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never-stop-dreaming30 · 5 years ago

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The Things You Give Pt. 11

Happy spooky season, my dear loves! Thank you for being so patient with me as I publish each part. I really hope you enjoy this next part. I love hearing from you guys so feel free to message or leave a comment <3

Steven Hyde x Reader

“Eric!” Y/n said, completely frozen in shock. “W-what are you, uh, what are y-you doing h-here?”

Eric’s face didn’t change as he stared at the couple in front him, wide eyes and jaw slack. So many questions ran through his mind as well as different emotions. Rage, confusion, hurt, shock, and most of all: betrayal. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to scream or strangle them both. His hands started to shake and he swore his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

“Uh…it’s not what it looks like!” Hyde said, trying to save the situation. “She was helping me move some boxes and she found some of my nudie magazines.”

“Yeah!” Y/n cut in, catching on. “And I started making fun of him for it and that’s why it sounded like we were talking dirty and that’s why we look like this because of all the moving…and it’s hard work. And we smell like this because we got all sweaty. But nothing else happened!”

Eric couldn’t believe that his best friend and sister would think he was that stupid. He couldn’t even say anything to them. All he could do was calmly walk out through the basement door without saying a word.

“Oh no,” Y/n said under her breath.

“Crap,” Hyde sighed and looked at Y/n who looked like she was about to cry.

Down at the Hub, the couple and everyone else, minus Eric, sat around their usual table as Y/n and Hyde relayed what had happened just a short hour prior.

“He was like a deer caught in the headlights,” Hyde said. “A very angry looking deer.”

“You know what this means?” Donna asked. “This means that he’s going to rant for the next six months and guess who is going to have hear about it?” She pointed a finger at herself. “That’s right, me. Over and over and over again.”

“I know,” Y/n grumbled and hid her face in her hand. “This is so not the way I wanted him to find out. Any of you really.”

“Yeah, I still think I found out the worst way still,” Donna commented and took a sip of her root beer, but not before she shuddered dramatically. “I still have nightmares about it.”

“Yeah it wasn’t a thrill for us either,” Hyde said and took some fries from Y/n’s basket.

“To be honest, I’m kinda scared to see him,” Y/n said after taking a sip of her coke. “He just��didn’t say anything and stormed out.”

“Maybe he didn’t know what to say,” Jackie said. “I mean, he probably was disgusted.”

“Jackie, what the hell, man?” Y/n asked her frustrated.

“No, I mean it’s his sister and best friend. How would you feel if that happened to you?” she defended.

“It did happen to me!” Y/n said. “When Mike McCan’t Keep It In His Pants over here and Easily Spread Butter started sleeping together.”

“First of all, that’s a good burn,” Kelso laughed. “And second of all…I totally nailed your sister! Now if I can nail you, I’d done it with all the Forman girls!”

Hyde didn’t even hesitate to connect his fist to Kelso’s shoulder. Kelso grunted and glared at him before scooting away from him.

“So, how did it make you feel? How did you react?” Donna asked.

“Well, I was beyond angry because I felt so betrayed and disgusted and lied to—ah crap,” Y/n said, realizing what the point was. “Dammit, Jackie, I hate it when you’re right!”

“Which isn’t very common,” Jackie stated, holding up a finger. “But when I am, it’s a big deal.”

“Have you guys seen Eric?” Y/n asked.

“I haven’t,” Donna answered.

“Me either,” Jackie mumbled.

“Nada,” Kelso said.

“Sorry,” Fez finally said, shaking his head.

“Man, I’m kinda freaking out,” Hyde said. “Normally I don’t, especially when it comes to Forman, but you should’ve seen him. I’ve never seen him like this. Normally, he’s like, you know, all squeaky and twitchy, but this time, he was just quiet and walked out calmly.”

“Yeah, I don’t what I’m going to do once I see him,” Y/n said, leaning back and crossing her arms.

“Well, you might want to figure it out soon because he’s coming in,” Fez said, panicking a little.

Y/n and Hyde whipped around to see Eric stomping in, but the second he came in and made eye contact with them, the air around them suddenly went still.

“Hi, Eric,” Y/n said softly.

“Hey man,” Hyde said, trying to sound as casual as he could.

The dirty blonde twin looked at them before turning away back into the parking lot.

“Damn,” Kelso mumbled and turned back around to face the group. “He’s really pissed.”

“Trust me guys, I’ve known Eric our whole lives and I’ve never seen him like this,” Y/n said.

“Well, duh, you shared the womb with the guy,” Fez piped up and everyone couldn’t help but roll their eyes. “I guess you can say, you were wombmates.”

Y/n couldn’t help but giggle at that while everyone else groaned and rolled their eyes.

⧝⧝⧝

The next day, things between the twins and Hyde were still eerily quiet. Eric couldn’t even be in the same room as them. Even at the breakfast table, Eric refused to look up from his plate. Kitty and Red shared a look, knowing something was wrong.

“What’s wrong with you?” Red asked. “You’re usually annoying in the morning. Actually, I can get used to this.”

“Red,” Kitty said sternly and turned to Eric. “Eric, honey, are you okay?”

“M’ fine,” Eric mumbled shortly without looking up and shoveled some eggs into his mouth.

“Did you get into a fight with Donna?” she asked.

“Mom, I said I’m fine. Can we please drop it?” Eric asked, trying to not raise his voice at her.

She held her hands up. “Fine, fine.”

The table went back to ground breaking silence while everyone sat there tense and still, except for Red who was actually enjoying the silence for once.

Outside later in the afternoon, everyone, minus Eric, sat in the driveway, shooting some hoops and talking on top of the Vista Cruiser.

“Where’s Eric?” Jackie asked.

“He’s…somewhere,” Y/n answered and looked towards the house. “I think he’s been hiding in his room all day. Or he just goes where we aren’t.”

“Probably both,” Jackie said and shuddered. “I wouldn’t want to be in his room either.”

Donna laughed. “That’s true. One time I just walked in and he was reading a nudey magazine and I swear I’ve never seen him jump up so fast. It would’ve been funnier if he wasn’t naked.”

Y/n and Jackie shuddered in horror.

“Gross!” Jackie exclaimed.

“What she said,” Y/n said and gagged. “Thanks for that mental image.”

Y/n looked over to Steven, Michael, and Fez playing basketball and made eye contact with Steven. In that split second, Michael took advantage of it and swiped the ball from him. He made a slam dunk and stuck his tongue out at Hyde.

Hyde quickly grabbed the ball and spun around, dodging Kelso’s attempted swipe and slammed it into the basket.

“Hyde: two, Kelso: uno,” Hyde said, smirking and balanced the ball on his hip.

“I love watching you play basketball,” Y/n said, her voice lowering.

“Yeah?” Hyde responded, staring her down.

�� “Yeah, it’s hot,” she responded before realizing they were in front of everyone and cleared her throat. “Or you know, whatever.”

“Get a room!” Kelso shouted.

“It’s my house!” Y/n argued.

“Exactly! So, you should go find one and get that out of here,” he responded.

“Shut up, man. We used to have to watch you and Jackie make out all the time,” Hyde said.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t weird like this is,” Kelso responded.

Y/n and Hyde rolled their eyes at him before turning back to each other.

“So, have you seen him?” he asked her.

“No, have you?” she asked.

He shook his head. “We’re going to have face him sooner or later.”

“Later,” Y/n answered. “Gives me time to think of ways to calm him down. Or by the time we do face him we’ll be in Guadalajara.”

Hyde shook his head smiling. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

Y/n sighed and hopped off the car. “Fine. Let’s go find him.”

“I think I saw him go into the basement earlier,” Fez said and everyone followed Y/n and Steven to go to the basement.

“Can we get some privacy?” Y/n asked when they noticed everyone was following them.

“No way!” Kelso answered. “We aren’t going to miss the show.”

Y/n grunted, feeling annoyed. “Idiots.”

Hyde turned around and slammed his fist into Kelso’s shoulder. “Will you get out of here? All of you!”

“Ow!” Kelso yelled. “Fine!”

Everyone dispersed leaving Hyde and Y/n alone.

Begrudgingly, Hyde and Y/n made their way to the basement where they did, in fact, see Eric sitting on the couch watching TV. But judging his body language, he was tense and still really pissed off.

“Eric?” Y/n called out gently, afraid to scare him off like a stray animal. “How are you doing?” She rounded to the couch to face him and saw his chin resting on his thumb while his index finger held up his cheek. He wasn’t paying attention to the tv and was just sitting there, seething.

He looked at her from the corner of his eye to back to the screen. He stayed silent, refusing to speak to her.

She looked at Hyde desperately, needing help.

“Listen, Forman. We need to talk about this,” Hyde said stepping forward.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said, struggling to keep his voice leveled.

“Yes, there is and it’s need to happen,” Steven responded. “I get it, you’re pissed. But this needs to be hashed out so it doesn’t become another Kelso fiasco. So, come on. Let’s talk.”

“Talk about what, exactly?” Eric snapped. “What’s there to talk about? Talk about you screwing my sister? Or that you guys went behind my back and have been lying to me this whole time? Or how ‘bout this, that you went after my twin sister? You know it was bad enough when Kelso did it with Laurie, but Y/N?” He shook his head.

“Eric, please,” Y/n begged. “Trust me, this is not the way we wanted you to find out.”

He jerked his head to look at her. “How did you want me to find out?”

She shrugged her shoulders nervously. “I don’t know, but somewhere along the lines we wanted to tell you.”

“And how did you think I would take that?!” he yelled. “You’re sleeping with my best friend! I can’t believe you guys would do this to me!”

“Okay, first all, Forman, we’re not doing anything to you,” Hyde defended. “In fact, this isn’t about you at all. And second of all, it’s nothing like that. It’s more than that now.”

Eric’s face darkened. “What do you mean by that?”

Hyde cast his eyes down and looked to Y/n before turning his gaze back to Eric. “I love her, man.”

“WHAT?!” Eric practically screamed. He dragged a hand down his face and started to pace behind the couch.

Y/n stayed seated as she watched her brother’s breathing becoming uneven and shaken. She knew that he was about to lose his cool.

“What the hell do you mean you love her?” he continued shouting. “Out of all the stupid crap you’ve pulled, this has got to be the dumbest one yet!”

“What do you mean by that?” Hyde asked offended.

“I think you know exactly what I mean,” he replied. “You stringing my sister along for fun, making her believe that you’re in love with her and then when you get tired of her, you’re going to dump her for the next girl that comes along.”

“That’s what you think I’m doing?” Hyde was getting visibly angry. “You think I would that to her? I’m not freaking Kelso!”

“I don’t see you denying it!”

“Hang on!” Y/n shouted, standing from her seat. “Do you really think I’m naïve to fall for something like that again?”

“Well, you did before,” Eric spat.

Y/n’s blood started to boil. “That’s nothing compared to what Steven and I have! What he is saying is true because I love him too!”

Eric’s face fell and flushed red, clenching his teeth. “How long?”

“How long what?” Y/n asked.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Well, uh, since June,” she answered.

“So, you’ve been dating secretly for four months and never thought of when to tell me?! When were you going to tell me? After you guys secretly got married? Or after the birth of your first secret child?”

“It’s not like we wanted to hurt you,” Y/n defended. “We didn’t plan for anyone else to find out either.”

“Everybody else knows?!” Eric shouted.

“Nice going,” Hyde grumbled, elbowing Y/n’s arm. Gently, of course.

“Uh—yeah. They kind of…found out on their own. Except for Fez. Kelso told him, but other than that, yeah. They caught on.”

“How do you think Mom and Dad are going to take it when they find out their daughter is screwing the town’s rebel?!”

“You mean the one they took in?” she asked angrily. “The one who they love like another son?”

“I’m warning you now when Dad finds out, you’re dead. Both of you. And I mean literally,” Eric warned and continued to pace.

“I know, but this a risk that we’re willing to take,” she said and walked over to where Hyde was standing and wrapped her arms around his waist. Steven wrapped a protective arm around her and held her close. “I love him and he loves me. I’m actually happy.”

“I know this hard for you to get through your thick skull, but I really do love her, man. For the first time ever, I’m happy,” Steven said, more calmly this time.

“Stop saying that!” Eric screeched.

“It’s true, man!” Hyde yelled back. “Will you quit acting like a two-year-old and actually have a decent conversation?”

“You don’t get to tell me how to act when you’ve been going behind my back like this,” Eric growled. “Don’t you dare tell me how to act!”

“This is why we didn’t want to tell you!” Y/n said. “We knew you’d act like this!”

“How am I supposed to act, Y/n? I mean, for four months, four damn months, you’ve been doing whatever you’ve been doing in secret. I can barley understand all of this. I don’t know how the hell you expect me to accept this!”

“Well, you’re gonna have to because this isn’t going to end anytime soon!” Hyde said.

Eric finally stopped pacing and looked Hyde straight in the eye. “You know what bothers me the most? That I gave you more than one chance to tell me the truth and you lied to me. I’m supposed to be your best friend, your brother, and you couldn’t even come to me to say, ‘Hey man, I like your sister and I’m thinking of asking her out. Just thought I’d give you a heads up,’” Eric said, doing an impression of Hyde.

Hyde unhooked his arm from Y/n’s shoulder. “Okay, first of all the impression, uncanny,” he said sarcastically. “And second, even if I did come to you first you still wouldn’t be okay with it.”

“Of course not!” he said. “But it still would’ve been better than being lied to!”

Hyde and Y/n grew quiet and looked at each other. As much as they hated to admit it, he was right. They should’ve at least said something to him before all this.

“You know what? I can’t even look at you two right now,” Eric finally said and walked over to the door, grabbing his coat from the rack.

“Where you going?” Y/n asked, tears beginning to surface.

“Anywhere but here!” Eric shouted and slammed the door on his way out.

“Damn it,” Y/n groaned, rubbing her hands down her face. “I knew this was going to blow up in our faces.”

“Let’s just give him some space,” Hyde said and brought her in for a hug. “It’ll be okay. He can’t stay mad forever.”

“What was all that yelling about?” Kitty asked, coming down the stairs.

Y/n pushed herself away from Hyde and stood close to him. “We got into a fight with Eric.”

“You two got into a fight with Eric?” she asked surprised. “Why? What happened?”

“Donna and Eric had a fight,” Hyde and Y/n answered quickly together.

“Nice!” Y/n laughed.

“Alright!” Hyde laughed with her.

Y/n turned back to her mother. “We sided with her and now he’s all pissed at us.”

“What about this time?” Kitty asked.

“I’m not too sure,” Y/n lied. “Something about Star Wars.”

“Oh, for the love of God,” she responded, rolling her eyes. “Those two fight over the dumbest things.”

“You can say that again,” Hyde said, chuckling to himself.

“Well, when Eric gets back, make you sure tell him dinner’s almost ready.” She trotted back up the stairs, leaving the couple along again.

They sighed together and collapsed on the couch next to each other.

“What are we going to do?” Y/n groaned and dropped her head on his shoulder.

Hyde kissed her head and sighed as he put his arm around her. “I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out.”

“I love you.”

A small smile crept up on his face. “I love you too.”

⧝⧝⧝

The next day at the hub, the gang, again minus Eric, sat around a table eating burgers and fries. Y/n slurped on a milkshake while listening to Jackie’s incessant rant about God-knows-what.

“So, then as Brittany took the position of head cheerleader from me, now the whole squad has been completely ignoring me and talking behind my back. That skank wad,” said Jackie, crossing her arms.

“I thought you quit cheerleading?” Y/n asked.

“Yeah, but then I realized I needed to go back to my natural habitat. Snobby and bitchy.”

“At least you’re honest,” Y/n said..

“So, you talked to Eric, huh?” Donna asked.

“Yeah, and he didn’t take it well at all,” Hyde responded.

“Well what happened?” Fez asked.

Y/n and Hyde went into the details of what happened the night before with everyone’s eyes glued to their faces.

“Man, he’s taking this a lot harder than I thought,” Donna said, leaning back and taking a sip of her soda.

“I’m not surprised,” Kelso piped up. “I mean, he hated it when me and Laurie got together, but yours is way worse.”

Y/n squinted at him. “How is this worse, exactly?”

“Well, me and Laurie were just doing it,” he responded. “You guys actually feelings for each other.”

“No, you idiot,” said Fez. “If he was just doing her he would be angrier because then Hyde would look at her just like a hot piece of meat instead of actually having feelings for her.”

“Thanks, Fez,” Y/n said, happy that someone made that point.

“Or,” Kelso said. “He’s madder because this is a thing that’s going to stick and not just be a fling and get over with.”

“That’s also a good point,” Jackie said.

Y/n gave a look to Donna and shook her head before continuing. “Anyway, I don’t know what else to do.”

“There’s nothing you really can do,” Donna responded. “He knows now and there’s nothing you can say or do to make him any less pissed.”

“Except if you two broke up,” Jackie said.

“Oh, I got it!” Kelso said, snapping his fingers. “You two should break up!”

“Kelso!” Hyde and Y/n said in unison.

“No! I mean you two should fake break up and then Forman won’t be so mad at you anymore,” he responded.

“Well, that’s not too bad of an idea,” Jackie said.

“What’s the point of that?” Hyde said. “He’s already pissed off at us for lying to him. What makes you think this one is better?”

“Yeah, good point,” Fez said. “Well, then Donna is right. There’s nothing you can do.”

Y/n sighed and leaned back, rubbing her temples. “This sucks.”

“I know, but he’ll come to accept it,” Donna said. “Especially if this is going to last.”

“What Miss Kitty and Mr. Red?” Fez asked. “Red is a fireball. He’s going to lose his crap.”

Everybody gasped.

“Red!” Kelso shouted. “I didn’t even think about him!” Then he started laughing. “You’re so dead, man.”

Hyde glared at him. “You think we didn’t think of that?”

“Well, we’re eighteen now. He can’t tell us what to do and who to be with,” Y/n said, turning to Steven. “He’s going to have to get over it.”

“Yeah, after he sticks his foot in your ass,” Donna laughed.

“I’ll take it,” Hyde said and put his arm around her shoulders. “I’ll take anything for you.”

Y/n giggled as everyone awe’d at him.

“Shut up!” Hyde yelled, but a smile formed on his face anyway.

A ding at the door caused the group to turn around. Zack stood at the entrance and made his way over to Y/n once he made eye contact with her. Y/n internally groaned.

“So, you’re with the school burnout now huh?” Zack mocked. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to find someone better than me.”

Y/n blinked at him. “Great. You’re back. Don’t you have to be annoying somewhere else? Like in college? Or did you fail and disappoint them too?”

“BURN!” Kelso shouted, laughing along with the rest of the group.

“I didn’t fail out,” he defended. “They kicked me out.”

Y/n laughed. “For what? For spiking the sorority girls’ punch?”

“No,” he said, growing frustrated at everyone’s laughter. “I broke into the girl’s locker room and drilled a hole through the wall.”

Y/n through her head back and laughed. “Yeah, you know what, I upgraded. And my guy maybe a ‘burnout’ but at least he doesn’t cheat on me with some skank.”

“I only cheated because you wouldn’t put out,” he said, his cheeks puffing out.

“Yeah, get lost, Loser,” Y/n said, throwing the word back in his face.

He pfft’d and smacked Hyde in the arm. “Good luck with this bitch, man.”

Hyde glared at Zack before slowly standing and winding his fist back and connecting it to his nose. Zack cried out and held his nose in his hand.

“What the hell, you prick?!” he shouted.

“Call my girlfriend a bitch again and I’ll make sure you’ll be the first person to touch his chin to his ass!” Steven shouted. “Get the hell out of here!”

Zack didn’t respond as he scrambled out of the building.

“That was awesome!” Donna cried out, laughing.

“Yeah, that was,” Kelso said, smiling. “I’ve never heard a guy scream like a bitch before.”

“Me neither,” Y/n chuckled and looked to Hyde. “By the way, that was so hot.”

“I gotta protect my girl,” he said and leaned in for a kiss. Y/n smiled into the kiss as she placed her hand on his face, scratching his sideburns.

“Oh, God,” Eric called out from the door, feeling disgusted seeing them being affectionate.

Hyde and Y/n pulled apart and looked at Eric.

“Hi,” Y/n said. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d come down and see my dear sister with our dear friends, to try and maybe to hang out and get some normalcy, but seeing you two makes me want to vomit.”

“Oh, come on, Eric,” Donna said. “It’s not like this Kelso and Laurie.”

“That’s what I said!” Hyde said, trying to deflate the situation.

“Besides, they’re kind of cute together,” Donna said with a smile on her face. She looked to Y/n who mouthed a ‘thank you’ and winked at her. “You can’t stay mad at them forever.”

“Maybe not, but I can for a really, really long time,” he answered and was about to walk out the door when Y/n stopped him.

“Eric, wait no,” she said and got up, grabbing his hand. “Please don’t go. Sit with us.”

“Look, Y/n. I can’t. You have no idea how angry I am that you lied to me. We’re twins and we’re not supposed to have any secrets between us. We share everything, but you know the thing that really hurts the most? It’s that you felt like you couldn’t come to me at all. I can understand Mom and Dad, especially Dad because he’s well, scary, but me? I thought we were best friends and you trusted me enough to come to me.”

Tears filled Y/n’s eyes. “Eric, I do.”

“Clearly not enough,” he said, hurt laced in his face and drew his hand back from hers. He looked to Hyde who looked like he felt deep guilt. “We’re supposed to be best friends and you couldn’t even tell me the truth the first time. You clearly don’t care about anyone else but yourselves.”

“Eric, that’s not fair!” Y/n cried.

“You want to talk to me about fairness?!” he raised his voice again. “This isn’t fair. None of this is fair! It wasn’t fair that you went behind my back and started doing it! Or, that you couldn’t even come tell me that you have fallen in love with each other! That’s not fair.”

He walked out the Hub, leaving Y/n in tears. She sat back down and rested her head in the crook of Hyde’s neck, face turned away from the group so they couldn’t see her tears.

Hyde wrapped his around her waist and held her close, trying his best to comfort her.

“I’m sorry Y/n,” Donna said. “I’ll talk to him later.”

“But he’s right,” Y/n croaked out and turned her face back to them. “This isn’t fair to him and we did him wrong.”

“But you can’t help how you feel,” Jackie said sweetly. “It’s not like you did this to get back at Eric for something. You two truly do love each other and if he cared about you, he wouldn’t be so angry.”

“No, he has every right to be,” Y/n said, wiping her eyes. “Yes, we have strong feelings for each other, but we still went behind his back and betrayed him. He has every right to feel the way he does.”

No one else knew what to say, but to look at each other.

“I gotta go,” Y/n said and ran out before anyone else could see more tears.

“I should go too,” Hyde said. “This is my fault too.”

He got up and walked out after her, feeling the same guilt as she did.

Taglist:

@lieswithoutfairytales @mdittyz123

#Steven Hyde #steven hyde x reader #that 70s show #That '70s Show #that 70's show fanfic #Eric Forman #Donna Pinciotti #Michael Kelso #jackie burkhart #fez #fez x jackie #i just love when fez sings this because it's so cute haha

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talltalesandbedtimestories · 5 years ago

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Cremation Charlie

Title: Cremation Charlie (COMPLETE)

Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

Summary: A lot has happened since Vegas. Dean meets up with you in Albuquerque. Takes place in Season 7, after Plucky's.

Word Count: 14,000

Warnings: fluff, flirting, angst, explicit language, smut, heights

A/N: Originally posted on AO3. So, I have to thank Winchesters_queen (on AO3) for this story idea. Seeds were unknowingly planted when I chose Albuquerque as the reader's place of residence. It took me a while to get a feel for how the story should progress. And, I do like the idea of trying to follow the canon of the show. Hot or not, I feel like if the reader found out Dean had been on the FBI's Most Wanted List, there'd be a little hesitancy in meeting up again. I mean, yeah, everyone's got a type and to each their own. I just don't think this reader would find serial killers hot. But the pieces and plot fell into place. Happy with that.

Dean peeled out of the back alley of the restaurant slash playland. It was the perfect mix of a young kid’s fantasy and an adult’s hellhole. He was still chuckling, feeling the remnants down deep in his belly. He hadn’t laughed like that in a long time. Not since the time he spent with you in Vegas.

He wasn’t sure where he and Sam were headed. One thing he was sure about. Even though he missed Baby, ached to run his fingers along her steering wheel and rev her engine, he was relieved to be driving this ‘73 Mercury Cougar right now. He would have never gotten the glitter bomb Sam was covered with out of Baby’s passenger seat. Hell, Sam wouldn’t have been allowed inside her with his sparkly ass.

They would hotwire another POS car soon enough. Would have to in order to stay under the radar of pretty much everyone at this point once they made it out of Wichita, Kansas. Or got a lead on exactly what Dick Roman was planning from Frank. Something had to give soon. Roman’s toothy grin, hiding the leviathan underneath, required some serious restructuring under Dean’s hands.

Dean gripped the steering wheel and floored the gas on the dark open road. Fields spun out for miles, merged with the horizon in every direction. He’d missed Kansas. Wanted to hug these back roads for as many hours as he could. The peace and quiet. He rolled down the driver’s side window. Memories triggered. Not memories as much as... snapshots. Before Sam. With Mom in the passenger seat. Him behind Dad in a booster seat. Tiny. Looking up. Seeing her blonde wavy hair bouncing in the wind. Her smiling profile, directed at Dad. Her turning back to tap his little knee with a soft caress.

Movement beside Dean broke him out of the slideshow recall. Sam shifted, his lengthy frame crumpled like a broken pretzel in the seat. Head lolling, dreaming or nightmaring about God knew what. Dean got distracted by Sam’s occasional sparkling. The glitter reminded him of strippers. Strippers reminded him of Vegas. Vegas reminded him of you.

“We’re gonna find a motel, Sammy. So you can wash all that shit off.” Dean decided.

“Hm?” Sam grunted. His eyes blinked slow, pried open with a wide yawn.

“All that clown jizz. You need to wash that crap off. Pronto.”

“Sure. Whatever.” He groaned and rubbed at his eyes. “Ah, shit.” His eyes blinked with a rapid concern. “I got fucking glitter in my eyes.”

Dean’s chuckling started up again. From deep down, genuine. Most of his chest got in on the laugh.

“It’s not funny, Dean. I could go blind. And, this isn’t plain glitter. It’s supernatural, fear manifested glitter.” Sam stared at his offending hand and continued blinking.

“Jesus. There’s some bottled water in the cooler. Rinse it out.” He thumbed behind his seat.

Sam turned to him, “What about the…” he stopped himself.

Dean knew Sam remembered they weren’t in Baby just then.

“Bend forward and flush it out.” Dean directed.

A minute passed. Dean pulled a hand towel out of his duffel in the back seat. Splashes of water dampened Dean’s jeans. He pushed the towel in Sam’s face, his eyes closed. “Pat. Don’t rub. Better?”

“A little.” Sam sighed and shook his head like a freshly washed dog.

Dean blinked his own eyes at the droplets hitting his face. “Well, don’t get it on me for Christ’s sake!”

“Not as funny, huh?” Sam huffed.

Dean sighed.

Dean took a shot of whiskey from Bobby’s flask, tapping away on the laptop. Browser windows opened and cascaded on top of each other on the screen. Dozens of articles on Dick Roman, his enterprise, his holdings, his ventures. Dean was sick of seeing that pompous, arrogant ass. But couldn’t stop searching. He needed to find the thing that killed Bobby.

His fingers dipped into the duffel resting on the nearby empty seat. He rummaged through, found the shape he sought out by touch, and pulled out one of Bobby’s cells they’d kept with them after he’d died. Well, Dean had kept it for a specific reason. One he hadn’t shared with Sam. Sam was currently occupied in the bathroom; scrubbing himself under the shower stream for what was going on a half hour.

He’d heard the message for the first time a month after Bobby’s death. And you’d left it a couple months before that. He should have reached out to you then. Talking to you might have helped. He’d be able to confess, explain, as crazy as everything would sound. It might have grounded him for an hour or so, talking to someone normal, outside of their circle of crazy. And, if you’d hung up and never reached out again, so be it.

But? What if you didn’t? What if you were just a little crazy enough to give it all a listen? To be open to all of the things under the veil of normal? He’d gotten a feeling, maybe more of a suspicion, you might during those few hours you shared on that October night. Hell, maybe he would have taken off without Sammy and driven to Albuquerque to meet up with you. Finish what you’d both started in Vegas five months ago, a lifetime of pain ago. Escape. Even if it was only for a little while.

But then he got sucked into 1944. Then he’d hooked up with the Amazon Lydia, and Sam had to kill Dean’s teen daughter, Emma, the result of said hook-up. That was a whole thing. And hours earlier they’d taken care of an employee of Plucky Pennywhistle’s Magical Menagerie, who’d been using manifestations of children’s fears to play judge, jury, and executioner to whoever he thought deserved it. Dean grinned at the still wrapped giant Slinky on the kitchenette counter. At least one good thing came out of it.

He listened to ensure the water was still running in the shower. He’s gonna be a fucking prune when he comes out. Dean hit the speaker button on the phone.

“Um, yeah. I’m looking for FBI Director, Mike Kayser.” Your voice was hesitant. Dean smiled at the way you stated your full name, all formal. You even added your middle name, a new piece of information he hadn’t heard the night you spent together. “This is insane.” You mumbled. “Look, anyway, I got this number from a guy. He said his name was Dean Winchester. I was told to call this number if I couldn’t reach him.” He frowned, anticipating the next part of the message he’d listened to a dozen times. “But, I’m calling because, well, I’m a little, no, a lot concerned. So, I met this Dean Winchester after he apparently had died. From what I found out he and his brother had themselves a murder spree across the country. Ended up on the FBI’s Most Wanted List. Got captured in Ankeny, Iowa, and were killed trying to escape.” You sighed into the phone. “Look. I really just need to know what the hell’s going on. The guy I met…” You stopped. “Well, he didn’t seem like a serial killer.” Dean pictured you rolling your eyes. “Of course, that’s what everyone says after the fact. But, he didn’t. And, I find it odd that of all the phone numbers he’d give me to contact would be that of an FBI Director. If that’s even true. So, if someone could call me back and let me know something. At the least, I’d like to know if I need to be put in Witness Protection and get an alias.” You laughed that laugh that made Dean grin. You left your number. “Thanks.”

Dean exited and scrolled through the call list. Again. For the tenth time after he’d noticed that Bobby had called the number you’d left. And, it had been a long talk for Bobby. Fucking twenty minutes. And even more curious, you had called him back a couple weeks later. Talked to Bobby again for another half hour. Chatty fucking Cathy, huh Bobby. What the hell did you talk to her about? Whatever it was had some finality to it, because there hadn’t been another call from you. And Bobby had died soon after that.

Must have been why she never tried to get in touch with me after that last time. She’s got some sense. But, I could already tell that. He knew he should leave it alone. Leave you alone. But he really wanted to know what Bobby had told you. And why the hell you’d called Bobby back.

The shower cut off. Dean yelled. “Sammy! Want me to grab us some grub? I’m starving.”

“Yeah. Something not artery clogging for me.” He sounded even more exhausted.

“It’s two am. Your kale eating ass will have to settle for whatever greasy joint is open.” Dean grumbled and grabbed his jacket off the chair back. He slipped Bobby’s phone in a pocket and headed out.

Dean put in the order at the diner counter, paid in advance, and stepped out in the cold March night for some privacy. The misty drizzle prickled his cheeks. His breath steamed out from his mouth. He scrolled through Bobby’s call list and pressed your number. Stared at it. Hesitated to dial.

Dean had been properly buzzed that Vegas night with you. But parts of your conversations, especially back on the rug at his motel were clear and vivid. One fact you’d told him was that you had terrible insomnia. Stayed up late most nights and existed on not much sleep. He could definitely relate to that.

He shrugged. “What the hell. I can chalk it up to a Friday night drunk dial.” Dean called your number. He felt his eyes widen when he heard you pick up on the second ring.

“Bobby?”

He could feel his eyes bug out even more. Sonava bitch gave her his real name. “Not Bobby.”

Silence for some seconds. “Dean?”

“Long time no talk, sweetheart.”

You were shifting, doing something. “How-how are you doing?”

“Been better. How about you? I know it’s late, but…”

“You knew I wouldn’t be asleep.” Your laugh was a delightful mix of soft and scratchy to Dean’s ear.

“Yeah.” He smiled. “Are you playing hard to get with me or don’t want to be found altogether?”

“Me? What about you?” You tossed back the question.

“Hey, I haven’t heard from you since those few texts a week after Vegas. Then, come to find out you’ve been chit-chatting with Bobby. You didn’t seem like the Sugar Daddy type to me.” He leaned against the side of his parked car. The bright interior of the diner and neon sign above lit up his waiting spot. It would be some minutes before his bag of food would appear on the counter.

“Do Sugar Daddies own junk yards? I didn’t realize how lucrative a business that was. Impersonating federal agents can only get someone so far, I guess.”

Dean held up a hand. “Wait. Wait a minute. How do you…”

“Bobby told me a lot, Dean.”

Dean swallowed. “How much?”

“You should ask him. My mind is still trying to process most of it.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean trailed off.

“Why are you calling me on his phone, anyway?” Silence again. “Oh. How long ago?”

“It’s been a couple months.”

“I’m so sorry, Dean. He sounded like a decent, upstanding man. And, I could tell… he cared a lot about you and Sam.”

“You could tell that over a couple phone conversations?”

“Yep. Men of little words say a lot when it’s important. You have to pay attention. And, catch them on a good day, I guess.”

“I heard that voicemail you left.”

“Ah. So, you know how freaked out you had me? Thanks, by the way. You owe me two months worth of sleep.”

“Sorry.”

“Bobby didn’t mention talking to me?”

“No. I guess he figured it was better you didn’t have anything to do with me.”

“Or he was occupied with more important things. It sounded like you all were working on saving the world again.”

“What the hell did he…”

“Where are you?” You switched gears on him.

“Wichita, Kansas.”

“How far is that from Albuquerque?”

Dean smiled. He’d already Googled it back at the motel. “About ten hours.”

“Think you can make it here around midnight tonight? I mean, if you have time...”

“I don’t think the world’s going to implode between now and then.”

“If that’s a joke, you have a fucking twisted sense of humor, Dean Winchester.”

Dean chuckled. “Kind of goes along with the job.”

“Yeah.” You sighed. “So, do I send you the location to meet me on this phone or the original number you gave me?”

“You still have that?”

“Yep.”

Another smile. “Send it to mine, sweetheart.”

“Will do. Oh, and bring a bottle of champagne.”

“Huh?”

“Bottle of champagne. Can be a cheap bottle. As long as it pops and fizzes when you open it.”

“Okay…”

“See you in a few hours, handsome.” You hung up.

Of course. The early morning nap at the motel after the greasy diner food turned into a passed out until two in the afternoon snooze fest. Sam’s unwillingness to let Dean up and leave without a detailed explanation delayed the trip as well.

Dean tapped a Sorry, gonna be late. Still okay or should we try another time? to you before he attempted to pacify his brother. “What’s the problem here, Sammy?”

Sam raised his hands. “Are you serious? You’ve had nothing on the brain but Dick since Bobby.”

Dean raised a finger along with his brows. “Rephrase.”

Sam pursed his lips before continuing. “And now, it’s ‘I’ve got something to do I’ll be back’ and you expect me to believe you’re not going off half-cocked to take care of it without me? Did you hear from Frank?”

Dean’s phone buzzed back a reply from you. Still okay. You got my directions?

“Is that him?” Sam rose from his bed and stormed over to Dean.

“No.” Dean sighed. He typed a quick Yes. “Okay, look. It’s a woman, alright.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “I thought you were done with the ladies, after Lydia. That’s what you told me three days ago, Dean. Accidental fatherhood, uncle having to kill his niece and all that.”

“I am. I just… Sam.” Dean slipped the phone into his pocket and went back to packing his duffel. “There’s always another job to keep our minds off how badly we’ve screwed up until we find a way to save the world.” He zipped the bag. “I met this woman back in Vegas. That night before you went all bonkers for Becky and I had to attend your wedding.”

Sam shivered at the memory.

“I’ve got a second chance to just…” He dropped his arms in defeat and exhaustion. “Just be, man.”

“Get laid, you mean?”

Dean shrugged. “Maybe that, too. But, I didn’t have to work at being anything but me with her.”

Sam’s eyes widened. Dean could tell he was ready to call bullshit with that grin. “So, she knows all about us, huh? The hunting? The apocalypse? You going to hell? Me following you a year later, stuck in Lucifer’s cage? Castiel? The leviathans? You tell her all that?”

“Bobby told her something. Before he… I just don’t know what.”

Sam shook his head. The confusion and incredulity washing over his face. “What?”

“Look, I’m going, Sam.”

Sam nodded. “I’m coming then.”

Dean shook his head.

“There’s no way you’re going anywhere without me. Besides, if we get a lead on Roman, we’ll need to move. Fast. And, we need to be together. We don’t have the back up like we used to.” Sam nodded again. “You know I’m right.”

Dean rolled his eyes and tilted his head back. “Fine.”

He sent you a message. Hope it’s okay but brother wants to tag along.

You wrote back a minute later. The more the merrier.

The Midwestern plains transitioned into Southwestern mesas and red rock landscapes over the trek. Sam and Dean approached the city of Albuquerque eleven hours after the start of their drive. They’d taken turns at the wheel, with Dean a much more willing passenger without Baby as their mode of transportation. Multiple signs greeted and pointed out they were on Route 66 as it became one with Central Avenue in Albuquerque.

The urban stretch of the route through this city covered around eighteen miles, according to Mr. Walking Talking encyclopedia aka Sam Winchester. The temptation to swing into a casino they passed was great for Dean. He smiled to himself, wondering if you’d gone in there since Vegas to try your luck on roulette again. Always bet on black. A funky, pueblo style motel, named the Tewa lodge, got Dean’s attention. Note to self in case I ever find myself in the area again. He read the amenities under the VACANCY sign. ‘$29.95 and Up. Free Cable TV and FREE Local Calls’. Oh baby, you had me at ‘Kitchenette’s’.

A diner called Loyola’s, decked out with a large neon steaming cup of coffee, served breakfast burritos when it was open according to the window stenciling. Dean’s mouth salivated at the large number of diners on the strip. My kind of city. He had to pull up to read the menu of yet another tiny restaurant called The Doghouse. The long rectangular neon sign resting atop the boxy building had an animated brown weiner dog wagging its tail. Dean slapped Sam’s chest. “Foot-long chili dogs, Sammy. Foot. Long.”

“Dude, I would never get in the car with you after you ingested something like that.”

“This is definitely my kind of city.” Dean beamed in the dark under the flashing neon. “Hey, what do they call those food tours, where you taste tons of different things?”

“Gastronomy.” Sam chuckled.

“I wanna gastronomy all over this bitch.” Dean pulled back onto the road.

“They certainly like their neon.” Sam pointed to a bright cowboy riding a horse as it lassoed the “El Don” in the name of the El Don Motel sign. “Lots of history here.”

“Yeah, I’m guessing EMF is off the charts in a lot of these places.” Dean added.

Modern and Spanish mission style mingled together on every street. For every building with crisp edges and straight lines there was another with stucco, a red tile roof and rounded edges. They took in as much as they could in the early morning drive, ticking past two am. They drove over the Rio Grande River. But the city wasn’t their ultimate destination. At least not according to your directions. Once through the city, it was another twenty minutes of solitary travel through grassland and barren, desert vistas. Mesas cut silhouettes against the night sky. The Mercury Cougar’s wheels finally spun onto the dirt road they’d been in search of after Sam had to pull out a road map when the GPS gave out.

Sam caught the beacon of activity first. “Down that way. Looks like truck lights.” He pointed. “Sure we’re not walking into some sort of trap, Dean?”

He patted Sam’s shoulder. “Well, I guess it’s good you came along to protect me from myself, little brother.” Dean’s stomach flipped. But not with unease. It was in anticipation of seeing you again. “She’s cool, man. No weird vibes, even if we are in Breaking Bad territory.”

“You don’t have a stellar track record with the ladies you’ve picked up lately.”

“Shut up.”

On approach, the headlights of four 4x4 trucks came into focus, parked in a neat row one next to the other by the road. A group of people were assembled around the back of the vehicles. A couple seated on the open tailgates, some standing, and all looked to have beers in hand.

Dean slid the Cougar alongside one of the trucks, parked, then smiled when you walked over to greet him and his brother. Every shitty moment of the past five months slipped away when your figure was spotlighted in his headlamps. Whatever, wherever this was, you looked in your element here. Relaxed and confident in faded jeans and the kind of t-shirt Dean liked on a woman. The kind that grips all those dangerous curves and leaves nothing to the imagination.

“Come on, Sam. Let’s make our introductions.” Dean hopped out without waiting for Sam’s response.

You strolled up to the open car door and met Dean on the other side, an open beer bottle gripped in one hand; two dangling by their necks between fingers in the other. “You found it.” You smiled.

“Could have warned us it’d be a huge pain in the ass to get here.”

A grin this time. “What would have been the fun in that?”

Damn, he didn’t realize how much he missed that look on your face until he saw it again. Dean made the introductions between you and Sam. You offered the beers.

“I hear you like desert treks, Sam.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”

“Well, that’s what you were off doing when I met Dean in Vegas. Where’d you end up, anyway, that night?”

“Married.” Dean answered for him.

Sam spit out some of his beer. He wiped his face with the back of his cuff. “Quickie wedding. Quickie divorce.” Sam explained.

It was your turn to raise eyebrows. “Wow. How come that wasn’t on your agenda of things to do that night, Dean?”

Dean leaned against the side of the car. “If we’d been together a few more hours, who knows, sweetheart.”

You laughed. “Sure.”

The cold beer slid easy down Dean’s throat. His lips smacked together. “So, what’s the deal?” He pointed to the group. A huddle of three eyed the newcomers. The other two were kissing in the truck bed and didn’t take much notice of anything.

“That’s my crew. We’ve got a job at sunrise. Testing out the equipment.”

“Job? This doesn’t look like an office job.” Dean grinned.

“Little side business I started a couple years back. More of a passion you might say.” You shrugged.

“At three am in the morning I’d say so.” Dean quipped.

You stepped into Dean’s space, your sneaker tapping his boot. “Maybe I can get some free labor out of you boys?”

“Depends.” He licked his lips, staring at you.

“On?”

“If I get some alone time with you later.” His eyes looked dead straight into yours, unblinking, waiting to see if you’d cave. He remembered how good you felt, so close, when he’d gotten the nerve to do his Luke Bryan impersonation in the motel room. He wanted to feel your lips pressed to his again. See if they were as soft as he remembered.

Sam cleared his throat a few feet away.

You backed away. Dean smiled in victory over the blush he’d caused. “Come on over.” You sighed, shaking your head, as you released the statement.

Dean eyed the curve of your hips leading the way. Sam elbowed him and gave the “Dude, take it down a notch” expression.

“Everybody,” your voice was loud, in charge, and Dean appreciated the change. “This is Dean Wilton and Sam Jackson.”

What the hell? Dean could feel Sam’s quizzical look burrowing down at him, even without turning.

A younger guy, tall and almost Sam’s height but with a buzzcut, thrust himself in front of them with eager handshakes. “It’s an honor to even be considered for an article in the BFA journal.”

Sam and Dean stared wide-eyed at each other and then you.

“Don’t pay Stan much mind. He’s still wet behind the ears.” A tubby man spoke up in a baseball cap, his arm around a cute little blonde sitting next to him in the truck bed. They’d been the two kissing earlier. “You lucked out. It’s gonna be a nice morning to launch.”

Sam mouthed the word launch? to Dean.

“So, you two are freelance journalists?” Stan asked.

Dean gave your grin only a second of his attention. “Uh, yeah. You know, love the open road… love to… freelance.” He waved the beer around in a dramatic gesture. “Go where the wind takes us.”

Stan tapped his biceps and let out a chuckle. “Where the wind takes you. I see what you did there.”

“So,” you continued. “along with Stan, we have Marvin,” she pointed to the man on the truck, “Cleo,” the girl under his arm, “and over there is Gen and Gabe.” A female and male, both Native American, gave a quick nod.

Sam waved. “Nice to meet all of you.”

“I told them you’d basically be observing and might help out if you felt so inclined.” You clarified to Sam and Dean. “We want to get two trucks out over there to shine some light on the situation, give us a little halo to work with?”

“On it.” Stan raced away to the farthest truck. Marvin and Cleo hopped off the bed and got into their cab.

“Gabe.” You nodded. “How about you and Gen over there in the middle, and start to unload the equipment?”

“Got it, boss.”

Once it was the three of you, alone, Dean was the first to speak. “Journalists, sweetheart? And, what the hell is going on?”

Your eyes stared back at him, innocent with a little hint of mischief. “Isn’t this what you boys do? Go undercover a lot? I thought the FBI thing would scare them. And, Marvin might actually try to look like he’s working if he thinks someone’s writing a story on us. This might be his last launch if he can’t get it together.”

“Shit, you really do know a ton about us.” Sam blinked his eyes in rapid succession.

“Bobby told me about the ghosts, monsters, angels, demons, and those nasty suckers you're dealing with at the moment. The reason you ended up being on America’s Most Wanted.” You shrugged. “Your last names were apparently everywhere along with those cute mugs of yours. I didn’t want to connect all the dots for my crew, in case any of them care about what’s happening in the world and actually track the news.”

“Thoughtful, I guess.” Dean tilted his head. “But, still. What the hell is going on? What’s the BFA?”

Sam added, “And, what exactly, are you launching?”

You smiled. “BFA is the Balloon Federation of America.”

Dean’s mouth hung open. “Balloons? You're launching balloons?”

“One very big balloon, Dean.”

You smiled at how agreeable and accommodating the boys were at taking directions. And it was kind of fun bossing Dean around. You got a sense he was enjoying it as well.

Dean assisted Gen and Gabe with pulling all the heavy equipment out of one of the truck beds. The propane tanks and inflation fans were the most cumbersome. Dean helped Gabe with the four passenger gondola, much lighter made of wicker, but awkward in size and shape for only one to maneuver. He worked from atop the truck, guiding it down to Gabe. He was wearing way too many layers for what was to come. But, for now, the March temperature was chilly enough that you didn’t bother to mention it. He’ll find out soon enough.

“Gondola, huh?” Dean hopped down. His boots hit the ground. His body, silent and agile, like a cat. “I thought only boats in Venice or at The Venetian were called that.” He brushed his hands together and wandered over to stand beside you.

“You can call it a basket. You aren’t an official part of my chase crew, so I’ll give you a pass.”

He shook his head. “We talked about a lot of things that night. Why not this?”

“Could say the same about you.” You tilted your head, studying him in the dark. His jaw clenched at the call out. That scruff begged for you to run your nails over it. You wanted to hear the scratch and feel the grit under your fingers, like fine sandpaper. Focusing, even on your train of thought, was a true struggle with him in such close proximity. You did your best to continue. “This is sacred to me. Not a lot of people understand why I love it so much. Or, why I have to do it. So, I’m a little protective.”

“So, why show it to me now?” His voice was low, tentative.

“Cause you called. And, you were close. And, who knows when I’ll see you again.” Another question was begging to be asked by Dean. The expression on his face was pained and confused, like a little boy. How does he go from sexy to cute in a fraction of a second? “What?”

“I still don’t understand why Bobby would tell you… everything.”

Stan and Marvin placed the large canvas bag, with Sam’s help, by the gondola, resting on its side. Gabe and Gen positioned the inflation fan and readied the burner.

“If you do a good job, Winchester,” you lifted onto your tiptoes to whisper in Dean’s ear, “maybe you and I can go somewhere private later and talk more about… everything.”

His lopsided grin fueled the flirting. “I’m up to any task. Here to learn all about ballooning, right?”

You smiled back. “So, right now, we are in the putting up phase.”

“Putting out?” Dean questioned for clarification and licked his lips.

You giggled. “Putting up. This is the setup and inflation phase.”

“Ah.” He pointed to Sam, holding the large bag open while Stan and Marvin unpacked the contents. “Kid’s a natural.” He nodded to the first part emerging from the bag. “What’s that?”

“That’s the skirt of the envelope. Envelope is the balloon. That’s in the bag, too. Those wires are what connect the envelope to the gondola.” Gen and Gabe fastened the skirt in place. Stan and Marvin began to unfold the balloon out to its full length.

Dean’s eyes widened as they continued unfolding. “How tall is it?”

“Almost 70 feet.”

Dean whistled.

“Sam?” You called out to the younger, but taller, of the brothers. “Would you mind meeting Stan and Marvin down by the other end? Tell Stan I asked you to help with the crown line, please?”

“Crown line. Got it.” Sam was all smiles. He really looked like he was enjoying himself.

“What’s the crown line?”

“You’d make a really good journalist, Dean.” You waited for his Okay, Wise Ass look to form before answering. “Think of it like an anchor. Sam will be in charge of holding that rope nice and taut while we inflate the balloon.”

“What am I going to help with, boss?” Dean mused and watched Stan pull at the balloon, unwrapping the folds with great care like a present on one of the sides.

You appreciated Stan’s excitement in ballooning even if he could be a little over the top. Marvin’s lackluster attempt as he unfolded the other side to match Stan’s light bulb pattern produced a frown on your lips.

“Boss?” Dean waved a hand in front of your face, pulling you out of your internal staff assessment. “Wow, this really is a passion, huh?” Dean’s narrowing eyes studied you.

You nodded. “I told you it was.”

He smiled and shook his head. “Here I am trying my best to compete with a bunch of polyester fabric.”

“Nylon, actually, and fire resistant material to boot.” Dean sidled up closer in the dark that wasn’t that dark, with the bright moon low in the sky and the truck lights criss crossing over the scene. The heat of his body broke through the chilly March morning, entering your space.

God, you had missed him more than you thought was possible. In the space of a few hours that October night, he’d imprinted a want that you hadn’t been able to shake. It had been nights and days of thoughts of him. And, then, when you came across the rather terrifying information that Dean and his brother had been serial killer fugitives on a murderous crime spree - one that had ended up in their deaths - well, the thoughts had turned ominous and life threatening. Thank God Bobby called me back. You’d been saddened by the news of the gruff and sweet hunter who’d helped so much in such a short amount of time. You were debating when to hit Dean with the other information you had been holding back. If there would even be time to do that tonight.

A finger tapped on the side of your chin. “What do we do with you, Dean?”

His brows rose in one uniform gesture. “I’ve got some ideas.” The voice crept out low with a ton of possible innuendos ready to spill out.

“Since you can’t keep that mouth of yours shut... you and Gabe can hold the mouth open while we inflate.” You resolved. “May want to lose a couple layers. It’s gonna get pretty hot up in here. Go help Gabe with the fan and ready the burner for me.”

“Sassy and bossy.”

You nodded. “It’s my night to call the shots. You had your fun in Vegas.”

“Aw, come on. You had fun, too.” Dean peeled the jacket and button up off together in one deft motion. The discarded clothes draped over the side of your truck bed. “Remember Cherie?”

You cleared your throat. “How could I forget?”

Dean tilted his head, looking a bit taken aback at your enthusiasm. “I was there, too, remember?”

The self-deprecation made you giggle. “How could I forget?” You repeated. Pointing to the balloon, you reminded, “Less talk, more action.”

A half-hour had passed and the inflation process was almost done. Stan and Marvin had released some small helium balloons to gauge the wind conditions, chasing them in the dark sky with their flashlights. Sam did a great job at the top of the envelope with the crown line. You could hear him conversing with the men and Gen with genuine interest in the launch preparations. You took special note of how animated Gen was with Sam, the very opposite of her normal broody demeanor. Massive mountain of a man with flowy mane and mutton chops is her type. Code is finally cracked.

You’d manned the burner, shooting fire into the mouth of the envelope like a dragon in staccato bursts. Dean had spent a lot of time talking over the roar of the flame and the fan’s motor. His questions were directed at Gabe on the other side of the opening. Your silent sympathy went out to both of the men. Their arms had been extended and their bodies positioned in awkward stages for a long time to tent the envelope in order to get her airborne. You remembered your own burn and fatigue endured as part of a chase crew growing up. Their muscles might be screaming in agony the next day.

Gabe was pleasant enough to the so-called reporter, answering Dean in short statements. But his attention was elsewhere. He kept peeking down the other end to the crown line where his sister Genessee had wandered to talk to Sam. The protective older brother was emerging.

Your gaze kept going back to Dean for much of the process. His initiation began with burrowing into the balloon's mouth, head first, on his hands and knees. It provided a sweet view of his even sweeter ass before he gathered the fabric over his shoulders and rose up in victory.

He was quite the distraction with all of the delicious little details you got to inspect. His biceps bulged and stretched the sleeves of his white t-shirt. The sweat that caused the shirt material to stick to random parts of his torso also drenched his forehead. Being so near to the burner and its heat had every patch of exposed skin glistening in the fire’s flame. He licked the perspiration pouring down his face and onto his lips. Your heart stopped a few times when he tugged his shirt up to wipe at his face, giving you a glimpse of the firm chest and undulating tummy you had only dreamed about on occasion.

He called out to you once, his grin bright in the orange glow, “Like blowing wind up my skirt, sweetheart?”

You smiled back and nodded, relishing the flirting just enough without making Gabe uncomfortable. Your assessment of the inflation continued even with the distraction. It always brought butterflies to your stomach, watching the rise of the fabric, bowing bigger until you could stare into the tunnel ahead, like some psychedelic acid trip. You directed Dean to change position and follow Gabe’s lead when the envelope hinted its impending lift off the ground. You checked in with Stan, your point person walking back and forth from the crown line to the gondola, screaming over the fan and burner. “Get Marvin here to hold her steady! Won’t be much longer before we launch!”

Stan saluted and ran off in search of Marvin.

“Gabe, I think Sam can ease off the crown line. Want to get him and Gen back here.”

Gabe’s wary glance went from you to Dean.

“Dean’s got it.” You calmed his concern.

Dean gave Gabe a thumbs up. Gabe nodded and hurried to pass along the instructions.

“Dean, can you help me pull the gondola back and then tilt up when I give you the word? Don’t let her go or you owe me forty grand.” Dean’s surprised expression made you chuckle. You shut off the fan and flashed the burner steady. The balloon was rising up like a drawbridge, quicker and quicker. “Now.”

He nodded, staring up in awe, so close to the imposing object and its dominance of the sky above them. The sheen of her metallic panels were muted and dulled in the dark.

“She’s even prettier in the daylight.” You answered Dean’s silent inspection. “Pink, purple, and blue. She sparkles in the sun.”

He gave you a smile right as Marvin and Stan returned to your side.

“Clear out the fan and get that extra propane tank.” You called to the men and tugged the flame bright again. “Short ride still needs some backup fuel.”

Soon the whole crew was back, hands clamped on the sides of the gondola, keeping your baby in place, tethered to the ground for a few more minutes. Sam and Dean smiled at each other like kids. That alone made your whole night.

“Walkie-talkies on and ready?” You tapped yours on, snug on your belt buckle, and confirmed the nods from Gen, Stan, and Marvin. You grabbed one of the rails and hopped onto the edge, then swung one leg in followed by the other and slid into the gondola. Gabe secured the tank into its holding spot beside you. “Alright, Mr. Wilton? Ready for that ride?”

It took Dean a couple seconds to realize the question was directed at him. “Wha-what?”

“How are you going to write that article if you don’t get in?” You asked, perplexed and confused, smiling through the question.

Dean’s mouth rounded into an “O” and then he shook his head. “Oh. Yeah. No. I can’t.”

Your heart dropped.

Sam whispered somewhere behind you. “He’s scared of flying. Airplanes.” You looked at Sam, who shrugged. “Probably heights, too.”

You shook your head at Dean. “I can guarantee you, Dean, that after a couple minutes you’ll be fine. No relative altitude, if it's a height thing. And, we don’t have much of a choice but to work with the wind, not enough power to fight an air current. I promise not to take you higher than 3,000 feet.” You smiled.

His look was filled with dread and apprehension. “Is that all?”

You thought back to your first night together and opted for the flirty approach. You waited for his eyes to land on yours as they glanced everywhere in worry. “You’ll be glad you took the chance.”

That cracked the surface of worry. “And if I’m not and want to jump out?”

You nodded. “I’ll lower this baby enough for you to skydive out.” The seconds ticked by. A sigh left your mouth. “Mr. Jackson might be better suited for this part of the reporting.”

Sam chuckled. “Oh, I’m up for it. But, I think Dean will be kicking himself if he doesn’t take you up on the offer.”

Dean shrugged. “We could both go.”

You looked at Dean in amazement. Geez, he really is scared if he’s turning down an opportunity to be alone with me.

“We can’t both go. Somebody’s gotta interview and be a part of the chase crew.” You caught Sam’s slight nod to Gen, standing behind him as he spoke directly to Dean across the gondola. “Don’t be a wuss.” Sam egged.

“I’m not a wuss.” Dean mumbled. More moments of indecision worked over his face. “Fine.” He hopped into the gondola before he could debate any further with himself. It teetered with the additional weight and Dean looked ready to bolt out again.

“Keys, Dean?” Sam questioned

“In my jacket, on the truck.” He leaned forward, wedging his ass into a corner of the wicker basket and staring at its floor. Fingers white knuckled the side edges, his arms locked and splayed out. He looked like he was bracing himself for a rocket launch. Or perhaps anticipating motion sickness.

You shook your head to yourself. There didn’t seem any point in trying to comfort him at the moment. He’ll just have to see for himself. “Gabe, you drive my truck and lead the chase.” You readied your hand on the burner.

Gen raised a hand to alert her brother. “I’ll ride with Sam. Answer some questions.”

Sam seemed quite happy with the decision. Gabe, not so much.

You pulled out your trusty baseball cap, out of your secret stash pocket with essentials, and grabbed an extra one for Dean. A slight shove placed it in his sight line in the arm’s length of space between the both of you. “Put this on, going to get hot.”

He hesitated with a grunt, then hurried with a swift and snug placement of the cap on his head. The death grip returned to the basket. He still didn’t look up. His eyes scrunched shut nice and tight.

When you turned back to Sam, you whispered. “He’ll be fine.”

Sam nodded.

You nodded to the crew, gave the thumbs up, then tugged at the burner. The flame roared. Everyone’s hands lifted up at once, releasing your anchor to the ground. The balloon rose up soft and steady, an almost imperceptible shift, like you knew it would. The slight hiccup in your stomach from the elation reminded you of all those countless balloon rides growing up. A tilt to glance down over the edge saw your crew shrink below, awash in the headlights, their necks craned up to survey the flight.

Dean asked, disgruntled and impatient, eyes still closed, once the burner silenced for a bit. “Are we doing this or what?”

“Done, Dean. Open your eyes if you want. Tiny Sam down below.”

“What?” His face shot up. One eye popped open, staring at you, then the motion of the scenery behind you. “We…”

“We’re in the air.” Pilot mode was second nature to you at this point. Scanning the environment for any potential hazards, changes in wind conditions, flaming so you could rise were just a few of the dozen things you multitasked as you calmed your nervous and oh so handsome passenger. You had to admit some of the elation you felt was due to his presence this early morning. “How are you doing?”

His other eye opened and his head rotated left, right, up, down. Wide-eyed under the baseball cap, he ventured out of the corner. His boots slid with care along the basket’s side as if he was scaling a wall. A quick lengthening of his neck allowed him to peer down at the group on the ground. “Holy shit!” There was more awe than fear in his voice.

You radioed to Gabe, “Looks good up here. I don’t think Mr. Wilton will be joining you all down below just yet. Over.” The look on Dean’s face was priceless as he took in the atmosphere. You could see the hesitancy fading away and the relief building.

“Copy that, Silent Lucidity. Which direction you headed? Over.”

“Looks like she’s going where the little ones headed earlier. So, Northwest. Keep an eye on her and I’ll check in at fifteen. Over.”

“Got it. Over and out.” Static punctuated the end of Gabe’s statement.

“I’ve got a little lantern light I can flip on, if you need it.” You offered to Dean. “But, it can mess with the view. So, let me know.”

“Will it make it hard for you to steer or whatever?” Dean asked.

“Not steering, but no, not really. We picked this launch site for a reason. There will be a beautiful sunrise view for the job. Not a lot of things to stare at but sky.”

He chuckled. “So, you’re really gonna be up here again in less than a couple hours with a guy who’ll be proposing to his girlfriend?”

“Yep. Still doing okay?”

“Yeah. I’m good. Surprisingly good, actually. Nothing like being in an airplane or staring out of a 40th floor window.”

“Told ya.”

“You did. I’ll never doubt you again.” He was working his way closer to you, edging with care. “What’s it take to become a pilot?”

“Hundred clocked flight hours, FAA certification.”

His features came into bright focus under the burner flames, only a foot away from you. He’d taken off his baseball cap. “Wow. That’s impressive.” You could tell he meant it. Then, the gears of some random thought fell into place. “Queensrÿche?”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

“So, her name’s Silent Lucidity?”

Another nod. “Sometimes I like to play the song when she launches.”

“Nice. You really are full of surprises, sweetheart.”

“So are you, Dean. How can someone who’s battled Lucifer be afraid of heights?”

He shrugged. “Hey, I’m still human.”

“From the stories I heard, you leveled up beyond most of us mere mortals a long time ago.”

His eyes flashed in the flame. You were the only thing he was focusing on now. “So, what did Bobby tell you? Exactly?”

“He told me that your dad got into hunting because a demon killed your mom. You and Sam were brought up in it. You’ve dealt with pretty much every monster anyone could think of. Nothing much surprises you anymore. Not after Heaven and Hell.” You stopped, watching him study you. “Told me that you went to Hell and came back. Then, there was the impending Apocalypse. Thanks for saving the world, by the way.” Your mind was a swirl of impossible details as you tried to recall things in the correct order. “Then, you tried to save your brother from Lucifer. But, he ended up in some cage with the devil and the archangel Michael. Sam came back to the surface, not quite whole after that. When you tried to put him back together again, well Lucifer decided to scramble his egg instead. And, that now, Sam’s dealing with some major PTSD. And, that you lost a good friend recently.”

He couldn’t hide his confusion. “Why would he tell you all that?”

“He said he heard how scared I sounded when I left the message. That the only way he could explain the crazy was with even more crazy. That if I wanted to believe my life wasn’t in danger, I’d have to believe what he was going to tell me. And, that if I ever told anyone else, they’d more than likely have me committed. He also said you never, ever gave anyone outside of the hunting circle that particular number. So, you must have wanted to stay in touch with me. Or, he guessed, you’d want to be there for me if I needed help. Bobby said if that was the case, you’d want me to know the truth if it would make me feel better.”

Dean shook his head and smiled. His eyes were glassy in the burst of another flame.

“He cared about you a lot Dean.” Your thoughts reversed with your own past. “He sounded a lot like my dad.” You shook yourself out of them to focus on Dean. “So, Sam is…”

“Putting up one helluva fight to keep Lucifer at bay.”

“And, you?” You didn’t ask for permission and tapped on the lantern light. His features glowed in the amber light cascading into the gondola behind your right shoulder.

Those murky green eyes stared back with a set, clenched jaw. His tall frame dipped down, you guessed to get a better view of your reaction from under the rim of your baseball cap. “What about me?”

“It sounds like you sacrifice a lot for the good of the mission. For the good of Sam. Always.”

“Really? You got that out of a couple phone calls with a drunk old coot?” The smile teased. His low voice dripped with sarcasm and exhaustion.

“Maybe. You left me that night in Vegas. For Sam. When he called.”

The smile was gone in an instant. “Sweetheart, if I could have…”

“But, you couldn’t, Dean. Because of Sam.” Both shoulders rose. “And, hey, I get it. Family and all. It’s not like you were bailing your brother out of jail after another night of hell raising.” You shook your head. “Bad choice of words. But, you know what I mean. You both have had monumental, earth shattering decisions, universe affecting choices to make. What’s a night with a woman you’d just met in Vegas mean in the grand scheme of things?”

His hand lifted up over both your heads. His fingers draped over yours on the burner control. The touch was light, delicate, electric, and warmer than the flame. “It meant a lot to me.”

You swallowed hard, tilting your chin up to stare. The propane smell was thick in the air. You sighed. “Alright, Cremation Charlie.”

That broke him from his swoon worthy stare. “Huh?”

“Cremation Charlie was a nickname for a poor sap, back in the day before they’d invented inflation fans. The guy in the chase crew who put his life on the line. He was the one that would stand in the mouth of the envelope, hold it open while the burner heated the air to get the damn balloon off the ground. Risked burning himself to a crisp for the mission. Over and over again.”

Dean closed his eyes and grinned. “Yeah, that sounds like me.” His fingers skimmed over yours. You took the moment to spy and pay homage to his physique. His body still damp in spots with perspiration. His smell. His heat. “It’s pretty quiet up here.” He mumbled, eyes still closed, his frame swaying a couple inches back and forth.

You didn’t want to disrupt the silence. But you’d need to warm the air again to stay in the current floating you to where you hoped to end up. “Give it a tug.” You whispered.

His eyes jolted open at the soft command. “Huh?” The green in his eyes sparkled.

You slipped your hand out from under his. “Let’s get a rise out of you.” You grinned. “Heat us up, big boy.”

Dean smiled and tugged at the burner, looking up into the mouth and watching the flame burst alive. “What happens if we get too high?”

You wrapped your fingers around another dangling rope. “I pull on this and a vent opens to let air escape. Helps us descend.”

“So, if I get too carried away, you can put on the brakes?”

“Something like that.”

He shook his head and stared down at you. The fear was gone. The Dean you met that Vegas night was back and in full force. “You, in charge. Sexy as hell.”

You giggled at the tease. “You like bossy women?”

“Don’t tell anybody.” You gasped at the other hand pushing into the small of your back, pulling you into his embrace. His hand on the control, your hand on the rope, tangled against each other in a dance of commands and directions. “I wish Sammy had stayed on his desert trek that night.” Dean licked his bottom lip, inspecting yours. “Things might have been a lot different.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and kiss me already.”

He smiled, bent down, tilted at just the right angle to fit under the rim of your cap, and pressed his mouth to yours. It was eager and investigating, searching with his tongue, making you moan. You felt him tug on the control, the flame roaring above you.

You broke for a second. “Easy there, tiger.” Your eyes scanned the area around you.

“Hey, I was just following orders.” He smirked.

“Yeah.” You sighed. “Okay, that’s enough playing pilot.”

He chuckled and released his hold from the burner, but not from you. “When are you done with your job this morning?”

“We should be done and packed up no later than nine. Do you have to leave right after?” Your mouth dropped into a frown.

“We’re waiting on some word about the…” He censored his information even though you already knew about it all. “Trail’s gone cold for a bit.” He tugged the walkie talkie from your belt without asking and brought it to his mouth. Your mouth opened in protest, but he began to speak before you could voice anything. “Sam? You there? Dean, here. Over.”

A few seconds passed. “Dean? What’s up? Over.”

“I think we’re going to need more hours of... investigative journalism after the job. Over.” The smirk on his face and naughtiness in his eyes made your core ache.

Sam cleared his throat over the radio. “I’ll get a room. Over.”

Dean smiled down at you. “Copy that. Over and out.”

Never would have thought. Bossy looks damn good on her.

After swallowing down the panic for the first part of the balloon ride and realizing how skilled of a pilot you were, Dean switched into his autopilot mode around a beautiful woman. Flirty, feisty, and all fingers. It was as necessary as breathing for him. And, he missed it. Especially how easy it flowed with you, regardless of the environment. Whether the chaotic energy of the Vegas strip or the sublime floating dream that he was in right now, in the air above Albuquerque. You were the constant he was craving to touch.

Your eyes were shy to hold his gaze one minute, then challenging him in a staring contest the next. You’d roll your eyes at a cheeky joke, then blush at a flirty turn of phrase. And your voice. It was light and airy, not bouncy or super peppy. With just the right amount of conviction and authority when you needed it to be. And those lips. Damn. I gotta find out all the things they can do.

He tested the waters again. Snaked his fingers around your waist and pulled you close. He’d pulled the cap off your head without asking. The questions thrown out were due to his interest but also his wanting to distract you. He needed to get at the skin under that tight sky blue t-shirt. He held back a sigh and clenched his jaw at how warm and welcoming you felt. He thought you might be onto his ulterior motives but were more than willing to go along for the ride.

Turns out you had been ballooning for as long as you could remember, growing up in Colorado. Your parents had been what one would call enthusiasts when it came to hot air balloons. And as their only child, well there was no way you weren’t going to get the balloon bug. Your dad was a pilot, your mom a part of his chase crew. They held balloon rallys, hosted events and it was just another Sunday for you to be up in the Colorado air surrounded by a dozen other balloons.

You’d moved to Albuquerque right after college. Dean smiled when you told him the city you called home was known as the Ballooning Capital of the World. The International Balloon Fiesta was held in the Rio Grande Valley every October. It had been one of the main reasons you settled there. You were geeking out with the facts, explaining more about the intricacies of piloting, talking about balloon glows and mass ascensions, while his grip on you tightened. Goddamn adorable.

Then he asked about what your parents were up to now. A frown replaced his smile, finding out your parents had passed away a year after you moved. They had been on a hunting trip at their cabin in the mountains. Authorities deemed a horrible bear attack had been the cause. That had been eight years ago.

He wanted to ask if that had been the impetus for Bobby telling you so much; if you had mentioned that before his truth spilled out. Bobby knew, had known, loss better than anyone. And, if he knew you had no close family? Well, he was a softie when it came to helping out a lady in distress. Hell, isn’t every hunter that appreciates a pretty woman? But Dean held it in, stared into your eyes, and told you how sorry he was. You gave him a soft peck on the lips in thanks.

You didn’t play when it came to your balloon, Dean learned quickly. You’d found a field to touch down at after a half-hour in the air and radioed to the chase crew. Dean gave you some space to pilot for the all important landing. He watched with great interest at your actions, venting and burning, guiding your baby. He felt a pang in his chest, missing Baby, squirreled away under a tarp in a barn miles away.

You were working with the wind to get to your hoped for spot. Patience. She has a ton of it. Accepting what she can’t control and working with what she’s given to get to her destination. Maybe she needs to give me some lessons.

The four trucks and Sam in the Cougar roared up the nearest road from down below. Headlights bright in a caravan formation. The sky was starting to lighten. Dawn would arrive soon. Got a ride in a fucking hot air balloon with the prettiest pilot there is. Dean smiled at you.

You caught the look on his face with a turn of your head. The balloon was careening downward at a nice clip as you vented. “What?”

“Crash landing?” An eyebrow rose.

“Not if I can help it. But you might want to hold on to something.”

Dean pressed himself to your back, trapping you between his arms as he gripped the edge of the gondola. “This good?”

You cleared your throat and he chuckled.

The chase crew made good time, ejecting from their vehicles to rush over. The gondola swooped down. You tried to keep her parallel to the ground as she propelled forward. Her front end hit first, bouncing like morse code. Dean leaned back like a counterweight. Gabe and Stan caught up to the back end and grabbed a hold, braking and slowing the motion.

Marvin appeared to hold the basket down as well. You pulled the vent open all the way. The fabric of the envelope began to puddle like a discarded dress. Dean spotted Sam grab at the crown line with Gen as they helped to guide it down.

You were directing and ordering again, reminding everyone you didn’t have a lot of time to deflate and pack up to get back to where you had launched. The blush and heat in your cheeks was noted by Dean in silence as the crew pushed out the remaining air in the balloon and folded it up. Dean helped get the gondola back onto one of the trucks and secured all the other equipment. The entire event had exhilarated and lit up all of his senses. He wanted to take you in his arms and kiss that energy all over you. But the crew would only have more questions.

Everyone had hauled collective asses back to the launch site to start the putting up process all over again. Dean rode with Sam, discussing the balloon ride and how much time he thought he’d need alone with you. Sam shook his head and laughed, extolling all of the fun things he’d learned about Gen. There was a lighter feeling in the air of their car. No talk of leviathans or hunts or Lucifer or the loss of Bobby. For a short amount of time, they were two guys comparing notes about pretty girls and having some goddamn fun with a group of people.

When Dean closed the passenger side of the car, he ran to your truck for his next order. He gave you a cheeky salute. “Cremation Charlie, reporting for duty.”

You smiled back, cool and deliberate. Sam slid up to Dean’s side. “I can go and help with the crown line again.” He offered.

“You guys have been great. Really.” You nodded. “But, we’ve got this round. And, after this next part, you’re going to want to head out.”

Dean frowned. “Not leaving yet, sweetheart.” The tone in his voice was insistent.

“Not leaving Albuquerque, yet.” You agreed. Another smile. “You bring that champagne like I asked?”

Dean tilted his head toward the car.

“Grab it.”

He sighed. Sam shrugged and stood his ground. A quick trip to the car and a reach into the open window of the back seat found the bottle. Dean jogged back only to find you and Sam had moved to the rest of the crew, even Cleo, now beside the gondola. The envelope had already been unpacked and unfurled on the ground.

“If you’d be so kind and open that, Dean.” You motioned to the champagne.

Dean fumbled with the wire cage over the cork.

“We have a tradition for first time riders. Sam, even though you didn’t go up, you certainly proved an invaluable part of the crew. So, I think you should get to partake as well.” You continued.

Dean eased the cork out of the bottle with a satisfying pop and a small bit of fizz leaked out, down his hand.

“May I?” You reached for the bottle.

Dean passed it over with a smile.

“On your knees, boys.” You ordered.

The entire crew chuckled at Dean and Sam’s expressions.

You pointed to the ground.

Dean cocked his head to his brother. Sam sighed. They knelt down in unison, staring up at you.

“This is what we call your initiation, a baptism you might say.” The seriousness in your voice made Dean’s eyes narrow as he stared at you. “Let us pray.”

The crew bent their heads. Sam elbowed Dean to do the same. But all he wanted to do was keep his eyes on you. You lifted your eyelids at his gaze and coerced Dean to follow suit with the rest. His grin rose one side of his mouth upward before he gave in.

“Sam and Dean.” Dean spied your sneakers strolling closer, the earth crunching beneath your steps. “May the winds welcome you with softness.” Your voice was low, reverent. “May the sun bless you with its warm hands.” Dean thought back to when it was only the two of you, up in the air, free. “And then set you gently back into the loving arms of Mother Earth.” You finished.

He couldn’t wait to be alone with you again. And, then, Dean felt the cool bubbling liquid pour over his head. Son of a bitch.

The entrance bell dinged when you stepped foot in Loyola’s. Your eyes lit up when you chanced upon Dean, sitting in one of the booths, digging into a breakfast burrito at 11:00 am. He waited. The sign by the register encouraged you to seat yourself. You made your way over to the Winchester brother that made your insides somersault.

He glanced up at your approach, looking adorable and sinful at the same time. He chewed with gusto and reverence. To your surprise, he dropped the burrito and bolted out of his seat to stand by the table. It gave you the opportunity to inspect his sturdy frame. The change of clothes confirmed he’d found somewhere to shower. A faded denim button-up draped over his shoulders. Amazingly, you thought he might only be wearing one layer atop the wide span of his chest. He was doing the entire city of Albuquerque a civil service, swaddling those fine bow legs and ass into a tight pair of dark jeans. Do not drool. “Hey.” The dab of a napkin wiped away some scrambled egg from his chin. “You finally made it.” His smile extended from ear to ear.

You gripped the shoulder strap of your bag. The soap scent filled your nostrils. Damn. How did his smile make your mind cease to function? “Yeah. Sorry. Wrap up took longer than expected.” You shrugged. “And, I needed to clean up, too.” You grinned.

“Hm. Well, you didn’t have someone pour champagne all over you. You're lucky I don’t have Baby with me.” He motioned for you to sit.

Your bag hit the bench seat before you slid in across from him. “Baby?”

“All that storytelling and Bobby didn’t mention my pride and joy?”

You frowned, wondering who or what in the hell Baby was.

“My car. Was my Dad’s.” Dean frowned as well.

“Where is it?”

“We had to stash it when the leviathans made those murder Xeroxes of us. They even drove around in an exact copy of my wheels.”

“I’m sorry.” The whole subject matter was surreal; made you feel like you were talking to a sci-fi character from a television show. If that nagging, gnawing suspicion hadn’t been with you for years, you knew you wouldn’t believe a stitch of the yarn Bobby had told you months back. You looked over the laminated menu. You already knew what you’d order. You needed something to distract you from how pretty his green eyes shined in the sunlight streaming through the diner window.

Dean tilted a shoulder a fraction, making you look up. He’d trapped you in that gaze again. “Hopefully, I get to see her again soon.” He tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “I mean, hey, I got to rendezvous with you again. Things are looking up.” He grinned.

The waitress swung by and took your order, dropping off a glass of water and pouring you a cup of coffee. Dean’s eyes widened when you told her you’d have the Southwest Sizzling Sampler and to please keep the caffeine coming. “What?” You questioned with a raised eyebrow when it was only the two of you.

“Not for nothin’, but a woman with a healthy appetite is kinda hot.” He licked his lips and went back to his plate of food. A finger pointed to his burrito. “Want some?”

You chuckled. “I’m good. Thanks.” You suddenly realized you were down a Winchester. “Where’s Sam?”

Dean gulped down his mouthful. “We got a room at the Tewa lodge. He’s doing some Roman research.”

“Ah. Should I tell Gen of his location?”

A gruff laugh left his throat. “I think Sam beat you to it.”

“I guess research is a big part of the whole hunting thing.” You turned behind you, noting the other patrons within earshot. You recognized Stella from the bookstore. She immediately said hello, chatted you up for some seconds, only to put you more on guard. You turned back to Dean and took a quick swig of your water. You resumed your topic. “So, research?”

He raised a brow and donned a smile variation you hadn’t quite seen from him before. “Yeah. The boring part of hunting. But, necessary. Jobs don’t actually fall into our laps. Not often.” Dean shot into another thought. “Did Bobby give you my new number? At least, the number I had when you made contact with him?”

You shook your head. “He didn’t want to put you in danger. That’s what he said, anyway. In case I really wasn’t who I said I was. He’d done some research of his own on me before calling back. See if the info I left about myself in the voicemail checked out. But, he said, he couldn’t be too careful.”

Dean nodded. “Sounds like Bobby.” His eyes narrowed. “Mind if I test you?”

“Test me? Like multiple choice?”

He plopped a trial sized plastic bottle of mouthwash on the table. But, the cloudy white liquid was most definitely not mouthwash. “Pour some of that on your hand.”

“What?” Your entire body stiffened up on defense. “What is it?”

“Just a household cleaner with Borax in it.” He responded like they were discussing the weather. “If you’re a baddie, it’ll burn you.”

“It could burn me, regardless. Ever read the warning labels on the back?”

“Not skin irritation. Talking, eat your skin away if you’re a leviathan.”

“Jesus.” You shook your head, opened the bottle, placed a stack of napkins from the dispenser under one hand, and then dripped cleaner over your knuckles. You wiggled your fingers and patted away the liquid. “Did I pass?”

He smiled. “Yep. Demon test, too.”

“Huh?”

He secured the cap and snuck the bottle back into his leather jacket resting next to him on the bench. “I snuck some holy water in your glass.”

You ran your tongue along the top of your mouth. “Ew.”

“Can’t be too careful. A lot could have happened since Vegas. And, I would have had to add avenging you to the top of my to do list if those fuckers got to you, too.”

The thought of him extracting violent revenge on your behalf gave you a weird sense of comfort and safety. You smiled.

He smiled back. “Anyway, with the thoughts I’ve been thinking, gotta make sure you’re not going to gank me when we’re alone later. My guard will be down.”

Your mouth dried up. “Are we going to be alone later?”

He nodded with certainty. “Oh yeah. You’re taking me back to your place.”

God, you loved that cocky assuredness. Any other man would come off as a smug bastard. But, there was so much charm covering it up in Dean’s whole being that you couldn’t resist. “Am I?”

“Yep.” Another slight nod. The waitress disrupted your flirting and dropped the plate in front of you. “Wow. That’s beautiful.” Dean commented on the piles of breakfast food.

You rubbed your hands together and shot back. “Fueling up for later.”

He chuckled. “My kinda woman.”

He followed you back to your apartment in his Cougar. You were distracted for most of the ten minute ride. Thinking about what he was going to do with that gorgeous body of his; that this was actually happening. Glancing in your rear view mirror at a red light pulled you into a long study of his perfect face. His cocky grin followed a horn tap on his steering wheel when the light turned green. He probably knew you’d been staring. Son of a bitch.

Your palm was a sweaty mess turning the knob of your apartment door. It didn’t help that he was breathing down your neck, looming over you.

Tyrion greeted you with his usual rumbling of purrs. “You have a cat?” Dean queried from behind. He sounded disappointed. You heard the click of the door closing.

You scratched the top of your buddy’s head. Tyrion eyed the new male in the room with a proud tilt up of his long-haired chin and twitchy whiskers. “I do.” You confirmed the obvious.

“I’m allergic.” Dean sighed. At that, Tyrion strolled up to Dean and did a figure eight between his bow legs.

“So am I.” You stated and flung your jacket across the back of your, and Tyrion’s, favorite chair.

“So, you’re a masochist?” Dean chuckled and pinched his nose shut.

“Okay, Ew. First, don’t pull my cat into some sexual kink. Second, I don’t derive gratification from pain and humiliation...”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “I’m intrigued and aroused that you actually know what a masochist is…”

You shook your head and forced yourself not to focus on how sexy his voice sounded wrapping around the word aroused. “Third,” you continued, “Tyrion is a Siberian. He’s hypoallergenic. Us cat allergy sufferers can usually tolerate being around this breed.”

“Really?” The genuine surprise on his face went to inspect the furball, plopped onto his back, displaying a belly to Dean for some rubbing.

You nodded. “But, to be on the safe side, I keep him out of my bedroom.”

Dean shot his stare back up at the word bedroom.

You cleared your throat.

He grinned and bent at the knees to give Tyrion a few pats for good measure.

“Want something to drink?” A quick dash around the breakfast bar gave you a chance to escape. You grabbed a bottled water from the fridge and sipped away, trying to cool the burning of your cheeks.

“I’m good.” You heard him respond from the living room. He was still bent down making friends with Tyrion.

You tapped at the bottle with your fingernails and stared at the fridge door and your assortment of magnets. What the hell? What am I supposed to do now?”

“Nice little place.” He leaned against the edge of the breakfast bar. His leather jacket had been discarded.

“Thanks.”

He stuffed his hands into front jean pockets and mosied over like a gunslinger. “Am I gonna have to make the first move again?”

You smiled. “‘Fraid so.”

He stared down at you with a smile. “Something tells me you don’t mind it.”

You shook your head and swallowed down a sigh.

He pulled the bottle from your grasp and dropped it somewhere. Your stomach tumbled in excitement at the grasp of his warm hands around your waist. He lifted you like you weighed a feather and sat you on the bartop, right in front of him. You were almost at perfect eye level. He pried your knees open and wedged into your legs. He was hot and so close, face inches from yours. “I don’t have a lot of time to do everything I want.” His breath snuck into your open mouth. “I’d need days.”

And, then, his lips were pressed into yours again. Firm, decisive, and a little needy. Not quite as needy as yours, returning the want and the build from your alone time up in the air together. He released your lips, kissed along your jaw and cheek. Rubbed his scruff against your skin. Encapsulated your earlobe with a glorious suck between those billowy lips. He ran his tongue against the diamond stud. Moaned a breathy, “Do you taste good everywhere?” into your ear.

You gripped the edge of the breakfast bar. He was making you unsteady, drunk with desire. Your eyes widened. His fingers snapped the button of your jeans open and worked the zipper down.

He broke from his work and stared at your face. “I shouldn’t be having all the fun.” He grinned. “Put your hands on me, sweetheart.”

Your shaky hands lifted off the bartop and rested on the lapels of his denim shirt. You snuck a squeeze at his pecs and he chuckled.

“We good?” You knew he was asking for permission to dip his fingers under your panties. He was currently skimming the band of it, lighting up the skin around your belly button. “Once I start, I’m not stoppin’.”

You nodded. “We’re good.”

His mouth went to your neck, licking, pecking, sucking. He moaned against the skin when his fingertips found your wet warmth. “Damn.”

Your breath hitched with the prodding and searching. He teased the sensitive nub with his thumb, hand sandwiched tight between you and the denim as he cupped your sex. His mouth was at yours now, examining every inch with his tongue.

Senses came back to you in bursts and blips. You undid the buttons of his shirt as he continued his own exploration. Once you’d freed the last button you danced over the ridges and planes of his chest. His body reacted with a twitch when you scraped nails over his perky little nipples. He groaned into your mouth. You moaned when his hand pulled out of your panties. He kissed through his request and stared into your eyes. “How about we go somewhere we can be alone?”

You followed his gaze to the floor where Tyrion was darting between Dean’s legs again. You laughed and nodded. Dean tried his best not to trip over the cat, stepped back, and helped you off the bar. You grabbed his hand, wet with your excitement, and guided him to the bedroom. You couldn’t resist turning back at the sight of him, shirt unbuttoned and peeks of tummy, chest and pecs. There was a tattoo on his chest above his heart that got your attention for a split second. Walking backward, you lost your balance at the hunger in his eyes. He leaned in, pressed you into the bedroom door, then tumbled you both through after fumbling at the knob. Once inside, he flung the door shut with a kick of his boot heel.

He wasted no time, grabbing at the hem of your t-shirt, pulling it up. He cursed and gave it a firm tug when it caught on your chin to release you from the confines. The giggle from you was more to calm your unease of what he was actually capable of when he put his mind to it. The strength behind his movements was unquestionable. He quashed the sounds of your laugh with his mouth, gulping down the vibrations leaving your throat. He was literally taking your breath away.

Fingers squeezed at the bra cups, finding taut nubs and rubbing over the fabric in circles. He guided you down onto the bed with the push of his mouth. His arms were around you in an instant, cushioning your fall onto the mattress. He leaned above, one knee between your legs, all smiles. “Never done it with a pilot before.” His knee settled against the warmth and rubbed you through the layers.

You lifted up on your elbows and leaned up to suck at his bottom lip. It provided him the opportunity to unclasp your bra. You released his lip and fell back on the bed. “Never done it with a monster hunter before.”

He removed your bra. His eyes widened and he licked his lips. “I guess we’re both in for a treat.”

God, his mouth. The way it worked over each inch of your body. He talked about not having enough time but seemed in no hurry to get on with the actual task of fucking. At least not with the package you had yet to unwrap. But, you got a hint of what he was working with at the bulge tenting his jeans.

His tongue lolled about the dip in your neck, your collar bone. He nipped and tugged at your flesh. Circled your nipples, sucked and tweaked them into bliss. Stoking the heat in your core and readying you.

He slipped out of his shirt like a snakeskin, slithering down, peeling your pants and panties down to your calves. He popped off your canvas shoes, finished your disrobing, and then stood to take you in, completely naked.

It was the middle of the day. Sunlight crept into your bedroom through sheer curtains. Any other man, any other time, you would have covered up in embarrassment. But, you let him take you in so you could do the same. The creamy, bronze kissed skin of his chest made you ache. The scars all had some history behind them. Dappling of freckles here and there ground him into some sort of reality; confirmed he was in fact human and not some god, come to earth to ruin anyone he touched for anyone else.

He bent down, forced you to maintain eye contact. His tongue flicked out and teased your folds. He savored the taste, smiled, then went to work on you. He talked you through everything he was doing and was planning to do to you. Stopped talking long enough to follow through on his promises. His fingers found that spot deep inside he said would make you crumble for him, come for him, into his mouth. And, you did. Twice. Cause that’s what he said he’d make you do.

You were panting, trying to catch your breath when he rose up and fished his wallet from his back pocket. He tossed a foil wrapper alongside you on the sheets. “Gonna feel so good inside you.” He murmured, taking off his jeans.

“Shit.” You gasped when you finally saw all of him.

He smiled in pride. “Thank you.”

“Dean, I…”

He nodded. “I can already tell it’s gonna be a tight fit, sweetheart.” He bent down and kissed your lips. “We’ll get there. Trust me. Gonna be so much fun getting there.”

He snatched the wrapper, ripped it open, and worked the condom over his hard length. He slid over your body, capturing you between those muscled forearms and kissed you in languid waves.

And, then, he was pushing against your entrance. Steadying atop of you on one forearm while his other hand assisted, seeking a way to penetrate. His held breath released, slow, when he finally breached and made some headway inside.

“Goddamn.” He settled in, listened to your moans. “Alright, sweetheart?”

You nodded and tried to control your breathing. The searing and stretch of him in you was like nothing you’d experienced. “You’re amazing.”

He smiled and kissed your chin. “You’re awesome.”

You made him work hard that afternoon. And he loved every second of it.

He’d come down from the high of his second orgasm a half hour ago. He thought maybe it had been your fourth, but he wasn’t going to ask. You snuggled into his side, the both of you now under the covers, dozing in and out. Tyrion, on occasion, would scratch and meow on the other side of the closed bedroom door. He played with your hair, delaying the inevitable for as long as he could.

You spoke first. “Have a clue where you’re headed next?”

“Uh-uh. We’ve got someone trying to help track Roman. But…” He pinched his nose, “Wild goose chase. Who knows? Maybe Sam will have something when I get back.”

He felt your fingers trace over his anti-possession tattoo. “Dean?”

“Hm?” He was ready for you to ask for details on his tat.

“Do you and Sam ever go on those run of the mill hunts anymore? Or is it all leviathans and angels and demons now?”

He smiled. “All the time. I kind of look forward to a simple ghost hunt every now and then.”

“Do hunters have cold cases they work on?”

“Sometimes. Why?” You felt so good in his arms. Like you fit just right.

Your head lifted up. Your eyes stared into his. “My parents…” Your voice trailed off. “I’ve always had this feeling. The way they died. It didn’t seem…”

It was all you had to say. His arms wrapped you up tight. “How about once Sammy and I take care of these leviathans, I come back and we figure out what happened. Together. Supernatural or not, we get you some answers.”

He wiped a tear from your cheek. You nodded, burying your head back against his chest.

For another hour, Dean closed his eyes and drifted away. In that tiny one-bedroom apartment of yours in Albuquerque that felt like something he could call home. With you.

Sam could wait. The work he had to do on the road could wait. The inevitable sacrifice he’d have to make, again, could wait.

What he wanted, what he wished for, what he dreamed was to be up in the air with you again. In your Baby.

And let you pilot them wherever the wind would lead you both.

THE END

MASTERLIST

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #dean winchester smut #spnfanficpond #dean x reader #dean winchester pov

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hot-takes-and-random-things · 5 years ago

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S11 E1

Thanks to @kitkatwinchester for getting me this far We’re in season 11 already? Oh yeah, here we are, giant smoke monster. Who is that? That isn’t Rowena. LAY OFF THE HORN DUDE! Oh, it’s broken. Now it’s REALLY broken.

WE’RE GOING TO OZ, BITCHES!! The Darkness is a lady? Okay then, we’ll go with that. Oooooooooh, nice title card. “We know jack.” Not yet, you don’t. Hiii Cas! Hiii flashback!Crowley! Oh shit, Crowley! Oh? Shit? Crowley? Yeah, he’s not dead. *as Foghorn Leghorn* Boy don’t you point a gun at him! Poor city workers... they were just doing their job. Poor people. They just wanted to go on vacation. Hello, hot lady officer. Consider me horny. “Show me some skin!” STRIP, BOYS! Okay, this hospital is freaking me out. I am scared. SAM! STOP THAT GUY! “This job is supposed to be about saving people.” And doesn’t that just hit home for Dean? Excuse me what? Hello again, Darkness Lady. Consider me horny AND scared. SAM HURRY THE FRELL UP! Poor guy. Sam please help them. Hiii Crowley. Crowley, you are not Q, you cannot snap your fingers and do stuff. These people are kinky. Crowley, you can absolutely get down with that, right? Poor guy. Okay, so Sam and Dean can take the baby and raise her in the bunker, and Cas can babysit. Or Jody can take her, because what’s one more kid, right? Or the hot police lady can take her? Poor guy! Poor baby! Poor hot police lady!😭 More proof of the Destiel! So the Darkness is the Mark of Cain except everyone can have it? GOD DAMN IT CROWLEY! “That’s the menopause, sir.”😂 “Old and farting sawdust” lol what? “Dean, if we don’t change-right now-all our crap is just gonna keep repeating itself.” THAT’S WHAT I’VE BEEN SAYING THIS WHOLE TIME, SAM. EVERY. DAMN. SEASON. “Hunting things-we’re good at that. Sure, we’re great at that. But that’s only half of the bumper sticker, man.” SO META😂 “Saving people means saving all of the people, Dean, not just that baby. Not just each other.” So true. SAM NO. I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is no. ...Damn it guys, every single time! So the infected dude is using something to beat down the door, which shows that the infected are not just mindless JESUS CHRIST THERE WAS ONE IN THERE WITH HIM ...annnnd it bled on him, wonderful. Ah, he’ll be fine, he just needs some Listerine. Poor Mike! Oh, hi Crowley, nice to have you back. The cage? Michael or Lucifer? Oh yeah, those guys. Why are most of the angels in this show complete dicks? “Godspeed.”😂 Sam, don’t lie. OH WAIT WHAT The BABY has the mark???

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #reactions #what the hell is this show #i should have asked that sooner #supernatural reactions

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enniewritesathing · 5 years ago

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The Proposal (Part 3)

⏮Previous

(It’s 6:55pm at Angelo’s. The place was hard to find seeing that it had only opened two months ago. It wasn’t that far of a drive since it was in Magnolia Promade and John was making good time until he hit rush hour/dinner traffic. Speaking of dinner, the restaurant was in the thick of dinner rush.

John keeps his head on a swivel, even as he heads upstairs. He begins to text pull out his phone to text until he sees the outside area.)

Eli: “Nephew!”

(John turns his head to the left at the booming voice.)

John: “Yo, Uncle Eli!”

“Lookin’ like a mob boss sitting in the corner.”

“What’s up with the schmedium sweater?”

Eli: “What’s wrong with it? Look, boy, I had to dig this out of the closet. I’ve gained a little bit of weight.”

(John laughs as he sits down.)

(John looks around.) “This place is nice. Really nice.”

Eli: “Expectin’ a hole in a wall?”

John: “Actually, yeah.”

Eli: “Since you wanted a ‘man to man’ talk, I thought it would be better to... y’know, be somewhere more relaxing. That and your aunt wanted me to check this place out; told her I’ll bring something back. May put it on the date list. By the way, food’s gonna be a minute.”

(John groans. Should have eaten an apple or something before he came over. Never mind that he went ahead and ordered for him, but knowing his uncle, it’s going to be a BIG meal.) “How is she, anyway?”

Eli: “She’s doing fine. Just got back from Del Sol from a photo shoot last night.”

(Eli’s look changes and John’s stomach drops.) “So, you needed to talk to me man to man. What’s bugging you, nephew?”

John gulps. The sudden change of his uncle’s demeanor catches him offguard and he doesn’t quite know what to say or even how to say it.)

John: “Well, I...”

(God, it’s like he’s 16 again, trying to summon the courage to come out. But this time, Brian isn’t here to back him up.)

(He toys with his fingers.) “I... need some help. I mean, I need help in...”

Eli: “What?”

John: “I need help to... ask Brian a very important question.”

Eli: “Ah. You plan on marrying him, huh?” (He grunts.) “I’m surprised you haven’t done it earlier.”

John: “That’s the thing. I want to, I’m going to, but... how?”

Eli: “Just tell him how you feel.”

(John sighs.)

Eli: “Ah, don’t give me that sigh crap. Listen, that’s what I did with Bea. Why are you so nervous, John?”

John: “That’s the thing! I don’t know why. I don’t know what to say, o-or anything like that. Maybe... there’s some weird thought in the back of my head that he doesn’t feel the same way about me or he doesn’t want to change. I mean, we’re pretty stable. We just bought a house, he’s thinkin’ about going back to school, our cat has room to run around and kind of playin’ with the idea of adopting more cats... but getting married? That’s a BIG change, Uncle Eli and I’m not sure if he’s ready. Or I’m ready.”

Eli: “John.” (The way he says it, it’s almost fatherly.) “Not to state the obvious, but Brian is perfect for you and you, him. I don’t think you realize it, but he’s changed you for the wildly better. He loves you and you love him. Dare I say, to death. That shit’s beautiful. I saw that from the very beginning. I told Bea you two were going to end up together one day. That’s how strong your relationship is. I wasn’t going to deny both of you of that. Why would I?”

(John is shocked.) “Did you really say and think that?”

Eli: “Of course. I know I put on an act sometimes, but I know a good thing when I see it. Like I said, surprised you haven’t yet.”

John: “I’m nervous. But can I ask you this -- how did you propose to Aunt Bea?”

(Eli laughs.) “Simple really. I got her the biggest bouquet of roses I could afford after her performance of Swan Lake. She was thrilled. She didn’t believe I sat through the whole thing. I told her that I was trying to add a little more culture to my life. But that’s when I knew I was in deep. I was in love with Bea. She knew it too; I saw her eyes time to time to find me. It was like... a dream I didn’t want to wake up from.”

“She was... very beautiful that night. Extravagant. Rapturing. All those nice, big words, y’know? I had the ring on me too, and I could have dropped on one knee then and there and told everybody there. But, decided not to ruin her moment. Besides... she was very hungry.”

John: “Did you take her out to a fancy restaurant?”

Eli: “No. Couldn’t afford it, so we went to Mike’s. Got her the fattest bacon cheeseburger. I’ve never seen this woman eat so fast in my life. Was gonna take her to the nearby park to walk it off, but she was understandably tired. Crashed soon as we got home. I held on to the ring that whole night, but I said ‘fuck it’ and just slipped it on her hand and waited until morning.”

John: “You stayed up the whole night?”

Eli: “Yep. When she found out, she cried and all of that. I dropped down to one knee, told her how I felt; she told me yes, and that was that.”

John: “Wow.”

Eli: “Is that the ring?”

John: “Yeah. Just in case. Sometimes Brian has random urges to look through things.”

“I was practicing last night. I don’t know what to say. I could have done it last night, but I ended up chickening out. I like your idea, but, Brian’s a light sleeper. He’ll definitely know. You know I’m not the sneakiest person, Uncle Eli.”

Eli: “Yeah, you do suck at that sort of thing.”

John: “I was thinking about proposing at Worlds when I win the whole thing. Y’know, become Brian’s champion.”

Eli: “Hmm. Marriage contingent on you winning Worlds?” (Beat.) “That’s real dumb, boy. And presumptious. Don’t make Brian wait that long. Not that I have any faith in you.”

“You can always elope like Elle did.”

John: “Uncle, I’m serious about th--”

(He stops.) “Wait, what did you say?”

Eli: “Elope like your mom did.”

John: “Hang on. She eloped?! She never told me that part!”

Eli: “Oh? You don’t know?”

John: “She told me that she and Dad got married at the courthouse because they were broke and couldn’t afford to have the wedding they wanted. I mean, it’s not real eloping if you know about it. Or approve of the marriage in the first place.”

Eli: “That is true, but the complete truth is that she eloped. I didn’t know about it for six months.”

“Or the part where she hid you and Jake from all of us for almost two years...”

John: “Two years?! Holy shit.”

Eli: “You have no idea how much I wanted to strangle your father.”

John: “For keeping us secret?”

Eli: “No, for knocking your mom up, but at least... ah, well, anyway, I’m sure you can ask her for the details since you’re an adult. That was such a goddamn mess, finding out I was an uncle.”

(John covers his mouth. Here he was thinking his mom didn’t wild out in her younger days. He’s really tempted to ask what else did she do, but that’s not what he was here for.)

(Eli pauses.) “Speaking of... Brian’s not... y’know?”

John: “Not wh-- (a little too loudly) “No!” (He laughs, nervous.) “No, no, Brian’s not. Brian’s not a Seahorse. Otherwise... we would have had kids long ago.”

Eli: “John, calm down, it’s just a question. Do you two plan on it?”

(John clutches a hand over his heart to calm himself down.) “Well, I gotta make sure he’ll even marry me in the first place, Uncle Eli, let alone have kids. One step at a time.”

Eli: “Ah, good.”

(Eli jabs a finger at John.) “I know you came here for advice, but you said something interesting. Worlds. Being Brian’s champion.”

“You’re a drama king, you know that? Grandiose, but a good head on your shoulders. Are you saying that just to be saying that or do you actually mean it? Are you ready to go through everything that entails? Physically, emotionally, mentally? This will be different than Juniors.”

John: “I mean it.”

Eli: “You don’t look like it. Tell you what -- the deadline isn’t for another month. That’ll give you time to tell Brian. Maybe make your move early and tell him you want to be his World Champion.”

“My advice to you, from your uncle... tell him. Tell him everything. What’s on your mind. Tell him what’s in your heart. Tell him what you feel in your soul and all of that mushy shit. Don’t hold back.”

“You two have been together long enough to understand each other. Hell, you may not even need to go through all of that.”

“When you know it’s the right time, go for it.”

(John smiles.) “Alright. Deadline’s next month? That’s plenty of time.”

Eli: “The sooner, the better. That way I can get a head start on conditioning. I’m not gonna go easy on you, nephew.”

(John offers his fist and Eli meets it.)

Eli: “You ready?”

John: “Hell yeah.”

(Both slam their fists together with a mighty krrack!!)

//NEXT⏭

#ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 #sims 4 story #ts4 story #oc: john #oc: elijah #story tag: the proposal

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jilyyall · 5 years ago

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Animal Magnetism - Ch 2. Jacob Black.

Edward Cullen was not a normal teenager; of that I was certain. But knowing that did nothing to stop the pull I felt towards him. And if what he was saying was any indication, he felt some strange pull towards me, too. It was like we were magnets struggling against hope to stay apart. I only wondered what would happen when we inevitably collided.

Chapter 2. Jacob Black. Fanfiction.net / AO3 Intro/1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/

"Are there any cute boys in Forks?"

I made a face at my phone and had the benefit of watching my best friend Madison laugh at me. It was Friday, which made it a whole entire week since Renee and I had shipped out from Phoenix to Forks.

She clearly took my reaction to mean that there weren't any cute boys around but, in all honesty, a certain face came to mind at her question. Edward Cullen, who had looked ready to murder me at lunch on Monday, wasn't in school for the rest of the week. I was beginning to think he had transferred out, but I figured something like that wouldn't stay secret for long in a town this small. His siblings were all at school every day, sitting at that same lunch table. I knew because I had made a habit of checking. Purely for my own physical wellbeing, I tried to tell myself. Because I needed to know if I was going to have to spend Biology next to a boy who hated me for no reason.

In reality, I just wanted to see him. There was something about him… I looked at the eerily lifelike sketch of his face I had made on my Government syllabus on that first day. He was beautiful. He was alluring. Apparently, he wanted to kill me. I wanted only to see if that was true. Maybe I had imagined the whole thing. Maybe he was just a normal boy who had gotten ill and left school early and was still recovering. His father was a doctor… maybe he was just a very thorough doctor.

"Hello? Bella?" Madison sang, drawing out the words in a pretty, taunting melody. "Don't tell me you're already crushing on someone."

"No!" I insisted, my face going bright red. "I was just thinking… there are a couple guys at school who I think like me."

"Nice. And which one will you be dating?" she asked.

"None of them!" I laughed just picturing it. "There's this guy named Mike… super boyish looks… blond hair, blue eyes… he's pretty popular. I don't know, maybe he's kind of cute… not my type. Anyway, this girl Jessica, I guess we're kind of friends now… she's half in love with him. He keeps walking me to class and going out of his way to talk to me and be on my team in Gym."

"Wow, he really does like you if he's willing to put himself in harm's way just to be near you," she snickered.

I ignored her, and quickly continued. "Every time he comes to talk to me, I bring the conversation around to Jess. If she's around, I try to just shove them together."

"Ultimate wing woman, as ever," Madison said with a giggle.

"Speaking of, how's Conner?" I asked. Conner was a good friend of mine back in Phoenix. His best friend Dylan was dating Alana, one of the girls we hung out with and at first they had tried to set me up with Conner, but there was nothing there but friendship. My last few months in Phoenix, I was working on getting Conner to ask out Madison, who thought he was really cute.

"Oh, you know… we're going out tomorrow," she said nonchalantly.

I gaped at her. "Wow. Way to bury the lead."

"I know! I've been choking it back ever since you called!" she squealed.

"When did he ask you?" I said.

"Yesterday!" Even if I couldn't hear the excitement in her voice, it was plain as day on her face. "I wanted to call you right away, but I decided to let it marinate."

"Wow," I said. "That's great."

"Bella, what's wrong?" Madison reined in her excitement with some effort, to study my face closely.

"I just miss you guys," I said with a weak smile. "I miss the sun."

"Even though it burns the crap out of you in three seconds?" She said, referencing the reason for my alabaster skin.

"It's better than being wet constantly," I grumbled.

"Well, at least it sounds like you're making friends!" Madison said, trying to cheer me up. "Hey, who's the other guy?"

My mind immediately went to my mysterious, handsome Biology lab partner, who I had yet to actually meet, but I knew she couldn't be talking about him. "What other guy?"

"You said there were two boys who liked you, but you only mentioned Mike," Madison said.

"Oh. Well, there's this other guy named Eric. We only have one class together, and lunch. He and Mike are friends… only the kind of friends who seem like they hate each other half the time? I don't even really sit near him in English, but he always tries to walk with me to class, and then he started sitting with us at lunch on Wednesday," I told her.

"Is he cute?" Madison asked.

"He's uh… Well, Eric is very… nice. He's a very nice guy," I said diplomatically, but Madison laughed, clearly understanding that I meant no, Eric is not cute. At least, not in my opinion.

"Bells!" Charlie called loudly up the stairs. "Billy and Jacob will be here soon!"

"Do you have to go?" Madison asked, pouting.

"I guess so. Sorry," I smiled sadly. "Dad's friend and his son are coming over."

"Ooh, cute son?" Madison asked.

"Mads!" I laughed, shaking my head. "There are more important things than cute boys!"

"That has yet to be proven," Madison said primly, then raised an expectant eyebrow. "Is he?"

"Um. I haven't seen Jacob Black since we were both kids, so how would I know?" I said, and then frowned. "I think he's only fifteen."

"What's two years, if the boy is cute?" Madison said.

I rolled my eyes.

"Bella!" Renee called.

"Go," Madison said. "I have to start getting ready anyway."

"I thought your date was tomorrow."

"It is," she said, and I could see that she was standing up from her bed now, starting to move around her room. "We're all going to that state fair tonight, remember?"

I did remember. It had originally been my idea to all go together as a group. Then my parents had sprung the move on me. I forced myself to smile by the time Madison turned her attention back to me.

"Oh, yeah," I said. "Have fun!"

I could see by her frown that I hadn't fooled her. "Bella…"

"I should go before my parents yell at me again!" I said. "I'll talk to you later!"

With the click of a button, her face disappeared from my screen. Suddenly, I was feeling more depressed than ever about this move. All of my friends back in Phoenix were going off tonight to have fun at the fair that I had wanted to go to.

"Bella!" Renee called from just outside my door. "If you're not down here in five minutes…"

I tossed my phone on the bed and crossed my room to fling the door open before my mother could think of a suitable threat. It probably would have been another generic 'you will regret it' anyway.

"Oh, honey," she said, her expression fading from stern to sympathetic when she saw my face. "What happened?"

"We moved to Forks," I said, trying for deadpan, but even I could hear the slight venom in my tone. Knowing I should apologize and explain myself, but not really wanting to, I slipped past Renee and down the stairs.

Jacob Black, as it turned out, was a pretty cool kid. He lived with his dad, Billy, down in La Push on the Quileute Reservation. Billy was one of the tribe elders, and he was also Charlie's best friend. Apparently, they used to go fishing a lot, but as far as I could tell, this was the first time they had gotten together in a while.

Jacob was nice, and sweet, and effortlessly funny. He acted like we were old friends instead of two teens thrust together by their fathers. Really, we kind of were old friends, but when you hadn't seen a guy since we was eleven and you were thirteen and your clearest memory of him was the two of you making mud pies together, you could be forgiven for thinking the reunion could be a little awkward.

"Hey, Jacob?" I said.

We were washing dishes together after dinner while our parents were catching up in the living room with a few cans of beer.

"Yeah?" he asked.

He was two years younger than me, but he was maybe an inch or so taller than me, and his thick black hair about as long as mine and hung in a long, straight ponytail down his back; the end of it swished as he moved around the kitchen putting away dishes after I'd washed and he'd dried them.

"How come Billy and my dad haven't seen each other in a while?" I asked.

"Caught that, did you?" he said with an embarrassed laugh. He sighed and shook his head when I only nodded and watched him expectantly. "Well, it's kind of a weird story."

"I can handle weird," I said, more curious than ever.

"Ah. Well, have you met the Cullens yet?" he asked as he rearranged the dishes in a cabinet so that he could fit another bowl. "They're a family who moved here a couple years ago."

"Yeah, I know them. Well, sort of. I go to school with the kids," I said awkwardly, wondering why everything had to circle back to Edward Cullen. "Haven't actually met them yet."

"Well. There's this legend. Down on the Res," he said haltingly. "It's stupid, I'm not supposed to talk about it."

I saw that the back of his neck and the tips of his ears were flushed and considered. Was this yet another boy who might like me? Or was this just a kid embarrassed by his tribe's superstition?

"I can keep a secret," I said, trying for the flirtatious tone that Sasha, a friend of Madison's, used often to get boys to do her bidding. It sounded awkward on my lips, forced and unnatural and horribly fake, but Jacob turned to me with slightly wide eyes. I looked back down at what my hands were doing in the soapy water, partly to hide my face from Jacob and also partly so that I didn't accidentally cut myself or break anything.

"Okay, well… the Cullens just don't have a very good reputation down on the Res," he said carefully. I could tell he was leaving something out, but I didn't trust myself to be able to pull off that flirtatious tone again. "People think they're strange."

"Well, can't argue with that," I said quietly. I dried my hands when I was finished washing the dishes, and leaned against the counter to watch Jacob finish drying and putting them away. "But what does that have to do with Billy and my dad?"

"Well, I guess my dad warned Charlie about them," Jacob said slowly, and I got the feeling he was measuring each word carefully. "Said they might be dangerous, and that he ought to keep an eye on them."

"Are they dangerous?" I whispered, thinking of Edward's murderous black glare and unprovoked hatred.

Jacob shrugged and shot me a pained grimace. "I don't know, Bella. Not in Charlie's opinion, and he's police chief, so it's his job to know if someone's dangerous."

"Jake, you ready to go?" Billy said from the doorway. I could tell by the way he was looking at us from his wheelchair that he had heard enough of our conversation to think his son had already said too much.

"Sure, sure," Jacob said, hurriedly putting away the last plate. I could see that he knew his father had caught him, but he didn't seem too worried about it as he smiled at me and said goodnight.

"Don't be a stranger, Billy," Renee said, leaning into Charlie's side when he wrapped his arm around her on the front porch. "And you, Jacob. You're welcome over for dinner anytime."

"Thanks, Mrs. Swan," Jacob grinned.

"Renee," she corrected.

"Careful what you offer. Jake here could eat a whole horse," Billy warned as Jacob lifted him into the passenger's seat with more ease than any fifteen year-old should, and folded up his wheelchair to stow in the back of the car. Charlie pretended not to notice when Jacob climbed in behind the steering wheel.

"Yeah, well, maybe Jake needs to be careful too," Charlie joked. "Renee has a knack for making some really inedible meals."

I smirked at that, and Renee elbowed him in the side with a scoff. He was right; Renee couldn't cook to save her life. Jacob and Billy only laughed and drove away as we waved them off.

The weekend passed slowly. Renee and Charlie went into town to look at a few properties to rent that Renee could use as an art studio on Saturday because there wasn't any room in our house for her to work. I spent much of the day texting my friends in Phoenix, and catching up on some reading for English. On Sunday, I woke up to a phone call from Madison, who wanted to walk me through her date with Conner. She went over every minute detail of the night, from her outfit to the cologne he was wearing, to the nervous kind of smile he sent her as he walked her to her door, right before he kissed her. After she finally let me off the phone, I texted Conner to congratulate him on finally taking my advice, and got back an emoji rolling his eyes in response.

And on Sunday afternoon, I headed out to the porch to see what the commotion was when I heard a monstrous rumbling outside. There, in the driveway sat a behemoth of a truck. It was red and solidly built, and in the driver's seat was Jacob Black. He jumped out quickly, probably so that Charlie couldn't actually see him behind the wheel again, though it was pretty clear who had driven as he went to retrieve the wheelchair from the bed of the truck and helped his dad out of the passenger's seat.

"Hey, Jacob, Billy. What's up?" I asked as my parents came to the door behind me.

"Bella," Charlie said, and he sounded excited. I glanced back at him over my shoulder to see him grinning at me. "This is your new truck."

"Loose interpretation of the word 'new,' Charlie," Jacob said, laughing, probably at the look of disbelief on my face.

He wasn't wrong. The truck was ancient, probably older than I was, and the paint job was nonexistent. It was red, sure, but so faded and uneven that it was almost pink in some spots, and a very light almost orange in others. And boy was it loud, but I didn't really care. It was a truck, and it was mine. It meant that I didn't have to get Renee to drive me to and from school every day, and I would never have to be dropped off in Charlie's police cruiser.

"Are you serious?" I asked. "You bought it for me?"

I knew that this was just one more thing to mark how permanent this move was, but I couldn't help but be excited. It would be nice to be able to drive myself to school every day. And I could go into town whenever I wanted, if I ever wanted. I could go to the grocery store for myself. I could even drive up to Seattle, just to get away from Forks for a day.

"Yes, Bella, it's yours," Renee said. When I turned around, she was beaming and I knew it was because it was the first time she'd seen me smile since we came to Forks. I didn't think twice as I hugged my parents, thanking them profusely, before I ran down the walkway to inspect. I slipped when my foot hit the concrete and Jacob caught me, very gallantly deciding not to tease me as he began to give me a tour of the truck.

Before they left to head back to the Reservation with Charlie in his cruiser, Jacob warned me not take the truck over fifty. When I laughed, he told me he was serious.

"I rebuilt that engine. It's sturdy, but it will die if you drive over fifty," he reiterated.

"Good thing I know a good mechanic," I told him, and pretended to ignore his pleased flush.

On Monday, I drove my new truck to school, high on the freedom of being alone. I parked in front of a silver Volvo, by far the nicest car in the lot, and hopped cheerfully out of my truck. I wasn't even annoyed when Mike and Eric both walked with me to English, and joined in on their conversation about the weekend.

The day was smooth sailing until lunch.

I had just sat down with my tray of food at my usual table with all of my new friends when Jessica leaned over, her face right in front of Mike's, to hiss at me.

"Edward Cullen is staring at you."

I paused, my bottle of water halfway to my lips, and felt terror clawing in the pit of my stomach. "What?"

"He is," Mike confirmed, frowning. "I wonder why."

I was too much a coward to look, to confirm that he was back. After an entire week, I had gotten used to his absence. It was an absurd thing, really, to be used to the absence of someone I hadn't even met. But I knew who he was, and I knew that for some reason I couldn't grasp, he hated me. Fervently.

"Does he look mad?" I whispered.

Mike and Jessica gave me twin odd looks.

"No," Mike said slowly.

"Should he?" Jessica asked with a small, confused giggle. "I mean, how badly could you have offended him? You never even met him."

"Oh, yeah," Mike said. "He was out all last week. He's probably curious about the new girl."

His grin was teasing, and he waggled his eyebrows at me so I rolled my eyes if only because I knew I should react in some way.

"He's still staring," Jessica informed us a few minutes later.

Mike went sullen again, and stopped in the middle of what I was sure was an inflated story about the last time he went surfing. When he looked in the direction of the table I knew the Cullens occupied every day, I rammed an elbow in his side none-too-gently.

"Stop looking at him!" I hissed at them both.

Jessica giggled at my reaction, but did as I asked, her gaze dropping to the table. Mike frowned, clearly not liking that another boy was giving me attention, or that I was so affected by it. I saw the moment Jessica noticed Mike's mood: the smirk slid off her face and she propped her chin up on her fist as she pushed a pile of corn indolently around her plate.

I sighed, and pushed back my chair. I didn't have the energy for this. "I'll see you guys later," I said, and walked away.

I was dreading going to Biology and having to endure the most uncomfortable hour of my life with Edward Cullen for a lab partner. Idly, I wandered the school. Lunch had only just begun, so I had a lot of time to kill. I stopped when I came to a building I'd never been in. I didn't have any classes in Building two; I didn't even know what kind of classes were held here.

Curious, I pushed open the door and walked down the hall. I peeked in the door of the first room I passed and saw a few easels set up with paint still drying on canvas. So this building held art classes. It was comforting in a way, to be surrounded by all of the things that used to litter Renee's cramped little in-home studio back in Phoenix. I walked a little further down the hall until I came to another door. Peering inside, I was surprised to find that this was clearly the music classroom.

There was a piano in the front of the room, and several guitars and other various instruments in cases I couldn't identify. I was surprised that Forks High offered music classes; it seemed like a small town high school with only four hundred students wouldn't be the type of school to support the arts.

I stepped inside, cautiously glancing around to make sure there was no one in the room, and walked to the piano. I couldn't play very well. Aside from the embarrassingly basic Happy Birthday to You and Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star, I only knew how to play a few notes. My mother enrolled me in classes back in Reno when I was about eight or nine. I made it through four lessons before I threw such a tantrum that she caved and allowed me to quit. She played a bit, but not very well. Better than me, at least. It was something that calmed her busy mind, she'd told me once. She bought a cheap, used upright when I was ten and used to sit and play poorly at night. I would tease her for her clumsy mishaps, but secretly I enjoyed sitting and listening to her play.

I sat on the bench and laid my fingers on the keys, splayed out as if I actually knew what I was doing. Quietly, I laughed to myself. What was I going to do? Play Happy Birthday? I shook my head and let my fingers smash a few keys at random, discordant notes filling the room for a split second.

A movement caught my eye and I looked up, embarrassed, ready to apologize to some teacher I hadn't met yet.

And my heart began to race when I saw him.

There, in the doorway was the bronze-haired boy from last week. Edward Cullen. I stared at him, wide-eyed, terrified, waiting to see that inexplicable hatred on his face. He stepped into the room, looked around cautiously and kept a safe distance between us. He didn't look angry. He looked confused and almost concerned.

"Hello," he said slowly. His voice was velvet on the air, soft and smooth and luxurious and as melodic as anything I'd ever heard.

Wordless, too afraid to speak, I nodded.

"I apologize. Am I interrupting?" He asked, standing rigid against the wall as far from me as he could be in this room. His guarded, almost pained expression did not match his dulcet tone.

"No," I said slowly, wondering why he was behaving so strangely.

He nodded his head and took several slow steps into the room, towards the piano and me. He looked poised to turn and flee even as he came to a halt so close to the piano that he could reach out and stroke the propped-up cover if he felt like.

The sudden return of my tension that his presence had wrought made me uncomfortable. I was sure my heart had never raced so fast. I was impossibly aware of every small movement of his body. I realized I was holding my breath, so forced myself to exhale. When I cleared my throat, he looked at me like he was concentrating really hard.

"I was just leaving," I lied.

His expression was almost completely neutral, but I sensed just the slightest edge of frustration in his gaze as he studied me. Finally, one corner of his mouth turned up, just slightly, as if he was forcing himself to smile at me. Heart pounding and hands trembling slightly, and trying to pretend I was completely unaffected by his presence, I stood, then bent to pick up the bag I'd dropped at my feet.

"Goodbye, Bella," he said as I walked carefully past him, willing myself not to trip over my own feet. I paused at the door and glanced over my shoulder. How did he know my name? Probably, I reasoned internally, he'd heard it from a classmate. He was already seated on the bench, right where I had just been, and his fingers began to move across the keys, slowly, tenderly, coaxing the most beautiful notes I had ever heard.

I looked at his face, wondering what I would see there. With a jolt, I realized he was watching me as he played, a small, accomplished smile on his lips. Flushing, I smiled weakly, and walked away.

FFN / AO3

#twilight fanfiction #edward cullen #bella swan #jacob black #edward x bella #bellaxedward

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 7 years ago

Text

Take It On The Run (Part 3)

Summary: Dean and the reader realize what Emily’s up to but it might be too late...

Masterlist

Pairing: Detective!Dean x reader

Word Count: 2,700ish

Warnings: language, violence

A/N: Ah, I’m sure nothing will go wrong...

Dean was fast asleep on his bed after lunch and a quick rundown of how to use his weapon. The point and shoot part was pretty self explanatory but he showed you where the safety was, how to reload and most important, how to hold the damn thing so you didn’t cut your own skin like he did back at the academy on his first day. It was a bit silly to hear him say how nervous he was back then. He dropped his fake gun about fifty times, he’d cuffed himself by accident and he managed to get on the wrong side of the strictest instructor within two minutes of getting there. He was ranked the bottom of his class during his first week, told he’d never be a cop and he should quit and save them all the hassle.

He graduated as valedictorian six months later.

That was as far as you got before Dean hit the sack, his light snores giving the too quiet room some noise.

He was restless though, waking up after only two hours to use the bathroom. You thought he might lay back down but he simply took a seat next to you on your bed and leaned back against the headboard.

“Please tell me you got that TV to show more than just the home shopping network,” said Dean. “I can only watch this torture for so long.”

“Would you like me to lie,” you joked, Dean groaning as he slumped down. “So this robbery Emily and Derek committed...what’d they steal?”

“A crap ton of money,” said Dean. You raised your eyebrows, Dean shaking his head. “But not cash. Well...you know how they have those Swiss bank accounts or whatever that people hide their money in? She and Derek hit up a bank here in the states and dumped everything from every account they had there into their very own Swiss account. It was millions. Enough to last a few lifetimes over and then some. I’m surprised they’re still in the country honestly.”

“How the hell did they do that?” you asked.

“Your evil twin and this Derek guy are smart. Extremely smart. They didn’t rob the bank all heist style like you would think. They went to the bank manager’s house. No fancy alarms apart from the one for the house one they deactivated. The guy’s family was there. He gave them the access they wanted in under two minutes apparently. Emily was very convincing from the report I read,” said Dean.

“I really don’t like this chick,” you said. “She just steals and threatens people for fun?”

“Your dad...he never mentioned her at all? You never got a weird vibe or anything that he was keeping something from you?” asked Dean.

“Dad...he said mom died giving birth to me. If that was a lie then, alright. I have to live with it. He never...it wasn’t like he spoke bad about her but I’m not sure that he actually loved her, not the way you would expect two people who had a child together would be. He’d answer questions when I asked, show me pictures every once in a while but I don’t think he was trying to hurt me, just keep me from the truth,” you said.

“Maybe they knew you had a demon spawn for a sister and wanted to keep her away from you,” joked Dean, frowning when you turned away. “Sorry, that’s not funny.”

“She killed our parents,” you said, Dean keeping quiet. “I mean, odds are she did. Even if she didn’t, she tried to kill us and Sam.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you. Promise,” said Dean, squeezing your hand, pulling it away quickly to rest on his thigh. “Where do you think Derek is? We haven’t seen him around yet.”

“He probably does exactly what she tells him and thinks it’s love,” you said.

“Emily didn’t get her shot at us last night like she wanted. She probably figured she could handle it on her own. My guess is she called in Derek for backup to help find us,” said Dean. “We have to be extra careful.”

“Derek’s rap sheet, what was the worst thing he did?” you asked, Dean scratching his head.

“Small stuff until about a year ago. It used to be breaking and entering, minor theft, stuff like that. He upped the game the past year with a few assaults with a deadly weapon, armed robberies, ransom...” said Dean, eyes wide. “Ransom. He pulled a few ransom jobs.”

“What’s-”

“I know how Emily is going to get us to come out,” said Dean, reaching for his phone, dialing Sam. “Call Jack.”

You dialed but only got a whole lot of ringing before his voicemail kicked in, Dean hopping off the bed and pacing around the room.

“Ransom,” you said, Dean nodding his head. “Sam and Jack. You think they’re going to trade Sam and Jack for us.”

“Odds are they’ll probably kill them too,” said Dean, shaking his head.

“Why haven’t we gotten a call yet then?” you asked. Dean glanced at the window, late afternoon from the lack of light shining through and then the clock.

“They must be waiting for night. She wants to use her fancy sniper rifle again I bet,” said Dean. He grabbed his coat and pulled off his sling, reaching out a hand for you. “We have to let the chief know.”

“No,” you said, brushing past him towards his computer. Dean caught your arm but you shoved him off, opening the login to his police login. “I want to look at Derek Evans record first.”

“Y/N, we don’t have time to mess around,” said Dean, clicking off the TV and putting his gun in it’s holster. “We’re going now.”

“You had a bad feeling last night and I ignored it and look what happened. Well I have one of those now. Sam is a good cop and Jack’s new but so is he. No way Derek gets the jump on them both without some help,” you said.

“Y/N,” said Dean.

“Trust me. Please,” you asked. Dean stared at the door a moment, groaning before he walked over and typed in his password.

“You tell anyone I let you go poking around in a police database, I am so fired,” he said, pushing the computer back to you.

“I’m pretty sure you’re a softie when it comes to me, Dean,” you said with a smile, searching for the chief, finding him a few names down. His record was clean like you expected, Dean reading over your shoulder.

“The chief? What’s...” said Dean, watching as you scoured through page after page. “Wait. Go back. Yeah there. Look. He received marks for not showing up for his shift three days in a row back in the day.”

“Have you never played hooky at work before?” you asked, Dean rolling his eyes.

“Yeah but I call in sick like everybody else. He didn’t though which meant he was busy enough with something to not call. Cops don’t do that. We just don’t,” said Dean.

“I still don’t understand,” you said.

“Derek is 31, right? Take the 31, tack on nine months, tack on a few more since his birthday was a few months back and I’m guessing Derek became a bun in the oven right around those three days the chief went missing. Timing adds up. Not to mention the chief seeming to have it out for you,” said Dean.

“If that’s true, then why haven’t Emily and Derek burst through that door already? Wouldn’t they know where we are?” you asked.

“They’d know someone at the station leaked if they did. We don’t have anything but a guess anyways. A far fetched guess at that. The guy could have just gone on a bender for three days for all we know,” said Dean.

Your phone suddenly rang, Jack calling back. Dean tapped the speakerphone, waving for you to speak.

“Jack?” you asked.

“Hey, you called? Everything alright?” asked Jack, Dean’s face scrunching up. “We’ve been in a meeting. We found Derek. He’s holed up on-”

“Hey, rookie,” you heard Mike say in the background. “Let the chick talk. Something might be up.”

“Where’s Sam?” you asked.

“The bathroom. Are you okay, Y/N? Is something wrong?” asked Jack.

“No kid, we’re fine. We thought...maybe Sam might be a target and you since you’re Sam’s partner,” said Dean, rolling his eyes.

“Everyone is accounted for. The Rhoverville force got here not long ago. The chief is trying to divy up search quadrants for Emily since Derek is...sort of holding someone hostage. But we got that covered so you guys hang tight and I’m sure we’ll find Emily soon,” said Jack. “You guys need anything?”

“No, we’re just awesome. Keep safe,” said Dean, hanging up. “So they’re fine. How’d we get that so wrong? Isn’t going after Sam an obvious move?”

“Son of a bitch. Dean, we need to leave, now,” you said, grabbing his computer and shoving it in his backpack, slinging your own on and heading for the door.

“Y/N, slow down. What-”

“Us calling to check if they were okay was the obvious move,” you said, Dean pulling out his weapon and grabbing his bag. “She must know we’re close by and was waiting for us to call so she could get a fix.”

“Dammit. Come on, we need to move fast,” said Dean, his backpack on as you rushed outside, a shot ringing out just barely missing Dean’s head. You tackled him to the ground behind a truck, a hiss of air from tires all around you going off. “She’s shooting the tires. We can’t drive out of here.”

“Elk Forest,” you said, glancing over to the edge of the motel parking lot and the thick trees right beside it. “We’re on the outskirts of the county. We have a shot in the forest, right?”

“Take this,” said Dean, shoving his gun in your hands, pulling out another one from the back of his pants. “Keep your head down and sprint for that tree line. Don’t shoot me. Understand?”

“I got it,” you said. Dean grabbed hold of your hand, giving it a tight squeeze.

“On three. One...two...three!” he said, Dean and you doing your best to use the cars as cover, more shots overhead until you were sprinting across the small bit of open parking space. You felt Dean stumble, his arm raised as he shot back. You pulled him along with you until you were well into the forest, slipping down a hill and catching your breath behind a tree.

“We just have to hike back to town and...” you said, Dean grunting beside you. His shirt was stained red, splatters of blood on his face and neck, your own body covered with some of it.

“It’s just a shoulder hit,” he said, taking a deep breath. “We have to keep moving.”

“You’re bleeding. A lot,” you said, Dean cursing under his breath. “Dean, that’s a lot of blood.”

“First aid kit. Needle. Thread. Clean your fingers and dig out the bullet. Stitch it up and then we go. You got two minutes before we start moving again,” he said, dropping his bag. He pulled out a flannel shirt and wadded it up, shoving it in his mouth as you flung open the first aid kit.

“Dean,” you said, Dean nodding his head. “What if you pass out?”

“Leave me then and get out of here,” he said, quickly shoving the shirt back in. He tossed aside his jacket and unbuttoned his dress shirt, letting it fall off his torso by the time you were ready to go.

“Sorry,” you said, carefully shoving two fingers into the wound. Dean’s eyes went wide and squeezed shut, his hand shooting to your wrist, barely stopping himself from forcing it away. “S’okay. Just a little...I can feel it. I got it, just one more second...” you said, pulling it out, Dean shouting into his shirt.

You quickly stitched his wound together, Dean squirming just as much at that before you slapped a bandage over top.

“We live, you want to go on a date?” he asked, fumbling to get the flannel he’d bit down on unrolled and on with your help. “If any woman can handle me, it’s definitely gonna be you.”

“Who said you can handle me?” you shot back, Dean scoffing as you buttoned him up, helping him with his bag.

“I just took a bullet for you sweetheart,” he said. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

“We live, you can have as many dates as you want,” you said, grabbing Dean’s hand when he stumbled forward. “Don’t pass out on me. We have a psychopath on our tail and I am so not carrying your ass all that way.”

“Oh, you’re so meant for me.”

After an hour, Dean looked less pale and had changed out of his slacks and shoes into jeans and boots during a brief break.. He’d stopped bleeding too which was certainly good for leaving less of a trail but it was starting to get dark and you knew you’d be sitting ducks once the sun went down.

“How far until we hit town?” asked Dean. “Another few miles?”

“Probably. Less than that I’m guessing,” you said. Dean stopped to lean against a tree, staring at your feet.

“How bad do those hurt?” he asked.

“I can run,” you said. “The pain’s pretty much gone at this point.”

“Good. Take off your pack, keep the gun and book it for town,” he said, sliding off his own bag, cocking his gun.

“Dean,” you said, earning a sad smile.

“We’re both hurt and slow. She’s got the advantage. I’ll hold her off, try to bring her in while you get back safe,” said Dean.

“I’m not leaving you out here to-”

“Y/N. You’re tough. You’re a badass and I respect that. It’s still my job to protect you. Odds are she wants you dead more than me so you’re the one that has to get away. This isn’t up for debate,” he said. He was nervous, for you or himself or the both of you, you couldn’t be positive. But his eyes were hard, glancing away. “Go while you have the light.”

“You owe me a date, Winchester. You better not wind up dead,” you said. Dean chuckled, sliding down the tree to his backpack, tossing a flashlight over to you.

“I’ll do my best to stay alive then. Don’t use that unless you have to,” he said. You helped him back to his feet, Dean taking a deep breath. “In case I do though...”

He cupped your cheek, a dirty hand grazing the skin, your nose smashed against his while he touched his lips to yours. He barely moved them, just let them rest for a moment before moving back.

“Tell Sam I’m sorry about his bike in third grade if I don’t make it back,” said Dean.

“Tell him yourself,” you said.

“You got to go. I’ll see you soon,” he said, kissing the top of your head, pushing on your shoulder to get you going. You only looked back once, Dean counting the bullets he had left, slamming the clip back in his gun.

You were a quarter of a mile away when you heard the shooting start.

A/N: Read Part 4 here!

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#dean x reader #spn #supernatural #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean winchester x reader #supernatural reader insert #spn reader insert #au #winchester #series #detective!dean #cop!dean

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pickalilywrites · 7 years ago

Text

Rico chillin’ with the gals.

For @quietcelt who is amazing always. The garrison is wonderful, that anon is just mean!

Cheekbones

RicoIan. Canonverse.

981 words.

Rico sometimes thinks that they gossip too much when they should be working. How are they going to get anything done if they fool around all day? The rest of her comrades think she spends too much time working though, so they always pull her into their conversations and she ends up getting distracted by them no matter how silly she thinks the subject is.

“What do you think is Ian’s best feature?” Hanji asks suddenly. She points Rico, a stern expression on her face. “Physical feature. Don’t spout any of that crap about his sense of humor or determination on the field. I’m talking about real things.”

“Are intrinsic features not real enough for you? How very shallow of you to say,” Anka says wryly. She sighs and leans against the wall. “Although inside or outside qualities, Commander Pixis doesn’t really have many good ones unless you count an incredible tolerance for alcohol.”

“You shouldn’t be talking about your superiors in that way, Anka,” Rico mumbles, but she can’t say that her friend’s words aren’t true. The liquor cabinets always seem to empty so much faster whenever Commander Pixis comes around for a visit and every bar owner knows the man by name.

“No changing the subject,” Hanji says. She wags a finger at Anka who only rolls her eyes at the energetic squad leader. ��She turns once again to Rico. “You never answered.”

“Well, that’s…not really an appropriate question to ask, is it?” Rico says, flustered over the simple question. It’s not that she hasn’t noticed anything about Ian, but it’s not something she wants to discuss with the present company or anyone ever actually.

“It’s not like we’re asking you if you’d want to marry him,” Hanji snorts. She looks at Nanaba. “What’s something you appreciate about Mike’s looks?”

Nanaba answers much more easily than Rico. She only takes a second to ponder her response before she finally replies, “His height, isn’t it? He’s very tall.”

“Hmm, you wouldn’t say his nose?” Hanji asks curiously, tapping her own nose.

“Maybe,” Anka says, “but isn’t his ability to use his nose far more interesting than how it looks?” Although usually far more reserved than the rest of them when it comes to frivolous conversations such as these, it seems that this topic has piqued her interest.

“Then wouldn’t you say Levi’s height is also a very noticeable feature?” Hanji asks.

“You said ‘best,’ not ‘noticeable,’” Nanaba points out. “If we’re talking about Levi, maybe it’d be his hair? Not a lot of people have hair that dark.”

“It’s his death glare,” Anka replies. She tries to mimic it, but she only looks cross-eyed. Even Rico laughs at the funny expression on her face.

Hanji wipes a tear from her eye. “You look like you’re constipated,” she cackles. “Although that’s also a word to describe Levi’s expression. Don’t let him know I said that though. He’d murder me.”

“Then with Ian, it’s his jaw, right?” Nanaba asks, tracing her own.

“No, no,” Hanji disagrees. “It’s his chin, isn’t it?” She strokes her chin, but her expression says she doesn’t think that’s the right answer either. She looks over at Anka who only shrugs at her.

“Is it that he’s rather slim?” Anka asks. “Some people might find that attractive.” She’s not trying very much, Rico thinks, and is only offering words to describe his physical features rather than acknowledging his best outward characteristics.

Rico clears his throat. “It’s his cheekbones,” she tells them. She pokes her own round cheeks that make her look younger than she is. “They’re very sharp. Prominent.”

They all look at her and then at each other before pausing for a second to think about it. It’s finally Hanji who says, “Ah, yes, you’re right. They’re quite high too, aren’t they?”

“I’ve never noticed,” Anka yawns, “but I suppose you’re right, Rico. You would know anyway. You spend the most time with him after all.”

“It’s just that it’s very obvious,” Rico mumbles, thinking that they’re all making too big of a deal out of this. It’s not even his best feature by a large margin, she thinks. Can’t they move onto another person or, better yet, another topic entirely?

Nanaba startles her by wrapping an arm around her neck and ruffling her hair. “Ian,” she calls out, waving to someone in the distance. “Do you know what Rico thinks your best feature is?” she calls. She points to her cheek and gives Ian a wide grin as he jogs towards them. “Cheekbones.”

He’s a little out of breath when he reaches them, but he smiles. “Is that so?” he asks, looking down at Rico.

Hanji leans in far too close to him to inspect his face. “They are quite good,” she murmurs. Leaning away, she smacks Rico on the back a little too enthusiastically, pushing her towards Ian. “What about you, Ian? What do you think is Rico’s best feature?”

“Don’t answer that,” Rico hisses, but of course he does anyway.

“Her cheeks, isn’t it?” Ian asks, looking at all of them like this is obvious. He reaches out to pinch one of Rico’s cheeks. “They’re cute.”

“Very cute,” Hanji teases, reaching out to pinch one of Rico’s reddening cheeks only to have Rico smack her hand away. She sniffs at her friend and waves Ian away. “Now shoo, shoo! We need to discuss everything bad about you and everyone else too!”

“Er, okay,” Ian says. He attempts to say goodbye to them, but Hanji shoos him off before he can say anymore.

When he’s left, the rest of Rico’s comrades smirk at her with amused expressions.

“Cute,” Anka says. She turns to Hanji and Nanaba. “Don’t you think?”

“The cutest,” Nanaba says.

“Rico’s adorable,” Hanji coos.

Rico spends the rest of the day smacking their hands away so that they stop pinching her cheeks.

#ricoian #rico brzenska #ian dietrich #nanaba #hanji zoe #anka rheinberger #snk #canonverse #i think i forgot to take my allergy medicine #i'm so sniffly #and it's so toasty today #stop this

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loyalty2waystreet · 8 years ago

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Guilty (Of Love in the First Degree)

Suits100 prompt #98 ~ Written by Loyalty2WayStreet

- Donna goes all lawyer on Mike or Harvey and puts her case forward, proving that they love each other.

Rated M.

Harvey doesn’t do sentimental. He enjoys trophies, yes. Objects that show off who he knows or what he’s achieved. He doesn’t exactly parade around advertising that he’s wealthy, that would be crass, but you can tell by looking at him that he indulges in the finer things in life. Birthday and Christmas cards, love letters from Scottie when they were at Harvard, old tickets to Yankees’ games, it’s all clutter to Harvey. He likes his life organised and free of all the crap. Harvey also preaches that caring only makes you weak and that he himself is all business. He knows it’s not entirely true. He does care about his family, about Jessica, Donna and Louis. He cared about Mike too; he liked the kid, he felt like Mike just got him. Well, that was until he went and betrayed him and sided with Jessica. Now all he felt was pissed at him. Admittedly, Mike had tried everything short of grovelling on his knees to get back into Harvey’s good books, even bribing the likes of Benjamin and Jessica. But what Mike had done cut him deep, and although he didn’t understand why he wanted to punish him, he knew that he did, and Harvey could be colder than the Arctic Circle when he wanted to be.

Read more on AO3 here.

If Mike were an actual puppy his ears would have been dragging along the corridors of Pearson Darby for the last few days. Even Donna, despite being a little biased, could see both sides of the story. Yes, Mike had made the wrong call, but he made it without all the information. Information that Harvey hadn’t supplied. So, while she was firmly Team Harvey on this one, she did feel sorry for the puppy who looked more kicked every time she laid eyes on him.

It finally seemed as though Mike had accepted the rift between them, and moved on. Maybe he gave up a little too quickly in Harvey’s opinion, but that thought was between him and Miles Davis. He kicks his feet up on the desk, quite satisfied that no-one has barged into his office uninvited for at least 24 hours. Louis is loitering outside with Donna, whispering like they were back in school. Harvey flicks the switch on his intercom and hears Donna’s accusing voice, ripping Louis a new one for putting the moves on Mike behind his back, and Louis denying it before he flicks the switch off again. Donna’s got this covered.

Only a minute or so later he realises that Donna’s failed to contain the situation because Louis is in his office, smelling of sausage and doing his usual agitated jig before he gets the courage to ask for something, usually sliding more toward the insane end of the scale. Harvey throws Donna the ‘What the hell do I pay you for?’ look. “I want to ask Mike to be my associate?” Louis blurts.

Harvey smirks, not the evil smirk, the ‘I’m superior’ one, and he watches Louis press his lips together to keep himself from saying something that could derail his carefully assembled proposal. “You can ask him, Louis, but I doubt Mike’s into slavery.” “I’m not some kind of animal, Harvey!” Louis bursts before clamping his lips together again, looking peeved at having taken the bait. Harvey’s eyebrows raise in amusement, shit-eating grin taunting Louis. What can he say? It makes his day riling Louis up, but today he has work to get done.

“Louis, if Mike even wants to be your associate, which I doubt, you’re welcome to him.” “So… I have your permission? No backsies, deal’s a deal?” “Louis, you have my blessing.” Then why all of a sudden is his mouth so goddamn dry? “Yes!” Louis hisses, pumping his fist. Of course, Louis would celebrate a victory that was a sure thing by being a schmuck. He’s strutting toward the door when he does an elaborate spin, pulling a neatly folded letter from his pocket.

“Oh, and seeing as though I’m saving Mike from you, I won’t be needing this,” Louis smarms, placing Mike’s resignation letter in front of Harvey with a flourish.

“Maybe this will remind you of what an ass you can be,” he declares petulantly, then shuffles out of the office leaving Harvey staring at Mike’s signature at the bottom of a resignation letter he didn’t even know existed, until now. It hit him then. Hard. Mike was prepared to quit over this.

They are done. All the good times he’d had playing Batman to Mike’s Robin, the way he only felt comfortable enough around Mike to open up about his family, how much he admired and loved the challenge of Mike’s mind, and being the reason that Mike laughed. Gone.

Had he overreacted? Was he being a prick about it? His morose thoughts were interrupted by Donna quietly entering the room and settling opposite him, her face a picture of understanding. Harvey’s poker face might be legendary, and to anyone else he might be able to hide the turmoil he’s feeling, but Donna’s no idiot. “You don’t have to let him go; you’re allowed to change your mind, Harvey.” Harvey straightened his shoulders and gave her a nod. "Thank you, Donna, but I don’t want to talk about it.“ Usually, that was all it took, a clear dismissal in hopes that she’d understand that he didn’t want to talk about his feelings, or that he was happy to pretend he didn’t have any. "Well, I do!” She said crossing her arms over her chest and fixing him with a stare. “I know you care about him much more than you let on, and quite frankly I’m sick of you moping about these past few days.” Harvey saw red, he doesn’t mope. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath until the anger was replaced with a nonchalant directness.

“Donna, that’s enough. I have work to do.” “Fine,” she retorted, standing up briskly. “You can’t admit you care. That’s okay because I have proof!” “You don’t have shit!” Or does she? His brain supplies. No, he kept his caring to a minimum. Old habits die hard and all. “So, if I can prove beyond a reasonable doubt that you care about him, you’ll make up with him?” She’s leaning over his desk now, eyebrows raised in a challenge and an unnerving glint in her eyes. “Absolutely.” He beams a bright, ‘I’m not scared of you, sweetheart’ smile at her, “Because you, have diddly squat!” “Deal.” They shook hands, smirking at each other.

“I’ll gather my evidence and present it along with your morning coffee, tomorrow,” she proposed, turning on her heels. “I’m busy.” “No, you’re not. Your 9 am asked to see Mike specifically, not you. So, I rescheduled them to tonight over dinner.” She smiled like an assassin. Harvey grimaced. But only because he was out of excuses, not because the client Mike was seeing was stunning, and had been flirty and handsy with him every time they’d had meetings in the past. “Fine,” he snapped. “Now out, I have work to do.”

He’s sitting in the conference room still ruminating on what Ava had just said to him about her number two, Nick.

“But he did it for his own survival.”

“He still did it,” Harvey had argued.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to miss him.

He looks up just as Mike walks past and he knows, he can’t keep this up much longer. Mike might have done the wrong thing, but Ava’s right, he did it for his own survival.

His thoughts of Mike dissipate at the sight of Donna exiting the elevator with an evidence box, and it’s now about three hours after she left the office. He’s under no misconceptions that when he goes home tonight, there will be something delicious cooking in his oven that she’s made either before or after the snooping happened. If there were something there to be found, she’d sniff it out. She’s resourceful like that, something Harvey has always admired about her.

Most people would be uncomfortable with their secretary going through their home, but then again, most people didn’t consider their secretary to be their closest family. Donna is his best friend, she knows him better than anyone else, even Jessica, and he trusts her judgement even when she has landed them in hot water.

They tried the ‘more than friends’ route once. It was an unmitigated disaster that was never spoken of ever again, and since that day Donna was 100% behind Harvey being with anyone but her, and preferably with someone who had a dick. Yep, the ‘more than friends’ outing had made that preference abundantly clear.

He speeds up his steps, catching up and falling into stride with her.

“What’s in the box?” He asked attentively, giving her a killer smile.

“Nah ah,” she said, adjusting her grip on the box, “you’ll just have to wait and see, pretty boy.”

She gave him a cheeky look as she placed the box on her desk. Harvey rolled his eyes.

“Fine, what’s in my oven then?”

“Shepherd’s Pie, your favourite. Now scoot, you need be across town in 30 minutes.”

She turned his shoulders toward the elevator like he was a kid and gave him a poke.

Harvey’s stomach rumbled. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet, I have a feeling you’re going to want to strangle me tomorrow,” she stated.

“Yeah? Wouldn’t be the first time now, would it?”

Harvey sleeps terribly for the fourth night in a row. He’d thought he could sweep his emotions under the rug, ignore the pounding of his heart when Mike walked by his office, and just get on with it. He thought they would be back on track by now, but after seeing Mike’s resignation letter, he felt uneasy.

He’s at work by six. He may as well work if he can’t sleep. At 7.30am, Donna strolls into his office with a puzzled-looking Mike in tow. She places the evidence box and tray of coffees on his desk and points Mike to the couch. “Sit,” she directs, then turns on Harvey, “you too.” “Donna-” “No, I’m presenting this evidence to both of you, so unless you want Mike sitting in your lap?”

Harvey makes a face, whether it’s to cover up that he’d love Mike in his lap, or that he despises being told what to do, is debatable. He stays where he is, out of protest.

“Harvey,” Donna chides, moving her eyes from him to the direction of the couch and back again.

It was like watching a Western movie, where two gunslingers had a stare down before one shot the other. Mike sat and watched in silence, knowing full well that Harvey might be the best closer in New York, but Donna feared no man, least of all her best friend.

“You agreed to this,” she reminds him, tapping her finger against the Dictaphone. “And I’d let you back out because I love your ass, but aren’t you just the least bit curious?” She’s baiting him, and they all know it.

“Curious about what?” Mike asked, still completely lost. Eyes flicking from Donna to Harvey.

“Fine!” Harvey conceded grumpily, crossing the room and thunking ungracefully down on the couch next to Mike.

“Harvey, what’s this abo-“

“ORDER!” Donna belts out, cutting Mike off and making him straighten in surprise. Now that she has their attention she clears her throat and begins the proceedings.

“We are gathered here today… no, wait,” she chuckles, delighted at the death rays Harvey is shooting her, “oops, wrong officiary.” She smirks at Harvey, and he gives her an over-exaggerated eye roll for her troubles. Mike looks like one of those show clowns that swallow balls, head swinging back and forth between them, with his mouth open, wondering what the hell is happening.

Mike only catches up when Donna poses her first question.

“Harvey, on the charge of caring about one Mike Ross, how do you plead?”

“Not Guilty,” Harvey answers with a bored tone.

“That’s a bit harsh,” Mike mumbles to himself. He can see that Harvey doesn’t bother hiding the slightly guilty look at having answered so quickly.

“Burn,” Donna snorts, looking back and forth between them before snapping back into character.

“Please take the stand,” she says, motioning to the chair at the end of the couch, “and state your full name for the record.”

Harvey crossed his arms over his chest, much like an insolent child. “Please, spare us the dramatics.”

“Objection! How dare you sir, I am a lady of the theatre,” she gasps, sounding faux affronted, while gracefully swanning her arms around in an over the top manner.

“Now before I find you in contempt, please sit as instructed, raise your right hand and pretend you have a bible.”

“Jesus Christ,” Harvey mutters under his breath, sitting in the seat and raising his hand as demanded by Her Highness. It’s always amused Mike how much Harvey listens to and lets Donna get away with; he’s almost jealous of how close they are.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

“Sure,” Harvey shrugged, giving the answer no weight at all.

“It’s ‘I do’ Harvey,” Mike interjects gleefully, “Do you have a problem with those two little words?”

Harvey fixes him with a look that is supposed to be withering, but Mike just finds it hot, as he voices the words, ‘I do’, staring right into Mike’s soul. And the bastard doesn’t even look mad anymore; he appears sincere.

The sound of Mike swallowing could be heard from the bullpen.

“I move to strike the heart eyes from the record; the defendant is clearly trying to coerce my witness,” Donna interrupts, breaking them out of a staring competition bordering on eye sex, that neither of them had been expecting.

“Coerce him into what exactly, prosecutor?” Harvey asks.

Without skipping a beat, Donna grabs her air guitar as she sings, “Bow chicka wow wow,” grinning from ear to ear as the tip of both Harvey and Mike’s ears turn pink. Harvey, of course, recovers first.

“Are you about done? How about the prosecutor makes her case before Paramount pictures get their shit together, and make a ‘Top Gun’ sequel?”

“That’d be awesome,” Mike whispers, and Donna play shoots him death rays.

Ignoring them both, Donna walks over to the record collection and selects one from a middle shelf.

“Directing your attention to People’s Exhibit A in evidence, can you tell the Court what Exhibit A is?” She points her finger at the record dramatically.

“My Arctic Monkeys record?”

“Does my witness also recognise Exhibit A?” she asks Mike, handing it to him for inspection.

Mike honestly hasn’t seen it since he gave it to Harvey but he notices now how worn and well used it is, and he feels a familiar warmth spread through his chest. “Sure, I gave it to Harvey after my first year here.”

Donna smiles warmly at Mike, and Mike sees now why he’s here. Donna is showing him that all isn’t lost, that he needs to make Harvey understand how sorry he is because Harvey does care.

“Harvey, would you say this is your type of music?”

“No.”

Mike rolls his eyes at him and stage whispers ‘old man.’

“But you like this particular record, right?” Donna continues.

“I disagree, I tolerate it,” Harvey replies. Although, yeah. He has grown to like it.

“If you only tolerate it, as you say, then why do I have these?” Donna whips out her cell and presses play. It’s Harvey singing ‘Maybe I’m too busy being yours to fall for somebody new’, recorded through the intercom.

It’s not that he’s a bad singer, in fact, he held the tune nicely. It’s that she had to record THAT line, the line that deeply resonated with him that first time he’d listened to it. Plus, once was bad enough, but the evil genius had caught him singing it three times, and the record wasn’t even playing in the background the last time.

Mike’s grin is wider than the Atlantic, and he looks happier than Louis does after a prunie.

“Objection, irrelevant.” That’s all Harvey can come up with at this point because another line of that song, ‘I’m sorry to interrupt it’s just I’m constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you. I don’t know if you feel the same as I do, but we could be together, if you wanted to,’ is invading his thoughts. And now he’s staring at Mike’s lips.

“Irrelevant? You, singing a song from an album that Mike gave you, and specifically that line, over and over until even I was sick of it, is irrelevant? How so?”

Donna learned from the best, press until it hurts.

“It just is,” Harvey replies grumpily, emphatically mouthing ‘enough.’ She sees it and makes a heart with her fingers and points back at him.

“Take notes, Mike,” Donna says sweetly, “‘It just is,’ is Harvey’s go to defence when he knows his goose is cooked.”

Harvey scowls and draws a heart in the air with his middle finger, then flips her the bird. Mike covers his face, containing a laugh.

“Moving on,” Donna dictates, “Directing your attention to People’s Exhibit B in evidence, can you tell the Court what Exhibit B is?” she asks, motioning for a confused Harvey to stand up. She digs her hand into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet.

“Objection, the prosecutor is feeling me up,” Harvey teases, smirking at Mike.

“Pfft. Overruled,” Donna laughs. “Said prosecutor, would have the good sense to knead your butt cheeks if she were going to grope you! Now please resume your seat and answer the goddamned question.”

Bossy Boots, Harvey thinks as he straightens his jacket and takes his seat.

“This is your wallet, correct?”

“No, that’s my decoy wallet in case I get robbed,” Harvey replies sarcastically.

Donna groans, and recites in a robot-like manner, “The jury will disregard the heavy sarcasm, let the record reflect that this is, in fact, your wallet.”

“What record?” Mike asks, looking around the room for a hidden camera like he’s on a reality television show.

Donna points innocently to the Dictaphone on the coffee table between them.

“You’re recording this?” Harvey asks. And wow, his voice was about three octaves higher than usual.

“Duh, I’ll probably use it at your wed-”

“Please proceed,” Harvey interjects, deliberately cutting her off, “I don’t have all day for this!”

“Geesh, okay. Now, as the prosecutor was saying before the defendant got his panties in a bunch, is it fair to say that you are aware of the contents of your wallet?”

“Yes,” Harvey confirms, throwing his hand into the air in frustration.

“Hmmm,” she hums, opening the wallet, “Aww, this is a cute photo of you two,” she says sweetly, showing Mike the printed-out selfie of him and Harvey on Mike’s couch, the night they’d gotten stoned. Heat blossoms on both Mike and Harvey’s cheeks, because they do look very cosy in the picture, and in all honesty, Mike had forgotten it existed. He wants a copy now though.

“Is there a question here, counsellor?”

“Nope,” Donna exclaims, beaming, “it’s just a sweet photo of you two, which happens to be in your wallet, that you carry around with you everywhere.”

“Oh, wait!” Donna adds like she’s just remembered something but quite clearly had this planned from the get go. She grabs the wallet back off Mike and gives Harvey a wink.

“Mike, do you recognise this?” She holds the object up to Mike, just out of Harvey’s view, so he has to crane his neck to try to see.

Mike bursts out laughing and takes it from Donna. He looks over at Harvey, holding up the Pearson Darby business card bearing his name. Only this card has ‘associate’ crossed out and ‘failed drug dealer’ with a winky face, written in Mike’s chicken-scratch handwriting instead. “Why on earth do you still have this?” Mike asks.

Harvey flushes a deep shade of red, “I didn’t know it was in there,” he mumbles, not looking at Mike.

“Bullshit,” Donna fake coughs. “You know, I know you’re not sentimental, and yet when it comes to Mike…”

“Calm your farm, Donna; you’ve proved that once, and it would have been rude to throw the record away,” Harvey rebuts, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. He wasn’t going to give her an ounce of satisfaction.

Donna sits next to his feet and leans into his space. “Would you like some more examples?”

“NO!”

“I would. What else do you have, Donna?” Mike perks up from beside them.

Donna grins at him and shakes her head. “Oh, Mike, you are going to love Exhibit C.”

Harvey groans, he’s sure she’s not joking, and Mike is loving this, which okay, yeah, it is nice to see the kid smiling and laughing again but he’d prefer it not to be at his expense.

Donna takes pity on him and calls for a recess so they can drink their morning coffees, then subtly slips off to use the ladies’ room.

The office is still relatively quiet, Harvey guesses it’s still shy of eight and most of the partners don’t start filtering in until half past. At least he hopes this dog and pony show will be over by then. He looks up from the coffee in his hand to find Mike considering him carefully. Harvey raises his eyebrows and shrugs.

“You know this would be a lot easier on you if you’d just get over yourself, and admit that you care about me.”

“Mike,” Harvey murmurs, his voice quiet and low, “caring only mak-”

“I know, I know, caring only makes you weak, right? That’s complete bullshit, Harvey. Why did you still have that business card, huh?”

He wants to tell him, he really does. “Mike, I-”

“No, Harvey, don’t you dare give me some bullshit line, tell me the truth!”

Harvey looks away from the anger blazing in Mike’s eyes and focuses back on his coffee, the silence dragging out between them.

Mike drains his coffee and throws it at the bin, it’s a three-metre throw, and in all the times he’s tried to land the shot, he never has. But this time it lands in the bin perfectly, doesn’t even hit the rim. It’s a first. Harvey meets Mike’s eyes in disbelief, and they both crease themselves laughing, the tension leaving the room immediately. When the laughter starts to die down, they are left grinning at each other, and Mike gives Harvey an affectionate nod. That’s all it takes for Harvey to start talking, and it just spills out of him.

“Every year, I go and visit my dad’s grave. And every year it’s a shitty day for me, the whole day I feel lonely and angry, and I hate the ride home on that stupid train. I have all the happy memories on the way there, you know? But on the way home…”

Harvey sighs and rubs his temples. He leans forward and picks up the business card, running his fingers over Mike’s writing slowly as he speaks.

“Last anniversary, I found this in my pocket, on the train after. I don’t know when you put it in there, but when I read it I burst out laughing, and I knew that even though this train ride would always be shitty, that I’d found someone who got me, and who knew how to make me laugh.”

Harvey searches Mike’s face and sees that he understands.

“That’s why I kept it. Because it means something to me.” You mean something to me.

“It was at the train station,” Mike squeaks, mouth still dry and faculties lost as Harvey’s declaration of feelings for him bounces around in his head.

“Ah, Donna texted me, and I know how it feels, you know, on that day, and I didn’t want you to feel alone. So, uh, all I had was a file, business cards and a pen on me, so I improvised.” Mike shrugs like it was nothing.

Harvey nods, and a soft smile settles on his face. The light from the morning sun catches his eyes, and Mike gets lost for a minute watching him.

After a moment, Mike hesitantly asks, “Are we good?”

Harvey doesn’t answer immediately, weighing up his options. They seem good, but what got them here in the first place hasn’t been resolved yet.

“Yeah, we’ve been better though,” he eventually answers.

Mike gets it, he hears that he’s not entirely forgiven but considering the circumstances Harvey’s starting to build a bridge.

The building is starting to come alive; they can hear the thud of file boxes being piled up by couriers, and voices drifting along the corridor.

“Look, Mike, I don’t know what Donna’s plan is here but can we just-”

“Have fun with it? Not take it too seriously?” For Harvey’s sake, Mike will make out like this is a game, but they both know a lot has been revealed about their relationship this morning.

“Something like that,” Harvey agrees.

“Sure thing, boss. Truthfully, I’m just glad Donna didn’t decide to ransack my apartment and discover the Harvey Specter doll I got Joy to make, you know, to keep my little Mikey doll company.”

Mike’s eyes are glistening with laughter.

“Idiot,” Harvey jokes, giving him a playful shove, and trying to hide his smile.

“Okay boys, where were we?”

Donna’s been watching them from outside the door, delighted to see that Harvey is unconvincingly trying not to smile but instead look unaffected, and that Mike’s body is turned toward him. She grabs a picture from the box on Harvey’s desk and places it on the coffee table in front of Harvey, and oh boy, if looks could kill.

“Are you familiar with the item in this photograph?” she says sweetly like she isn’t about to make him seem like a lovesick teenager.

“Yes,” he answers, in the most bored tone he can conjure up. “It’s a picture of the answering machine in my home office.”

“And do you keep any of the messages you receive on it?”

Fuck. No, double fuck. “Just the one, I don’t get many, and I rarely delete them.”

Harvey shifts so he can lean on his hand and hide half of his face from Mike because he knows exactly where this line of questioning is going.

“Is that your sworn testimony? Because I seem to recall that you almost always let the machine take messages when you’re home so you can screen calls.”

“Fine, I get a few messages. Is there a question here?”

Mike is staring inquisitively at Harvey now. He’s never seen anyone Harvey’s size try to make themselves invisible in a chair.

“Harvey Reginald Specter, this particular voicemail is two years old. All the others got deleted. Could you please explain why that is?”

“Nope.” Well, yes, he can, but he’s hoping that Donna’s interpretation will be less ‘lovesick teenager’ and more ‘haha that’s funny.’

“Nope? Well, let’s hear it then.”

Harvey groans as Donna grabs her phone and for the second time today, hits the play button, signalling his doom.

The recording starts with heavy breathing, Mike’s heavy breathing. Then a drunk Mike slurs, “Harveeee, lemme housesit your condo. Pllleeeeeassse! I’ll love you forever. Pllleeeeeassse.”

Mike’s eyes widen in mortification, and then he bursts out laughing. Harvey looks at him incredulously, wondering how him keeping this message could possibly be funny, while instantaneously trying to fabricate a decent excuse for still having it.

“I don’t even remember leaving that message, man I must have been wasted!” Mike is still laughing as is Donna, so she replays it again for good measure.

“It was during the insider trading case; you were wasted. You came to my door drunk off your ass, I shut the door in your face, and you must have called me on your way home. I planned to use it to bribe you someday.”

Mike seems to consider that. It’s not a great cover-up, but it will do. Well, until Donna throws her ten cents in.

“Maybe you kept the voicemail because Mike says he’ll love you forever, Harvey,” Donna interjects.

“Objection, calls for speculation.”

“You’re a stubborn pain in the ass; you’re aware of that, right?” Donna might have kept her cool for the most part, but Harvey can tell she’s getting frustrated.

“I object to the name calling, you have known I’m a pain in your ass for over ten years. Now, are we done here? May I make a closing statement?”

“Sure, okay,” Donna agrees, sounding defeated as she perches next to Mike on the couch and waits for Harvey to crush her evidence.

“Donna,” Harvey says softly, reaching out a hand over Mike and squeezing her knee, “I know that you are just trying to help me get over this, and I love you for that, I do. But you should know better than anyone, that I do things in my own time, and on my own terms.

“You know I respect you, but you’ve failed to produce any evidence that suggests I care about Mike, all you have produced is proof that I did care, nothing you have shown me is current and would stand up in court.”

Donna frowns at him and crosses her arms.

Harvey sighs. “To speed things up I’ll admit, I did care about Mike. But things change, and you haven’t proven shit. And if you continue with this,” he gestures to the evidence box, “then this season’s Balenciaga bag is going to be in jeopardy.”

Donna’s eyes bulge at the mention of her beloved yearly Balenciaga bonus. She stands, walks around the coffee table and squats down by Harvey’s side and grabs his forearm.

Mike is ready to see the apology of the century, but then Donna winks at him, and makes the closing argument Harvey certainly didn’t see coming.

“On the contrary, Harvey, the evidence might not be current, but it is overwhelming. I’m your secretary and your best friend. I know you better than anyone else. I wouldn’t waste my precious time gathering all this evidence up just to throw it in your face and have you come up with excuse after excuse as to why it was inadmissible, irrelevant, open to interpretation, blah blah blah. I did all of this so Mike would see it. Now I might just be a legal secretary, but even I know that Mike’s interpretation of the evidence will be that you more than just care about him.”

Harvey looks genuinely shocked. She played him. This whole bet was supposed to be between him and her, but she’d snuck Mike in knowing that Harvey wouldn’t kick him out. Then presented this all for Mike’s benefit, not for Harvey to defend himself. Jesus.

Mike is trying his hardest not to laugh at Donna’s little victory dance, as Harvey realises that she’s just outwitted the best closer in New York.

“What’s so funny?” Harvey asks, side eyeing Mike.

“Nothing,” Mike replies, holding his hands up in surrender, “I just thought that Donna would make a pretty good fake-lawyer too.”

Harvey can admit he’s kind of proud of her; she’d played the man and won.

“Okay, that’s enough from the peanut gallery,” Harvey exclaims, smiling and shaking his head at Mike.

“So, am I done here?” Donna interjects smiling, and then puts on her best performance yet, nailing a Harvey impersonation. “Not, ‘You and I, we’re done’, done, but ‘can I leave’ done?”

Mike, a fully-grown man, cackles. Harvey groans and puts his head in his hands.

“Did I really say it like that?” he asks, dreading the answer.

“Yes,” they both say in unison.

“You even licked your lips, you asshole,” Mike elaborates, but there’s no sting to his words.

Donna sees Harvey’s dimples, as a genuine loving smile, the one that only Mike can bring out, graces his face and she knows they’ll be okay from here.

“Well, I think the prosecution rests,” Donna declares, looking genuinely happy.

Harvey gives her a smirk and signals with a look that she should go.

“Good, I’ll leave you two to think about your closing arguments to each other.”

Donna winks, then heads for the door, stopping after a few steps and turning back and looking at Mike.

“You might want to check out that box, Mike. He kept a birthday card that you called him old in, your first ID badge is marking the page you quoted verbatim from his personal barbri legal handbook, his phone’s home screen is a photo of you two-”

“Donna!” Harvey warned, but she ignored him and continued like he hadn’t said a word.

“And I haven’t even mentioned the queued episodes of ‘Different Strokes’ on your television, a show you have claimed to hate on more than one occasion, and a show Mike loves. Or the Tom Ford suit hanging in your wardrobe in Mike’s size, waiting for what I wonder, the occasion he may need it after sleeping-”

“Objection, badgering,” Mike barks, standing up between Harvey and Donna, protecting his own.

“’Attaboy, puppy,” Donna says, as she walks over and kisses him on the cheek.

Then she is gone, and the room is deathly silent, Mike still staring at the glass door of Harvey’s office.

Mike rubs his hands together nervously and sits back down. “So?” he says slowly, hoping that Harvey will start the conversation that they obviously need to have.

“Yeah,” is all Harvey voices in response, though internally he curses to himself and curses Donna for her parting remarks.

“This,” he comments eventually, gesturing to the evidence box, “it doesn’t mean what you think it means, Mike.”

“No? So, the thing about the suit in your wardrobe, in my size, was bullshit?”

Mike sounds sceptical, almost as if he knew it was true the moment he’d heard it.

Harvey doesn’t want to lie, he really doesn’t. “Ahh-”

“You know what, don’t answer that. I’m just going to assume that you’ve wanted to get into my pants since the day we met,” Mike teases, licking and biting his lips and wiggling his eyebrows.

Harvey snorted, “I don’t think that’s the case Donna just argued, plus I’m pretty sure if I wanted to sleep with you, rookie, you’d have your pants off quicker than Superman.”

Without missing a beat, Mike answers delightedly, “So it’s a Superman suit hanging in your wardrobe, I didn’t know you were into cosplay, Harvey?”

“Mike, it’s not like that,” Harvey says weakly, but even he doesn’t believe it.

Mike’s having none of it anyway.

“Yes, it is! Donna was quite clearly arguing that you love me, and you’re too much of a chicken to tell me I hurt you that much more because of it,” Mike explodes.

Mike might have hit the nail on the head, but he’s still hurt, and they can’t do this now. “Mike, we shouldn’t be having this conversation here.”

“Bullshit, Harvey, it’s now or ne-”

“You were supposed to trust me,“ Harvey cuts in, his voice showing all the hurt and anger he’s been hiding, "I thought you did, but you proved me wrong. You should have come straight to me and we could have worked it out, together, like we used to.” “Harvey, Jessica threatened me,” Mike pleads, “I thought I had no other choice.” Harvey sprung to his feet and shouted, “No other choice but to betray me?”

Mike physically deflates in front of him, and Harvey realises he’s standing over him and sits back down immediately. Taking a deep breath, he lets Mike see the whole truth.

“People think because I say I don’t care, that they can’t hurt me, but this did, Mike, this,” he waves his hands between Mike and himself, “you hurt me.” Mike stays silent, the corners of his eyes wet and threatening to spill over. He feels winded by Harvey’s words. He’s hurt the man who gave him everything. When he does speak, his voice is a feeble whisper.

“Harvey, I’m sorry, I didn't…” “Exactly, you didn’t know,” Harvey finished for him. “I thought we were different, I actually thought you…” Harvey doesn’t finish the sentence, because it’s too painful to think that he loved someone that didn’t love him back. Instead, he stands.

“I need to go,” he explains, heading for the door. Mike springs to his feet and grabs for Harvey’s forearm, spinning him around, “No, you don’t get to leave it like this,” he argues. “We are different.”

Mike tightens his grip because he needs Harvey to stay, he needs him to listen and to see.

“At first Louis thought you’d want me back, he said that Batman needed Robin,” Mike huffs out a half-hearted laugh, “but you didn’t want me, so I wrote my resignation letter and I agreed to help Louis out on one last case, because, Harvey, I don’t want to be here if I’m not with you.”

He meets Harvey’s gaze, and his hands start shaking. He’s certain that this is the moment for him to lay it all out, and he’s scared fucking shitless of being rejected. He closes his eyes, breathes in and says the first thing that comes to mind as he stares into Harvey’s trusting eyes when he opens his own again.

“Jesus, Harvey, you’re everything to me.”

Harvey tilts his head slightly and takes a slow, deep breath in, as a mish-mash of unrehearsed, blatantly genuine words continues to pour out of Mike.

“When Grammy died, they only person I trusted was you. I even changed my emergency contact to you, for fuck’s sake.”

Mike’s chest heaves. He’s offloaded everything he’s been keeping to himself. He lets go of Harvey, throws himself back onto the couch and watches as Harvey starts pacing the room. It’s all on him now and they both know it. Mike tries not to hope too hard. Tries not to think about whether he said everything he could to make Harvey see that this was it for him.

It takes Harvey a solid five minutes to say something, and Mike has bitten three fingernails down to the quick in that time.

“I knew.”

Mike has no idea what he’s talking about. “You knew what?”

“Human Resources called me to check if it was okay that I was your emergency contact,” Harvey explains. He crosses the room and stands in front of Mike.

Mike looks up and into Harvey’s soft brown eyes. “And it was? Okay?”

Harvey calls him an idiot for the second time that day as he grabs Mike’s hands from his lap and pulls him up and against him in one swift move, and of course, Harvey is smoother than Barry White. “Idiot,” Harvey mutters again as he presses his lips softly against Mike’s.

It’s over in a heartbeat, but it’s soul binding, and Mike wants more immediately, once he’s over the shock, that is.

Harvey observes Mike as he breaks the kiss and he can’t help but smile at the slack-jawed, shocked look on his face. But after a second to compose himself, Mike grins and laughter erupts from deep down inside him. The reaction baffles Harvey.

“Mike?”

Mike explains himself immediately, “Donna was right, you care about me,” he teases in the most annoying voice he can manage, purposely trying to rile Harvey up.

Harvey rolls his eyes. “Wow, who made you a lawyer, Captain Obvious?”

Mike licks his lips, leans forward and whispers into Harvey’s ear, “Just some dude that wanted to get into my pants.”

Harvey smirks and gently pushes Mike away, “That’s it, lippy, I told you not to call me ‘dude.’”

His poker face when it comes to Mike Ross needs work, he thinks as he struggles to hide an affectionate grin.

Mike pounces, scruffing him by the shirt front, no doubt leaving wrinkles, and whispers, “Please kiss me some more.”

Harvey’s hand rests against his cheek, and he slides his thumb across Mike’s jaw.

“Rooftop in five minutes, rookie, and if you promise never to mention today again, I’ll sweeten the deal and get into those pants.”

“Deal,” Mike agrees, already headed for the door. He flies down the hallway, heading for the stairwell, faster than the speed of light.

The End

Thanks for reading! X Link to AO3 here.

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dcbicki · 8 years ago

Note

Do dan/amy with #1

1. Things you said to me at 1AM | Post s-6, in which Amy is eight months pregnant, there's a crib that needs building, and Dan is a complete fucking tool.

(Bitch, I went well over a thousand words with this, so… thanks for that.)

Arriving home, she hadn’t expected to see a couple dozen boxes - some smaller, some larger - littering the rooms of the apartment.

“Dan!” She’d called out, hoping to find her roomate-come-baby-daddy-but-definitely-not-partner nearby. He’d called to say he’d be home early. And it’s gone twelve, so where the fuck-

“In the other room.”

She’d found him crouching down on the floor, all jeans and crinkled shirt, holding up two pieces of white wood.

The crib. Right.

She’s been here ever since, in a room bound to become a nursery, watching him toy around with the unassembled pieces of the child’s bed.

“You know, Catherine and Marjorie just ordered theirs. And it came pre-built.” She clicks her tongue, types some shit into her phone, looks over at Dan, “Then again, they aren’t as fucking extra as you.”

“I’m not gonna be fuckin’ upstaged by a sophomore lesbian and her backup sperm donor.”

Amy rolls her eyes, tries to avoid cracking a smile, “At least she chose the baby’s genes.” She doesn’t bring up the fact that Dan was the original donor, “This baby’ll probably come out with a head full of gel, clutching a fucking iPad.”

She holds her phone until her knuckles turn white - nothing new there - as if to demonstrate her point. Then she crosses her legs, and lets it drop (odd) into her lap, keeping a straight face as she watches him.

It’s past midnight, and they’re still no closer to having the fucking crib built.

“Remind me again why you didn’t just let the delivery guy do it instead?”

There’s a hex key, a couple dozen pieces of varnished white wood, and some bits and pieces laid out on the floor. They’ve been there for about an hour and half, and Dan doesn’t seem to have even built one side of the fucking thing.

“I’m not having some white trash truck driver’s grubby hands all over my kid’s bed, alright? Fuck, do you really want those kinda germs hanging around the apartment?” He scowls.

Yeah. Sure. That’s it. He’s such a cheapskate when he wants to be.

“I can build a fuckin’ crib, Amy. Jesus.” He grumbles, tosses down a wrench (she’s pretty sure he doesn’t need a wrench), and rests his hands on his hips, untucking the shirt from his pants. “You wanna give it a shot?”

“Because you can’t?” The blonde raises a brow, smirks, “No. It’s actually kinda fun watching you struggle.” She reasons, crosses her legs comfortably, sitting Indian style.

“Oh, yeah?”

Amy hums, nods her head and leans back in the rocking chair. It’s uncomfortable as all hell, but Sophie suggested they buy one. (And she listened why?)

“Even Mike can handle a little DIY, for fuck’s sake.”

“Yeah, well, that neanderthal was around when they were still making tools out of wood so that’s not surprising, Ames.”

She grins, “Hell, I’m sure even Jonah could do it if you gave him a tutorial.”

The daggers he shoots her make her smile widen, and Amy raises both brows at his retort, “Fuck you.”

Dan bites at his bottom lip for a second, wipes the bridge of his nose with his wrist. (As though he’s been working hard. Please.)

There are two slats of wood at his feet, perpendicular and screwed together. It’s the most he’s done so far. (Is that even right?) She could probably have the thing built in ten - no, twenty - minutes or so, but she won’t lend a hand. Fuck no.

He said he could do it. He can prove himself. Besides, it’s really kind of amusing to her to watch him fail miserably. Then again, he hasn’t exactly been trying very hard.

Reaching down, Dan picks up the instruction sheet, balls it up in his fist before tossing it in the box the unbuilt crib arrived in. They had a bunch of furniture unloaded several hours ago, but so far none of it has been constructed.

Luckily she’s only eight months along, and they’ve still got some weeks to go before the little fucker arrives.

“Well, that’s good. Now what are you gonna do?” Amy teases, leans back so the chair sways back and forth, creaking against the hardwood floors of their apartment. Damn him for making her move in with him. “I mean you couldn’t even build it with instructions, so now-”

Dan holds up a finger, lifts both brows confidently. “I’m waiting for a moment of genius.”

“We don’t have all night.”

“You got a better idea, Mom of the Year?”

“Yeah. You could call the store, and they’d send someone out to do it.”

“It’s one in the fuckin’ morning. What kinda service do you think they’re providing, Amy? Fuck.”

“Not right now, you fuckwit.” Amy frowns, rolls her eyes and head back so she’s staring at the ceiling. How did that mark get- “I’ll call them first thing in the morning.”

“No.” He damn near cuts her off, walking over until he’s stood in front of her, resting both hands on the sides of the chair. “No, you won’t. Because I’m gonna get this thing done, even if it kills me.”

“Wow, you really don’t like sucking at stuff, do you?”

“Don’t act so surprised. You knew that already.”

“True.” She agrees, lowers her gaze to meet his, but she keeps her head titled back, hands running along the armrests of the chair, carefully avoiding touching his hands, “I don’t want you to overexert yourself to death, though. I mean, you didsay you’d help out with the kid. And you did promise that I could be the one to kill you when you’re ninety if you haven’t already died of natural causes.”

“Well, Amy, this is me helping out with the kid.”

She snorts back a laugh, “Really? Because it looks like this is just you trying to prove yourself. No need to compensate for anything, Dan. I’ve already seen your dick. It just about does the trick.”

“Just about?” He stands up straight, traces of a smirk beginning to form on his face.

Ah, yes. One of his three facial expressions. Disgust, confidence, terror. She likes imaging which face he’ll make when she gives birth.

Amy shoots him a look à la ‘Shut the fuck up and get on with it’. Looking up through long lashes, she notes how he hasn’t moved, is still towering over her. “Are you going to fucking build it or not, asshole?”

“Are you gonna fuck me if I do?”

“God, you’re a child.”

“No, Amy. I’m a man who would like some recognition for his hard work.”

Wait. Did he- That fuck weasel.

“Have you been screwing me this whole time?”

Dan smirks, wider than before, and he shrugs, nonchalant, “Maybe. That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I’m gonna ignore the fact that you’ve wasted over an hour of my life by pretending to be bad at something you can apparently do, because it was kind of fun to witness your would-be emasculation anyway. But, no. I’m not going to fuck you. Jesus Christ, you were just playing me like one of your little college bimbos.”

“Ames, you know I gave up sleeping with other women for you.” He tilts his head to the side, all proud and smug, like it’s a massive accomplishment. She wouldn’t believe him if it weren’t for the fact that she threatened to chop his dick off, and she knew just how much he treasured King Danny - God, that name - and he knew just how serious she was with her threat.

“But I still don’t wanna be upstaged by Catherine and her side-bitches.” His eyes crinkle then - is that a fucking smile? - and Amy can only frown. “I guess I just have more interest in getting our new bed up and ready instead.”

They don’t even have a new bed to build, so what the fuck is he getting it ready for-

“Oh, fuck, no.”

She pulls a face, shakes her head, stands up and goes to walk off all in the flash of a second - because fuck him - until his hand catches her elbow. It’s gentle, and she kind of hates him for it. Then again, she’s eight fucking months pregnant and he’s not a complete animal.

“Amy.”

“Fuck, Dan. I can’t believe you ever roped me into this in the first place.”

“Into fucking?”

“Into moving in with you, you goddamn unflushable turd.”

“You love it.” He smirks - because of course he does - and Amy hates herself for smiling back.

“I don’t love you, though.”

“You like me more than you like anybody else.” He reasons, steps closer until she’s flush against him, all bump and breasts. Fuck.

“Yeah, well, I’m the only person that you like, so-”

“Yeah. You are.”

It’s one o'clock in the fucking morning, which means they should be sleeping, not having a heart to heart. Or, well, a… discussion pertaining to matters of the heart had either of them possessed a heart?

“I do like you, Amy.” He grins, reaches for her chin.

“You’re an asshole.”

“And you love me.”

“Fuck you.” She steps back, wills herself to ignore his lingering gaze, “Build the fucking crib, asshole.”

“Are you going to bed?”

“Yeah. You’re not welcome to join.”

“After I build this fuckin’ IKEA piece of crap?”

She comes back into the room to pick up her abandoned phone, shoots him a brief look before spinning back around, knowingly letting his eyes dance along her back and ass, “If you can build it in the next twenty, no… ten minutes.”

“I can do it in five.”

Amy rolls her eyes down the hallway, waves a hand behind her, rests her free hand on her stomach, “Your dad’s a fucking moron.”

#juliaslouisdreyfus #fic*#dan x amy #dan egan #amy brookheimer #veep #veep fic #ship: dan x amy

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postpvnk · 8 years ago

Text

I apparently write for more than one fandom at a time now? Weird for me but Long Exposure is so good! If you haven’t already please go check it out, it’s so so good and i’m already in love with those dumb boys!

Mitch/Jonas | 1k+ | T+ | Future!Fic / Fluff

The fic is also on AO3 here!

Jonas gets home late, stumbling out of his shoes and getting in a tangle with his jacket as the flat door slams shut behind him. The frame shaking. Not that it matters, the whole building shook whenever there was a strong enough wind.

He’d gotten used to it.

“Babe? S’at you?” And crap, Mitch had been asleep.

“Nobody else would want to break in.” Jonas can’t spare much energy to feel bad, instead he manages to stumble into what they called the living room. “Why aren’t you in bed if you’re gonna sleep?”

“Didn’ wanna sleep withoutchya.” Mitch shifts onto his back, yawning wide with his arms open as Jonas just collapses.

Mitch barely makes an ‘oomph’ sound and Jonas appreciates it as he snuggles into his boyfriend's bony chest.

“Idiot.”

“Hmmm, hey baby.” He feels a sloppy kiss to the top of his head “Rough day Spots?”

“You’ve got no idea.” Jonas doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, letting Mitch’s arms settle properly around him, one hand going underneath his work shirt, thumbs massaging circles into his back and hips.

“You gonna fuckin’ tell me eventually or?” Mitch has a smile in his voice so Jonas just buries his face in deeper, huffing to himself.

“Just a long day.”

“S’always a long fuckin’ day.” Jonas feels another kiss to his curls and he smiles despite himself, kissing Mitch’s chest in return “An’ you still always tell me anyway.”

“True.” Jonas turns his head, facing their old TV set up and water stained wallpaper.

Mitch waits as he resettles himself, shuffling so his hands are up by his chest, curled under his chin, one of his hands tangling in the collar of Mitch’s ridiculous shirt.

“Sorted baby?”

“Hmm.” Jonas hums, leaning up a little to kiss Mitch’s jaw which get’s a low chuckle from him and a kiss to Jonas’ forehead in response before Jonas starts on his mini rant. Mitch chiming in when he feels it’s appropriate. Jonas appreciated it.

“I get there late, because of the stupid bus-”

“Fuckin’ stupid.”

“Yeah! But you know the boss, he likes me and all-”

He get’s a quick squeeze for that as Mitch snarls a little “Better not be likin’ you too much.”

Jonas just giggles, “He’s like 90, you’ve met him! Shut up, stop being weird.” Laughing into Mitch’s chest Jonas just blindly slaps at his boyfriends arm. Knowing that Mitch would be blushing the brightest of red right now at being called out.

“Yeah well-” Bashful, Mitch sounds bashful as he shifts “Don’t want anyone stealin’ my baby now do I?”

Shaking his head Jonas leans up again, kissing Mitch properly this time.

“Nobody could steal me. Now can I get back to my story?” He flutters his eyelashes, delighting in how Mitch’s blush comes back in full force, one of the fancy ‘decorative’ pillows on the couch hovering a little with his powers.

It happened sometimes, the hovering when Mitch was too happy for just words. It used to just be when he was angry, but that had been changing.

“Sure baby.” Mitch had stopped looking ashamed for the actions.

“Well, then of course it’s just the boring old work. Nothing special. But come lunchtime, the asshole, you know who i‘m talking about, goes and steals my lunch so i’ve got nothing to eat.”

“Mike.” Mitch hisses under his breath, frown appearing over his features as he says the name.

Mike had been hassling Jonas for a while now, stealing his lunch, giving him extra work. Excluding him from meetings he needed to be in, that sort of thing. “You want me to stab him? You know i’de do that for you baby. I’de go back inside for you, especially if he’s harassing you. Don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Oh no don’t worry.” Jonas can’t help the pink light that starts dancing around the room. He shouldn’t be so happy and so in love, especially with that threat hanging in the air.

But Mitch meant well, it meant he loved Jonas. And Jonas loved him right back.

“I’m gonna get him fired.”

“You what?” The anger fades, leading to a splutter and a surprised chuckle.

“Yeah i’ve got a plan! I’ve recorded everything he’s done, taped a few conversations all sneaky. I’m gonna get him fired because of homophobic discrimination. He called me a uh- you know. I’m not gonna but you can guess? Right? I told you?”

Jonas remembers. How he came home crying one day, and had to physically restrain Mitch from going and beating the guy to death.

He had had to stand there and hold him, sobs probably heard down the halls as their possessions had gone flying around the room.

They had been lucky a window hadn’t broken.

“Yeah, wanted to kill the fucker.” Mitch’s arms tighten again, a deep frown on his face, as if he wants to get up right now and go find the guy. “Could still-”

“No need baby. I’m gonna get him fired. He won’t work around here ever again.” He pats Mitch gently on the chest, kissing where he had just pet before leaning up to kiss his boyfriend again.

They melt together, and Jonas lets himself be dragged into the warm haze of Mitch’s mouth, hands warm and comforting on his skin, legs tangling slowly as Jonas deepened it with a lick to Mitch’s bottom lip.

They stay there like that for a good few minutes, sleepily making out, both too tired to really do anything more despite the semi Jonas thinks he can feel at his thigh. That is until Mitch pulls back in a somewhat panic, eyes snapping open and lurching forwards.

Jonas barely manages to stay in his lap, clinging for dear life to Mitch’s shoulders.

“So ya haven’t fuckin’ eaten today? Like? At all?”

There’s a beat. “N-no?”

“Ah fuck. Come on Joey. I’m makin’ you beans on toast.”

Mitch is up in a flash, somehow manhandling Jonas in the process, gently settling him back down on the couch before he flits into the kitchen, limbs awkward and dead from sleep, and Jonas’ head spins a little as he hears him crashing about the kitchen.

“Babe, you don’t have to make me anything-”

“No i’m doin’ it. You’re outta luck, i’m making you some damn dinner. Can’t believe you didn’t eat all fuckin’ day. You gotta take care’a yourself babe.”

Jonas gets up, slumping to the kitchen. “Thought that was your job?” He leans against the door jamb when he gets there, lazy smile playing on his lips as he watches Mitch move about with an ease that only comes from being comfortable in your surroundings. Even if he does nearly burn himself on the toaster. Which, shouldn’t actually be possible.

But wherever Mitch was, there was some sort of trouble.

Jonas had gotten used to it.

In between heating up the beans and making the toast, Mitch steals kisses, shark-like grin on his face whenever he ‘innocently’ sidles over to where Jonas was leaning.

“You’re gonna let the food burn.” Jonas puts up a false protest, smirk on his face as Mitch comes over, hands out until Jonas’ hips are filling them.

“It’s all on a timer Spots. Ain’t got nothing to worry about.” And then he’s leaning down, nosing at Jonas’ cheek before pulling him in, hands squeezing hard as he wastes no time in licking into Jonas’ open mouth.

It’s the gross kind that has Jonas reeling a little, but he’s tired and hungry and they have a bed that’s waiting for them in the other room. So he leans back, breaking the kiss a little to something softer.

There’s a question on Mitch’s tongue he can feel it, but then the toast is popping up and he’s back into ‘must protect Jonas mode�� so he flies over to it, grabbing some plates from the cupboard as he plates everything up.

They eat in silence, legs knocking together on the couch. It’s quiet and comfortable and Jonas nearly nods off a few times.

“Bed?”

Mitch just slings an arm around his shoulders, practically hauling him up as they make their way to the bedroom.

Both strip once they get in there. Jonas was past the point of any insecurity, and Mitch had a good body, one Jonas was very fond of looking at. So it wasn’t an issue.

What is, is that once Jonas crawls into bed, head screaming for the pillow underneath his head, Mitch climbs into his lap, hands squeezing at the pudge on his hips, grinding down a little, erection making itself known as Mitch smirks above him.

He’s soon kissing Jonas’ face, his eyelids his forehead his nose and his mouth before he moves onto Jonas’s neck. The kisses down his neck tickle, the sucks aching and stinging with every bite. But Jonas just... Can’t tonight.

“Hmm, not tonight baby i’m sorry.” And that makes Mitch freeze.

They hadn’t really been in tat situation before, Jonas was always generally up for it, and the only times Mitch wasn’t was when he was drunk and Jonas didn’t want to take advantage of that.

So this is different. And his breath catches in his throat, instantly afraid of something. Something he couldn’t quite place other than it being an overwhelming feeling of anxiety.

“‘M sorry. Fuck. Shit.” Mitch rolls off, and then off the bed entirely, before he starts to pace. “Shit baby ‘m sorry I-”

“Mitch-”

“I didn’t mean to pressure ya, I just. Fuck!” And finally Jonas see’ the fear and panic in Mitch’s eyes and he gets it.

“Hey no, baby come here.” He holds his hands out, waiting patiently as Mitch reluctantly takes them.

“I’m so sorry baby- Fuck i’m a fuckin’ stupid idiot. Joey ‘m sorry-”

“Mitch. Stop.” And Mitch does. “You didn’t do anything unwanted okay. I’m just really tired.”

“You sure?” Mitch looks like he’s about to bolt, shifting from foot to foot, and Jonas really doesn’t like it.

“I’m sure. Now get back into bed. I miss you. Need you to protect me okay?”

Mitch looks away, uncharacteristically shifty before he hunches in on himself, nodding. “I just don’t ever wanna hurt ya baby is all.”

“And you’ll be the first to know if you do.” Jonas lets Mitch climb over him, dragging his boyfriends arm around him as soon as he’s close enough, snuggling right back into Mitch’s chest, breathing deeply. “You need to shower in the morning, you smell awful.” Jonas looks up, smiling as Mitch slowly starts to settle himself again.

“Do I now huh?” And there’s the smirk that Jonas loves so much.

“Yeah, but I can see you lifting your arm, you don’t have to prove it.” Mitch lifts his arm higher anyway, laughing loudly as he shoves his armpit into Jonas’ face. And they both hear the tension that drains out of Mitch through his laughter.

Jonas just squirms, burying his face into his pillow.

“Stop it- Come on babe I wanna sleep, stop being a jerk.”

“You love me though.” Mitch does stop, a little out of breath from trying so hard but he’s beaming.

“Yeah. Yeah I do.”

“Love you too.”

“I know dweeb.”

Jonas leans up, kissing Mitch one last time before he turns over, safe in Mitch’s arms as he finally falls asleep.

#long exposure comic #mw #mitch/jonas #mitjo #long post //#le

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pomegranateseedsonskulls · 8 years ago

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Impossible love pt. 3

Word count: 1,992 Rating: pg-13 because of language Pt. 1 PT.2 A/N: I'm on mobile so I'll add the links later. "Where the hell were you last night?" Karma asks. I smirk, I knew she got the information from Jazi because she wasn't here today so that must have meant Jazi told Karma over text. "You don't wanna know," I answer and chuckle a little. Karma nudges my shoulder. "Who did you fuck?" She whispered in my ear. "Nobody you know," I smirk. "Oh really? Was it Peter?" She asks as she raises an eyebrow. "No, why would you even think that?" I blush loudly. "Whatever you say," she smirks and I give her an evil glare. "I have training tonight, so I won't be able to text tonight," I state trying to change the topic. "Oh okay. The bell is gonna ring soon so I'm gonna head to biology," she says and I nod, then she leaves and I slam my locker and there Peter is. I jump a little. "Stalker much?" I ask and he realized that he scared me. "Sorry, your friend just saw me so I assumed you saw me, anyway, why did I come over here?" "I don't know. You tell me," I say to him. "Oh yeah, are you going to training tonight?" "Yes, I'll be staying the night too, my uncle decided that his business trip needed to be one day longer," I comment. "Oh awesome. Aunt May will freak if I stay one more night so I'll be leaving afterwards," he replies. "Awesome. I'll see you there. I have to go to my classes," I leave. All of my classes seem slow today. Maybe I was just dreading this training because I am sore. My back, my shoulders and my calves are super sore. As the day dragged on the training got closer a d I got more anxious. I don't want to do it but I still got nervous. Finally the day ended and Nat was in a nice, black, car. She rolled down the window when she saw me. "Hey could you help me find someone I'm looking for. She's a little too energetic and a superhero," she jokes around and I shake my head then get in the passenger seat. "Oh come on, I think I'm funny," she chuckles. "Well I don't think so, I mean you try too hard, it's like dad jokes but worse and not in a good way," I admit," like someone says "what time is it," and you say "time for you to get a watch," see that's funny." "No, that's just annoying," she replies and I give her a skeptical look. We leave the parking lot and I sit in silence. "Why do you do the things you do? I mean no regular teenager would even think about saving the world," she asks and I smile. "Because I know what it's like when no one is there to help and it is important to be what you want in the world. I was given the opportunity and I took. I learned from my and other people's mistakes," I explain. "When have you needed someone and no one was there?" "Most of my life. I'm very independent because I have to be, not because I want to be. If it was my choice I'd have someone there who would take half of my load. I had a friend, his name was Mike. He told me that when you have no one else in the world that you still have yourself. Even if it's just a shadow or a reflection of yourself you still have you." "Wow, that was optimistically pessimistic." "Yeah, well it's true, that's why I learned that I can't lean on anyone, but I will let others lean on me." "Ah, well we are almost here," she states and I see the tower. I smirk a little and then sigh. "What's the sigh for?" She asks as she raises an eyebrow. "I'm sore. I normally don't do this much training," I admit. "Oh," she parks and looks at me and smiles," well, welcome to being an avenger," then she gets out of the car like a supermodel and I get a tad bit jealous. I akward get out of the car and pull my backpack with me. We get into the first floor and she swipes her identification card, I haven't gotten mine yet. She gets off a few floors below me and I get off around floor 30. I go to the bedrooms and start on my homework. After about an hour I get up and change. I have tight, black running pants and an overlarge white shirt that you can kind of see through so my black sports bra shows. I go down into the training room and there was no one in there. I get onto the blue exercise mat and I start doing some karate moves and my warm up. I am practicing my roundhouse kick routine when Steve and Bucky come in. I stop practicing and realize it's been an hour and a half since I finished my warm up, I am extremely sweaty and my white shirt sticks to me. I walk off the mat and go to my water bottle. I get a swig of water and Steve looks at me. "How long have you been practicing?" He asks. "About an hour and a half. I've improved on some of my moves," I state proudly. "Are you able to go against anyone because I don't want to overwork you, I know sparring with someone can be overwhelming, especially after an hour and a half or training." "Yeah, I feel like I could move a mountain right now so of course." I smile and I walk over to them. Bucky has been silent this whole time," so who am I gonna fight?" "Peter because he is your size," he answers. "Oh, I'm guessing I'll be fighting him a lot," I guess. "Yup," he replies. "But that's not fair. I have much more practice from hand to hand combat and I'll beat him," I state because it was unfair for Peter. "You'll be good for him. Don't worry," Steve assures. "Fine." I cross my arm then Peter came through the door," speak of the devil," I mutter and look at him grumpily. Even though my body was still feeling the surge of energy from my workout I stretched. Steve and Bucky fought for 30 minutes which gave me time to cool down from my workout and warm up for the sparring session I was about to do. When Steve finished he motioned for us to get on. I stood nervously in front of Peter, scared that I was going to hurt him but also anxious about the fight. I needed someone just one on one without any powers, just a nice sparring session without being in a life or death situation. I brought my hands up and waited. I let him get the first punch but he didn't take it so I went for his head. He blocked it and we fought from there. It was all really just a blur. I would kick and he would hit back. Somehow he ended up halfway up the wall, like both hands and feet holding himself up and I was close and personal. I was going to punch him and I pulled back the punch when Steve yelled. "That's enough, I think both of you need a break," he yelled and I backed off. Im breathing heavily and extremely sweaty. I walk off the mat without saying anything to Peter. I walk to the bench and stretch for the final time. After a 5 minute cool down I walk to the showers. I take a long, hot shower, I know I'm supposed to take a cold shower but I hate those. I finally stop when all the I can see too much steam but I also knew someone else was taking a shower because I can hear the water. I got distracted by my own thoughts so I don't know who. I dried myself quickly and threw on clothes. I wore black pants that hug my defined legs, sports bra and a baggy hoodie that I stole from one of my friends. It still smells like them after many washes. I snuck out and headed to my bedroom where I closed myself off from the world. I went onto Pinterest and Tumblr for a while, not really doing anything and I wrote a little and I changed my position so many different times that I lost count after 12. Currently my feet were on the bed and my back was on the ground. I knew that it wouldn't last long because my arm started to get tired and then my door opened. My hoodie was riding up on my stomach so it was exposed. I looked up and saw that it was Peter. I got up quickly and realized that my hair is probably a mess, and I look like crap. "FRIDAY can't you warn me please," I yell at the air. "Oh sorry, I didn't mean to barge in. I just wanted to say goodbye. You seemed a little mad at me, I just wanted to see if I did anything wrong," he states and looks at me with those eyes and I realized I have been a jerk lately. "You didn't do anything. It's just one of my off moods. Your aunt is probably worried sick about you. You should go home," I reply to him. "O-oh yeah. You're probably right, well hopefully I'll see you tomorrow," he waves and leaves. There wasn't anything going on tomorrow, my uncle is coming back so I'll have to talk to him. I was still standing so I fell onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. I closed my eyes and passed out. I woke to mummering, it was quiet but outside my door. I pretend to be asleep so I can overhear the conversation. "I'm not doing it. I don't want to get punched in the face. I don't know how she sleeps," Tony's voice comments. "Fine but if she's mad at me I'm gonna blame it on you. She hasn't eaten since yesterday probably," Steve replies and walks into the room. "Hey, it's time to wake up," Steve says and I open one eye and look at him," I know it's late but you need to eat." "Okay just give me like, uh, two minutes. I'll be down," I mumble and roll over. I hear them leave and I get up. I fix my hair and check the time. It's almost 9, I run down the stairs and see most of the avengers at the table. Nat has her leg in Clint's seat and and Clint has his leg on her seat. They all looked tired. The only avenger not there is Thor and he has an excuse. I sat at the empty chair near the end of the table next to Tony and Bucky. I sat quietly and ate in silence. Finally, Tony finished his food and put his glass of water on the table loudly and cleared his throat. "Alright, we have made a decision," he calls out loudly and many people look confused," this one," he comments while pointing at me," is now, officially," he emphasized officially," an avenger, card and all." Suddenly a yellow envelope is in front of me with a bow on top. I open it and there is some paperwork, an ID card and a congratulations card. I read it and it was the cheesiest card I have ever read. I smiled and got out of my seat then hugged Tony. "Thank you, thank.you," I cried out. He awkwardly patted my arm. "No problem kid," he replied and then I proceeded to hug every avenger in the room. I started filling out the paperwork and finished quickly. I am officially an avenger.

#marvel #spiderman #spiderman: homecoming #peter parker #Peter #captain america #peter x reader #Peter x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #spiderman x reader #spiderman x you #spiderman fanfiction #peter parker fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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yahoo-puck-daddy-blog · 7 years ago

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What We Learned: Canadiens continue to make themselves worse for no apparent reason

Another summer, another wasted asset? (Getty)

The Alex Galchenyuk trade was a long time coming, that’s true.

But if you saw the immediate assessment from pretty much everyone on Friday night, you fully understand that everyone sees this as another big L for the Montreal Canadiens.

The question to be asked of any trade is, “What’s the point?” and if you’re Marc Bergevin, what answers could you possibly begin to offer that make sense? Galchenyuk was a natural talent who was nearly a point-a-game player early in 2016-17, when he was already coming off a 30-goal season as an age-21 center, before a bad knee injury seemed to set him back. That was all the Habs needed to inexplicably shuffle him away from the middle of the ice forever, despite the fact that they desperately needed someone — anyone — who could play that position in a lost season when they had all the time in the world to experiment.

Instead, his most frequent linemates this season were Jonathan Drouin, a good player, and Artturi Lehkonen (not so much). Galchenyuk still ended up as the team’s second-leading scorer who was also third in goals despite playing just 16 minutes and change a night somehow.

Again, it was clear the Habs wanted little, if anything, to do with him but if the plan was seemingly always to trade him, the way they handled him this season was baffling. If you’re trying to get someone to buy high on a guy you don’t really value that much, you have to put him in more of a position to succeed, especially if you’re trying to sell people on the fact that he’s a competent center. Instead, Bergevin and by extension Claude Julien spent much of the season more or less saying, “I know this guy isn’t ready to be an NHL center after that knee injury 18 months ago,” and even if that were true and you had your heart set on shipping him out this summer, that’s not how you handle it.

The return for Galchenyuk, who will absolutely be used as a center in Arizona, was left winger Max Domi. You’ll notice that, in the Canadiens’ pursuit of a legit No. 2 center, they seem to have traded one away for a guy who is decidedly not a center at all, which is a weird decision. Moreover, while Domi and Galchenyuk have identical career points-per-game numbers, Domi has also played nearly 200 fewer games in his career.

Ah, well, Domi debuted in 2015-16, versus the lockout-shortened 2012-13 campaign for Galchenyuk. But here’s the thing: their birthdays are separated by fewer than 13 months. It took Domi longer to get himself to Galchenyuk’s level, and while their games are very different — Domi is more of high-skill grinder set-up man-type player — the amount of quality they bring to their respective teams should be a major point of concern.

After all, if Bergervin’s media availability about the trade referenced “energy” and “intangibles” more than once, with an ask for doubters to watch highlights on YouTube, that should be telling. That in addition to the acknowledgement that this guy is, of course, definitely not a center. You can find some really great goals scored by, like, Fernando Pisani or Alex Tuch. These aren’t the kinds of guys you trade Galchenyuks for.

Domi wasn’t exactly running with the biggest of the big dogs in Arizona (he mostly played with Christian Dvorak and Clayton Keller), but he still finished 17th in primary assists per 60 among players with at least 500 minutes at full strength this year. In the same neighborhood as Jaden Schwartz and Evgeni Malkin. Nothing to sneeze at. The question is, do they put him on Drouin’s top line immediately? If not, who else can he pass the puck to that will be able to convert at the same rate as a Keller?

No one is saying Domi is a bad player — though his worse-than-Zac-Rinaldo underlying numbers on a crap Arizona team certainly don’t say he’s a good one either — but the Canadiens don’t seem to have acquired the best player in the deal, either. And in fact, they’ve moved on from a player that theoretically could help at a position of need (even if they were reticent to try him there) for one that definitively does not help there.

Sure, he’s 12-and-a-half months younger, and came with an advantageous contract situation — the Habs immediately signed Domi to a two-year extension worth $3.15 million against the cap, after which he’ll still be an RFA due to his wholesale lack of service time — but the cap savings on this deal is only about $1.75 million, and it’s not like Montreal is right up against the ceiling or anything anyway. They have to re-sign like four guys and will have $21 million or so in cap space right now, so that’s probably an indicator that the GM is going on safari with some big game in mind.

Maybe, if you’re being charitable to Bergevin, you argue that’s $1.75 million more that can go to a big signing this summer that’s going to steer this team out of the skid. But can you honestly trust Bergevin to make such a signing? Short of John Tavares, who’s he going to acquire that makes the kind of impact Montreal needs such a player to make? The decision-making on both the UFA and trade markets exhibited by this particular group of executives has been beyond baffling for years, and it’s not about to turn around just because Bergevin may or may not have an in with Tavares’s agent.

But it once again circles back to what a guy provides, y’know? Domi is probably at a maxed-out value (pardon the pun) because it’s hard to see him staying an elite set-up man for too long; his personal all-situations shooting percentage was just six this year, well below his previous career average, but his teammates shot a whopping 11.6 percent with him on the ice. Maybe you chalk that up to his elite set-up skills, but also, there probably aren’t too many guys who can reasonably support an 11-plus teammate shooting percentage long-term. Especially with a low-talent group like the Coyotes and Canadiens both have. Most of the guys with on-ice shooting percentages of 9-plus over the past three seasons have names like Matthews, McDavid, Perry, and Pastrnak; can we really consider Domi in that group?

Unlike the Habs, Arizona actually put Domi in a position to succeed, and while they probably weren’t shopping him, one imagines that when Bergevin called, John Chayka felt it was one of those “we’re always listening but they’d have to bowl me over” offers.

Apologists will say that the jury is out until they’ve played the full 82 in 2018-19, or maybe even longer. But when the hockey world — even the national media guys who don’t usually put the boots to teams over this kind of thing — is collectively laughing up its sleeve at what seems to be another lost trade for the Canadiens, you really have to wonder.

Three summers in a row, Montreal has traded out at least one name-brand player. Subban, Sergachev, and now Galchenyuk. The return has been Weber, Drouin, and now Domi. Is that a team that’s improving? Is it even a team that seems to have any kind of direction?

The only thing Bergevin should be happy about these days is that he’s not Pierre Dorion.

What We Learned

Anaheim Ducks: I can assure you: Teams should always always always always always take the best player available. “Should they do that?” is a question we need to stop asking.

Arizona Coyotes: Click here to see Shane Doan whining about how Galchenyuk doesn’t Play The Right Way. Also note Galchenyuk, at age 21, had as only one fewer 30-goal seasons as Doan did in a 21-year career. Doan would probably also like to see Galchenyuk chicken-wing elbow a few more opponents in the face. Get lost!

Boston Bruins: This is a nice little deal for Matt Grzelcyk. Think this could be a very good bottom-three defenseman for a number of years.

Buffalo Sabres: The Sabres love acquiring guys who were on BU in 2015. Insofar as they’re up to four such players. Which is a lot.

Calgary Flames: The Flames would be delighted to move up in the draft but Brad Treliving said, “I’d like a helicopter, too.” So probably don’t get your hopes up.

Carolina Hurricanes: The Hurricanes should already be trying to extend budding star Sebastian Aho but the player would be very wise to refuse until he has another potentially get season.

Chicago: Well, these are definitely two guys, for sure.

Colorado Avalanche: I love to qualify my lede about the Avs maybe moving up to No. 4 by the eighth word of the first sentence.

Columbus Blue Jackets: Haha yeah, okay.

Dallas Stars: Kari Lehtonen is selling his house and maybe that means he’s done in Dallas after this season you never never know.

Detroit Red Wings: The Wings have offered pending UFA Mike Green $6 million for one year or $10 million for two. Take the latter deal, Mike.

Edmonton Oilers: There are still players who WANT to play for the Oilers? Signs and wonders.

Florida Panthers: The Panthers made a big deal out of their 25-anniversary logo and it’s…… fine I guess. I always loved the crossed-hockey-stick-and-palm-tree secondary logo.

Los Angeles Kings: I absolutely did not hear about the Kings trading for Peter Budaj again last week. So here’s that news.

Minnesota Wild: Pretty good examination of how the Wild miiiiiiiight be able to make some small changes to improve their chances to compete. But also, good luck in that division hahaha.

Montreal Canadiens: Yeah again Domi is a good playmaker but for whom is he Playmaking?

Nashville Predators: Sure the Predators don’t need to make any kind of big changes but imagine if they felt like doing that anyway?

New Jersey Devils: Here’s New Jersey governor Phil Murphy throwing $20 in the trash.

New York Islanders: I literally won’t believe a word about Tavares re-signing until it happens and even then I’m gonna be like, “Yeah, but really?”

New York Rangers: Plenty of machinations coming up for the Rangers in the week ahead. Having that many first-round picks is a nice kind of luxury, isn’t it?

Ottawa Senators: I love that the Sens finally got around to suspending Randy Lee a full 17 days after he was arrested. Dorion’s out here like “We made it clear we don’t tolerate this kind of stuff” and it’s like, come on man who are you fooling?

Philadelphia Flyers: Just in case you were wondering whether buying tickets to preseason games was a ripoff, the Flyers and Islanders are playing each other four times in September.

Pittsburgh Penguins: Horrible news about a Pens prospect and his junior teammates injured in a fire.

San Jose Sharks: If the Sharks can get a good forward this summer I like them a lot to come out of this division.

St. Louis Blues: This is an evergreen headline, to be honest.

Tampa Bay Lightning: Tyler Johnson, the Spokane Enjoyer. Say, do you think there might be an NHL team near Spokane, like maybe about four hours away, sometime soon?

Toronto Maple Leafs: Honestly, if you can get Tyler Bozak relatively cheap (which I doubt) he’d be a useful bottom-six center.

Vancouver Canucks: The Canucks probably should be looking at a buyout or two but probably won’t make a move there because, ah, why bother?

Vegas Golden Knights: So funny that an expansion team isn’t picking until 61st. Very sad!

Washington Capitals: I’m increasingly of the opinion that John Carlson really might re-sign after all.

Winnipeg Jets: Don’t get it twisted: Just because the Jets are really good now doesn’t mean Winnipeg is no longer a “frozen outpost.”

Gold Star Award

I always feel so happy when guys get traded out of bad markets, so congrats to Alex Galchenyuk!

Minus of the Weekend

Phew, that was a close one for Max Domi, who is no longer an immigrant now that he’s moved back to his home country. Now he’s gotta Make the Canadiens Great Again!

Perfect HFBoards Trade Proposal of the Week

User “DownGoesMcDavid” is on one.

To Van: Karlsson Bobby Ryan

To Ottawa: 7OA 2019 2nd rnd pick Tanev Kole Lind Michael Dipietro

Signoff

May I see it?

Ryan Lambert is a Puck Daddy columnist. His email is here and his Twitter is here.

(All stats via Corsica unless otherwise noted.)

More NHL coverage on Yahoo Sports:

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#_revsp:21d636bb-8aa8-4731-9147-93a932d2b27a #_lmsid:a077000000CFoGyAAL #_author:Ryan Lambert #_uuid:d40555dd-bb19-3343-8f34-1ca714b010f3

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bandofholyjoy-blog · 8 years ago

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IT GETS LOCKED UP IN YOUR CHEST: MICHAEL BRANDON IN HAITI... Things get locked in your chest. Your chest-corporeal, I mean. You can be as stalwart as you wish, but things……get locked…. in your chest. Part One: “What The Hell - Where Am I?” Forget that there was no ceiling over the majority of the house, yes, that is correct, no roofing. The impact was particularly “lofty," in that huge, arena-esque space ; a baby bird’s mouth at spit-feed time, indeed, the "living room.” We had mango trees where most homes had bookcases. They rose up and up, practically touching the stars, in my ripe, 11-year old imagination. Forget the (massive) mosquito nets , compulsory to sleep under (you best believe: Malaria and "This-or That”, killer fever). Forget the adult-male-hand-sized tarantulas, and how they’d drop on my fucking head, in that "Uniball Signo-207-level,” inky-blackness... of the country’s foul, microwave nights. Forget the omnipresent, after-dark-bats, or the violent chickens (yes) that would “entertain”, on random, possessed evenings. All of the unwanted guests, they had an oceanic entrance, and then some, through aforementioned, ‘negative-roofing.” I recall my mother, with broom-as-rapier, beating back those truculent, pecking , rabid-assed chickens. They behaved like They were, but I’ve never heard of rabies-infected fowl. WTF = indeed. WTF was in the feed? Forget it all. Forget that I’m in Port-au-Prince, and it is 1977. From Park Avenue to Haiti ; I can envision the Off-Broadway, musical tragicomedy. “Why Mommy, Whhhhhy?” would be the opening number. The Backdrop of glimmering, rubbish-free Park Avenue sidewalks would be crumpled by a drop sheet festooning over the previous one ; the new background, blaring sunshine, highlighting makeshift huts, skeletal dogs and cats, and a woman encumbered or emboldened…via eight, weaved baskets (of varying size and weight) atop the crown of her head. “Ha," indeed. All traces of levity now-removed, as I type the name: “Baby" Doc Duvalier. Forget the sight of him. The sight of a pinguid, nasty, ever-smirking menace, as he pierced the open sunroof of a too-long limousine ; all that was missing was a hood decal of the reaper. Forget that feculent beast, hurling coins to armless / legless children. I’m talking about kids that were my age and (much) younger. The sight of the children, literally tearing each other apart for a meagre allotment of coins... Let’s forget it. These were the same children, I’d consistently gift my sneakers, shirts, pants( everything) to. I’d walk home through those seemingly endless, sugar cane fields, “home”….back to the haunted house, only to be greeted by mother-irate. To be fair, my mom was "half-irate.” It only pissed her off that she’d have to order me more clothes from the U.S.A . An overtly-charitable nature , innate. I’m serious. Was this a somatic mutation, only, in behavioral format? I was this way from birth. It can be grotesque, the kill-with-kindness shtick. I assure you, I have no freaking idea - why. WhyI’ve been this way. I do not choose this bizarre, saintly shit , do I? You will pay the price for kindness. Oh man, will you pay ; you'll even be despised for it. “You’d feed a starving dog and let yourself die.” My mother used to say that to me, and often. Would I? Hell if I know the answer to that question. I hope the answer is: “no way." I’d defend my recurring actions. "They were missing limbs!” t’was my clarion wail. My plea for the: "amputated-for-god-knows-why…” kids. I still do not know why so many were limbless. I’m assuming, petty transgressions (food theft?) ; these beautiful, still-smiling children, ever-clamouring for my clothing and shoes. Damn. Now I’m reminded to forget my truancy. The headmistress of the (country’s best) “Creole / American” school, admonishing my mother: “your child is too intelligent to attend. Our school is shit. I advise you to stay away." OH! Let us also forget the omnipresent heat,it’s own universe of hatred and scorn…. a heat so pernicious, it incinerated my (American) comic books, literally, to ash. Forget that we’re in Haiti before the term ‘“Sweatshop” was fashionable. In all fairness….My mother has always, always treated anyone, anyone who has worked for her, like bordeline-royalty. She took care of every last person, and still does today. There is no one quite like her…for all the …Wait. Let me not lose focus (snicker!) Mike Brandon, lose focus? Remember. I am trying to forget. Forget my cat showing up at the doorstep with half his brains removed. What ungodly beast did that? I’ve forgotten it. Forget the rank, gamey pigeons we ate. I might not be able to forget... affable Destan. Destan. The ever-smiling, perpetually, (infectiously!) happy houseboy. My mother offered Destan a proper room, but he opted out. Destan preferred the dank, dark, "bird- basement", covered in turkey, dove, pigeon…. you-name-it / “ it’s what’s for dinner!” bird shit. I’m talking about spackle. I”m attempting to verbalize... shit-as-caulk. I’m talking about tenfold layers and layers of bird crap. I’ll never be able to find the words for the density of that avian, "shit-splosion." The stench alone? OH, dear g….. Forget it. Forget “Hank" - was it? The turkey I loved.You are actually reading this. It’s not a dream. I loved a damn turkey. Wow. What else ya gonna DO in Haiti, ah? Forget that he was served for dinner one night, as Bruno, my mom’s drunkard boyfriend (who I adored, BTW) darted a nefarious grin my way, indeed he did. I called “exemption" on Hank, but, my plea, clearly it meant jack-all. The turkey I claimed as a pet, yep, he was now on my dinner plate. Ahhhh forget the minuscule shit. It only “mattered” to a wussy child, anyway. Let’s get to one “experience,” shall we? One Haiti experience that is probably worth remembering, just for the sheer culture shock and spectacle. A "Cirque Du Wha-HEY!” that I doubt… any other spoiled, Park Avenue bitch boys got to see. I was a lucky bitch boy, it could be said. Let’s not forget that tidbit. I’d like to forget that Serge, one of the gents who brought me to the “experience,” was (quite a few years later) found tied to a tree, throat slit, ear-to-ear. OK. The experience. Yes. "The Experience." Part Two: “The first time I fainted." Voodoo rituals, to say the least? they are myriad. I believe the one I endured ; I believe it was a: “Repel Demonic Spirits Ritual." Memories are brutal things, eh? Who knows what the template for a memory... truly is. Fiction pales. This is, in my opinion? a “level two" (out of ten) true-life shocker. My age played the largest role, as did the country, itself. What a wake-up call. It is unique, and for this reason, and this reason alone, it is possibly worth revisiting. My mother was in her early 30’s. She always worked her ass off, and she partied just as hard. Prime period, Bardot-level beauty (beyond) who took advantage of "nature’s temporary gift.” Fuck you, nature…BTW. My mom was a hardcore player. Some nights I was passed around like an American football. This was one of those nights. “Want to see something endemic to Port-au-Prince?” - something to this effect, but in "layman-ese” ; obviously, he did not use the 50 cent word I supplied. I was with Serge (I forget…I really do forget! )and two others. I was taken to the ceremony by three men who worked for my mother’s sportswear company. Factory employees, oh yes, turned makeshift babysitters. Hoo-rah! My mom was (likely) at the Royal Haitian Casino and Hotel. High-end for Port-au-Prince, this joint was, indeed. Stepping into the Air Conditioned “Royal Haitian,” was akin to attending Epcot Center’s best attraction…if it had one, I mean. My mother was doing “her thing…” (* never “caved" to self-deprivation, is all I will say) Me, I was in a filthy van. I recall being in that van, for what seemed like ages ; myself and three cackling adults, clearly amped that I was about to be “de-flowered"….erm...in some fashion. “Tonight, we are going to show you the real Haiti!” Indeed, they were about to show me something, and boy, had I been giddily rapacious. “Authentic Voodoo Show? Hell yes!” was at the forefront of my already-twisted, little skull. Let’s be honest. This was well before I went crazy. That happened at age 12 and beyond. This was unique, especially for a Park Avenue-born kid. Forget the amorphous mind of the over-zealous, ignorant child ; good decisions , like batteries….never included. When I wrote: " these rituals were myriad,”or something to this effect, I was imagining a color spectrum. I was told (in 1977) Voodoo Ceremonials took place, for just about any occasion. I cannot verify this, nor have I ever cared to research it, via the web. This was a: “you’re in over your head” occasion, because it was: "pre-everything.” I retained innocence, I did, in 1977. I know that I still had innocence, even when Haiti tried to rend it from me. “Pre-Hell-Dipped-Mikey, and His First Voodoo Ceremony.” Honestly, this was akin to watching a Shirley Temple film ; I simply had no comparisons - not yet. I have to assume, however, that this was one of the more “epic"(?) voodoo ceremonies. I mean, if not, then what am I missing? Let us also forge...t that it took place in the middle of freaking nowhere, and in a perfectly grim setting. Central casting and location scout teams? Hell, they’d piss over this package, in it’s entirety. It’s 1977, babe! Woooooooo! I know nothing! Mikey knows nada! I have not even met my dick, yet! Shit, where was I….. The van pulled up where roads terminated, and tangled, foreboding woods claimed dominion, 360 degrees, everywhere you canted your head. So dark, those nights, all of them, in Port-au-Prince. Crickets, oddball,insect noises ; not much else. We had to foot it to the makeshift “arena”. I recall those bleak woods… The flashlight… “Hold onto my arm” etc. Eventually, I could see the gleam ; the flicker of flames. As we drew near, upright pole-torches guided us past the narrow, dirt pathway, widening until we hit it. I remember thinking: "earth-arena.” I knew it was man-made, but it appeared jungle-birthed, this stage…OH yeah. A stage forged in dark, dark soil. Serge made sure we got primo seats, as in: a huge-assed log, right in front of “Kaiju Circle" A damp, mossy log, one o...f maybe ten? They served as seats. Primo on the Primitiv-O. Our log. Our front row, ass-pain-delivery-conceyance log. She only required a few handkerchief thwacks , ending or hurling away, maybe a dozen, pesky, fire ants. A soil / dirt circle. A circle large enough to accommodate 20 people. Ornate the concentric designs were, beautiful, to be honest. Detailed, alien-scripture-ephemeral, as the street paintings that are doomed by foot traffic. The drawings and writing (by stick, I assume) etched inwards from the outer ring, all the way to the center, where the “MC” would eventually take position. The ceremony was mostly comprised of locals, as I’m pretty certain tourists were: in-absentia. the rumps on those stumps, the bums on that bark. I’m guessing, now... 30 people were in the audience? It was no... "Radiohead gig." Before I was carried to the van, and later briefed about the “finale” I missed… I can relay this much. The “MC” was a young(ish) woman, adorned with feathers and bones. Bone. Bones. Bone through her nose. Small prey. Mammalian = another guess. “Bone Gear.” Wherever her face and naked body ("mondo-regalia,” aside) was not tattooed or pierced by small scraps of metal, there was bone. Rat skulls? I remember bone. Mucho Hueso. Suddenly came the drums. Loud as hell, this percussion. Man, there was a small army of drummers, banging these upright….tree-stump-type objects. If ever a time was right for earplugs, this was it. The jungle did not absorb that pummeling. I felt it in my body, like a recent, audiophile demo, at Soho's “Stereo Exchange." A beverage was passed around to the spectators, and my “handlers” ensured, and fairly aggressively, that I did not drink from that clay bowl. Four men. Four men Flanked the Priestess (I think this was what they called her), two on her left side, and two on her right side. A (very) young girl scurried forward, carrying some "Tim Burton-looking” cage, comprised of dead palm fronds and mossy bark, set it near the priestess’ feet, then darted back. Her entrance alacrity perfectly paced with her exit speed. Doves. Doves were crammed-tight! Doves! Doves , like concentration camp train victims….crammed in the most repulsive manner.i Thacrap-looking cage. Doves, super-stuffed, like ten marshmallows in a baby Raccoon’s fist. Trust me, I’ve seen it .Same visual. More drums. “When will they start?” The waiting. The endless, percussion-as-punishment. I wanted to bail. Then. Then, it just began. The squeeze. Why? to push the heart upwards - WTF? Then the bite. Surgical, her “bird-headings” were, Yeah. This gal was biting, then spitefully! It was ( a guess?) pre-PETA, but it felt...mega-pear-shaped. What am I even saying? It was Haiti. 1977! Spitefully, she spat those dove heads, and in random directions. Bite…spit-quick-bubble-mouth. What the…? Ohhhhh! White morphs non-stop-red. Her “trick" was to make arterial spray, post-head-eject, rapidly retain dove blood in her mouth, then turn, to the drum beats…. Grand Guignol? I think this was a form of it. To the beat…. Bite, suck, hold, turn…spit… Spit the blood. SO much, the blood. Too much. Magic speed. Winter-squirrel. Puffy cheeks. She spat the blood left, then right, spray-painting the faces of the four men. I was having a rough time. I saw a grid. Black splotches, then a green, “electrified” grid, right tin front of my face. Still, I held on. I was definitely not happy. Then came those powders. I cannot tell you what was in them, nor what they were, no way. No tengo idea. I’d say 4-5 doves were given the "feral cat on PCP” treatment, then she blew various powders! Yes. Those mad powders, like sugar bombs exploding in the male faces. I was utterly amazed that the "dove-splosions" did not fell me. Amazed. I think my adult cohorts felt the same ; “Ballsy kid. Ballsy, for a spoiled, yankee bitch boy.” What did me in? It was that somnambulism “trick?” Was it a trick? Was it real? This was where I began to board the “Wooze Cruise.” One of the powders blown , obscured the male faces for a few seconds, then….THEN. Next, the powwders, and I’ll hazard another guesstimate: 2-minute absorption time. Those white powders. They made the dudes “Danse Macabre” . I am talking: some scary-assed, David-Lynch-type action. I was now in Batshit Town. Population: MIkeyboy, Grunts and howls. Pain. Ugly , animalistic sounds of agony, emitted from all four men. Freakish, gross, naked men, falling backwards, yet still-standing. Utterly insectoid. The unedited version of “The Exorcist.” Regan doing the spider-walk. Four naked, full-body-paint-adorned , synchronized wig-outs. Jacob’s Ladder.. Esther Williams on shards of glass and bath salts. When the men's eyes rolled back, fiendishly displaying… I mean: "pop-out-level,” hyper-bulging, white orbs ; yes indeed, I was getting my baaaaaaaaad freak-on, finally. The priestess summoned the men to do dog-like tricks. An arm was cut. She sucked from it…I barely recall my backflip off that fat-assed, wet log (eventually, I’d be doing that move endlessly, as a scuba diver, only, a tad more gracefully) I awoke in the grimy van that brought me to this netherworld. Ostensibly, I missed the highlight ie. “the finale.” I missed the part where the priestess and her charges were “resistant.” Example: They downed 4 bottles of Jack Daniels (apiece!) and remained “sober.". The alcohol was inspected by the audience to prove it’s veracity etc. I missed this bit, and the wound-proof bit. I cannot tell you what I missed, as it was verbally detailed “at" me, I still had (intermittent) ink splashes in my eyes. I was in and out of brief fainting spells. I did not have any interest, none, in hearing more about the finale. I blew it. I never saw :The FULL Enchilada." Maybe? Someone cut one of the “performers” and there was no blood. Honestly, My 11-year old brain was knackered for the evening. I felt nauseated in a way that I never experienced (again), save for a night in Coney Island where my stripper girlfriend was performing at the sideshow, and her pal ( a writer, of course!) was retelling me his testicle injury horror story. OH, this is one that needs to be heard. That was faint number two. The only other times I have “hit asphalt?” You don’t want to know. I am sure, rituals modern and old, can be found online. I have no idea if there are or were(ever) “rules or regulations,” in regards to said rituals. I saw what I saw, and it was unique, especially for Mikey, the 11-year old / previous dweller on “The Gold Coast of Manhattan." Haiti has beauty. There were amazing sights and indigent, yet upbeat people, but…. It’s a shit-show, by and large. It was awful then. and it’s worse , I believe, yes, worse now. I will not get political. I just forget. That’s what I do. I try to forget. It’s all locked up in my chest. I try to forget. It’s all locked up in my chest.

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