motor. I turn around, the little git had done a runner,” Butcher said.

Helena’s face turned incredulous, but the knowing shift in Butcher’s gaze implored her to play along. She hesitated, but then she tried to school her features into something more neutral.

“We needed him to get to Noir,” Ben said in annoyance.

“Ah, don’t you worry about that, guv. I got it all worked out,” said Butcher.

Now Helena knew there was something off here. She’d learned to tell when he was lying, but this time his gaze remained on the road. He glanced into the review mirror to watch Ben contemplating.

After a moment, the supe seemed to accept his words.

“Wake me when we get to New York,” he said, and laid across the entire backseat of the car.

Helena shot Butcher a sharper look. It said she’d want answers later; she knew there was no way Hughie would cut and run, not when they were so close.

Butcher nodded in acceptance. He knew he could fool Soldier Boy, but not Helena. He just had to figure out what he was going to do with Helena when they got to his apartment in the city, because he had no intention of bringing her to Vought Tower.

He glanced at her, but she was suspicious now. She crossed her arms and shook her head at him before she faced the road ahead.

It was a long car ride.

A few hours later, they arrived at the apartment Supe Affairs had been funding for Butcher’s team. There, they took some time to regroup. While Ben raided the fridge, Butcher pulled out a locked box from a large safe in the back room. Helena peered into it incredulously.

“Why do you guys have a giant-ass safe?” she asked. “You could fit a whole body in there. More than one, actually.”

She stepped back when Butcher closed it back up. He tossed her a knowing look.

“Having a lead-lined box comes in handy,” he said. He set down the smaller one he carried on the dining table and unlocked it. Inside were a few more green vials of V24. Helena’s brows raised.

“Huh. You really didn’t need my help,” she remarked. Butcher remained quiet, earning her gaze. “Why’d you let me come here with you then?”

“‘Cause I knew you’d raise hell for me, whatever I did,” he said. It was half-exasperated, but she detected the slightly softer edge behind his eyes. He knew why she was here, why she was insistent on helping him. She wanted him to come out of this in one piece, but not just for herself.

With that heavy thought, she watched him walk away from her to check on Ben in the kitchen. She was left with an open box with a handful of vials left.

The thought of V24 disgusted her…but she knew, if she was going back to Vought Tower, if she was taking any chance of coming face-to-face with Homelander again, she needed to protect herself.

She grabbed a vial and hid it in her jacket pocket.

While Helena took her time refreshing herself in the bathroom, she soon caught the muffled sounds of Butcher and Ben talking.

She carefully opened the door a crack, and she listened. She heard Ben talk about The Soldier Boy Story losing out Best Picture to American in Paris. It had been Vought’s best PR story for Soldier Boy’s background—a poor kid from the streets of South Philly, who discovered he had incredible powers to match his heart of gold.

To no one’s surprise, that story was utter bullshit.

Ben had grown up the son of one of the wealthiest steel moguls in Philadelphia, his father. Ben later got kicked out of boarding school…

“Because I was a fuck up,” Helena was surprised to hear him say. She ventured out of the bathroom and lingered in the hall, so she could spy the back of him while he continued with Butcher. Both of them were drinking. Whiskey, if she had to guess.

“But he made sure I knew it,” Ben said, speaking of his father.

“Use the belt, did he?” Butcher asked.

“Never laid a hand on me. He couldn’t be bothered,” Ben replied. “Said I was a disappointment. Not good enough to carry his name.”

Once again, Helena fought the sap within her that wanted to sympathize. She continued to fight against it, even when he admitted that his father hadn’t even been satisfied when Ben underwent Vought’s experiments and became Soldier Boy.

“He said I took a shortcut,” said Ben. “That a real man wouldn’t have cheated.”

Helena took in a subtle breath. She heard the heaviness in his voice. The resentment, and yet, a thread of resignation. She understood then where it all came from—the bravado. The machismo. The asshole behavior. It all stemmed from that wound inside him that craved validation from his father.

Helena could relate. Her own father was, and had always been impossible to please. She knew what it was like to be a disappointment.

In the living room, Ben swirled the liquor in his drink as he shoved down memories of a life he’d thought he left behind a long time ago.

“What about you, got any kids?” Ben asked.

“It’s complicated,” Butcher admitted.

But even when Ben admitted that he’d wanted kids, that he thought he could do it better than his father, Butcher saw through those threads. He reminded that Homelander wasn’t Ben’s son. Not really. He was raised in a lab to take Ben’s place. And more than that…

“Look mate,” Butcher said. “We had a deal.”

Ben drained the rest of his glass and stood. Suddenly this room felt stiff and oppressive.

“I’m gonna get some air,” he said.

Helena watched him head for the apartment’s balcony. She stepped into the living room and shared a look with Butcher.

“On one hand, you probably abandoned Hughie at some random gas station,” she said. “On the other hand, you’re doing your hardest to keep Ben on your side.”

Butcher shook his head instead of answering her, but she stepped into his path and laid a hand on his chest.

“I think you left Hughie because you wanted to save him from all this, like you probably want to leave me here,” she said. “You’re not the same man who started this whole kamikaze mission. The difference now is, you actually have a line you won’t cross.”

Butcher looked down on her, not knowing what she wanted him to say. Just now though, she didn’t need him to say anything.

She grasped the front of his shirt and pulled herself up to him, meeting his lips with hers. It was slow, but with the underlying passion that had always existed between them, right from the start. His hands migrated down the curve of her waist and held her close, his fingers pressing into her lower back.

When she broke from him and met his heavy eyes, hers were filled with quiet determination. Butcher couldn’t understand it. Part of him even hated it, knowing he was still dragging her down with him here.

“Why are you being so fucking stubborn?” Butcher asked.

Her head tilted as she gave a wry smile. “What do you mean?”

His grip on her waist tightened a little.

“Why’re you staying with me?” he pressed. “Hel, you know where this ends.”

“Billy, I don’t have a death wish,” she told him. She squeezed his arms back. “But I don’t just want you alive for me. Ryan needs you too.”

Butcher shook his head, but she stopped him from withdrawing.

“He don’t need me,” he said. “Fact is, both of you are better off without.”

“Yes, he does. He loves you, Billy. He’ll forgive you if you give it a chance. And like it or not, he’s your responsibility. Because you made a promise,” Helena said firmly, pressing a finger into his chest. Tears welled up in her eyes as she met his furrowed stare. “Be a fucking man. Take care of the people you care about. The people who love you.”

Her voice shook, but her conviction was fierce and steady. Butcher could only look down on her in silence, even though her words rattled him down to his boots.

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Both of their heads turned, though their eyes briefly met before Butcher gestured for her to step back while he ventured towards the door. He looked in the peephole first.

His eyes widened. Bloody hell?

He opened the door to find Queen Maeve, looking a bit ragged in an “I <3 New York” t-shirt and some pajama pants that were too big for her.

“Fuck me,” Butcher said in shock. “I thought you was dead.”

M.M. then quickly stepped into view, making Helena gasp when he pointed his gun directly under Butcher’s chin.

“You didn’t think I knew where the blind spots were, motherfucker?” he said.

“M.M.!” Helena exclaimed, half in greeting, half in warning. Her face practically begged him not to pull that trigger. The other man’s lips pursed.

“Hey, Hel,” he said, more casually than he looked. Behind him and Maeve were Hughie and Annie, Kimiko and Frenchie. The whole gang was here.

“Back up,” M.M. ordered at Butcher. He obliged him by stepping back into the room, closer to Helena, but still in front of her.

“Where’s Soldier Boy?” Annie asked. Her tone boded no further bullshit.

“You on that Temp. V shit, Butcher? Huh?” M.M. demanded. “What happens if I pull this trigger?”

“M.M., stop!” Helena tried. She stepped forward, but Butcher stopped her with a hand held against her. Hughie likewise grabbed M.M.’s shoulder and imploringly diffused him, at least for the moment.

“If Soldier Boy goes through with this, thousands will die,” Hughie said. “Help us stop him.”

“This ain’t a bloody kinder care we’re on about, son. It’s Vought-fucking-Tower,” Butcher pointed out.

“Becca worked in the Tower,” said Frenchie. Helena shot him a look for that one, as did Butcher. Helena had worked for Vought as well.

“You shut your fucking cake hole, Frenchie,” Butcher shot back.

“No,” Frenchie said. He seemed to gain some confidence in standing his ground. He dropped his backpack to the floor and planted his feet as he glared back at Butcher. “No! My cakehole will remain open! You will never command me again. I am done with your cruelty—”

Helena’s brows raised. Once again, Hughie played the part of peacekeeper as he talked Frenchie down from his (seemingly well-earned) tirade.

“We, we heard you, okay?” Hughie said. He turned to Butcher and leveled him with an honest truth. “You could’ve let me die from the V, but you saved me… In the shittiest way possible, but still. I don’t think you want to do this. I think you want me to pull you back. Like Lenny used to.”

Helena’s eyes widened. He knows about Lenny?

She looked to Butcher for his reaction…and she missed the way Maeve moved. She grabbed something out of Kimiko’s hand and tossed it out the window, despite Annie’s protests. Then she ripped M.M.’s gun apart.

“Butcher’s right. Homelander needs to die!” Maeve said. “That’s it. Whatever it takes.”

Annie shook her head in disbelief. “I really thought that deep down you were a hero.”

“Well, you were wrong,” Maeve replied. “There’s no such thing.”

“This isn’t going to happen,” Annie refuted. Her eyes glowed, displaying her power as the lights flickered.

Helena’s mouth fell open, even as Butcher subtly stepped in front of her. Was this apartment about to become a battlefield?

“Annie, I don’t want to hurt you,” Maeve said, with caution in her eyes.

“But I will,” said Ben. He finally drew back into the living room. Helena didn’t know how long it had been since he’d stepped back inside, but she could assume he’d been waiting for the right moment. That was apparently right fucking now.

He drew all eyes in the room, including M.M.’s darkened gaze.

“All right, you lot. Into the safe,” said Butcher. Helena shot him an incredulous look.

“Billy,” she tried. He wasn’t able to be so stoic looking down at her, but he was resolute in his decision.

“You too, love,” he said. His hand guided her by the small of her back. When she tried to push back, he grasped her arm with a strong, but not painful hold and shepherded her along with the rest of them into the safe. Except for Ben and Maeve, of course.

Helena met Ben’s gaze, but his unyielding mask was firmly in place. She reached out to Butcher before he closed the door. She knew what he was doing; this was his version of saving her—of keeping her out of this. But she glared at him.

“Billy, don’t do this,” she all but pleaded.

He stared back at her in silent apology. “Goodbye, Helena.”

Then he shut the door, casting them all in darkness.

She was grateful no one could see the way she wiped a tear or two from her cheeks. Butcher had shut off the power, so Annie couldn’t use her abilities to draw from the electricity. What she could do was bulldoze her way through the safe, ramming it over and over with her shoulder until the door burst open, allowing them to escape.

Annie shook off the exertion and took in deep breaths.

“Okay, they got a really big head start, but I know a way in,” she said.

“So do I,” said Helena. The women looked to one another with a tenuous truce.

“Then what?” said M.M., after he turned the power back on. “The way I see it, we’re fucked with no grease. No plan and no knockout gas.”

“Knockout gas? Is that what Maeve threw out the window?” Helena asked.

“Yeah, it’s Novichok,” Hughie explained. “A nerve agent. Literally the only thing the Russians found that can take down Soldier Boy.”

Her eyes widened. “What, it can kill him?”

“No, just put him to sleep, indefinitely,” he replied. She considered that with a frown. She couldn’t believe she was even thinking this, considering all the bullshit he’d pulled on her, but she didn’t know if putting Ben to sleep was something she wanted to see happen to him…

“Well, maybe we can reason with him, assuming he takes down Homelander,” she suggested. “Ben’s a raging asshole, but he’s not totally…”

Her words died on her tongue when she realized how M.M. was looking at her, as if he didn’t know her.

“Ben? Motherfuckin’ Ben?” he said incredulously. “So what were you doing all this time, playing fucking house with America’s oldest killer?”

“M.M., that’s not how it went down,” Hughie tried to jump in on Helena’s behalf, but she crossed her arms and stood firm.

“I was trying to help Butcher and Hughie stay alive,” she said, gesturing pointedly at the younger man. Hughie gave a sheepish look.

“Look, I’m not saying he’s a good man,” she continued, meeting M.M.’s angry gait. “But there’s humanity in Ben. I’ve seen it.”

The man had an ego a mile high and twice and wide, with anger issues and that only barely masked how repressed he was, emotionally. He’d threatened her, and even bruised her…but he hadn’t killed her.

He hadn’t wanted to. He’d walked away before he could actually break her.

It wasn’t a strong vote of confidence for his character, but it was better than Homelander, nonetheless.

“You really think you can change that rat bastard,” M.M. said, breaking her out of her thoughts as he shook his head. “Just like you think you change Butcher!”

“I’m not trying to change anyone!” she raised her voice to meet his. “But I do believe that people can choose to change. To be better.”

Because if there was no hope for that, then there was no hope for herself either.

“Call me an idiot,” she said, and she threw her hands up. “Call me a bitch and a lunatic, I don’t care! I don’t expect you to understand, but I’m going to do what I think is right.”

“Yeah, what’s right for you,” M.M. shot back.

“Maybe,” she snapped. “Maybe it is selfish, and I’m sorry. After Homelander’s dead, I’ll help you with Soldier Boy, whatever I can do. But do you really think Ben is the biggest threat right now? To everyone and anyone?”

M.M. seethed in silence, but he didn’t seem to have an answer for her. Annie, Hughie, Kimiko, and Frenchie—they all stood by Helena and M.M., in both silent contemplation and wariness.

“Okay, then what’s less selfish?” Helena asked, with gesturing hands at him. “Taking out Soldier Boy for your revenge, or ending the biggest fucking psychopath in the world? Otherwise known as Homelander. Who, if you forgot, was responsible for my best friend’s death.”

That fell between them all, heavier than a stone in a shallow pool. Part of Helena felt guilty for spinning M.M.’s cause as selfish, but she’d made her point. M.M., Butcher, Ben, and even she had a score to settle. It was just a matter of who was willing to sacrifice the most for it.

She wasn’t willing to sacrifice her life for revenge, but she would for the ones she loved.

M.M.’s anger soon lessened, by degrees.

“Okay,” said Hughie. He cut through some of the tension, as he himself let out a breath. “How do we get more Novichok?”

“…We don’t,” M.M. said. “That was the only one.”

After a moment of deliberation, Frenchie chimed in. There was a lab in New York that might just have what he needed. It just happened to be Vought’s R&D lab on Level 0.

It was a crazy plan.

“We’re going to break into Vought Tower, while you go to the lab, crawling with armed guards, and you’re gonna cook up the world’s most dangerous neurotoxin?” M.M. said. Sarcasm and disbelief dripped with every word. “With what, a little moxie and a little Mr. Wizard know-how? While we hold off Homelander and Soldier Boy?”

“Uh…oui?” said Frenchie.

Helena looked over at him with a sharp frown. “Are you fucking high?”

He gave her a smile. “Also oui.”

She sighed and covered her eyes with her hand.

“We’re so screwed,” she muttered. “But we’re also wasting time.”

“It’s good enough for me,” Hughie said, with a smile. Annie met her boyfriend with a smile of her own.

“Me too,” she said.

Kimiko agreed to this ingenious plan more readily than M.M., and even Helena. Even so, they had no other options. They were heading to Vought Tower.

AN: Phew! On to the finale! (And then the Epilogue after that.) I finally finished writing the last chapters of this series, so the next chapter will be out soon: on 2/20.

Next Time:

By the time Helena turned back to the scene before them, Ryan’s eyes were glowing red.

He shot a laser beam right at Soldier Boy, knocking him through the far wall and onto his ass. When he got up, shaking rubble from his shoulders, he clearly wasn’t happy about it.

Fortunately, Helena reached Ryan just as Ben took a few intimidating steps forward.

“Ben, stop!” she shouted. And it actually halted the supe’s steps.

Keep Reading: Part 20

The Boys Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Tag List:

@lauraaan182 @homielander @calizmor @haibara-ai-tsii @brujaporfavor @sleepyqueerenergy @adoringanakin @skyesthebomb @lunaticgurly @deans-spinster-witch @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70 @clinicallydepresso

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offsidekineticist · 16 days ago

Text

Happy Holidays, all!

I've had some inspiration lately, but my next dry spell will probably see me moving this fic to AO3. It's getting long enough that as much as I don't like the idea of putting it up there with the PWOTR tag (since it is 99% OCs and nowhere near the worldwound), putting it all on tumblr is becoming increasingly silly.

For now I want to focus on getting the next couple of chapters done, but next time I run into an issue like "ok I guess this throwaway background character is a viewpoint character now and I need some time to let that marinate," I'll probably start the move to AO3.

Speaking of which, yes, we have a new viewpoint character! Everyone say hello to Mori Strongheart!

CWs for this chapter: blood and viscera, medical procedures, negative self-talk and ableist language, dissociation, extreme loneliness, dysphoria/dysmorphia

Summary of previous chapter: Giliys's patron is forcibly and physically removed from him by an unknown force, severely injuring him. Qweck immediately sets to work healing him. Laria Longroad, having heard Giliys confess to murdering escaped slaves for his patron and knowing he is responsible for the burning of the Villegre, tries to convince her to let him die lest he give up Bellflower secrets if he's arrested. Qweck refuses, and Laria evicts her and warns her to leave town with Giliys. Qweck, unable to heal Giliys alone, enlists the aid of coworker Mori Strongheart, instructing her to darn a hole in Giliys's heart while Qweck keeps him alive with a stabilization cantrip.

Thank You, Beautiful Person!

Let it be known that darning a heart is nothing like darning a sock. You’re not going to elaborate because you’re only able to get through this by not thinking about it. You really would rather do literally anything but this, but Qweck needed your help, and right now she’s basically your only friend.

(You don’t mean to be annoying, but when you have something in your head, you kind of forget how to talk about anything else, and most folks don’t want to hear you gush about Chelaxian high opera and the subtle beauty of the Infernal language. Qweck doesn’t seem any more annoyed by your opera talk than she is by everyone else, so that makes you friends.)

So now you’re doing your best to pretend you’re someone who doesn’t get lightheaded at the sight of blood while you try to fix a serial killer’s heart.

(Ooh! Save that line! That's a good one!)

“Okay, I think it’s done,” you say, and you’re terrified that it’s not enough, but you also can’t spend another second stitching flesh that is moving and wet and gushing–

Qweck mutters her stabilization spell and nods. It’s honestly impressive that her voice hasn’t given out after all this time. This is probably the most you’ve heard her speak since you've met. “Step back!” she warns and you almost jump away, taking the magical needles with you. You look very deliberately towards the ceiling, barely able to see her hand in your peripheral vision as it glows with healing energy.

You don’t watch the wound heal, but you’re sure it’s very impressive. Qweck seems like her magic would be very impressive. You’re so nervous you think you might throw up again; you never wanted to hold anybody’s life in your hands. You don’t know if you could stand knowing you failed them.

But you have to. You hear Qweck’s voice quicken, hear her muttering grow to shouting–

“No, no, no, no! You are not leaving me to handle everything alone! You don’t get an out, asshole!”

It didn’t work.

You couldn’t do it.

You weren’t good enough.

(Of course you weren’t. You’re just useless little Mori. You don’t know how to do anything that actually matters. The only one who didn't see it was Qweck, and now she sees it, too.)

You feel sick, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the blood or the guilt or the fear that she’s going to hate you for breaking her oath.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“Not yet you aren’t,” Qweck snarls, and you feel lightheaded because Qweck is scary even when she’s not angry, and now she’s angry at you–

“You need to go. Now,” she continues. “If this doesn’t work, tell my father that I tried. And I’m sorry.”

Before you can question what the eff she means by that, she turns to the patient and starts chanting. Her hands start glowing. Magic sparks over her body like lightning, lashing around her arms and chest and neck. Her eyes are glowing. The patient starts convulsing, and you don’t know if that’s just the magic flopping him around or if he’s alive. If he is alive you’re pretty sure he won't stay that way for long. The magic arcing from Qweck is getting stronger, reaching farther. The hair on your neck is standing on end, and you can see welts on Qweck’s skin left after each arc. You’re no mage, no healer; you don’t know what’s happening, but it looks very bad, and you should probably do something.

You just…don’t know what.

(Because you’re useless)

“Uh…Qweck? What’s happening?” you ask. She doesn’t answer–she's too focused on her task, even with her hair standing on end and her power sparking. Light is pouring out of her eyes, but also her nose, her ears, between her teeth–something inside her is glowing, and you’re no expert, but that seems very, very bad. You need to snap her out of this…somehow.

“Qweck?” you repeat.

"You...need...to...go!" she grinds out through clenched teeth, and it sounds like she's in pain, so of course you don't go. You reach towards her, into the storm of magic. You think maybe if you can pull her away from the patient, maybe if you break the connection between them, maybe it will stop? Or maybe some of the extra magic will go to you, and maybe between the two of you, you can make it stop?

(Stupid little Mori. You'll only make things worse)

It hurts, magic stinging your arm like tiny embers from a fire, and it gets worse the further you reach, but you grit your teeth and persist.

('Now isn’t the time to be soft, girl.')

The light is growing unbearably, blindingly bright, so you look away as your hand reaches Qweck’s shoulder–

There are no words. I will try to explain what you feel, but you will not understand. You are beyond words now. And when you return to yourself–when you can hear my words–you will not be able to understand. But I will try to describe it, and you will try to understand it, and we will fail together.

You are, at once, nothing and everything. You are connected to every living thing in every place and plane and planet. Words are pointless, crude attempts by toddlers to replicate the connection you feel. You feel their feelings. You think their thoughts. You are them.

You are everyone.

You are Life. All life, everywhere, all at once.

And then you are nothing. Empty. Where there once was a roaring furnace, now there is only a single spark, lost and adrift and abandoned to a prison of flesh, doomed to burn out alone in the ashes.

There is no word to describe what you are–the agony of the loss you now embody–but I will try.

You are alone.

“Mori? Mori!”

Someone is shaking the body that is called Mori. Someone is shaking your cage, and it reminds you that while you are no longer everything, neither are you nothing. You are something, locked away from everything, but still something, even if you are almost nothing. Almost nothing is still something.

“Whoa–wha’ happened?” your body slurs, because you are not your body, and it’s hard to control something that is not you.

“You didn’t listen to me is what happened!” the body that is Qweck snaps, and she is scowling at your body because she thinks it is you. “I told you to leave! You could have died!”

If you were your body, it would laugh at that. You didn’t die. You did the opposite of dying. You didn’t die so hard that there isn’t a word for what you did. You consider using your body to tell her this, but she would not get the joke.

“You still didn’ say wha’ happened.”

Qweck’s lips press together. “He needed a regenerative spell to heal. I’m not strong enough to cast such a spell, but I knew the incantation and the movements. I had hoped I would be able to control it long enough to heal him. When you touched my shoulder, I lost concentration and you absorbed the excess positive energy. You are incredibly lucky to be alive.”

You are not your body, but your body feels that you do not understand, and so it blinks in confusion. “Cast a spell...even though you can't...That sounds like a really bad idea,” it says.

“I did tell you to leave.”

“Yeah, but it sounded like you were about to do something silly. Which you were.” Your body is good at speaking. It hardly needs much input from you–just a vague idea of what you want her to understand. That's good, because you're too busy wondering why you can't just be her, and why she can't just be you.

Qweck’s body is taut and angry. You think Qweck is, too. “That’s why you were supposed to leave!”

“But my friend was in trouble!” your body whines, and now Qweck (who you think might be her body) looks confused.

“Your…friend?”

“Well…yeah. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Qweck opens and closes her mouth a few times. “You’re not okay, are you?”

That would have crushed you only minutes ago. You used to be desperate for friendship. Now it just feels like a hollow reminder of what you’ve lost. That paltry connection through word and deed is nothing to one who has been everyone. The sting of rejection is nothing compared to that loss.

“I’m fine,” your body lies, because Qweck-who-is-a-body can’t understand that none of you are okay, and you’re the only one who knows. Before she can tell you that she knows that you’re lying, you’re interrupted by a groan next to you. There’s a body on the floor, and it is moving and groaning and sitting up.

“Ugh…what…what the fuck happened?” the body groans, looking around, and some piece of you–a piece that is both with your body but also not–remembers that this body is your patient, and that if it is moving of its own accord, that means you succeeded. Your body turns its gaze towards Qweck, and you expect to see her relieved or happy or grateful or some other positive emotion you haven’t remembered yet because you’re too lost and alone to remember what they feel like, but instead–

“I have no fucking clue!” she explodes. “You came in here and tried to get me to provoke me into killing you with a dagger of fucking healing by confessing to murdering your crops, and then a fucking rock burned its way out of your chest, and I had to spend an hour stabilizing you while Mori patched the hole in your heart. You tell me what fucking happened!”

The patient’s eyes seem to sharpen, at that. “A rock–you mean a gemstone? On a gold chain?”

“Yes, that!” her body shrieks, and its voice cracks and it is crying, and your body feels sick, and its face burns, and you think it would feel better if it wasn’t here to see this. “It burned its way out of your chest and it fucking floated in the air and then it talked! It fucking talked, Giliys! And then POOF! Gone, but not before it fucking blinded me and blew out my ears! I had to stabilize you without being able to see you or hear myself cast the spell!”

You don’t remember any of that happening. Clearly you were wrong to listen to Qweck the first time she asked you to leave. She is even less suited to aloneness than you are.

“No,” the patient–Giliys?–says softly, a faraway look in his eyes. “There’s no fucking way.” His eyebrows squeeze together, like he is trying to think, and then he snaps his finger. His body grins. “It didn’t work,” he says, and he seems like he can’t believe it. There’s a short silence, and then he laughs–just a short shocked laugh. “It’s gone–I can’t use it anymore! It’s really fucking gone!

“What’s gone?” Qweck asks.

“The hellfire–and the thing in my head that gave me the hellfire! She’s gone! No more hellfire! No more harvests! No more losing control and burning down the Villegre–she is fucking gone!” He throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, fuck. I didn’t realize–fuck. I haven’t been alone in my own head for forty fucking years. I forgot what it was like not to have her in there. Fuck, I didn’t even realize–fuck, is that why I’m so cold? Cuz I don’t have fucking hellfire in my chest anymore? Holy fucking shit. Is this what normal people feel like all the time?! Fuck, how are any of you ever fucking sad? Shit, this is incredible–” He stops suddenly and looks at Qweck with a very serious face. “I love you. Not like a girlfriend, though, that’d be weird. And not like a sister, either. Like…like that weird friend that you can’t stand but also work really well with and never actually walk away from even though you don’t do shit except bicker?”

You have so many questions. Your body turns to Qweck, and you hope for some explanation, but she just seems angry. Very angry. It makes your body feel light and shaky, like it really, really needs to run.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Qweck demands.

“I’m just so happy,” he gushes, and you can see Giliys is his body even more than Qweck is, and you don’t understand how someone can revel in being more alone. “You are such a good healer, Qweck, probably the best fucking healer ever, better than…than…I don’t fucking know of any famous healers, but think of one that’s really good, and you’re better than that one.”

“Stop–just fucking stop! Read the fucking room! Mori is hurt because of the magic I did to save you.”

You don’t want them talking about your body. Thinking about your body. Looking at your body. You don’t want them to realize your body isn’t you anymore, because then they will fuss and try to fix you, and they won’t understand because people-who-are-bodies can’t understand. So your body picks up a burlap sack off the floor–one that’s crusty with dried blood, but you’re ignoring that because your body doesn’t like blood.

“Here–you said you were cold?” your body asks, its voice shaking, before throwing the sack at the still-shivering halfling. The sack swallows up Giliys’s head as it lands and completely engulfs him.

The distraction works. “Thank you, beautiful person!” Giliys calls cheerfully, seemingly unbothered by the fact he can’t see. “And I mean beautiful on the inside–I mean you’re probably beautiful on the outside, too, but I didn’t get a good look before you turned out the lights, so I mean that you’re holistically beautiful. And not in a creepy way. OH!” He struggles for a moment, rolling around trying to find his way out of the sack. He finally manages it, poking his head out, grinning wide, and he waves at you. “You’re the first person I’ve met in forty years without her in my head! Hello! Wow.” He looks over at Qweck and whispers, “is she super special, or are all people as cool as she is, and I just couldn’t tell before?”

Your body, you realize, has its own feelings. Right now it desperately wants to hide in a box under a blanket curled up in the fetal position so it can die of embarrassment. You, on the other hand–

I mean beautiful on the inside.

You were wrong, you realize. Giliys is not his body anymore than you are. He only seems that way because he has never controlled it by himself before–he has always had to fight for control, and now, without a rival, he controls his body effortlessly. But Giliys is not his body. He did not have his own body until today. This body belonged to him and someone else who was not him–he could not be his body because it was not only his. He will become his body later, but so will you, as much as you hate it. You are alike, as much as you are opposites.

Emotions seem to belong to your body except for the gnawing, aching thing that there are no words for. But looking at the body that is not Giliys and knowing that you do not see Giliys–it almost makes the loneliness ache a bit less.

“You’re upsetting her after she saved your life! Why can’t you just shut up?!” Qweck demands tearfully.

“I just–I can’t! I’m so happy! The fire is gone, and now I have a new friend, and she’s awesome and brave and powerful!”

“I-I’m actually pretty normal,” your body mumbles, deeply embarrassed. You, meanwhile, are gratified to hear him acknowledge your kinship, even if he can’t explain that kinship.

“Yeah, that’s what Thay always says, too,” his body says, “but he–OH! THAY!”

Giliys’s body springs to its feet suddenly, almost tripping on the burlap sack still wrapped around it. “I gotta go tell him–he probably thinks I’m dead–I gotta go, I gotta go, I gotta go, I gotta–”

It looks like a child declaring that he needs to pee–it's even doing the funny restless dance, though you think it’s just because Giliys's body is charged with energy and needs to do something with it.

“Then go!” Qweck snaps, wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. “I need to pack because I’ve been evicted.”

Giliys’s body freezes, one foot still in the air (still in the sack), eyes wide. “Evicted? Laria evicted you? Why?”

“Irreconcilable differences,” Qweck says with a sniffle.

“Oh, well, that’s okay, you can come back to stay with me and Thay. OOOOOOH!” His body begins dancing again. “Thay is going to be so happy! he’s missed you–oh, but he’s going to be upset that you’ll see how much his hands hurt. Shit! I wasn’t supposed to tell you that. Pretend I didn’t say anything? And then pretend you don’t notice? It’s hard not to notice when he’s so cranky all the time, but you can pretend, right? You’re so good at pretending you don’t hate my guts, so you can pretend about this, right?”

Qweck just looks incredibly done with everything. She usually looks incredibly done with everything, but she also looks like she’s about to fall asleep on her feet. “I can’t–I can’t deal with this. I’m going to pack, and then I’ll go to the apartment. If you want to wait, fine. If you don’t, also fine.”

She is somewhat undermined by how she seems to stagger towards the ladder. Your body steadies her. “How about I get you home, and then I get your stuff for you?” your body offers, and you have no objections. Whether you help her or not, you are still lost.

“They live in Redroof,” Qweck says.

“Then we’d best get a move on,” your body says with a smile, as if that news changes nothing, because it doesn’t, even if your body feels a pit in its stomach. You’ve heard stories about Redroof, of course, and an hour ago those stories might have given you pause. Now, though, you know that whatever harm might befall you would only harm your body. You are not your body. You don’t want to be your body. You don’t want to have a body. You don’t want to forget what it was like to be without a body.

“Are you sure? You should probably rest,” Qweck says.

“I’m fine,” you lie, but it is only half a lie–your body is fine, and your body is all she sees.

The walk to Redroof is exhausting. Giliys pouts when you tell him he can't bring the blood-encrusted sack with him ("but I wanted to see how far I can walk in the sack!"), but his spirits are irrepressible, and soon he is, once again, chattering away. He waxes poetic about cobblestones, wondering who invented them and whether they knew they were brilliant. He points out shapes in the clouds–a linnorm kissing the hand of a cantaloupe, though he concedes that it might actually be a dragon proposing to a watermelon. He complains that Kintargo is really more pearly than silver, and that pearl doesn't get enough credit, so it's "not fucking cool" that silver gets to claim the city. He sees beauty and possibility in a world bereft of connection, and you are grateful that your body is so practiced at humoring people that you don't have to pay much attention to engage with him.

You don’t understand his joy. You understand that the creature that shared his body demanded that he do terrible things. You understand his relief that he will never have to kill again. Surely, though, this relief would be tempered by the crushing loneliness? You only knew wholeness for a moment, but this nothingness is destroying you–how much worse would it be if you hadn’t had to face this isolation in decades? Surely that's a heavy price to pay, even if it is one worth paying?

Perhaps the body is the key. You were everyone, but everyone was not forced to share your body. Becoming everyone meant escaping your cage. Perhaps being confined to a body is less tortuous than being confined to a body you must share with someone else? You can’t fathom that, though–the absence you feel is such that, even knowing what she would demand, if Giliys’s devil offered to share this prison with you, you don’t know that you would say no.

Qweck doesn’t say anything, but you can tell that she’s tuning you two out, trying to escape her body while it staggers home. She fails; she doesn't know how to be anything except a body. She leans on your body from time to time–she pretends it’s an accident, and your body always apologizes for getting in her way, because your body understands her pride.

You make it to Giliys’s apartment without incident. It looks like someone built a few cottages, and then added second floors to some of them, and then third floors, and then fourth floors, and so one, and at some point the multi-level cottages became interconnected by walkways and tunnels, andl the whole thing became so heavy that it sank to the ground, and some of the first floor cottages are now cracked and halfway buried. Giliys and Theo (and now Qweck) live on the top floor, at the top of a rickety wooden staircase that looks half-rotted, which makes you think the landlord may have decided to rent to them because smallfolk bodies are light enough not to fall through. Probably.

Giliys doesn’t seem to notice the stairs could break at any time. His body bounds up them, two at a time, barrelling through the apartment door (does it not have a lock?) shouting “Thay! Thay! Thay! You’re not gonna fucking believe this, she’s–” His voice cuts off abruptly. “Thay?”

Your body climbs the last steps and sees Giliys’s body standing still as a statue just past the doorway. Your body looks past Giliys’s into the apartment.

There’s nobody here.

#the (totally platonic!) breakup arc #oc: giliys #oc: qweck varnaj #oc: mori strongheart #pwotr pals #part 19

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soobadnoonecanstopher · 1 year ago

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Yes, it’s smut, but I absolutely love how this chapter is behaving so far☺️☺️☺️

#There will be some plot #Soon #can I stay?#part 19 #wip

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eldritchqueerture · 11 months ago

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ok but i cannot even IMAGINE how bad it must have felt for arthur to open up with such a deep hidden secret that clearly carried SO many difficult emotions only for john to later insult him with it and the king to use it to torture him. jesus fucking christ

#niki.rambles #malevolent liveblog #part 19

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ejzah · 2 years ago

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In Miss Blye’s Class, Part 19

***

“Before we do anything else, I should probably put on real clothes,” Deeks said, ruefully attempting to flatten his bed head.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Kensi assured him. True, it wasn’t his neatest look ever, but there was something very appealing about his mussed appearance. It felt…intimate.

Feeling mischievous, Kensi leaned across the table and kissed Deeks quickly. It was more than worth it for the surprised “o” of Deeks’ parted lips. He grinned then, a teasing little twist of his lips.

“Yeah, but if I don’t get changed, we can’t go for a walk on the beach,” he said with a wink. “Or get fish tacos.”

“Ooh, those were really good. Ok, go shower, and I’ll clean this up,” Kensi decided, and started pushing the wrappers and napkins from their breakfast into a pile in the middle of the table.

As she gathered it up in a ball, she realized Deeks was watching her, his expression no longer teasing.

“What?” She checked her shirt for stray bagel crumbs or toothpaste.

“This is nice.” Deeks shrugged, continuing to regard her fondly. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a moment like this. With another person. For so long, it’s just been me and Caleb. I mean, Caleb’s amazing, but it’s not the same as this.”

“You just appreciate my cleaning services,” Kensi joked. He snorted at that, downing the rest of his coffee in a single gulp.

“Right. That’s what I’ve been looking for all this time: a housekeeper.” Standing up, dropped a kiss on Kensi’s temple, which somehow seemed more intimate than if he’d kissed her full on the lips. “Besides, I’ve seen your place.”

“Hey!” Kensi protested, lightly smacking his arm.

“What I mean is, I didn’t realize how much I missed this kind of companionship and conversation,” Deeks explained. “I haven’t felt or wanted that from anyone in a really long time.”

Since Monica, Kensi filled in silently. A confession like that should scare her, but it didn’t. Deeks filled a void she hadn’t even realized was there. One that Jack certainly never had, if she was being completely honest with herself.

That seemed like just a little too much honesty for this early in the day. She focused on the table in front of her, methodically gathering crumbs in the center, rather than facing Deeks’ affection.

“You’re right, you better shower so we can get out there before all the tacos are gone.”

“Ok.” She heard the confusion in Deeks’ voice, but thankfully he didn’t press her on it. “I’ll be ready in about 20 minutes,” he said, slipping out of the kitchen.

Sighing, Kensi sat down at the table again, dropping her head into her hands.

“Kensi, you’re such an idiot,” she muttered to herself.

***

Deeks emerged a short time later as promised, hair damp and still clinging to his cheeks and temples, pajamas now swapped out for jeans and a black v-neck Tee.

“Alright, I no longer smell like Caleb’s late night snack and I’m not in danger of getting picked up for vagrancy,” he joked, instantly putting Kensi at ease.

“You seem really concerned about that possibility. Is there something I should know about?” Kensi asked, following him out to his truck.

“Deeks rolled his eyes, leaning against the driver’s door. “In law school and at my last job, it was a running joke because I didn’t exactly fit the expected look for a lawyer. Some even called me “Shaggy”.

“That’s rude.”

“Eh, it was said fondly.” He cocked his head, and amended, “Mostly. I never ever really meshed with a couple guys.”

“Well, they sound like jerks,” Kensi decided, drawing a laugh from Deeks.

He opened the door and slid in while Kensi went around to the passenger side. As she got in, she carefully moved a stray goldfish and Junior B. Jones book off the seat. Otherwise, the interior was spotless, and she decided it was a good thing they hadn’t taken her car. At least not until she got a chance to vacuum it.

“I appreciate your support, but you get pretty thick-skinned at an early age when you decide to grow your hair this length,” Deeks continued once they were both buckled in. “Plus, I’m pretty good at holding my own when I feel the need.”

“That explains why you walked away from your encounter with Sam Hanna alive. You never did tell me the entirety of your conversation.”

“Oh, I was very impressive.” Deeks pulled out of the driveway, pausing to wink at Kensi. “And I will tell you all about it, but first we have tacos.”

***

They ended up taking a long walk along the pier again while they waited for the food truck to finish setting up. Every the social butterfly, Deeks paused three separate times to greet passersby he apparently met during his runs. He probably had acquired more acquaintances in just a few months of living in LA full time than she had her entire time here.

It was just about noon when they made there way back around to the row of food vendors, and joined a small line in front of the taco truck.

“Do you ever regret making the move here?” Kensi asked as they leisurely walked over to a bench and sat down. Deeks contemplated her question with half a taco suspended in mid-air.

“At first I thought I’d made a huge mistake,” he admitted. “Even though I spent so much time in LA as a kid, it’s not the same as living and working her, and working with celebrities is almost crazier sometimes than what I did before, danger aside.” He paused and scanned the horizon, settling with his gaze on the ocean. “But I needed a change, Caleb’s thriving here, and,” now he turned to her with one of his crooked smiles. “We never would have met you if we stayed in Iowa. So no, not a single regret so far.”

Kensi ducked her head, flushing at the implied compliment. “My life hasn’t been so bad since I met you either,” she said. “Definitely a lot less quiet, but I suppose my life was getting kind of boring.”

“You mean 20-some kindergarteners don’t fill every day with unique and unexpected experiences?”

“Of for sure. Yesterday, I had to tell three different children not to like their pain daubers. They don’t wreak havoc with their flirty smiles though and way too tight pants every day.”

“Oh, my pants are too tight? I can go up a size—”

“No, I’m not complaining,” Kensi clarified quickly. “I’m just concerned about the other teachers.”

“Sure.” Deeks grinned again, like it made perfect sense. “So what I’m hearing is that I’m too attractive for my own good.”

“That is not what I said.”

“What exactly do they say about me? The other teachers.”

“Things that make me very jealous. Happy now?”

He didn’t say anything his smug little smile as finished the last bite of his taco and brushed his hands off over the sand saying everything Kensi needed to know. Shaking her head, Kensi muttered under her breath, ignoring Deeks when he nudged her shoulder.

“Hey, you know I’m only joking, right? I only have eyes for one teacher.”

Kensi glared at him through narrowed eyes. Standing up, Deeks held out his hand, and after a moment, let him tug her to her feet. He slipped a hand around her waist, using the other to support her back, and swung her back in a deep dip. He held her there for a moment, then kissed her soundly.

She couldn’t contain a surprised laugh that bubbled up, and clasped her arms around Deeks’ neck as he gently pulled her upright again.

“I guess you’re off he hook this time,” she decided, brushing her nose against his. “But I’m keeping my eye on you, Mr. Deeks.

***

A/N: Don’t worry, Caleb shall return soon. Sometimes you do need a little adult time to yourself. The Kensi/Deeks day will continue in the next chapter.

As always, I can’t thank everyone enough for your love and support for this story.

#ncis la fanfiction #densi #marty deeks #kensi blye #fluff #in miss blye’s class #part 19 #au #lawyer deeks #teacher Kensi #self indulgent writer #ejzah fanfiction

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