#a little fill in before they find the old couple in wyoming

[lauronk]

for @march-flowerr

making some memories with a lot of regret

(it's not quite as emo as the title makes it sound)

[greatfallsrp]

NAME: Jordan Hawthorne GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cis Woman / She/Her AGE & DATE OF BIRTH: 34 years old / December 8th HOMETOWN: Great Falls, MT TIME IN GREAT FALLS: 34 years RESIDENCE: Willow Creek Ranch OCCUPATION: Owner of The Busy Bee

BACKSTORY —

Despite being the eldest of the Hawthorne children, no one would ever argue that Jordan was the most responsible of the bunch. In fact, growing up most people would have guessed the opposite. Her little brother had been born a little bit more than one month after her first birthday and despite being close in age, their childhoods were nearly night and day images of one another. Though no one has ever said it outloud, Jordan is well aware that it comes down to the fact that she was a girl and her brother was a boy, so it only made sense that he would be the one destined to inherit their grandfather's ranch one day. In her younger years, she used to stomp a rhinestone covered cowboy boot in the dust and declare how unfair that was but that hadn’t lasted long. She’d barely been eleven years old when she realized just how much was going to fall on Jamie’s shoulders the older they got and she couldn’t help but be grateful that she wasn’t ever going to be in that position. Instead, she was happy to pull her weight around the ranch in smaller ways and bat her eyelashes at her father and grandfather to get whatever she wanted, taking full advantage of how they doted on her (and eventually, her little sister June). 

Jordan’s childhood went by in a blur of horseback riding lessons, helping around on the ranch and babysitting her younger siblings. But as she got older, she often found herself bored and a bored Jordan was never a good thing. She was simply too reckless for her own good sometimes, often stumbling her way into some kind of chaos or trouble and needing her father or grandfather to bail her out, much to her mother’s annoyance. She was sixteen when her father put his foot down, telling her to figure her shit out. That was how she stumbled into barrel racing, having headed over to the rodeo grounds to drop off a couple of horses her family was selling to another local farm and finding herself watching someone else’s practice runs. It was right up her alley and before she knew it, Jordan was jumping up on a horse and giving it a shot. She wasn’t great at first, but competitive and stubborn, she stuck with it and caught on fairly quickly. It wasn’t her parents first choice for their daughter (her father had been hoping she would get a job when he’d put his foot down, but beggars can’t be choosers) but it kept their teenage daughter occupied. After graduation, Jordan had no desire to attend college and she was beginning to find the ranch a little suffocating so barrel racing was the obvious solution. She was able to pick and choose which rodeos she worked, letting her travel around the country and coming back whenever she pleased. It was the perfect amount of freedom that she needed. 

When she was eighteen she was working a rodeo circuit in Wyoming when one of her siblings called her to break the news about their mother who had, apparently, decided that after eighteen years and four children, motherhood just wasn’t for her. Her heart broke for her father and her siblings and without a second thought, Jordan packed up her shit and hauled ass back home. She stayed for three months, trying to pick up the slack and fill the void that her mother had left but ultimately, Jordan always felt like she was failing them and falling short. She had grown too used to being selfish and putting herself first and now that she found herself actually having to be a big sister, she felt like she was drowning. Her father and grandfather would tell her she was doing just fine, offering the support that her siblings needed but she always had a feeling they only said it to make her feel better. She stayed at the ranch for four months before it all started to feel like too much again, the walls closing in on her and that feeling of being trapped making itself a home in her chest. While still keeping close with her siblings, Jordan packed a bag and picked up where she left off. She spent the next seven years that way, in and out of town working odd jobs or doing shows at the rodeo ground before the itch for a little freedom would make its presence known and she would hit the road for a little, traveling with the circuit. 

Her barrel racing career came to a dull ending when she was twenty six. There was no dramatic call to keep her home, no injury that kept her from riding anymore or anything like that — instead she just figured it was, finally, time to actually grow up and have some sort of responsibility. She settled back in Great Falls, permanently this time rather than for a few months, and convinced her father to build her a little house on their land for her to settle down in. Her venture into becoming a business owner happened by chance. She had been walking the main street in Great Falls when she noticed the for sale sign in the window of the florist shop — at the time simply called Great Falls Floral. She stopped in and chatted up the owner before deciding, impulsively, that this was something she could do. Two months later she was signing on the dotted line and closing the business down for renovations. She gutted the place completely and reopened with a fresh coat of paint and a new name — The Busy Bee. 

Admittedly, she had been in a little over her head. She had no experience in business and relied heavily on her grandfather’s experience running the ranch until she got the hang of it. Learning to grow flowers and arrange them came easier and Jordan was shocked to discover that she had such a green thumb and found so much peace in the hobby. The first year had been rocky, leaving her wanting to throw in the towel but stubborn as ever she persisted and eventually things started going up rather than down. Eight years later, the flower shop is Jordan’s baby. She lives and breathes for her little shop, finding genuine joy in the fact that it has taken off and is doing so well.

Portrayed by LAURA HARRIER, written by MANDY.

[flannels-and-fannypacks]

WTWT: The Sequel | Part 4/5 [Reggie Peters]

pairing: reggie peters x fem!reader

word count: 6.6k

warnings: angst, swearing

a/n: hey babes it’s drea :) hope you enjoy this part and get to meet mimi and my favorite ocs!!! make sure to like, comment, and reblog! also send in your memes because we adore them!

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If Rose thought he was stupid then, he wondered how she would have thought of him now. Incredibly sleep deprived, clothes wrinkled, and a bouquet of flowers he most definitely sat on at one point in his hand. But none of that mattered now. He was finally here in Canada to see you, his most chaotic plan yet.

Penticton was not like Los Angeles in the slightest. Reggie felt as though he was out of place. This city was calm and small, in contrast to his loud and unpredictable life. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to make the adjustment if he had to move here, but he knew he’d do anything for you.

With a shaky hand, Reggie knocked on the door. The door slowly opened to reveal an older couple, one that Reggie barely recognized. Reggie was about to apologize and leave until the woman spoke up.

“Aren’t you that horse boy?” the woman asked, narrowing her eyes. “The one that (N/N) was friends with, right? From Idaho?”

Reggie’s cheeks were flushed red. “Um, Wyoming, ma’am,” he corrected politely.

The woman seemed impressed. “Manners and flowers,” she mused. “Turns out they did teach you a thing or two on that ranch of yours. Come in, I made scones.” Without letting Reggie speak, she took the flowers and shoved them into her husband’s hands. “Earl, put that in water, the poor flowers look parched.”

“Um ma’am I’m not too sure this is a good-,”

“Nonsense, you must have come all the way from California,” she waved him off, “We need to get you fed and rested up don’t we?”

Her husband nodded while finding a vase to put the flowers in. “Best take a seat, son,” he whispered. “Tamara gets a little pushy, so there’s no point in fighting her.”

Sighing, Reggie took a seat on the couch as Earl walked off to the closet.

“I’ll be right back honey,” Tamara insisted, just have to go grab something from the kitchen.

Reggie nodded and sat quietly, waiting for her to return, and when she did she was accompanied by a large plate of what Reggie had assumed to be scones. You were obsessed with them, the cafe you worked at had even started selling them at your request.

“You must be hungry from that flight, right?” she asked, removing her oven mitts. “Have some of these, they’re (N/N)’s favorite, can’t get enough of them.” Without asking for permission, she took a scone and --for lack of better word-- shoved it into Reggie’s mouth. “Taste good, honey?”

They were delicious. Only issue was that they were fresh from the oven.

“T-they’re h-ho-” Reggie tried to tell the woman.

Only Tamara didn’t listen. Instead, she took another scone, prepared to feed Reggie once again. “You’re like a stick, honey,” she scolded with a shake of her head. “I told Eloise about those weird fads in California. Stubborn girl doesn’t want to listen.” Reggie nodded, finally swallowing the scone. Not the smartest choice. “Oh, you’re finished? Have another.”

“No thank-” Reggie was cut off by the pastry filling his mouth.

Tamara tutted, seemingly not noticing the boy’s discomfort. “You know, I remember you from when you were little,” she continued to talk. “Very skinny. But short. You grew quite a bit from last time we visited, right, Earl?”

Earl came back, flowers now in a purple vase. He nodded wordlessly before turning to look at Reggie, his cheeks red and puffed out. Earl’s face showed no surprise. That was his wife, after all.

“Oh, Earl, not that vase,” Tamara sighed, giving Reggie a sneak attack by feeding him another scone. The poor boy let out a muffled groan, but didn’t say anything else. “Get the white one, it matches the flowers’ colors much better.”

“Yes dear,” Earl said, going back to the closet in the back of the house. Reggie slouched back on the couch, hopeless and in desperate need for some water. He came to Canada for you, not to be subjected to some sick twisted grandmotherly world war two-esque torture.

Tamara looked down at Reggie. “You must really like these scones, dear,” she said, visibly impressed. “Have another, there’s plenty to go around. Now I see why (N/N) likes you. You two must really love my cooking, hm? Remind me to give you the recipe for when you go back home. That is, if you want to go home.”

Earl mouthed an apology as he came back with the new vase and Reggie just looked at the old man and questioned whether this was going to be him in fifty years.

Reggie tried to say something but only crumbs flew out of his mouth, stuffed like a chipmunk.

“Hey Nana is someone out here I thought I-Flicka?!”

Reggie turned over to you, eyes wide, face full with scones and he gave you a pained smile.

“Hi Foofie,” he attempted to say with his mouth full.

Tamara pinched the bridge of her nose. “Well, looks aren’t everything,” she sighed. “Come on, boy, swallow before you speak. This is your future bride for crying out loud.”

“Nana,” you whined before rushing over to Reggie, taking a cloth napkin and wiping his face. “You look absolutely ridiculous, Flicka.”

“You lofe me,” he shot back, mouth still filled with scones.

You hummed in response. “Sometimes,” you teased. Tears began to well in your eyes. “I can’t believe you flew all the way here, and suffered Nana’s scone feeding for me.”

Eloise and Mateo walked into the room next looking at the sight before them with great confusion.

“Mom not again!” Eloise complained while her husband just let out a small chuckle, remembering the similar way he was greeted when he was getting to know Eloise. “I’m so sorry Reggie honey, but it’s really great to see you,” the middle aged woman smiled and leaned down, giving Reggie a big hug. “It’s been a while.”

“It has,” Reggie said, finally able to answer properly.

Mateo was next, helping Reggie out of his seat and welcoming him with the same kindness.

“Good to see you son,”

“You too, sir,” he nodded.

Mateo ruffled the boy’s hair before Reggie was pulled in some other direction and out the door of the house.

You sat Reggie down on the porch swing overlooking the rest of the city from where the house stood on the mountain. He could see how the mountains dipped into a valley, surrounded by bushes and trees that faded in the distance, pooling into the crystal blue lake, of which he could see more than one.

His driver had told him the large one was the Okanagan lake, and it spanned multiple cities, the middle point being the city he flew into, Kelowna, the other smaller lake that was more popular with locals was called Skaha.

“You know,” you hummed as you leaned your head on his shoulder. “This is by far the stupidest plan you’ve ever come up with.” Reggie snorted, shaking his head silently. “But I’m glad you went through with it.”

“Me too, I was going to leave a few days after you left, but Rose made me pick up some shifts at her parents store so I could pay for the ticket,”

You laughed softly, taking his hand and weaving it together. “Seems like Rose,” you mused. “How are all of them? I miss them a lot, you know.”

“Yeah, we all know,” Reggie nodded. “Can I just say your grandma is a lot more intense than when we were younger. I legitimately thought she was trying to suffocate me with food,”

“Yeah, Nana does that with all the boyfriends, dad got the same treatment back in the 70s,”

“I hope I passed her test, then,” Reggie chuckled.

“You definitely did, she shoved like five scones in your mouth, I think that’s a record,”

“Pays to have the stomach of a cow,”

“Cows have six stomachs Flicka,”

“Exactly,” he grinned, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “And look at this, no universe, just me in charge, huh?”

“Or, is that what the universe wants you to think?”

“You know I thought you believed in God,” he fired back and you laughed.

“Same idea Flicka, just deal with it, higher power’s got your back,”

Just when Reggie opened his mouth, the door creaked open, revealing Eloise’s head poking out. “As sweet as this little reunion is,” she began sympathetically. “I think you two should get inside, now. You know, the mosquitoes are the one thing that don’t follow the ‘nice Canadian’ stereotype.”

You sighed, nodding. “Come on, Flicka. Sunburns are one thing but I’m not going to help you if you get a mosquito bite.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice, mosquitoes suck,” he said grabbing your arm and pulling you up and into the house.

As soon as you entered the room, Tamara smiled, exiting the kitchen. “There you two are,” she said. “Would you like another sco-”

“No!” both you and Reggie exclaimed in unison.

Reggie’s face turned red. “I uh mean, no ma’am,” he corrected sheepishly. “I’m full, but thank you. They’re really good, though.” Tamara, seemingly pleased with his response, nodded.

“Don’t forget, separate rooms you two,” Eloise warned.

Tamara looked at her daughter with a frown, “You act like you did sneak Mateo in here when you were teenagers. Plus he likes my scones! He’s family!”

“Yeah mom, listen to Nana I’m 22, you can relax,” you sighed.

“I promise no shenanigans,” Reggie added, “Swear it on Tamara’s scones,”

Tamara walked over to her daughter, patting her back. “Let the kids let loose,” she told her. “They’ll be fine together.”

You grinned, kissing your grandmother’s cheek gratefully. “Thank you, Nana.”

“Don’t thank me just yet, honey,” she stopped you. “I still want you to keep your door open. I approve of him, but I’m not ready to be a great grandmother just yet.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not ready to be a dad yet either,” Reggie chuckled. “One step at a time right?”

“We’ll see about that,” you chuckled mischievously earning you a scold from your father.

“Don’t tease the poor boy you’re just like your mother,”

Your mother rolled her eyes, elbowing him not so subtly. “Well, get to bed, the two of you,” she told you both. “I’m sure you have a bunch of things to show him tomorrow, so best get to bed now so you can have an early start,”

“Of course mom, love you guys,” you said, waving to your family and giving your grandfather who had been silent a kiss on the cheek.

Reggie was taken into Mateo's arms for a hug which he received warmly, your parents were like his second parents, they helped raise him, so it was only fair he looked at them that way.

Eloise was next, but along with a hug she whispered in his ear,

“I swear to sweet baby Jesus, Reginald, no funny business,”

“You have my word mama,” he chuckled and pressed a kiss to her cheek before following you out of the living room and up the small set of stairs that brought you to the rooms.

Your bedroom was small, and resembled that of a child’s. It was a bright pink with stars adorning the walls. Your twin sized bed was in the middle, pressed to the back of the wall. Reggie assumed that not much had changed in your room since you hadn’t been here for years.

“Nice room, Cookie,” he complimented as he set his bag down. “Very um, Disney princess chic.”

You shot him a look before throwing a pink throw pillow in his direction. “Shut up,” you shot back. “My grandparents haven’t really changed up the place. Hell, they still think I’m their baby granddaughter that wears princess dresses all the time.”

Reggie approached you, placing his hands on your waist. “Well, I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a pink princess dress,” he teased. “You’d look adorable.”

“As long as you wear the animal sidekick suit. You’d look adorable,” you mocked.

“Okay, I don’t mean to be a downer, but I’m exhausted, somehow my flight had a connection in Colorado then Alberta, so I’ve been awake for hours,”

“The washroom is through that door, you can get changed and then come and rest on the Aurora bedspread,”

“Looking forward to it Cookie,”

As instructed, Reggie made his way to the washroom and got ready while you did the same in your room, turning off the lights and leaving the door open. When you climbed into the bed, Reggie had just opened the door to the washroom, he was wearing flannel pants and a very large Sunset Curve shirt.

“Did they run out of your size, Flicka?” you teased, in your pajamas, a pair of old shorts and Alex’s sweatshirt you had stolen prior. Not that Alex ever noticed you took it, though. The drummer had a lifetime supply.

Reggie scoffed playfully. “I’ll have you know, this is just my size,” he told you. “Size beautiful, duh.”

You held your arms out to him in a welcoming hold and he didn’t hesitate to fall into them, resting his head against your chest while you pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Hey, how is everyone?” you asked with a quiet yawn.

“Well, that’s the million dollar question isn’t it,” he laughed. “Bobby drank Rose and Ray’s place dry when you left, Luke didn’t eat anything but Twinkies for three days and wouldn’t leave your old apartment, Alex stayed with him but he was just as bad and Rose and Ray just took time off from everything to take care of everyone.”

“Wow,” you breathed.

“But,” Reggie continued. “They’re better now, they convinced me to come back up here. I think they want to come and visit at some point,”

“I’d like that a lot,” you smiled softly. “To see them all again. Maybe I’ll come back down for the wedding.”

Reggie chuckled, his fingers running through your hair. “There’s no “maybe,” Cookie. You’re going to be there, even if Rose has to drag you while in a white dress and veil. You’re her maid of honour.”

“About that,” you said, squinting your eyes. “Do you think they’re actually getting married? Like Rose didn’t say she told her parents or anything it was all very weird.”

“Oh, no, they’re definitely lying,” Reggie laughed. “But it’s fun to play along, see how long it takes for them to break or you know, break us.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Those two are crazy,” she sighed. “Definitely Rose’s idea, though.”

Reggie nodded, his eyelids slowly closing. “Yeah,” he hummed. “I always thought we’d be the first ones to get married in the group, anyway.”

You chuckled lightly and nodded, “With our track record? Really Flicka? I was expecting at least one of us to get married and divorced first, probably me to be perfectly honest and you would have gone on some self actualization trip to Borneo and then we would have found each other again and gotten married,”

“Borneo does sound nice,” he mused and laughed. “We were never one for a normal relationship.”

You agreed. “Normal’s too boring,” you said. “Where’s the drama in a normal relationship?”

“When you put it that way it makes it seem unhealthy,” Reggie poked you and you squirmed under his touch.

“It’s not unhealthy it’s just… just… spicy! That’s it, our relationship is spicy,”

“So were those dances Mrs. Leona taught us,”

“Oh Tamika! She’s such a sweetheart, I went through part of my practicum with her,”

“You’re on a first name basis with her?” Reggie asked, surprised.

“Well, I am almost a teacher now so yeah,” you nodded. “Still wouldn’t let go the whole deal with us having unparalleled chemistry,”

“Why am I not surprised,” Reggie yawned loudly.

You tilted your head upwards to see Reggie, barely staying awake. “Okay, we definitely should go to bed now,” you told him. “You look beyond exhausted.”

“I feel beyond exhausted.”

Laughing softly, you snuggled yourself closer into Reggie’s chest, his arms finding their place around your waist. “Goodnight, Flicka,” you whispered. “I’m glad the universe brought us back together.”

Reggie hummed in response. “I’m glad, too. I love you, Cookie.”

—

You woke up the next morning to the loud sound of banging. Sitting up abruptly, you turned to see the other side of your bed empty. You frowned to yourself. Were you just dreaming? Did Reggie not actually come to Canada?

“YOU HORSE BOY, I TOLD YOU TO ADD SUGAR! WHAT IN YOUR RIGHT MIND MADE YOU THINK ADDING SALT TO PANCAKES WAS A SMART DECISION?” you heard your grandmother yell.

You let out a sigh of relief. Reggie was here.

“I’m sorry!” you heard him yelp. “They look similar, so I-”

“Oh, these Brandanowitz women, worst taste in men, I tell you,” she grumbled loudly. “None of them can choose a man who knows how to cook!”

Rushing down the stairs, you poked your head around the corner to see your grandmother, father, and Reggie trying to cook. Your father seemed to have taken a major offense to your nana’s comment.

“Tamara, I’ve gotten much better, plus I did teach you how to make arepas,”

Your grandmother narrowed her eyes. “Don’t get smart with me, boy,” she snapped, snatching the pan from your father’s hands. “I still remember the cake incident back in ‘84.” Your father blushed sheepishly before stepping back to let Nana take the lead in cooking.

“Mom before you start attacking my husband you do know that dad can’t cook right? I’d say that proves you have equally bad taste in men,” your mother countered.

“Mhmm,” Earl nodded, not looking up from his newspaper and sipping his coffee. “Very bad taste ‘Mara,”

Tamara shook her head, swatting Reggie’s hand as he tried to taste the batter. “Oh, I know,” she said back. “I just hoped that after five generations of our family choosing terrible cooks, we’d get some change.”

“Reggie’s got some other talents,” Mateo came to the boy’s defence. “An amazing musician, Eloise and I went to a few of his band’s concerts,”

Tamara gave the boy a dead state. “Fiddling with banjos and drums won’t feed you, unless you plan on eating strings,” she deadpanned.

“Actually ma’am my band and I just landed a huge gig at one of the most popular theaters in LA. Our tickets sold out,”

“Are the drumsticks made of bread?” she asked.

Reggie furrowed his eyebrows. “No?”

“Are the bass strings made of spinach?”

“No, ma’am.”

Tamara made a sour face, taking the batter from the table. “Then not my problem,” she said before continuing to make the pancakes.

“Mom,” Eloise groaned, smacking her forehead. “Reggie honey just ignore her, she’s too old fashioned for her own good. We,” she said motioning to herself and Mateo. “Love you and that’s all that matters,”

“I don’t think he’s that bad either,” Earl mused from the table.

“Oh sure,” Tamara murmured to herself. “I’m too old fashioned until you come running back to me for my scones recipe.” She looked up from her bowl of pancake mix to glare at her husband. “Earl, next time you ask for coffee, you’re getting dirt and worms, you hear me?”

The older man only smiled at his wife. “Yes, dear.”

“Good morning,” you said, finally coming into the kitchen.

You went around, giving the routine kisses, saving Reggie for last and pressing a quick peck to his lips.

“Sleep well Flicka?”

“Like a log,” he nodded. “I-I was trying to help your grandma make breakfast but she seems to think I’m a bad cook,”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” you grinned. “She labels to the sugar salt and the salt sugar just to get people, you’re a fine cook Flicka,”

“Tamara!” Mateo explained, completely betrayed and flabbergasted.

The woman shrugged her shoulders, flipping a pancake on the stove. “Serves you right for thinking I’m old fashioned. I can have fun, too.”

“I-” Mateo stammered before looking at his wife in disbelief. “Eloise!”

Eloise smirked as she approached you with a cup of coffee. “You’ll need it if you’re going to tour around town today,” she told you.

“I’m gonna need it if dad is gonna try and find a way to prove he's a good cook, I can see the gears turning,”

“You know I can cook (N/N)! I always made dinner at home,” he insisted. “Now what do you like more, my empanadas or tira de asado?”

“Ohh the tira,” you and Reggie both nodded, having tasted the delicious steak already.

Tamara turned around with a plate of pancakes, setting it on the table. “But is his cooking better than mine?” she asked, giving you a serious look.

“Well that depends,” you said, you were always honest with your grandmother, no matter what other people had said, “See Papa can beat you without a doubt on the South American dishes, but when it comes to North American comfort foods you’re the queen,”

“At least you raised her right,” Tamara grinned, pinching her granddaughter’s cheek.

The rest of breakfast went by smoothly, with Tamara only threatening to make Mateo sleep on the roof once, a new record. Regardless of the constant threats Mateo loved his mother in-law, that was a fact.

You ran back up to your bedroom to get dressed for the day, while Reggie was held back by your dad, more likely than not to help clean up the mess that they made in the kitchen with Tamara.

But downstairs, Reggie was sat down by Mateo and Earl, serious expressions on their face. Eloise and Tamara were nowhere to be found, but Reggie wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

“What’s up?” Reggie asked to break the silence, despite the erratic beating of his heart. “I’m not in trouble, am I?”

“No, son,” Earl reassured him, sitting down across from him. Mateo sat beside him, patting Reggie’s hand reassuringly.

“We just wanted to have a chat,” Mateo said and Reggie raised his brows, looking over at the two men.

“Am I right to think this has something to do with (N/N)?” Reggie asked and the men nodded.

“You’d be right, sonny,” Earl smiled. “I don’t think we’ve ever asked you how your flight was?”

Reggie shrugged his shoulders. “It wasn’t horrible,” he answered. “But honestly, all that really mattered was that I’d find my way back to Cookie.”

Mateo couldn’t help, but smile, reminiscing the days when he was falling in love with his now wife. “Cookie,” he repeated. “You and (N/N) have the silliest names for each other. I don’t remember why you call each other that.”

“It’s a long story,” Reggie laughed. “I’m pretty sure Flicka’s a horse from Wyoming and well she always did like cookies didn’t she,”

The men laughed and agreed with him. “That girl eats far too many desserts for her own good,” Earl shook his head. “You better keep your pastry stock full at all times once you’re married to her, you hear me? She’s just like Tamara, can never get enough of sweets.”

Instantly, the edges of Reggie’s lips turned up into a smile. “I guess I’ll be needing that scone recipe too,” he joked lightly.

Suddenly, the room went silent. Reggie stared down at the bracelets on his wrists, playing with the loose strings. You had made them for him when you were kids, and he swore to never take them off. And there he was, seventeen years later, upholding that promise.

“Um, sirs,” he began, immediately cringing at the titles. “I-I… you know how much I love your daughter and granddaughter,”

“More than you love Tamara’s scones?” Earl cut in with a teasing wink.

“Oh yes, much more,” Reggie laughed nervously. “More than anything in my life, to be honest. And actually,” he reached into his pocket, pulling out a velvet box and showing Mateo and Earl. “I-I really want to ask her to be my wife. I just thought maybe I could ask for your blessings first.”

Earl and Mateo fell silent once more, making Reggie stammer sheepishly. “I promise you, I’ll keep my pastry stock filled and everything,” he rushed. “I’ll buy the entire company of cookies if it meant she’d be happy. Hell I’m prepared to move here, I’d do anything for her,”

Reggie pulled out the ring from the box, fiddling with it anxiously. “I’m ready to even give up music, if I have to. Because she’s worth everything to me. I’ll take up a job here, a-and I’ll learn how to cook, too. Cookies, scones, tira de asado, whatever she wants to make her happy. I know I don’t have much, e-even my family is falling apart, but I promise I’ll make her my first and only priority, sir and...sir.”

Earl glanced over at Mateo. “If you don’t approve of this young man, I’ll marry him myself,” he said with a grin.

“Reggie, Eloise and I always had a hunch that you’d be the one for (N/N),” Mateo explained. “You’ve been like a son to us and we watched you grow up into such a fine young man, I don’t think there’s anyone more perfect to be my daughter’s partner for the rest of her life,”

Reggie nearly dropped his ring. “Wait, really?” he stumbled over his words. “Like...you’re allowing me to propose? Like marry her and-and everything?”

Mateo nodded. “So long as she says yes,” he told him.

“Which she will,” Earl chuckled. “Welcome to the family son,”

Without thinking, Reggie stood up and leaned over and wrapped his arms tightly around them. “T-thank you, sirs!”

Mateo and Earl laughed heartily. “I think Dad and Grandpa will do,” Mateo insisted, patting Reggie’s back. “Now, I think you have a girl to propose to, right?”

As if on cue, you made it to the bottom of the stairs, ready to go. “Ready, Flicka?” you beamed.

Reggie quickly tucked the ring box back into his pocket. “Always, Cookie,” he responded.

Tamara entered the dining room, wearing a large floppy hat and sunglasses. “Yes, we are,” she announced. “Where to?”

Your cheeks were flushed red. “Oh, Nana, we were-”

“I’ve got the keys,” Eloise grinned. “We can drive to Kelowna for the day!”

“I can drive,” Mateo nodded, taking the keys from his wife and sending a wink to Reggie.

A good ten minutes later the whole household was packed into a car, heading out of the small town for the hour drive up to Kelowna, the largest town along the Okanagan lake.

“Oh mom can we go to Moo Lix? I love their ice cream,” you asked your mother, leaning up from the back seat.

“I’m sure we can stop there,” Eloise nodded. “We can walk through the city park and grab something to eat by the beach,”

The drive wasn’t too long, only around an hour and when they crossed the bridge to enter the city Reggie could sense your excitement, finally being able to show you around some of the places you grew up in.

“Excited, Cookie?” he asked with a teasing grin on his face.

You turned your head from the window, beaming at Reggie. “Beyond excited,” you replied, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it tightly. “Maybe later on, you can show me around Wyoming?”

Reggie threw his head back in laughter. “I’d love to show you the ranch,” he told you.

“Good cause I’m not entirely convinced it exists,”

“Oh not with this again,” Reggie groaned and banged his head on the seats in front of you.

Mateo finally parked the car along the front of the large city park, spanning the length of the beach and lake. You were ready to drag Reggie out of the car and try to take him to some of the places you wanted him to see, but you were interrupted by your grandmother insisting you all went in the opposite direction.

“Reggie, I have to show you Ogopogo,” you told Reggie, pulling on his arm. “I need to tell you the story about it, it’s awesome! It’s this monster that’s said to inhabit the lake, you’d love it!”

Reggie chuckled as he tried to catch up with you, running down the sidewalk. “I guess there’s another monster I need to befriend in the lake,” he joked, remembering the lake back in California.

Tamara shook her head at the two, readjusting her straw hat. “Oh, no one wants to see that pile of rubble,” she told you both. “Come on, there are far better things to see.”

“But Nana,” you whined. “I wanna show him-,”

“Come on dear,” she interrupted you and you sighed.

“We’ll come another time Flicka,” you said, wrapping your arm around his and intertwining your fingers together.

“Of course Cookie, I’m yours, for whatever or whenever,”

Your grandma dragged the group of you through the park, explaining the history of certain statues and whatnots. You were paying attention, but Reggie’s focus was on you the entire time, his hand nervously fiddling with the ring in his pocket, waiting for the right time, any time to pull it out. But every time he tried to take a moment to be alone with you, either Tamara would pull you two to another site or Reggie would get too nervous.

Finally, when Reggie got a moment alone with you, it was absolutely perfect. The sun was nearly setting, and your parents had managed to drag your grandparents to the bench to rest for a moment, but Lord knows Tamara can’t sit still for long.

“This place is beautiful, isn’t it, Flicka?” you asked, looking out in the distance. You turned to face Reggie, a mischievous grin on your face. “Maybe if you go for a quick swim, you’ll see Ogopogo.”

Reggie chuckled. “Maybe.”

The two of you turned back to the scenery, taking in the small moment of silence you were finally given.

Do it. Get on one knee and do it.

“Cookie?” Reggie spoke up. You hummed in response, not tearing your eyes away from the sunset. “You talked about the universe bringing us together, no matter how many times we’ve been pulled apart.”

You laughed softly. “Higher powers always have your back, Flicka,” you said, recalling what you told him last night.

Reggie placed his hand in his pocket, about to pull out his ring and propose to you. “Well, I-”

“(N/N)! Horse Boy!”

Reggie sighed, slouching slightly. Dropping the ring box back into his pocket, he turned around to see Tamara marching over to them. Earl was close behind, mouthing an apology.

“It’s getting late,” she frowned. “We have to get going now if you want to get scones for dessert.”

You smiled giddily, kissing Reggie’s cheek before following your grandmother.

The ride on the way back was spent the majority of the time in silence, just resting. You laid your head on Reggie’s shoulder as he stared out the window, frustrated with himself for not proposing today. There were countless amounts of times where he could have asked you, but there was always something holding him back.

Once you got back to the house, you dragged yourself up the porch steps saying you were gonna go take a power nap before dinner and dessert were ready. Reggie couldn’t help, but look fondly at you while you walked up the stairs, yawning loudly. Even when you were tired you were perfect to him.

Reggie couldn’t stop replaying the day in his head. All the missed moments were taunting him. He needed help, but from who? Suddenly, it was as though something clicked in his head.

Reggie entered the home, finding your mother in the dining room with her father. “Hey, um Eloise is there a phone I could use? I’ll pay for the long distance charges,”

“Yeah of course, there's one in the studio room downstairs,”

“Thanks,” Reggie smiled and jogged down to the phone. After taking it in his hands he took a deep breath. This had to be it, what was holding him back.

Dialling the number and hitting call there was no turning back.

The phone rang for a few moment and just as he thought no one was going to pick up the phone line clicked and there was a quiet,

“Hello?” on the other end.

“Hey dad,” Reggie said quietly chewing on his lip. “C-Can you get mom I want to talk to you both about something,”

A long pause followed. “Um, sure,” he responded. “Is everything alright, Reggie?”

“Yeah,” Reggied sighed. He pulled the ring box out of his pocket. Flipping open the top, he stared down at the small jewel resting on top of the ring. “Everything’s fine.”

There was a quite shuffle on the other line along with some hushed chatter before the phone clicked again,

“Okay Reg, you’re on speaker,” he heard his father’s voice once more.

It had been almost three months since he had last seen or spoken to either of his parents aside from getting the confirmation that they were going through with the divorce.

“Um… well,” Reggie didn’t really know where to start, so that’s what he said. “Everything’s a little all over the place I’m not really sure where to start,”

“Take your time sweetheart,” Diana’s soft voice came through. “Your dad and I have time,”

Reggie took another deep breath, “A-A little while back (Y/N)’s parents… they-they lost the house,” Reggie started to explain. “The job market just wasn’t working for them in LA so they needed to move back to Canada. They’re staying with Eloise’s parents for now until they can find work and get settled.”

“Oh wow,” Darcy whispered on the other end, “W-We didn’t know. I’m sorry to hear that,”

“Yeah me too,” Reggie nodded. “A-Anyways, (Y/N) had to come up with them. To stay and I… I just-I couldn’t lose her again so...”

“Reggie,” Diana spoke up. “Are you in Canada right now?”

“Yes?” he answered, more so like a question.

Murmuring followed from Diana and Darcy’s end. “Okay, we’re not mad you went to another country without telling us,” Darcy began. “But a heads up would have been nice.”

“I-I got a job and everything to pay for the ticket. I’m not in debt or anything,” he assured. “But yeah, I guess maybe I should have said something, but you can understand why I was hesitant to call,”

“Sweetheart,” Diana said. “We’re happy you went to follow the girl you loved. So long as you’re safe.”

“We’re sorry for not being the best parents to you,” Darcy added. “But we want to be here for you now. Is there anything we can do to help you with whatever’s troubling you?”

Reggie remained silent, fiddling with the phone wire. “Dad, how did you know you were ready to propose to Mom?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“I-I’m sorry?” Darcy said back. “Son, you’re going to have to speak up, I didn’t catch that.”

Reggie took yet another deep breath. “How did you know you were ready to propose? Like...what feeling did you get? Because I know deep down I’m ready to spend the rest of my life with (Y/N), but something’s stopping me and I don’t know what.”

There was silence on the other line and Reggie cursed in his head, this wasn’t a good idea he shouldn’t have-

“I-um… I don’t really know how to describe it…” Darcy started softly. “It was almost like… like pain, in my heart. When I wasn’t with her I-I just couldn’t function. Your mom she was… she was my everything.”

Reggie could hear his dad faltering on his words, but before he could get any further he could hear his mother’s soft voice reassuring him,

“It’s okay… we just… we weren’t cut out to be married. I-... Reggie I hope you know your father and I still love each other very much. It’s just sometimes life throws you one too many curveballs. D-Do you think you would be able to get past that with (Y/N) if it were to come to it?”

“I would do anything for her,” he whispered.

“Then I think you got your answer, Reg,” Darcy told him, no doubt smiling. “Reggie, I know we haven’t said it much, but I just want you to know that we are so proud of you for growing up to be such a brilliant young man, despite all the things life has thrown at you, what we have done to you.”

Reggie sniffled, wiping away a stray tear. “You haven’t done anything, Dad,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “Life got in the way, you know? I can’t blame you two for that.”

Eloise poked her head around the corner. “Reggie, dear,” she called out. “Dinner’s ready. Do you want me to save a plate for you if you’re still on that call?”

Reggie shook his head. “No, erm I’m okay, Eloise,” he reassured her. “I’ll be up in a minute.” Eloise smiled before going back upstairs.

Turning back to the phone, Reggie sighed. “I should probably go now,” he told his parents. “But thank you for the advice. It um, means a lot.”

“Of course, Reggie,” Diana said into the phone. “We’ll always be here for you.”

Reggie nodded, gripping the phone tight. “I...I love you,” he whispered, trying to fight back the tears from falling down his face. For once things felt normal. They felt like a family.

“We love you, too, Reggie,” Darcy told him. “Remember to tell us everything, okay? How it goes, if the wedding will be in Canada…”

Reggie laughed. “I will, Dad.”

“A-And, I know you probably have a ring already,” his mother started. “But the one your father gave me is passed down in the family. I-If you want I think we’d like to give it to you.”

“I-I’d love that,” he nodded, “We can save it for the big day… if there is one,”

“I have a strong feeling there will be,” Darcy said, a smile in his voice. “Trust me on that,”

“Well, we don’t want to keep you from dinner, sweetie,” Diana told him. “Tell (Y/N) we said hi, okay?”

After saying their goodbyes, Reggie set the phone down and smiled to himself. For once in his life, everything felt right.

Reggie, not wanting to make them wait any longer, stood up from his seat to join your family for dinner. There, Earl was pouring lemonade in each glass while Eloise set up the table.

Tamara was the next to enter the kitchen with a tray of roast chicken. “There you are,” she spoke up, looking directly at Reggie. “We were wondering where you were. Afraid you’d run off and make friends with the mosquitoes.”

“Tamara’s warming up to you a little more,” Mateo teased. “She’s worries for you. That didn’t happen for me until after (Y/N) was born.”

Tamara rolled her eyes, pointing a carving knife at him. “I’ll have you know,” she began with a pointed look. “I like this boy a whole lot more than I did when I first met you. This one finishes my scones and calls me “ma’am.” You should take some notes.”

Reggie laughed, taking a seat beside you. “Well, ma’am,” he smiled. “I hope you’ll get to see me more often.”

Eloise and Mateo grinned, a knowing twinkle in their eyes as Reggie spoke. You glanced over at Reggie, quite confused. “What?” you asked.

The bassist only shook his head. “Nothing,” he told you softly. Still exhausted from the day, you simply nodded, leaning your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes.

“I’m tired,” you whined in a hushed voice for only Reggie to hear.

Reggie tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “Eat quickly, then you can head to bed, okay, Cookie?” You groaned, but listened to him.

“Wow, Reggie,” Eloise mused, impressed. “She actually listens to you when she’s tired. (N/N) never does that.”

Reggie shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a gift,” he joked.

With a mouth full of chicken and rice, you agreed. “He’s the special one,” you teased.

Reggie grinned, subconsciously patting the ring box in his pocket.

Yeah, he sure hoped he was.

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[booksalwaysandforever]

Holding on to the Memories

So, this is my first time writing, so forgive me if it’s terrible. I have been in the twilight mood lately, so this is my twilight fanfic. Also, I am always open to story requests, suggestions for future chapters, and helpful criticism.

Summary: Lauren is the Cullen’s adopted baby sister. Her life has always been a dream. One day, while the everyone is out hunting, life isn’t a dream anymore.

Warnings: Self harm, bullying, very very sad and will make you cry. 

Length: pretty long

Chapter 1

“You guys mean to tell me that I get to be home alone all day?!” I squealed excitedly.

“Yes, dear. We all need to hunt, and Renesmee and Jacob are down at the beach with the rest of the pack.” Carlisle said with a small smile on his face, happy that I was so excited.

“I didn’t think you’d be so happy to get rid of us, brown bear.” Emmett said as he ruffled my hair slightly. I gave him a small glare as he used my nickname from when I was little.

“I am excited, Emmett. This means that I get to control the TV for once.” Everyone started laughing as Emmett frowned at you.

“I don’t control it that much, do I?”

“Yes, you do.” Everyone said in unison.

“Plus,” I started, “I will be free of having 8 vampires watching my every move, there will be no one digging around in my head,” I scowled at Edward who gave me an apologetic look, “and no one will be able to mess with my emotions,” I finished as I glared at Jasper.

“It’s not our fault we’re vampires and you’re our human sister,” Jasper said.

“I know that, but that still doesn’t mean I like it when you mess with my emotions.” I said as I gave him a small scowl. “Nor do I like it when people dig through my head or know what I’m going to do before I even do it. I can never surprise you guys,” I pouted.

“Hey, we act surprised, don’t we?” Edward pointed out.

“It’s not the same!” I complained, earning myself a laugh from everyone. “Okay, you guys should go now. All of your eyes are pitch black. It’s kinda scaring me.”

Everyone laughed again and gave me a hug as they walked out to their cars.

“We’ll be gone until after supper tonight, so you’re on your own for meals.” Esme told me as she gave me one last hug.

“Mom, I know. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. If I need anything, I’ll call Jacob and Renesmee and they’ll come home. And if something really bad happens, I will call you or dad or Emmett or Jasper or Rose or any of you and you’ll all come running. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.”

“Oh honey, I know you’ll be okay. I just want to be sure.” She gave me another hug and kiss.

“Dad, can you come get Mom?” I called. “Unless you come and get her, I don’t think she’s going to leave.”

“Darling, Lauren will be okay. She’s 15 almost 16, she’ll be alright staying home for one day.” Carlisle said, suddenly appearing at my side.

“Thanks. I know the drill, call Jacob and Renesmee first and then you guys. Now go! Bella and Jasper look like they’re going to snap soon.” I said as I tried to push them to the door.

“Alright, bye sweetheart. We’ll be back before you know it. Just try not to break anything. Don’t do anything Emmett would do.” Carlisle said with a small grin on his face.

“Hey!” Came a shout from outside. I started to giggle because as much as Emmett hated it, Carlisle was right.

“Okay Dad. Bye, love you.” I said as I gave him his last hug. “Bye guys! See you later! Catch a big bear for me, Emmett!”

Everyone shouted out their goodbyes and I love you’s as they drove away. I stood in the doorway for a moment longer and then raced back into the house to enjoy my day alone.

I spent a good portion of the morning wrapping and putting the finishing touches on gifts for my family. It was going to be my 16th birthday in less than a week, but I wanted to give everyone else gifts. I already had everything I could ever want, and all I really wanted for my birthday was to see everyone smile. So I decided to give them all gifts. It also gave me something to work on in my spare time.

I was going to give Alice a snow globe of two sisters ice skating. She and I had started a collection of snow globes together when I was a couple years old. We added to it every time we went on a shopping trip or anytime one of us had a birthday.

Rosalie was going to get a beautiful locket, with an inscription inside that said A sister is worth 1,000 friends. Hopefully she wouldn’t put an embarrassing picture of me in there.

Emmett was going to get the games Cards Against Humanity and What Do You Meme. Little did he know, I was going to kick his butt when I played with him.

For Bella, I got her a new charm for her bracelet. Currently, there are only three charms. Jacob’s wolf, Edward’s diamond heart, and the Cullen crest. I was giving her a small open book, because when I was a kid, she read a lot of books to me and gave me over half of the books in my collection. I owe my love of reading to her.

Edward’s gift was a bit more difficult, but I think he’ll like what I gave him. It was a handmade book of all our favorite songs. My lullaby, both Renesmee and Bella’s lullabies, some of my favorite songs, and a few of his favorite songs. I painted the front cover of the binder with a beautiful collage of music notes and pictures of him and I playing the piano. He didn’t really need the music for all the songs, what with his vampire memory and all, but this way Edward would always have a part of me.

Carlisle had always loved my paintings, so I made him one that he could hang in his office at work. It wasn’t anything too complex, just a rainbow watercolor background and a stethoscope twisted into a heart, but I’m sure he would love it.

For Esme, I made a cookbook filled with my favorite foods that she had made me over the years, and a few new ones for her to try. Like Edward, she didn’t really need the recipes, but she loved having things I made. On the front of the book, I had painted a collage of different foods like a meatball sub, cookies, cupcakes, salad, and lots of other things. Hidden in one of the back pages,  were pictures of the entire family throughout the past 16 years. One when I was a baby, one when I was a toddler, when I was six, 10, 14, and a few weeks ago. It was the perfect gift for a mother.

I wasn’t nearly as close to Jacob as I was to everyone else, but I got him a gift too. He was still my big brother. I gave him my best wolf drawing, and a dog tag with a heart cut out of the middle. That heart was attached to a necklace I would keep.

For Renesmee, I made a box filled with her favorite candy, a photo album of us growing up together, and a best friend forever bracelet. To me, Renesmee was more like my best friend. We had sleepovers together all the time, watched movies all night long while stuffing our faces with junk food, and went everywhere together. Since she didn’t sparkle in the sunlight as much as the rest of the family, I could bring her to places like the beach or an amusement park on a sunny day without drawing attention.

The hardest person to find a gift for was Jasper. For as long as I could remember, Jasper had been the person I turned to for everything. When I scraped my knee when I was little, when I needed help in school, when I was bored out of my mind and wanted someone to play a game with me, it was always Jasper I turned to. I gave him a CD, and a stuffed horse. Jasper said he always loved it when I was singing. Whether I was humming to myself or singing my heart out to my favorite song, he said he had always loved it. So, the CD was full of me singing my favorite songs, and songs he used to sing to me when I was little. The stuffed horse held a speaker inside, so that whenever you squeezed it, you would hear me say “I love you”. I bet that if he could cry, he would.

When I was finished with the gifts, I played the piano and my guitar for a while. Edward was finally teaching me how to play my lullaby on the piano, and I was teaching myself all of my favorite songs on the guitar. I got bored pretty quickly, so I turned on the movie 10 Things I Hate About You, one of my favorites, and made myself lunch.

After lunch, I decided to turn on the TV and see if anything good was on. At that moment, an ad for a new movie came on the TV. I didn’t see what the name was, but I really didn’t want to know. Although I had only seen a few seconds, the image of a “vampire” holding a young girl in a headlock was enough for me. I lived in a world full of vampires and I knew the risks, but I always tried to push them out of my head. Plus, I was always with one of my siblings, or my parents, so I never really had to worry. They would protect me, no matter what. However, at the moment, I was all by myself. My family was the largest coven of vampires, aside from the Volturi, and every vampire that came through this was stopped at our house. Most of the time, my siblings were able to hide with me in my room and keep me safe. But they were probably in Colorado or Wyoming, up in the mountains at this point. What would happen if a rogue vampire came through here? What if they lost all control when they smelled me? What if Jacob and Renesmee couldn’t get to me soon enough to save me?

A million what ifs crossed my mind as my anxiety got a hold of me. I had had attacks like this before, but one of my siblings was always there to help me. Jasper could always calm me down, Edward could answer every question that crossed my mind, and everyone else would just hug me and remind me that everything was okay until I had managed to calm myself down. But I was all alone. Nobody was here to keep me from my own mind, to keep me from spiraling into a dark place. My head was spinning, my stomach hurt, and I could hardly breathe. I raced to the bathroom, running into almost every piece of furniture on my way there.

In less than 5 minutes, I had thrown up everything I had eaten that day. Currently, my stomach was heaving as though it wanted to throw up, but there was nothing left in my stomach. I began focusing on my breathing, trying to calm myself down. If I could get my breathing under control, I could work through every question in my head. As soon as I had calmed myself enough to make the room stop spinning, I heard my phone buzz. Hoping it was Alice, checking up on me, I reached up to grab it from the edge of the sink.

Much to my dismay, it wasn’t Alice. It was the complete opposite. Maggie was texting me once again. For years, she had been making fun of me and tried to bully me into doing whatever she wanted me to do. When my family moved here to Forks, when I was in sixth grade, she hated the fact that I was getting most of the attention. She didn’t do much harm for the first year and a half, but she kept looking for things to make me snap. She began breaking into my locker, ripping up my papers and writing insults about the teachers on others. The teachers never believed me, so I was always getting in trouble. After I had successfully gotten suspended at the end of seventh grade, she stopped, for about a year. Then things got worse. Way worse. Every day, I would find an insult about my clothes, body, family, everything. I tried my hardest to ignore it, but I just couldn’t. Now that almost all of my siblings, other than Renesmee who pretended to be only 2 years older than me and would graduate in May, had graduated and weren’t in school with me anymore, Maggie took that to heart. She had sent me a picture and a video of me. I knew I shouldn’t look at it, but Maggie liked to blackmail me and post crap about me online, so I looked, just in case she would try to do something. There was a message with the picture.

Wow, look at this girl in a swimsuit. She looks absolutely terrible. Look at the stretch marks on her stomach, she’s so fat!

That was the reason I never wore a bikini. I didn’t necessarily think I was fat, but I did have some small stretch marks on the bottom of my stomach. I was already self conscious, but this just made things a whole lot worse. I didn’t want to look at the video, but I did.

It was a video of me and my ex boyfriend James. We didn’t date long, but we did for a few months last year. It was a video of us making out in a closet. I remember that, we played seven minutes of heaven at Maggie’s birthday party last year. Why the hell did she video tape it? My phone buzzed with one last text from Maggie.

It almost looks like they’re having sex. Wouldn’t it be a shame if someone posted it on the school Instagram feed for everyone to see?

At that moment, there was a new post to the school Instagram page by Maggie. That bitch! Why the hell would she do that. I chucked my phone across the bathroom as hard as I could, managing to shatter the screen and a tile fell off the wall. Sobs racked my body. I couldn’t breathe. The only way to breathe again was to take my mind off what had happened. But how? That’s when I spotted my razor on the edge of the bathtub.

The only way to get my mind off everything was pain. My phone started buzzing and wouldn’t stop. I knew it was Alice calling me, but I ignored it.My phone was so smashed from being thrown across the room, it probably wouldn’t answer anyways. I looked at myself in the mirror.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered to my shaking reflection. I pressed the razor into my leg and pulled it across my skin. It hurt like hell, but that was a minor detail. I continued to cut until blood started gushing out of my last pass. Shit, I had cut my vein. I didn’t want to die, did I? I loved my family, but....I didn’t want to deal with life anymore. I didn’t want to feel pain anymore, nor did I want Jasper or anyone else to suffer with me. I didn’t want to live anymore. It was too hard. This was easier. I managed to make a few more cuts in my legs before black spots started appearing in my vision. Suddenly, I was too weak to hold the razor anymore. It fell to the floor as I fell back and hit my head on the wall. Just before I blacked out, I heard voices shouting. Someone would be here for me soon.

“I’m so, so sorry” I whispered. Not a second later, my world went black.

[xtolovers]

The Best of Us

The Last of Us Joel/OC Rating:M

AO3

Joel and Ellie nearly die on their way back to Jackson,  Wyoming. Traumatized, tired and with a tentative new bond between  them, they move forward into a new, very different life. Luckily there  are new friends to be found that are not easily deterred by their wounds  and flaws. And there is a woman who likes to laugh, to get into other people’s business and help and heal were she can. Maybe she can help heal their bond. Maybe she can move more. It has been long since either of them had a home.    

Diligently she blocked the doors by hooking a chair through the handles. Liv tied Apollo up in the entryway where he couldn't make as big of a mess. The added benefit was that he'd hear anyone approaching outside and warn her, and this way he was close enough to the door should they need to make a hasty escape. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. It was unlikely that something was going to happen, but they were in a pretty exposed position, and she the only healthy person. It made her feel uneasy.

No helping it. Gotta get us through this. You got this.

And she really wasn't alone . Liv knew that most of Tommy's skills, he'd learned from Joel. As long as she could keep him conscious, he'd be able to fend off attackers. She wasn't really worried that he was going to attack her himself— she was his only chance of saving the girl, and getting them to Tommy. Besides, while she wasn't the best fighter in Jackson, she could handle herself. Maybe she couldn't win against him in his prime, but he was weak, tired, starving, and his ankle was cut open pretty badly. She'd be able to take him, if necessary.

Joel was still working on the first sandwich when she returned to him, and Liv was pleased to see he'd listened to her.

"How are you feeling?", she asked as she handed him Jesse's bedroll and blanket. He cleared his throat, trying to get his voice back.

"Better."

Not a man of many words, huh.

" That's what I like to hear." She grabbed two cups from the bar, filled them with hot water and put some mint in. She was glad she'd taken her stash of herbs with her. Sure, it was the beginning of May, and if it came down to it, she'd be able to find most she'd need outside, but she had learned the hard way that it was better to be prepared. "Here. Drink that; it'll help settle your stomach."

"Thank you." He accepted the cup before he looked at the girl, brow furrowed. " How's it looking? And no sugarcoating, please."

Liv followed his gaze and ran her hands through her hair with a sigh, tightening her ponytail.

"Well, there is no pus visible on the outside, which means at least outwardly, it's healing well. But you see that swelling around it? Means it's infected and filled inside. Not uncommon if there's dirt in the wound."

"I tried cleanin' it with our last water, but it kept raining." Joel's voice was raspy, but no longer from disuse. The guilt was plain on his face.

Liv shook her head slowly, her voice sympathetic. "Not much you could've done about it given the circumstances. Honestly, considering, this really is the best case scenario," she sighed and rolled up her sleeves. "I'll still have to cut it open to get the pus out and clean it, otherwise she might get really sick. But once it's clean, I've got iodine here and we have some antibiotics back in Jackson… I won't make promises, but I think she'll be fine."

"Can I help?"

Liv shook her head with a smile." You just keep eating. I should be fine. Honestly, you probably shouldn't even watch. Maybe even move away a foot or so, this'll reek." She looked over to him, and almost laughed as a stubborn look crossed his face, almost a little insulted.

Just like Tommy. Stubborn fools.

"I'll be fine."

"Suit yourself," she answered with a shrug. " But please try and keep the food down, for you sake and mine. We don't have much to spare and I have neither time nor the will to clean up right now."

Joel only scoffed as an answer, so Liv let him be and got up to ready everything. She took the mixture with the bandages off of the fire so they could cool down, then she poured some hot water into the basin Eugene had readied and washed her hands in it once it was sufficiently warm. She soaked the rag in it and wrung it out, before turning to Ellie. By force of habit she started talking to her, even though she was unconscious, as she deftly ripped off the already cut sleeve.

"Alright, let's get you cleaned up."

Next to her she felt Joel stiffen as she grabbed Ellie's wrist and lifted her arm to clean it.

"Sorry, the shirt was already ruined, we'll get her something— What…?" Her fingers had caught on ridges on Ellie's inner arm, and she'd turned it to inspect them. Liv froze, her question caught in her throat. She stared down at the upturned arm, her thoughts racing as her stomach dropped. Immediately she saw in her mind the half-submerged corpse of a runner she'd spotted in the ditch.

It was days old. It's too long. She'd have turned by now. But that's a bite.

Joel rose along with the hairs on her neck. " She's not infected, I swear." His voice was hard and choked, and the way he said it, the tone of defense and wariness, didn't help at all.

She didn't look at him, instead Liv kept her eyes on the crescent shaped scar. Her eyes wandered over the silvery-white ridges and knots, the discoloration and cysts, the teeth marks clearly visible. She took a deep breath to calm herself, as Joel gave voice to her thoughts.

"Look at the scar: it's old. She ain't infected, I swear. If the runner had bitten her, she'd've turned by now, and you know it." He swallowed hard and leaned forward slowly, placing his hand gently and slowly on her arm. "Careful." Liv looked down to see that her fingers were digging into Ellie's skin, her knuckles as white as his on her arm. For the fraction of a second they met eyes, and what Liv saw equally calmed and worried her. He was right; Ellie was not infected, her gut had told her so after the first shock, too. But she knew that she was right too: He wouldn't stop at anything to protect this girl. With a swallow, she nodded and let go of her arm.

"Yeah, I can see that. I'm sorry."

Joel released her arm and leaned back, nodding. "I get it." He cleared his throat, occupying himself with his cup. "She uh— Apparently she was bitten back two years ago or so in a struggle— bitten by a human, I mean. Got infected and all, that's why it looks like that. Snuck out of the QZ and crossed some wrong people."

Liv studied him for a moment, then the scar. As far as she could see there was no fungal growth anywhere, so his story might check out as well, and to contemplate the other option was too much for her right now. She decided to do what had always served her best; focus on the problem before her that she could solve. For anything else, she was too tired, to terrified, too needed right now. Ellie showed no signs of turning, so the most important part was true. She nodded, more to herself then to him, and set to work with the cloth, cleaning the arm of dirt.

"So you haven't been together that long?"

"Uh, no. I was… tasked to get her somewhere, as a favor to someone. Took us damn near a year. When we got there, nobody was left there… so we came back here together." She felt him look at her, but she kept to her task. " Tommy didn't tell you?", he asked, his voice a little higher than she'd felt was natural.

"No, he just told me that his brother came through a couple months back. I didn't ask."

"You guys close?"

She smiled a little as she got up to wash out the cloth and wash her hands. " Somewhat, yes. I've known him a long time." Liv stood and dried her hands, then grabbed her knife and stuck it in the boiling water. " So she was an errand. But not anymore." When he looked at her with raised eyebrows, she shrugged. "It's not hard to see that you care about her."

"It's hard to travel the country with someone and not grow close." He sounded defensive, almost a little embarrassed.

Liv nodded. "Especially with a kid." She plucked the knife out of the water and laid it on the clean table, before she grabbed the bottle of alcohol to clean her hands. "What's she like? I need to concentrate for a moment, so I can't talk, and it'll keep you occupied and conscious," she told him with a grin.

Joel snorted. He watched her clean her hands and ready everything to cut into Ellie's arm. He was pretty sure he wouldn't pass out again. The food, water and rest had already done wonders, but the knot in his stomach had returned full force.

She'd seen the bite. Again, someone was readying knives next to an unconscious Ellie. He tried to stay grounded, but his nose was filled with the scent of copper and his heart was hammering away.

This is different. Tommy is on his way. She knows Tommy. She doesn't have it in her eyes. This is different.

He repeated the thoughts over and over, but he couldn't help being forcefully aware of every weapon, every asset, every exit. And Joel knew that she was aware of it too. When they'd looked at each other briefly over the scar on Ellie's arm, while Joel was cursing himself for his recklessness, he'd seen it in her eyes. She wasn't harmless, but she was no danger to them. Most importantly, she was smart. Silently he cursed himself for his fumbling attempt at diversion. She'd accepted it wordlessly, to his relief, but it made him realize that he— that they needed a story. Ellie couldn't run around with a bite mark on her arm, making people have questions, or worse, telling people she was immune. He'd screwed up with his story to her already, and now he needed to rectify that. Protect her. He figured that this was his best choice. Liv didn't seem like a gossip, but as a nurse and with connections to Tommy, whatever they may be, she probably took a central role in the community. Having her as an ally was valuable.

Joel watched her grip Ellie's arm and quickly, efficiently cut the wound open. He gagged as the scent hit his nose, and he turned his face away, jaw clenched. Behind him, he heard Liv scoff.

"Told you so."

"Fine, you win." He pushed himself further down the couch, away from the stench.

"So, you were gonna tell me what she's like."

Joel studied his thumb tracing the rim of his cup, and couldn't help but smile. "Disrespectful and a smart-ass. Stubborn as hell, and reckless. A real troublemaker. Haven't met anyone so prone to get herself in a bad situation. Doesn't listen to a word I say. She's a decent shot. Obsessed with comics and cursing and the worst puns you'll ever hear. Overflowing fantasy. Cares more than is good for her. Heavy, in a ways. Her mother died at birth, she's grown up in the Boston QZ as an orphan. But it made her tough, having no one to rely on. She's a fighter."

"But now she has you." Liv said it as a fact, not looking up, still focused on her work. The way she said it made it sound so simple. It was a million ways more complicated than that. But true nonetheless.

"I guess."

"No?"

He sighed. The old instinct to lock up, to hide and defend reared in him, but Joel was tired, and he felt no judgment from her. And a little vulnerability would go a long way for helping his plan. Only now, here in the calm of the lodge, he realized what it would mean to return to a form of society that was secure and had room for anything else than survival. Even if it went against his instincts, he'd have to get used to it anyhow. Especially if he wanted to keep Ellie around.

"She does… If she wants to."

He saw Liv's eyebrow lift, her hands unfaltering. "Why wouldn't she?"

"She no longer needs me to survive now. She's free to choose now."

Liv seemed to contemplate that. Instead of encouragement, she simply said: "I see."

His stomach dropped at her admission, even if it gave him the slightest hope that he was at least doing the right thing. Ellie would get to choose. Tommy's accusation still rang in his head.

I still have nightmares from the shit you did to protect us!

Joel swallowed and stared down into his cooling tea. " It was… hard for us. We're both stubborn— that probably ain't a surprise to you, if you know my brother," he said with a slight smile, and he heard her snort, " and it took a while for us to get used to each other. There were a lot of close calls… After we left here, we ran into a hunter encampment down in Colorado. I nearly died. She saved my life, but was caught." He swallowed against the lump in his throat. His dreams were either filled with the hospital or filled with smoke, fire, blood, a sobbing Ellie cradling a machete. "She wasn't harmed. Physically. But the things she saw… They had no food, so they… made it."

For the first time, Liv stilled her work and turned to him, eyes wide and face pale as she understood his meaning. " Jesus, " she whispered. She shook her head to clear it, and he saw blood drop to the floor next to the couch, turning his stomach. Liv followed his gaze, and returned to her work. "Don't worry, it's clean now. She'll survive the blood loss. It's good that it flows, it helps me clean the wound." At that, she pulled the basin filled with herbs closer, and started preparing bandages. He saw her clench her jaw as she grabbed the small bottle of iodine. "These fucking hunters. They're worse monsters than the infected. At least they have no choice. It's a fucking farce..." Joel watched her wrap Ellie's wound carefully, all the while shaking her head incredulously, and it almost made him smile how outraged she was, as if that wasn't the world they had all been living in for the last fifteen years.

Liv sighed and stretched her neck and shoulders. Silently he watched her grab needle and thread, focusing himself on watching her work, watching Ellie's face twitch in her sleep, to ward off the images in his head. Liv worked quickly, clearly having done this a hundred times. She was silent, probably occupied with thoughts of killing as well, as she wrapped the bandages around Ellie's arm and secured them. When she was done, she pulled the blanket over Ellie and touched her forehead to check her temperature.

"Alright, we'll leave it for now. I'll change bandages again later, unless the bleeding doesn't stop, but it's looking good. Right now she needs rest, water, and later, food."

He watched her wipe the blood from her hands and picked up bandages soiled with blood and pus, throwing them into the dirty water. " And now, to you." She came over to him and knelt down in front of him, and at his puzzled look, she laughed. "Your leg?"

"Oh." Honestly, he'd forgotten. There were few parts of his body that didn't hurt and throb.

Joel watched Liv kneel down and gently grab his foot. "I'll take off your shoe, and then you'll put your foot against my shoulder."

He wanted to argue that he was reeking and she certainly didn't want his shoes off, but quickly realized that there was no use for vanity. She hadn't flinched over Ellie's wound, and he doubted that she'd be doing her job if she was that sensitive. It wasn't a luxury she could afford.

As if that isn't the world we've been living in for fifteen years.

At his nod she made short work of his laces and pulled his boot of, and even though she tried to be gentle, at her yank, he was painfully aware of his leg again. Grinding his teeth, he lifted it up to her shoulder with her help, were it fit surprisingly comfortably.

"I'll have to cut open the jeans, I'm afraid. You could take it off, but this'll be easier, especially for checking on the bandages later. Too complicated to get you in an out of it with the wet bandages, to cold to keep it off altogether. I can sow the cut back together when we get to Jackson."

There was no teasing to her voice, but Joel felt the slightest blush anyhow, much to his annoyance. "Just do what you have to."

Gracefully, she ignored his blush and slid her knife beneath the seam of his jeans. For the moment, she seemed satisfied to work, no questions shooting his way. As he watched her wrap the cut fabric up and grabbing a clean rag to wipe the mud from his leg and wound, Joel took his time to study her. He realized he hadn't really looked at her the whole time, too wound up in the anxiety to survive and Ellie's injury.

Sure, his brain had scanned her briefly, the way he was used to: she was a head smaller than him, neither skinny nor particular muscular, probably around Tommy's age. His brain had categorized that physically, she wasn't much of a challenge, then moved on to study the men. It wasn't that he thought women were no threat— he'd lived and fought with Tess long enough, god knew. His brain was just used to getting the necessary information and moving on.

Now that the immediate danger was over, his brain moved further. Up close, he was sure she was younger than Tommy, at least by a couple of years. Joel guessed she was in her mid thirties, even if her face looked younger. No lines around her eyes, no grey or white in her dirty blonde hair, that was longer than he was used to seeing. Joel assumed that was due to her living in a secure settlement, in the outside world, no one bothered with long hair or risked giving the world and others one more opportunity of getting caught or grabbed. Her face wasn't as gaunt as he was used to, helping her look younger, he assumed. She looked… healthy.

But Joel noticed the other signs too, the look in her eyes, the worried wrinkles on her forehead, the scars she carried that he could see. A cut at her throat, left by a knife pressed there. The edge of a ridged scar that peeked out above the collar of her shirt, looking like she'd been stabbed. Cuts on her arms and hands, a sizable silvery line running along the left edge of her jaw, a newer, red scar on her right temple that broke her hairline, no hair growing where the injury had left a small breach between the strands. She had seen violence.

The hands that were currently finishing wiping down his leg felt soft but calloused, obviously used to hard work, and despite their small size, they were strong.

This world had made him good at judging people out of necessity, and he wasn't surprised that she was a friend of his brothers. He wondered if there had ever been more between them. He knew his brother, and she seemed to be a good, sturdy person.

Liv poured alcohol over her hands and wiped them down, before she tilted the bottle above his leg. It stung, but Joel bit down the grunt as she cleaned the cut. As she readied himself to sew his wound, his curiosity won out.

"So, how long have you known my brother?"

She briefly glanced up at him, a small smile appearing on her lips. "Uh… We're going on seven years now."

Joel lifted his eyebrows. Tommy had told him he'd been in Jackson for four years, so that meant she'd met him before. Again, she seemed to guess his thoughts.

"I met him and Eugene in the Denver QZ, back when they were with the Fireflies."

He felt the hairs on his neck rise. "You a Firefly?"

Liv shook her head. "Nah. I've served with them for about eight months, because the only alternative was joining the military, but I never considered myself part of them." She was silent for a moment, lost in thought. " I did go to Denver to join them, but I was young and stupid and had only heard the good stories. Reality caught up fast, and I disagreed with their methods. " A grin broke across her face. " In the end, it turned out well though, because I found Tommy and Eugene, and brought them both back here."

That surprised him. "So you were livin' in Jackson before, but left? I thought this was one of the places that was more or less secure from the start?"

A sigh escaped her. "Yes, to both. I lived here with Maria— Tommy's wife— and her father. We built this place up. I was only twenty on outbreak day, and my … temper is very different from theirs, so we disagreed over the years. I was young, and thrilled by the idea of saving the world. I thought we ought to share our resources with the Fireflies, make Jackson a base. We disagreed, had a horrible fight, and I stubbornly left for Denver. Luckily, I was smart enough to first get my opinion on them before I told them about Jackson. I was disillusioned pretty fast. Denver was horrible. Violent. There was no hope in that place." She grew silent for a moment. With a sigh, she dipped her head toward his leg and bit off the thread, tying it off neatly. Joel hadn't even felt the stitches. "I befriended Tommy and Eugene though, and since they weren't happy either, we escaped a few months later when we had the chance, and came to Jackson."

He studied her and tried to draw comparisons, but he truthfully couldn't for life of him recall Maria's face. Joel was fairly sure she was blonde, too.

"So Maria is your sister."

A small smile as she pushed herself up after dressing his wound. "In all ways that matter, yes."

Joel scoffed. " You always this vague?"

Liv grinned. "Keeps you on your toes. Have to make sure you're awake. Oath and all that jazz." As he rolled his eyes, she laughed openly. " We're not sisters by blood, but she is my sister. Don't worry, there is no great mystery, there are just more pressing matters right now."

She picked up the remaining basin and placed it next to him, pushing a piece of cloth and small slip of soap into his hand afterwards. "Get yourself cleaned up. I'll go out to the stream and get some fresh water— I'll leave the door open so you can hear me. I'd rather get enough water for the rest of the night in while it's still light outside."

At his nod, she turned and carried the basin soaked with Ellie's blood outside. Joel took the cloth to the warm water and rubbed the soap into it. Now that the option to clean himself was there, he noticed how much he reeked after their days in the pit. He felt the dried mud crack on his skin whenever he moved.

The relief he felt upon rubbing his face with warm water never failed to catch him by surprise, no matter how often he was caught in the wilderness, unable to clean himself properly. Joel wiped his face, his hands, eventually surrendering, unbuttoned his shirt and dipped his head into the basin. As he started working on his chest, he heard Liv return, and murmuring to her horse in the entryway, followed by the sounds of greedy drinking.

A minute later she returned with another basin, after having secured the door again, and filled the pots on the fire. They payed each other no mind, her feeding the fire and busying herself, and him, battling the dirt on his skin. Joel thought that maybe he ought to feel embarrassed at sitting half-naked, but Liv seemed unbothered and paid him no mind, and he was too tired to care.

That was until he winced while trying to reach past his shoulder and a hand appeared next to him, softly withdrawing the cloth from his hand.

"Let me help."

Efficiently but gently Liv took the cloth to his back, wiping away the dirt. He'd had no doubt about her skill, having seen her patch them up, but the way she washed and gently massaged his sore muscles showed a skill beyond the simple stitching of a wound. Joel bit the insides of his cheeks, stifling groans of pain and the pleasure of its relief. A shiver and violent goosebumps broke across his skin, both from the icy air against his now wet skin, and the simple, almost entirely alien pleasure of being touched without the intention of harm. It shook him more than he would've expected. It was too easy forget that care was part of being human, too, when you were surrounded by nothing but violence. The things he had seen. Joel fought down the urge to run, to fight, to protect himself. He had made a choice when he had turned them back to Jackson. Ellie needed them. He couldn't be afraid, even if this all went against his instincts.

"There you go." Joel could hear the smile in her voice as she took a small dry towel and dried his back. Once she was done, she handed it to him and grabbed his shirt, caked with dirt, and studied it with a frown. "I'm afraid if I wash this, you'll freeze to death. Better to get you a bit dirty again. I'm almost sure that shouldn't kill you." With a grin, she went to one of the vacant tables and started beating his shirt against it, the dry mud cracking and bursting into clouds of dust, before returning it to him again.

"Thank you."

Cleaner, dry and warm, he already felt a lot better, and now that the most pressing matters were taken care of Joel felt heaviness settle into his bones. The muscles Liv had just cleaned and massaged felt like lead, and a yawn broke its way out of him.

A second later, a blanket hit him in the face.

"Get some sleep." It was a command, but she was smiling. "I'll make us some food and you need rest. I'll wake you once it's done. You need it… and honestly," she said, glancing about and across the huge windowed front, "I'd rather have you sleep now while it's light outside and be awake with me once it's dark. Better safe than sorry."

"Any reason to worry?" Joel thought about the ambush on the plant the last time he'd been at Jackson, and her reaction to the Hunters.

Liv hesitated. "The last time we saw Hunters was two months ago. The last stragglers, five weeks ago. Some infected cross this valley now and then, but they aren't what's worrying me. … We'll probably be fine. "

"Still. Wake me when you're done." He nodded at her, understanding her worry. He spread the blanket above himself and lay back dutifully, sleep gripping him almost immediately.

[flirting-with-psychology]

REFLECTIONS Answer the following questions:

What is the single best thing that happened in the past year?

2015:  The beginning of the fall semester when I grew a lot more confidence

2016: Studied abroad

2017: Graduated

2018: Moved into the B Flat

2019: Got a boyfriend

2020: Got a car

2. What is the most challenging thing that happened to you in 2015/16/17/18/19/20?

2015: Getting over Marble maybe

2016: Getting over Hawaii

2017: Making my 4500 film

2018: The music videos I did

2019: Deciding whether to date my now boyfriend

2020: The entire pandemic

3. What thing did you learn the most from this year?

2015: Hawaii and Marble

2016: My film class

2017: Also my film class

2018: My film jobs and internships

2019: Starting a relationship

2020: I guess the pandemic

4. What is the kindest thing you did this year?

2015:  I don’t think I’m the one to ask, you’d have to ask people who perceived kindness

2016: Same

2017: Same

2018: Same

2019: Same

2020: Wore a mask

5. Did you lose any close family member this year?

2015: Nope

2016: No

2017: No

2018: My great aunt died

2019: No close ones, but my grandma’s dementia is getting so bad she doesn’t remember who I am

2020: No

6. Pick three words to describe 2015/16/17/18/19/20.

2015: A learning experience

2016: Single, senior, band

2017: Senior to graduate

2018: Almost an adult

2019: Another year older

2020: Covid, long, stagnant

7. What did you do in 2015/16/17/18/19/20 that you never did before?

2015: Got further than I ever had in my love life

2016: Studied abroad

2017: Moved into a house with roommates

2018: Moved in with male roommates, did an internship

2019: Got a boyfriend

2020: Bought a car

8. Did you keep last year’s resolutions? What were they?

2015: Here we go. Put one happy moment from each day into a jar: YES. Go to the gym regularly: Doing better but still could use improvement. Get a summer job: Yes. Make an effort to eat breakfast: Haha nope. Make an effort to look pretty: About the same as last year. Talk to people more and appear more confident: Yes. Find things to be excited about: Not as much as I want. Find a boyfriend: NOPE. Write more: Not really. Read more: Maybe a little. Have adventures: Some, but not as much as I would like. Initiate things: Yes. Use “I” more: Yes. Be less mean to myself: Yes. Overthink less: No, still working on that. Be proud of myself for trying my best but accept not being perfect: I guess. Take responsibility: More. Be positive and enthusiastic: Still working on it. Carpe diem: Not enough.

2016: I can’t remember lol

2017: I can’t remember what I wrote. Here’s what I’ll do: write my 2018 resolutions so that when I reblog this next year I will know:

2018: Be more adventurous: Maybe? Overthink and strategize less: HA not really. Get a film job: Yes. Eat more vegetables: Maybe a little but still not enough. Go to the gym, like, ever: Yes. Read more: Kinda. Finish my Harry Potter spellbook: Not yet.

2019: Get a boyfriend: Finally did! Be more spontaneous and adventurous: Kinda? Sometimes? Lose weight and eat better: Nope. Read more books: Nope. Finish my Harry Potter spellbook: Not yet. Learn how to work hard: Not really. Spend more time with my friends: Kinda. Love myself, and be someone I love: Not really. Carpe diem: Sometimes. Keep doing the moment calendar and journal: Yes. Earn more money than I spend: Nope. Travel: Yes. Discover new music: Yes. Try new creative things: Yes. Believe in myself: Not really. Learn to be a leader: Nope. Watch more movies: Some. Think about other people: Tried to. Learn how to make mistakes: Kinda.

2020: Get a new job: No. Lose weight and fit into my dresses again: Noope, the opposite. Read more books: A couple. Spend more time with friends: Haha, nope, although I did zoom with them some. Go on dates: Not really. Keep doing the moment calendar and journal: Yes. Try new creative things: Yes, I tried dice making. Take risks even if they cost money: Yes, again the dice making. Make more money than I spend: Actually yes with the stimulus. Make jewelry: Some, and opened and etsy page. Get back to people in a timely manner: So-so. Be more punctual: Nope. Finish my harry potter spellbook and keep up with my character book: Nope. Learn new things: Not enough. Be the kind of person I wish I could be: No. Be more open to ideas: No. Post more pictures online: No. Don’t be such a control freak: Not even a little bit. Worry less about what people think: Kinda. Laugh more: No.

2021 resolutions: Get an interesting job. Get my own apartment. Get a covid vaccine. Lose weight. Keep doing my sticky notes and moment calendar. Be less hard on myself. Survive. 

9. Did you travel to any interesting places in 2015/16/17/18/19/20?

2015: Went to Las Vegas for my birthday and California with the band and Kentucky to see Paul McCartney.

2016: Went to Italy, went on band trips to California and Texas

2017: Went to London with my mom, went to New Orleans for my cousin’s wedding and hooked up with my 6th grade crush, went to Wyoming for the solar eclipse

2018: Went to Las Vegas for a film shoot

2019: Went to Israel

2020: Went to Harry Potter World in Orlando with my boyfriend

10. What would you like to have in 2016/17/18/19/20/21 that you lacked in 2015/16/17/18/19/20?

2015: A BOYFRIEND HAHAHA

2016: Still a boyfriend lmao fml

2017: Still a boyfriend but one that I feel satisfied with. I’m not sure if I’m there with Guacamole. Also he’s not even my boyfriend yet

2018: Still a boyfriend lmao

2019: An interesting job (finally got the boyfriend!)

2020: A job, an apartment, and a vaccine

11. Do you even believe in new year’s resolutions? Why or why not?

2015: I think they are a good idea, for reflection as much as goals.

2016: Maybe. Idk

2017: Yeah it’s a good idea

2018: It’s always good to try to better yourself and it gives you motivation to do it

2019: It’s a good idea for goals

2020: It’s good to make goals and remind yourself what to work on

12. Do you believe that 2015/16/17/18/19/20 had an reoccurring theme for you? If so, which theme and why?

2015: No more than any other year really

2016: More like my entire life has a recurring theme of being single af

2017: Not really

2018: Boys I like having girlfriends

2019: Macy’s

2020: Covid

13. Do you feel like 2015/16/17/18/19/20 went by too fast?

2015: No

2016: It went a little fast, especially now that I’m about to graduate

2017: Not really

2018: Not really, but maybe my youth went too fast

2019: It went by too fast for how much I accomplished

2020: It went by way too slow

14. Did you fall in love with any new artists during the year 2015/16/17/18/19/20? List them.

2015: I fell back in love with Taylor Swift

2016: Collabro

2017: Anastasia the Musical cast, and Hamilton is growing on me

2018: A bunch of musicals

2019: My musicals playlist on spotify has Rent, Dear Evan Hansen, Legally Blonde, Galavant, Hamilton, A Star Is Born, Frozen 2

2020: Fell more in love with taylor Swift, and Come From Away

15. Brag about two of your accomplishments in 2015/16/17/18/19/20.

2015: I made a couple cool music videos, and I lost some weight after increasing my gym attendance.

2016: I made a short film, Pancakes, with a full crew. I got straight A’s in the spring.

2017: I graduated and I made another short film

2018: I worked on two film shoots and I got promoted at work

2019: I stayed in touch with friends I made on a film shoot, and I got a boyfriend

2020: Bought a car and was the costume designer for a TV pilot

16. What was your favorite movie that came out this year?

2015: The Martian

2016: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

2017: Coco

2018: A Star Is Born

2019: Rocketman

2020: None of them were really memorable

17. Fill in the blank: In 2016/17/18/19/20/21 I will ____________.

2015: Get the confidence back that I had in the fall

2016: Graduate college

2017: Start looking for film jobs

2018: Find myself

2019: Find a new job

2020: Survive, please

18. If you could fly anywhere in the world in 2016/17/18/19/2021, where would you go?

2015: Italy, and I plan to!

2016: London, and I plan to

2017: Scotland or Ireland, and I don’t have any plans to

2018: Maybe that Israel birthright thing

2019: Maybe Ireland or Amsterdam

2020: Wherever has the least amount of covid. Of course that probably means they wouldn’t let me in

19. What was your biggest regret of 2015/16/17/18/19/20?

2015: Worrying about the future when I had something good rather than just enjoying it

2016: Not trying enough in making friends and making the most out of it

2017: Maybe not getting quite enough out of college

2018: Forgetting or never quite learning how to work hard. That and not asking a cute guy out in time

2019: Not buying that moonstone necklace

2020: Gaining weight

20. Do you think you’ll be having a better 2016/17/18/19/20/21 than 2015/16/17/18/19/20?

2015: I hope so

2016: I hope so

2017: I hope so

2018: I hope so and I think so

2019: I sure hope so

2020: I fucking hope so

21. Did you make any new friends this year? Lose any friends?

2015: I got closer with some friends :)

2016: I made some new band and film friends. One of my friends from freshman year died.

2017: I almost lost a friend but now we seem to be friends again. I also made some new ones

2018: I made some new ones, and kinda stopped being friends with some of my old roommates

2019: I think I got closer to some friends

2020: I met a few online playing among us, and I probably lost my roommates

22. What was the biggest adventure of the last year?

2015: Hawaii, I think

2016: Studying abroad

2017: Moving out and starting to adult

2018: The film shoots

2019: Dating my boyfriend

2020: Harry Potter World

23. Did you get cake on your birthday? Presents? What you wanted?

2015: Yeah I went to Vegas which was cool! Got cake and alcohol and presents

2016: I did not get cake but I got IHOP. I got presents, and the football team won the game that day sending us to the PAC 12 Championship

2017: I got pancakes, presents, and maybe I’m starting to get what I wanted?

2018: I got chocolate mousse and presents and I didn’t even know what I wanted

2019: I got cake and presents including one thing I wanted

2020: I got bundt cake and a few things from my wish list

24. How much did you change this year? What’s different about you?

2015: Not too much has changed but I think I’m prettier, more confident, braver, and value bravery more.

2016: I’m lazier, gained back the weight that I lost last year, and lost some of the confidence from last year. Wow…

2017: I’m not a student anymore

2018: I maybe lost some of my hope in my love life and felt more set in my ways

2019: I don’t have as much FOMO but I’m also getting more frustrated with my life

2020: Gained weight, got more anxiety

CONFESSIONS

Bold the statements that are true (2015) and cross out (2016) and italicize (2017) and I’m running out of formats so CAPS (2018) and *star (2019) and ~tilde (2020)

In the year 2015/2016/2017/2018/2019/2020 I confess that I….

KISSED SOMEONE I HAVE NEVER KISSED BEFORE. ~*DID SOMETHING I REGRET. *Painted a picture. *Dyed my hair. Got a new haircut I thought I’d never get before. Wrote a poem. Graduated from High School. Graduated from College. Applied for Graduate School. RAN A MILE. Ate much healthier. Ended toxic friendships. ~*GAINED A NEW FRIEND. Gained a new best friend. *Visited a foreign country. ~*LIED. ~*HAD A FIGHT WITH MY PARENTS. *HAD A SECRET/KEPT A SECRET. Realized my homosexuality. ~REALIZED MY BISEXUALITY. (OR AT LEAST QUESTIONED IT) Realized my pansexuality. Realized my asexuality. ~*Broke a promise. *Slept under the stars. ~*STAYED UP TILL SUNRISE. ~*PUSHED SOMEONE AWAY. ~*Got in a fight. SLEPT WITH SOMEONE OTHER THAN MY SIGNIFICANT OTHER. ~*ATTENDED A PARTY. Got dumped. Got a new piercing/tattoo. Learned that I wasn’t cis gender. Drank underage/used illegal substances. *ATTENDED A CONCERT. *ATTENDED A MUSICAL. ~*TRAVELED TO ANOTHER CITY. *Broke someone’s heart. *Hiding something from someone. ~*MADE SOMEONE’S DAY. Cheated on a test/homework. Physically cheated on my significant other. ~*Emotionally cheated on my significant other. ~Quit a job. GOT A NEW JOB. Learned to hate someone I thought I never would. Learned to be more patient. Saw the supermoon. ~SAW THE METEOR SHOWER.

[agentmothman18]

YouTube Zombie AU

I have no life-

When the first out break came, thousands had been infected with the disease. If it could even be considered that. Jack, who had been staying over at Felix's house that weekend, was mortified this was actually happening. So was everyone else that got to witness over the television screen. First hand experiences didn't come until the 3rd month for the Irish man, the outbreak only recently spreading across the continent.

Felix was Jacks childhood friend, they didn't grow up together since Felix had to move around a lot. It was mostly a back and forth from Sweden to Ireland for their family. But one the months Felix did come to Ireland, he and Jack would hang out. When Jack got old enough, had a job and a stable income, he would take vacations to go see his Swedish friend. And through Felix he met Marzia, the Swedish mans girlfriend. Jack instantly liked her, he knew the woman would make Felix a better man in the end and seeing how happy the two were together made him happy.

But when the disease spread to Ireland, where the three had decided to stay for a while, it was like watching flies drop form zapping laps that people hang on their porches. Everyone had been so unprepared, even with the 3 month warnings. Flights out to the nearest base camps left within days, Jack and the couple baring making it on one. It was hard for them, not just leaving home to head to Fort Knox but also to see so many people die. And in such gruesome ways that made his stomach turn just remembering.

'Everything's going to be okay.' He remembered Marzia telling them this. Optimistic that the government would find a cure and fix this mess. When that was brought up though, a couple two rows down form them spoke about how this was God punishing them. That the human race was so messed up that God planned for this to happen to them, to punish them in the nose sadistic was possible. Jack would have applauded the god for its cruel ways, but during the moment that was the last thing he would have thought about. To busy trying to keep up with what was going on during the time.

The base camp didn't last long, maybe a month had went by before things fell apart again. To many people gathered in one area was soon realized to be a horrible idea and those that survived split in different directions. It was during that time that Felix had lost Marzia so the Rotters, both watching in horrified shock as the woman's scream was drowned out by her own blood filling her lungs. Felix would have died there too if Jack hadn't ripped him away from the scene. The Swedish has fought against him, screaming and crying for Jack to leave him with her. It tore Jack apart, his heart breaking for his best friend.

After that, things had been different for the both of them. Felix had shut down, becoming a shell of the happy man he used to be and Jack has toughened up. Maybe not physically, though that did increase too, but now he wasn't scared or felt guilty when it came to shooting the walking dead. Nor living people who wanted to kill them. They both found out the hard way that some survivors turned to cannibalism during this mess of a life time. It was disgusting and something Jack would never stoop so low to.

In the presence of today, it was just Jack and Felix. They've traveled, on foot, from Kentucky all the way to Cheyenne, Wyoming. There were plenty of close calls along the way, both from Rotters and survivors. It left Felix without a working right arm, broken from a scuffle with a beefy man who wanted their guns. Jack felt bad he couldn't do more than just align the bone and wrap it, they didn't have pain medication or even the right material to keep the bone from slipping out of place and healing wrongly. "We should rest." Jack said, glancing to his broken watch for the millionth time. It stopped working back in Missouri, so they couldn't tell the time other then looking at where the sun was in the sky. So with a sigh of slight annoyance, jack glanced to the orange-ing sky.

"We can't until we find cover." Felix let out a hiss of pain when he moved his broken arm, the makeshift sling was pinching at his skin. Jack hand nodded in agreement, leading them farther down the barren highway. They were surrounded by trees and the occasional car, which they would stop to check for supplies, but no houses to take cover in.

About two more miles of walking, Jacks feet had had enough for the day. They'd been walking since sunrise with breaks only to rest or eat what little they had. "I give up." He kept his voice down, not wanting to catch the attention of any lurking Rotters. "Well just have to settle in a car for the night."

"Or that house." Felix pointed behind Jack, who whipped around fast enough to almost cause himself whiplash. He had been sure moments ago there was no houses near by, now there was one? The lack of food and sleep was really getting to him. But the house was there, just hidden so he wasn't going completely crazy yet.

With a simple nod of the head, they made the short trek to the house. It was an old country looking house, two stories with white chipped paint on the walls. Even a cute wrap around porch, a house you'd see on old country movies. Jack had told Felix to stay outside while he checked the place out, staring with the perimeters of the house before venturing inside. He had checked every nook and cranny by the time he was sure it was safe, poking his head out the door and motioning for Felix to come in.

"We'll head out in the morning." Jack spoke quietly to Felix, who nodded and didn't hesitate to head for one of the upstairs bedrooms. He was exhausted and in pain, Jack couldn't blame him. When there was a definite click of a door shutting upstairs, the Irish man finally moved from his spot at the door. He took the living room couch, wanting to stay on the ground floor in case of an emergency.

And for the better half of the night, things were peaceful and quiet. It wasn't until what felt like 2 in the morning that Jack woke up to the front door creaking open. By now, those that were still surviving have learned that the Rotters were smarter than they once thought. They were evolving, for the worse. So for a door to be opened was nothing to the dead.

As quietly as Jack could, he rolled off the couch and landed on the floor with a soft thud noise. He freaked out for a moment that he had given himself away but the footsteps coming into the house had went for the kitchen. It gave him enough time to get his gun ready in one hand and a knife in the other. A panicky feeling bubbled in his stomach, making his hands shake for a mere seconds before he calmed himself with a deep breath. He cringed at the creaking floor beneath him, cursing when movement in the kitchen ceased for a moment. Then, he heard voices.

Quiet voices but ones to set him on edge just as bad as the Rotters screaming. "Just get the food and go." A deep voice, smooth and commanding had spoke. Jack felt a little at easy that they weren't interested in them but that didn't mean he was going to let them leave with their food. So, against better judgment Jack had pushed the kitchen door open with his knife hand.

"You're not taking anything." His voice was monotoned, no emotions held in it thanks to the months of hell. Though just a quickly a light had blinded him and there was a click of a gun being cocked ready for its first shot.

"Look, we're not looking for trouble." Another male voice had spoke out, less deep than the first one but almost sounding apologetic. "We just need a bit of food and we'll leave." Jack squinted against the blinding light, moving to the side to get out of its way. The movement didn't cause any problems thankfully, and he had hesitantly lowered his gun. Jack was still a kind person at heart, even if this new world has made him cold.

The light was shinned up towards the ceiling, providing light for the whole room. Jack could finally get a good look at the two, one wearing a mask with a straight line for a mouth and two dots as the eyes. The other had the being of a bread growing, it was kept trimmed though and complimented the mans features. Something about the pair seemed different than most survivors they'd come across. Less aggressive was one thing for sure, but there was a feeling in Jacks gut that told him he could trust them. A bubbling feeling that felt almost comfortable.

"How much food do you have?" Jack asked, putting his gun in its holder on his hip and the knife back in his boot. And to his surprise, the two took their backpacks off and emptied them on the table. There was barely anything; two bottles of waters, three cans of soup, and two packs of those cheesy cracker things. Felix and him didn't have much but they at least had way more than these two. There was also a few guns that clanked down onto the table after falling out, no bullets though he realized. "Damn." He mumbled, his tone sympathetic.

"Most the gas stations on this stretch have been whipped clean." The man without the mask spoke, he looked exhausted in the dim lighting. "If you keep heading northwest on this road you'll be dead in a day. Rotters are crawling around about two miles up." He informed, much needed information considering that was where him and Felix were heading.

"Thanks for the heads up." Jack gave a simple nod with his thanks. "Where are you two headed?" He asked, heading to the cabinets to grab spare food.

"Kentucky." The other had spoke, voice slightly muffled by the mask. Jack cringed at the mention of that place, bad memories surfacing. Grabbing 4 cans of soup and two bottles of water, Jack turned and set it on the table with their stuff.

"If you're headed for Fort Knox, it's a bust. Place got overran with Rotters about two or three months ago." He told them, most his days running together so it was hard to tell how many months it was exactly.

"Well shit." Mr. No-mask groaned, a hand running over his face. "Then I guess we're headed no where." He sighed out, glancing to his masked friend. Jack watched the two, words getting lodged in his throat from trying not to speak them.

"We could head to the NAS down in Meridian." Both Jack and the man without the mask looked to the one with the mask. Jack was dumbfounded, that was months away on foot and for all they knew it was just like Fort Knox. But it there was a chance, for these two at least. For him and Felix, they refused to go anywhere with many survivors. Not after what happened last time.

"To far away. I'd rather die by Rotters than walk that far-"

"What are your names anyway?" Jack cut in, wanting a name to the two he was giving half his food too.

"Oh, my names Mark, this is Cry." Mark had introduced them, motioning to the man with a mask who was Cry. It seemed a little silly to call someone that but he wouldn't say anything about it, some people liked to keep their identity under-wraps even in times like these.

"I'm Jack." There was silence that fell over them for a moment, before the Irish man spoke up again. "If you're not leaving for Meridian, you're welcome to join me and my friend." Jack offered, something he never thought he'd be doing. But four seemed like an okay amount of people to have, more than that was to much.

The two seemed shocked for a moment, looking at each other in a silent conversation. Jack could only keep up with have of it, guessing what they were saying by what he saw Marks facial expressions do. But in the end, they both nodded to each other in their unspoken agreement and turned towards Jack. He was expecting them to decline his offer.

"We're in then."

[katymacsupernatural]

Legendary Part 6

MOC Dean Winchester x Reader

Story Summary: Raised in the Hunter life, Y/N has turned to collecting ancient and unique items. When she gets wind of the First Blade, she knows she will do anything to get her hands on it. 

Catch Up Here: Masterpost

Lightning flashed between the wooden boards of the house. Rain splashed through at least five spots in the roof, puddles quickly forming on what was left of the carpet. You huddled in the corner by the stairs to the basement. It was the driest part of the house.

You were frozen and scared, realizing that what you had was not the smartest idea. But you had wanted the first blade so bad, and you knew you would do the same thing again. 

The blade was hidden in the house, out of your grasp just in case Dean somehow found you. While you waited for the storm to pass, you had thought of, and thrown out many plans on how to get out of this town without Dean noticing you. Many had been too simple. Dean Winchester was a smart man, and now that he had the mark of Cain he was unpredictable. And that was the scariest thing of all.

Finally, the rain stopped, the thunder miles away, and you knew this was your chance. You could leave the blade, for now, come back when Dean wasn’t hot on your tail. It pained you to leave it behind, but it was safer here. 

With the sky settling into darkness, you knew it was time to move. To hotwire a car, and get as far away from here as you could. Your heart racing, you slipped out the broken back door, glancing around to make sure you were still by yourself.

Puddles filled the yard, the sidewalk cracked and filled with weeds. No street lights to guide your way as you stayed close to the side of the house. Your boots sinking into the soft gravel of the road, you rushed as fast as you could, wincing as your ankle turned. But you couldn’t stop, not now since you were in the open. 

You turned away from town, as far away from the motel as possible. Rundown houses lined both sides of the street. Cars up on blocks, old washers and dryers lining the sidewalks. The kind of neighborhood you tried to stay as far away as possible. But now it was the perfect place to be. You could get a beat-up, nondescript car and get as far away from here and to one of your safe houses before Dean found you.

An old Ford Taurus was parked at the end of the street, away from the view of any house. The door was unlocked, and you slipped inside. It took you only moments to get the car up and running, relieved when you saw a full tank of gas. Stepping on the pedal, you breathed your first sigh of relief. 

The rain started to come down once again, blurring your window as you headed away from town. Your car was still in front of your hotel room, your clothes unpacked in the suitcase. Your spare cash tucked inside your other pair of boots. None of that mattered. You were going to head west, to your little cabin in the wilderness of Wyoming. You’d stop and get a burner phone, maybe some spare cash from your Swedish bank account. Enough to live on for the next couple of weeks while you hid away. 

It sounded like a sensible plan. One that would keep you safe from the wrath of Dean Winchester. 

Hours passed, and you left Kansas far behind. The sun started to rise as you stopped for gas and an ATM. Using an alias, you pulled as much money as you could from a bank account that no one knew you had, feeling up the tank of the car as well as buying as many groceries as you could. With a candy bar in your hand and a cup of coffee in the cup holder, you continued your road trip, all the time checking in your rearview mirror for that familiar sleek black muscle car. 

You would have enjoyed the trip more if you hadn’t been worrying over Dean. He had taken control of you in a way you had never expected to like. It had been hot and rough, and your pussy clenched even thinking about it. You hated the fact that he had you so torn. Terrified he would find you, but lusting for the feel of his body using yours once again. 

Finally, you pulled the beat-up car beside your small cabin, feeling a sigh of relief. You were miles away from any other person. The closest town was half an hour away. You were completely off-grid. There was nothing to tie you to this place. It was as safe as you could possibly get. But it still didn’t feel safe enough from Dean Winchester. 

You busied yourself with getting your groceries organized. Then it was cleaning, getting rid of the dust. You had a huge stock of books available, and you picked one out to spend the rest of the evening.

A simple dinner of soup and crackers filled your belly, and you settled onto the couch, a blanket covering your legs as you forced yourself to relax. There was no way he could find you here. At least not yet. You had time to rest and come up with a new plan.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, you opened the book just as your door slammed open. A tall body filled the doorway, nothing more than a shadow in the late night. Your heart stammered as the book dropped from your hand. 

“You thought you could run from me?” He asked, Dean’s deep voice echoing through the small cabin. “I don’t care how far off-grid you are, I will always be able to find you.” 

Dean/Jensen Tags: @acortez82 @acreativelydifferentlove @adoptdontshoppets @a-girl-who-loves-disney @akshi8278  @bebravekeeponfighting  @brindz30 @cap-just-said-language @colette2537   @deansgirl215   @its-not-a-tulpa @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @just-another-winchester @karouwinchester @keikoraventeller  @krys198478 @librarygeekery @misspygmypie @mlovesstories @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk  @mrspeacem1nusone @nothinbuttrouble2 @ria132love @ruprecht0420     @sortaathief @superseejay721517 @squirrelnotsam @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @torn-and-frayed @tricksterdean @wonderfulworldofwinchester @woodworthti666 

Legendary Tags:  @maddiepants @anathewierdo @tendersweatymilkshakes

Forever Tags: @aditimukul @alexwinchester23 @algud @amanda-teaches @andreaaalove   @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @camelotandastronauts @caswinchester2000 @chelsea072498  @closetspngirl   @docharleythegeekqueen @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008  @esoltis280   @gh0stgurl @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek  @heyitscam99 @hobby27 @horsegirly99 @internationalmusicteacher @iwriteaboutdean  @jayankles @jensen-gal @just-another-busyfangirl @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @lifelovelaughangell123 @li-ssu @linki-locks11 @littleblue5mcdork  @lowlyapprentice   @maui137 @mogaruke @monkeymcpoopoo @musiclovinchic93  @nanie5   @percussiongirl2017 @plaid-lover-bay25   @roonyxx @ronja-uebrick @roxyspearing @samanthaharper2018 @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @simonsbluee @sillesworldofwriting @sgarrett49 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnwoman   @superbadassnatural @thatcrazybookwormgeek   @thewinchesterchronicles @vvinch3st3r @wecantgiggleitsafandom @whimsicalrobots @winchester-writes @zombiewerewolfqueen

[dogbearinggifts]

Little Tyrants, Chapter Two: Worth the Whiskey

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: When Vanya was four, Reginald Hargreeves visited her cell. But not to take her powers away. Just to let her know he could. Just to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that her powers were a privilege he could rescind should she ever choose not to fall in line.

Years later, the old man is dead—and the last sibling Vanya wants to see has reappeared in the Academy courtyard.

This work is also available on AO3.

Prologue  Chapter One 

Author’s note: Sorry this chapter took so long, everyone. I’d hoped to update more frequently, but life intervened and…well, here we are. If you’d like to read the asks that inspired this story, you can find them here and here, as well as under the tags “vanya keeps her powers au” and “five returns as a kid au.” 

This chapter title is adapted from Cole Swindell’s song “Ain’t Worth the Whiskey.” 

***********

“You okay here?” 

“Yeah.” 

Luther opened his arms slightly, and Five slid to the floor. Klaus had never considered, in the sixteen years he’d been missing, just how small Five was. Not that the fact itself had eluded him—old pictures resurfaced in tabloids or narrative magazines from time to time, proving they’d all been a hell of a lot shorter back when they were still in Dad’s clutches—but it hadn’t struck him as something worth noticing when he’d stumbled into the courtyard. Now, watching him glance around in bewilderment beside a twin nearly twice his height, Klaus couldn’t think about much else. 

“Where’s Mom?” Luther asked. “Thought you were gonna get her.” 

“I—” The rest of Diego’s retort collapsed when he saw who was—and wasn’t—in the kitchen. “Shit. Mom!” 

They’d lost Allison somewhere between the courtyard and the kitchen, when she’d announced her intent to get some towels. Luther had carried Five in, cradled in his arms lest walking worsen whatever condition led him to collapse in the courtyard. Diego jogged out of the kitchen, retracing their steps through the corridor in search of the one who could provide some guidance. Klaus stood by the sink and racked his brain for something, anything he could say. 

Five wasn’t wearing his Academy uniform. Not unexpected—he’d never been fond of those starched collars and plaid sweater vests—but he’d always joked about replacing that uniform with everything from jeans and a T-shirt to a tuxedo paired with evening gloves and a billowing cape. Maybe it was the leftover high or the cognac haze clouding his thoughts, but Klaus couldn’t conjure a single reason why Five might have paired scuffed boots and a heavy jacket with sturdy jeans and a pair of aviator-style goggles around his neck.

“You, uh, you need anything?” Luther asked. 

Five shrugged. To say he had always smiled before his disappearance would be a misstatement. He’d frowned. He’d grouched. He’d cried for the minute or two it took to realize he’d been seen, the second or two it took for his face to twist and for him to slink off down the hall. But there had always been a glimmer of mischief behind those eyes, a flicker within his expression. Whether harsh with fury or gentle with laughter, Klaus couldn’t recall a time when that light had gone out. 

Until now. 

“Klaus, could you get him some water?” 

Somewhere toward the back of his mind, a flicker of irritation sparked to life. Luther had come up with the idea. Luther knew what he wanted done. Luther could get the damn water himself. But the annoyance was dim to begin with, and died with another glance at Five dripping rainwater onto the tile. Without a word, Klaus went to the cupboard and retrieved a glass. 

Allison brushed past before the glass was completely full; and by the time he turned around, Five was reaching for a towel from the stack Allison carried. She plucked one and shook it out as though to dry him off herself; then, with a small and apologetic smile, she placed it in Five’s hands. Klaus set the glass on the table, fought again for something to say, gave up and snagged a towel instead. 

He needed another drink. 

He couldn’t carry Five up to his room or calm him with four small words. He couldn’t run a few tests and determine what had happened and what Five needed to recover, and he wasn’t the one headed off to corral the one who could chart a course for the healing process. Getting a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water was about the extent of Klaus’ contributions, and he’d done that already. No one would notice if he headed upstairs and went to town on the liquor cabinet. Allison might say something if he popped a pill or two right then and there, but she wouldn’t cause a scene. It would be expected from him. 

The longer he watched Five sip from the glass he’d poured, the more he needed to leave. The longer he watched, the less he wanted to leave. 

“Where’s Vanya?” 

That was from Luther, naturally. Klaus couldn’t say when or how he’d forgotten Vanya’s feelings toward her family, but maybe the Moon erased memories. “Where do you think she is?” 

“I don’t know, Klaus. That’s why I asked.” 

Klaus hadn’t seen her separate from their group, wasn’t sure if she’d split off before or after Allison had gone off for towels, but the relative peace in the kitchen should have been enough to let Luther know her absence was not to be questioned. “Well, if we’re lucky, maybe she’ll just stay…wherever the hell she is. Oh! You think we could camp out down here? Roast some marshmallows, sing a couple songs? O Vanya, please stay away from us….” 

Impromptu performances like that tended to earn flat looks and rolled eyes from  most of his siblings, and threats from Vanya, but he’d hoped it might raise at least a small smile from Five. No dice. Five looked down into his glass, holding it in both hands, without so much as a hint of a smile or a chuckle. 

Nice going. Allison didn’t say it. She didn’t need to, with the amount of impatience and contempt she crammed into that one glance. He’d messed up, said exactly the wrong thing at just the wrong time, and there was no recovering, no going back. 

Of course, he’d known as much before that look of hers. No need to drive it home with the glare of death. 

“Well, fine.” Klaus stepped forward, opening a cupboard. A canister of rolled oats was the first thing he saw, and so a canister of rolled oats was what he grabbed. “If you fine folks don’t appreciate good performance art like an audience with sense, I shall take my leave.” 

Giving his coat the most dramatic swish he could manage, Klaus strode out the door. 

*********

If liquor preference was a personality trait, then Dad’s taste was one of his few redeeming qualities. 

Like most objects in the Academy, Dad’s alcohol supply was less an amassing of ingredients and more of a collection. Port and sherry shared a shelf with more varieties of red wine than Vanya cared to count, more types of white than she wanted to taste. Not that she opposed wine on principle, but the sight of so many bottles and so many shades, each promising a different flavor and composition and all the other things wine junkies raved about, brought a twinge of embarrassment when she remembered the five-gallon box she’d purchased because it was red and she’d bought white last time. 

But then, nobody could tell the difference between cheap and expensive wine anyway. She wasn’t unrefined. Just honest. 

Vanya turned from the wines and toward those promising a shorter path toward inebriation. A half-empty bottle of tequila and a nearly full bottle of mezcal sat a few inches from peppermint schnapps and two different types of rum. Closer to her sat scotches and bourbons nestled beside the whiskeys. 

Every label bore the name of a place she knew. Scotland. Jalisco. Kentucky. Each name conjured up a different image, borrowed from a different mission with a different objective and outcome. Dad had sent her and she’d gone in, done what the situation demanded of her, and left with snatches of scenery she liked and memories she didn’t. Each city had its own personality, but there came a point when they blended into each other, leaving her uncertain whether El Paso or Tucson had the hotel with a mosaic tile entrance, or if it was Paris or Amsterdam with the houses she liked. Glances through the sort of books ordinary people kept on their coffee tables cleared a few things up, but there were better things to do than relive what only Dad would call the glory days. 

Behind the Canadian whiskeys, and between those boasting an origin in Tennessee, was a single bottle announcing itself as Wyoming Whiskey in no-nonsense letters. After a moment’s study, Vanya poured herself a glass. If she was going to try and erode unwanted memories old and new, a drink from a place she’d never visited seemed the best way to start. 

Footsteps approached sometime after the end of the first drink and the beginning of the second. Vanya downed the rest in a few quick swallows. If it was Diego coming to tell her off for not being there for Five, she’d need to steel herself; if it was Five himself, she’d need to clear her glass for another pour. 

Klaus rounded a corner, skirt swishing about his ankles as he came to a halt. It had been some months since she’d seen him, and then out in the open and at a distance. Perhaps that was why he seemed thinner than she remembered, collarbone protruding above his bare chest, feathered cuffs dangling over too-slender wrists. He’d tucked an open canister of rolled oats into the crook of one arm; a few oats slipped from his clenched fist and fluttered to the floor. He let out a laugh when he saw her, as though she’d made a joke. As though he were happy to see her. 

Vanya added twice the recommended amount to her glass. 

“Well, well, well.” He let his handful of oats fall back into the canister and sauntered forward—she couldn’t tell if he was staggering or not—and set the oats on the counter. “And here I thought I was the only one breaking into Dear Old Dad’s liquor cabinet.” 

Vanya sniffed. Klaus’ presence demanded she down the whole glass in one swallow, pain be damned, but she settled for a sip. “I’m not breaking into anything. It’s right out in the open.” 

Klaus had a way of moving like a slinky, swaying one direction only to fold himself around a corner and past whatever obstructed his path. In one stride, maybe two, he was behind the bar, hand on a bottle of bourbon. “Amazing there’s anything left.” 

“Yeah, with you around.” 

Within seconds, Klaus’ glass held more bourbon than it should have. Not quite as much as hers—but if he’d had to cope with someone like him, he’d have ditched the glass and drank straight from the bottle. “Oh, right, ‘cause I’m the one who ran up here to get drunk soon as everybody was in the house.” 

“And you were completely sober when I got here.” 

There was that laugh again, the infuriating giggle that made her want to send a bottle of vodka crashing onto his head. “You really think I’m gonna do a family reunion without a little help?” He took a swallow of bourbon. “Figured you’d get it.” 

Vanya’s fingers tightened on the glass. She wasn’t like him. This world he’d constructed in his head, where she was just a shadow of what he was—it was a fantasy. He spent his days wandering the streets or bouncing from rehab to rehab. She worked, and the money she brought in went toward her apartment, her clothes, her food. She spent her days coaching kids through basic chords, cooking and cleaning, playing in the city’s orchestra. She wouldn’t have earned first chair if she’d devoted what remained of her life to the next fix. 

A high, sharp noise commanded her attention. Looking took only a second, but by the time she did, the glass had cracked beneath her fingers, webs of spindly lines spreading out and up. Another side effect of Klaus’ presence. 

“I think you should leave now.” 

Klaus downed half his liquor in one swallow, planting the glass firmly on the counter. A few drops came close to splashing out, but the counter remained dry. “I think you need another drink, if you’re just gonna get your panties in a twist over everything.” 

He was needling her, poking her skin over and over until he found what caused the most pain. For what, she couldn't say. Perhaps he was so enamored with Five’s return that he simply could not comprehend why she hadn’t followed to the kitchen to wait on him hand and foot. Perhaps he was still angry over her last refusal to let him crash at her place. That had been years ago, but Klaus was just the sort to hold a grudge for that long. 

She could lash back, with words or force. A few sharp retorts already came to mind, but they might not land the way they should. Klaus’ quest to rid himself of powers Dad had never thought to take from him had apparently robbed him of his faculties, if his incessant giggling was any indication, and there was little point in an insult that slid off like water from a tarp. The Academy had never been a noisy place, but what few sounds there were—air rushing through the vents, the creaking of old boards—already tempted her. 

And Klaus remained, with no trace of fear. 

“I’ve had kind of a rough day,” she said, setting the cracked glass in the sink slowly and deliberately, so as not to throw it the way she longed to. 

Klaus’s mouth formed a round O of mock surprise and he clapped his hands to his cheeks. “Me too! Weird, huh? Us both having the worst day ever at the same time?” 

Vanya clenched her teeth. He was like the cockroaches at a place she’d lived, one of the few complexes she was grateful to be blacklisted from. Lay out traps and they’d skirt around them. Stomp on them and they’d avoid your boot. Spray them with Raid and they’d roll onto their backs long enough, only long enough, to make you think you’d won. Long enough to make their swift return all the more infuriating. “I don’t want to break anything worse than a glass, is all I’m saying.” 

“Why? Afraid the cops might come? Afraid they might send you to—” He put a hand to his mouth, covering a gasp too melodramatic to be genuine, and looked to left and right before continuing in a stage whisper. “Therapy?” 

Vanya felt the cracks in her discarded glass spread and splinter before she ever heard it. She wanted to let it shatter—no, she wanted to make it shatter, send a hundred jagged shards exploding out from the sink to embed themselves in the wall, the counter, Klaus’ skin; to strike other bottles like bullets and send their contents cascading. 

“You don’t understand.” 

“No! I mean, Sitting on a comfy couch for a whole hour while some lady in an ugly-ass pantsuit listens to your problems?” He shook his head in mock amazement, adding more bourbon to his glass. “It’s a miracle we’re at Dad’s funeral. You should’ve just—” 

He blew a raspberry, pointing his thumb to the floor. 

Another crack spread through the glass, and another. He didn’t see. Didn’t know the humiliation of walking into that office, week after week. Couldn’t comprehend the misery of hearing mistakes inflated and exaggerated, balled up and thrown back in her face whenever she tried to explain herself. He couldn’t know the recurring sting of walking past her favorite coffee shop—a place that had once pulled her into an embrace of scents both earthy and sweet—knowing that the police would be called if she so much as crossed the street to reminisce from the wrong side of the window. If anyone under the Academy roof spared an ounce of sympathy for her, it should have been him. He, at least, knew what it was to have his faults paraded before police and judges and dismissed with no regard for what it was to be in his shoes. 

She should have known that was too much to ask of him. 

The glass was all but destroyed now; there was little point in leaving it whole. The sink would absorb most of the damage, and while a few shards would fly out, Klaus had learned to dodge. He knew what he faced if he failed to. He couldn’t call the police without risking his own skin. 

Yet a part of her, a small part of her, whispered that he just might be insane enough to try. 

The canister flew across the room to smack against a formation of bottles, knocking them over with a crash. Liquor spilled over the counter and onto the floor, sweeping up oats in the flow. Vanya turned on her heel, not giving Klaus the satisfaction of one last grin. 

********

“That could’ve gone better.” 

“Yeah, you think?” Klaus downed the rest of his bourbon and regarded the bottles still standing. The accidental cocktail Vanya had created with her little tantrum wouldn’t be tasty—especially not with oats floating in it and faint remnants of floor cleaner offering a different kind of intoxication—but all of those liquors together would get him drunk faster than anything he could mix on his own. 

Well. Drunker. 

Klaus didn’t sway as he straightened and headed for the tequila. He wasn’t quite to that point, though he sensed its approach. 

“Seriously?” 

“Hey, you try dealing with Vanya sober.” He opened the bottle, raising his voice in a mocking imitation of Vanya’s. “Oh, look at me, I wreck some coffee shop and have to not go to prison, everyone needs to be sad for me.” 

“Oh, you mean like my entire life? And afterlife, so far?” 

“So far?” Klaus grinned, raising both eyebrows. “What are you not telling me, Ben?” 

Ben rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.” 

“No, I don’t.” He poured a shot of tequila and tossed it down. “If there’s drunkenness after death, you really need to tell me. This could change everything.” 

“You really think I’d tell you something like that?” 

“Some brother you are.” 

“Said the guy who left Five to come get shitfaced.” 

The sting was sharp, as if Ben had slapped him across the cheek. Klaus poured another shot and downed it without breaking eye contact, but when he set the glass down he had to look away. He tried for some remark glib enough to set Ben on a different course, but nothing came to mind in time. 

“Bet you can still catch up with him.” 

It wasn’t the first time the thought had occurred to Klaus, but he hadn’t allowed it to take root in his mind with this level of clarity. Go back to the kitchen, or track Five to wherever the others had brought him. Apologize for whatever it was he’d said wrong—more than one thing, probably, though he could only think of the one. See if Five wanted to go flip off Dad’s urn for a while. Let Five watch him stagger down the stairs, sway in the door, smell the alcohol on his breath. The others, Diego and Luther and Allison—they might not understand, but they expected it. They’d seen it before. 

A part of him whispered that Five would see it sooner or later, that maybe he’d already extrapolated from those moments he’d caught Klaus at the bar when they were kids, those times he’d given Klaus the cover he needed to sneak out for his next fix. It didn’t matter, or wouldn’t matter. Sobriety was little more than a punchline around him, and it was only a matter of time before Five saw the joke. 

He straightened, swallowed the last of the tequila in his glass, fished for a cigarette in his pocket and lit it. He took a long drag, closing his eyes as he exhaled. It wasn’t’ the first time he’d smoked in the Academy, not by far, but usually Dad or Pogo would come barreling around the corner seconds after his lighter clicked on. This time, there was only silence. Blissful, smoke-filled silence. He leaned against the island, allowing each breath to carry off more of Vanya’s lingering presence.

He wasn’t sure how long it was before the edge of the counter began digging into his back, before the floor began to press against his feet through the thin soles of his shoes, before the weight of the items in his coat reminded him of where he could be and what he could be getting. A pang of guilt accompanied the last thought, regardless of the facts. He wasn’t needed at the Academy. He’d probably sent Five into a tailspin with whatever it was he’d said. The memorial service seemed to have been forgotten for the time being; even if he were missing when it began, his absence wouldn’t be lamented or questioned too heavily. The more he considered it, the more he itched for what those items would buy him. 

He’d be leaving Five again. Leaving him not in the kitchen, but there in the Academy while he was off elsewhere in the city; but Five wouldn’t be alone. Might not even notice he was gone. 

“Klaus?” 

Five’s voice was too soft, too uncertain, but it still gave Klaus a start and he nearly dropped his cigarette. 

“Christ on a cracker,” he breathed, glancing down at the floor. Still a safe enough distance from the spilled alcohol that a lit cigarette wouldn’t send a puddle of flame racing up the cabinets, but closer than he would have liked. He sucked in a breath and turned to Five, plastering on a smile. “What’re you doing up here?” 

Five didn’t answer. He’d changed into his pajamas—which were drier than what he’d been wearing, and in better shape, but Klaus could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen any of his siblings wearing pajamas in the middle of the day. In each instance, they’d been sick enough to get out of training, sick enough to remain in their rooms instead of joining the rest of the family for silent meals and Dad’s droning records. Five was still walking on his own two feet, his skin lacking the pallor it had held on those days; but Klaus didn’t recall him being so thin when he’d left. 

How long had he stood just out of sight? 

“Dad’s not here, is he.” 

There were two answers: the tactful one, and the direct one. The tactful one was more up Allison’s alley, requiring more gentle words and roundabout phrasings than Klaus had in his arsenal. It was probably more akin to what Five needed, closer to what he’d like to hear, but Klaus had already stalled long enough. 

“Died a little over a week ago.” 

Five nodded slowly. If there was any surprise in his expression, Klaus couldn’t see it. “He…he probably would’ve walked out when I showed up, huh?” 

And done a lot more than that, Klaus thought, but didn’t say as much. Five must have known he’d have been hauled off to one of those rooms everyone hated, held there until he’d divulged every secret he’d brought back with him, had Dad occupied the Academy. “We can go flip off his urn for a while, if you want.” 

Five didn’t smile, or even meet Klaus’ gaze. He’d said the wrong thing again. Made a joke when Five needed something else, something Allison or Luther or even Diego would be better suited to offer. Something Klaus couldn’t muster, not even when it was needed. Especially not when it was needed. 

“Where’s Ben?” 

If Ben’s remark had been a slap, Five’s question was like a punch to the gut. He had to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t form and he couldn’t muster even an I don’t know or a Why do you ask? He could only struggle, through the fog and the emotions that one question dredged up, to say anything at all. 

Five dropped his gaze, biting his lip. He didn’t sink to the floor or look for a place to sit down. He didn’t let out a cry or suck in a breath. Klaus watched him crumple all the same. 

“Hey, it—” He started forward, barely remembering to put out his cigarette before Five fell into his arms. 

Maybe he should have expected it. Over a decade stood between him and Ben’s death. No one would say he’d used them well, and if pressed he wouldn’t disagree; but he’d still had them. Ten years to let the dust settle and the blood dry. Ten years to accept that Ben’s clothes no longer occupied the closet, that no one would set a place for him whenever they were allowed back into the Academy. Ten years of hearing his voice, watching him roll his eyes and try in vain to block access to his stash, of being the only one to know he would never really go away. For all Five knew, Ben’s face should have been among those who greeted him upon his return. 

He returned the hug awkwardly, too awkwardly, running a hand along Five’s back. Tears shook his bony frame, and Klaus wanted to kick himself for not hunting down Allison to answer that question. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.” 

“How?” 

Ben no longer leaned against the bar. He had a way of doing that, of stepping around while your back was turned to show up in the last place you wanted to see him. This time, though, Klaus didn’t mind the sight of him, the look he got—or the clear instructions it carried. 

“I mean, it’s not like he’s gone.” 

Five pulled away, and the hope in his eyes made Klaus want to shrivel up and disappear. 

Ben smiled a bit, raising a hand in greeting. “Hey, Five.” 

“He says hi.” 

*******

Vanya should have brought the whiskey along.

Her anger hadn’t quite burned away when she reached the top of the stairs, but it had calmed enough for her thoughts to turn to things other than Klaus’ exaggerated smiles and mocking words; and they turned to that bottle on the counter. She should have grabbed it before storming off—or if not that bottle specifically, then another close to it. Something strong, something she could keep all to herself. Something that would get her to the memorial service in one piece.

If her siblings still planned on holding a service. 

She found her old bedroom less by intent and more by muscle memory, and it hadn’t changed much from the day she’d left. The furniture was gone, shuttled off to her first apartment and then the next; as were her clothes, which had been added to over the years. It would have been an empty room, devoid of the personality she’d lent it, but there were small signs, little memories here and there. A length of blue ribbon she’d once worn to a press briefing snaked across the floor. The green hair tie she’d thought had been lost in the move lay in one corner, grey with dust. Along the wall adjacent to her window Vanya could just make out little patches where the drywall was ever so slightly uneven, marking the places where, in retaliation for being sent to her room, she’d driven holes into her wall to spell out an obscene message. Dad had barged in before she’d finished the first word. 

She ran a hand along the windowsill, catching dust on her fingertips. It wasn’t surprising that Dad’s memorial service had stalled—in the back of her mind, she’d expected Diego or Klaus to delay it somehow, though she hadn’t written off Allison as a potential culprit—but she hadn’t thought it would stall indefinitely. Yet here she was, waiting for her siblings to stop doting on Five long enough to put their dead father to rest. 

Vanya looked to the wall again. For a moment she considered finishing the word, leaving it as a parting gift for whenever she was allowed to walk out of the Academy without Dad’s unread will hanging over her head. But then, it would’ve been just like Dad to turn something about willful destruction of childhood bedroom into a condition. 

She closed the door behind her and stepped into the hall, seeing no one, but Five’s room stood open. Maybe someone had been there in minutes past; maybe Mom had left it open for whatever reason. Vanya couldn’t say and couldn’t bring herself to care. He’d be moving back into it soon—but then, once the memorial service was over and done with, she’d be back in her own apartment, away from that room and its occupant. 

A short walk took her back down to the entryway and then the common room, but that wasn’t where the voices led her. One she recognized as Klaus, the other as Five—but the cheer in Klaus’ voice seemed more genuine now, the simmering resentment she’d caught now missing. 

“So I’m just there in my book fort, minding my own business, and the librarian walks over and she’s all ‘Sir, you need to put these on a cart.’ And I’m all ‘Wouldn’t it be a lot easier to just build a new one instead of putting this whole thing on a cart?’” 

“Maybe she just wanted you to put the books away?” 

“That’s what Ben said, but I dunno. That fort was awesome.” 

Ben. Her breath caught. Asking her to name a favorite sibling was like asking her to name a favorite toothache, but some toothaches hurt less than others. Some could be almost pleasant, when they wanted to be. 

And some left a different sort of pain when they went away. 

“What books did you use?” 

“What books did I—Five. I built a fort. Out of books. Had turrets, a moat and everything. That’s all you need to know.” 

Rather than pressing Klaus for more details, Five turned his gaze to the armchair. “What’d he use, Ben? You remember?” 

Klaus rolled his eyes and began listing off titles, but Vanya barely heard them past the pounding of her own heart. Ben wasn’t there—or at least, he wasn’t where Klaus could see him, and that was by design. The ghosts he alone could see, the ghosts he alone could command, were evidently far more frightening than the poisons he forced into his system and the people and laws he trampled to get them. The substances he favored were still there. His powers were gone—and here he was, playing the medium. Speaking for the dead when the dead no longer spoke to him. Using Ben as a prop to tell an asinine story about himself. 

“Don’t.” 

Allison’s voice was soft, but Vanya stopped in her tracks. Her sister sat on the stairs, just out of the light cast from the sitting room. 

“Are you hearing this?” 

Allison bowed her head for a few seconds. When she raised it, there was sorrow in her eyes—but also a glint of steel Vanya had rarely seen outside of particularly nasty missions. 

“Don’t take this from him.” 

“Take what? A lie?” 

Allison stood, mouth tight. She took a few steps forward, but didn’t come close to bridging the gap between them. 

“I don’t care what it is.” Her voice had grown softer, scarcely rising above a whisper, but no less stern for it. “You’re going to let him have this.” 

A stab of fear went through her. Allison hadn’t referenced those four words, but the threat was there, carried on a tone addressing her as a child. A child who needed to be put in her place. “Or what?” 

She didn’t answer, but the glare she leveled on her way into the common room was enough. 

************

Chapter One 

[crescentmoon223]

Two Worlds Collide Chapter 18

Read it on AO3 | Rated: NC-17 | Stella x Scully

Chapter 18

(read it from the beginning here)

By the time Saturday rolled around, Scully was more than ready for a day off. The work week had felt long, even though it had actually been short, since she and Stella had flown home from Wyoming on Monday. Despite her exhaustion, she was really enjoying her fellowship. She felt invigorated about her career in a way she hadn’t since leaving the FBI and was finally fully confident she’d made the right move, switching to forensic pathology.

But now that her fellowship was drawing to an end, decisions needed to be made. Her lease was up in two weeks. Her flight home to Maryland had been booked since before she arrived in London. Except now, she wasn’t sure she wanted to take it. She needed to have a talk with Stella, the terrifying kind of conversation that could make or break their relationship, and Scully was already so worried about it she could hardly breathe.

She and Stella barely seen each other this week. They’d both worked long hours, and although they’d managed to spend a couple of nights together, there hadn’t been much time for anything but sleeping. So, when Scully woke next to her on Saturday morning, she snuggled deeper under the covers, intensely grateful for this time to just…be. Beside her, Stella’s eyes blinked open. She watched Scully with a kind of lazy satisfaction on her face.

She was breathtakingly beautiful in these first moments of the day, when she was still relaxed and sleepy, blonde hair tossed over the pillow behind her. There was a peacefulness about her, an innocence lurking in the azure depths of her eyes before she buttoned herself up for the day. How would she react to the things Scully needed to say?

“We should go out to dinner tonight,” she said impulsively. “Someplace romantic but private.”

“Special occasion?” Stella asked, hands roaming over the hem of Scully’s sleep shorts.

“Not really. We just haven’t gone out in a while, and maybe we need some time to talk.”

Stella’s fingers, which had just reached the band of Scully’s underwear, paused. “Talk?”

Scully resisted the urge to flinch. Instead, she scooted closer, fingering the lacy bodice of Stella’s nightgown. “We don’t have to spend all our time fucking.”

Stella’s expression softened, but there was a wariness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. No doubt, she was as aware of the upcoming date on the calendar as Scully was. “Speaking of fucking, I believe I promised to take you shopping today.”

“Shopping?” Still caught up in her own internal battle, it took Scully a moment to follow Stella’s change of topic. The vibrator that needed replacing. Right.

“Yes.” Stella’s fingers were moving again, teasing Scully through her underwear.

“Who needs a vibrator when I have you?” Scully tilted her hips toward Stella’s hand, trying to increase the whisper soft brush of her fingers.

“Why settle for one when you can have both?”

“Good point.” She closed her eyes as Stella drew circles over her clit through her underwear, teasing. “Stella…”

In response, Stella crawled on top of Scully, straddling her, hips frustratingly still. “We should wait until after we’ve gone shopping.”

“What? No.” She squirmed beneath Stella’s weight, uncomfortably aroused. She felt Stella’s heat through the thin layers of cotton separating them and knew she was just as aroused. She also knew Stella was getting off on this little game. Distraction. That’s what this was. She was distracting Scully from the conversation they needed to have. And it was working, because nothing seemed as important right now as the press of Stella’s hips against her own.

“Patience, Dana.” Stella rolled her hips, just once, and Scully arched into the contact.

Two could play this game. She reached between them, teasing Stella through her nightgown, feeling her wetness, seeing the heat in her eyes. Then Stella was touching her too, stroking her mercilessly through her pajamas, driving her wild. They kept on like that until both of them were breathing hard. Scully’s panties were soaked, her clit throbbing when Stella broke free and slipped out of bed.

“Get dressed,” she called over her shoulder as she walked toward the bathroom. “We’ve got shopping to do.”

Scully glared at her back, bringing her hand between her legs. She just needed a quick minute to finish herself off, and then she’d be more than happy to go shopping.

But Stella turned around, her expression smug. “None of that.”

“I hate you,” Scully grumbled as she climbed out of bed, rummaging through Stella’s drawers for something to wear.

“No, you don’t,” Stella called as she shut the bathroom door behind her.

“No, I don’t,” she agreed quietly as she stripped out of her pajamas and got dressed.

Stella returned a minute later, face damp from washing, but the hungry gleam in her eyes let Scully know she was sticking to the rules she’d set. She pulled Scully into her arms and kissed her, hard. “It’ll be worth it. I promise.”

They finished getting ready—which involved a lot of unnecessary touching, both of them finding any excuse to bump into each other, hands brushing against fabric, hips rubbing. Stella’s nipples were hard beneath her blouse as they walked outside, the taxi she’d called already waiting at the curb for them.

“Brunch first,” she announced, giving the driver an address near one of her favorite shopping districts.

Horny as she was, Scully’s stomach grumbled hungrily at the thought. She and Stella had been too busy teasing each other to eat, or even to fix coffee. Fifteen minutes later, the taxi pulled up in front of a café with ample open-air seating, which seemed perfect for the unusually sunny June day brewing around them.

They were seated at a table for two near the back of the patio. Stella ordered poached eggs and sausage with a side of hash, while Scully ordered avocado toast, which earned her a reproachful yet amused look from Stella.

“So, have you got any plans for the rest of the day?” Stella asked sweetly as she sipped her tea.

Scully leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Fuck you.”

“Oh, you will,” Stella answered smugly. She was thoroughly enjoying herself, dammit.

Scully was tempted to kiss that smile off her face, but she knew Stella would only enjoy that even more. So, they ate brunch, legs occasionally bumping beneath the table. Once, Stella’s hand even found its way onto Scully’s thigh, squeezing firmly. As much as she hated to admit it, there was something to be said for Stella’s little game.

Scully couldn’t remember when she’d spent this much time thinking about sex, anticipating it, wanting it, needing it, her every thought consumed by the beautiful woman on the other side of the table. Stella held her gaze, devouring her with her eyes as she sipped quietly from her tea.

After they ate, Scully excused herself to the bathroom, only to be followed by Stella. They went about their business quietly until they were at the sink washing their hands. Stella glanced around to make sure they were alone before pressing Scully against the door, effectively blocking entrance to the bathroom as she brought her mouth to Scully’s, meeting her for a hungry kiss.

She fitted their bodies together like they were pieces of a puzzle she already knew by heart, and Scully was ready to kneel at Stella’s altar, because surely this was the best idea she’d ever had. The thrill of the game, of the shopping ahead and the evening to follow…she was dying in the very best possible way. After a hot and heavy minute, Stella drew back, winking as she led the way out of the bathroom.

They left the restaurant, and then Scully was filled with a different kind of anticipation, a combination of nerves and heat as she imagined not only what it would be like to step inside a sex shop, but to do so with Stella.

The shop itself was nondescript from the outside, with a brick exterior and a painting of a couple in a passionate embrace in the window. The shop’s name—Shag—was printed in black letters over the door. Stella took Scully’s hand as they entered, walking with the same unflinching confidence in which she entered any situation, be it a murder scene or a sex shop.

Her heels clicked across the polished floor as she walked, and Scully caught several heads swiveling in her direction. Not for the first time, she wondered if Stella was truly unaware of her admirers or only pretended not to notice. With her, it was hard to be sure. Either way, Scully felt an odd sort of pride to be walking beside her.

The only other occupants of the store were a couple looking at lingerie along the righthand wall, an older woman browsing a display case in back, and the saleswoman behind the counter, dressed in a formfitting black leather skirt and a matching silk blouse, her hair in a neat bun at the back of her head.

Scully tried not to gawk, tried to act as nonchalant as Stella as they made their way through the store. It was less tacky than she’d anticipated, no mannequins sporting strap-ons or racks of leather and whips. On the contrary, the store was upscale, posh, and seemed to cater almost exclusively to women.

The shelves were lined with pink satin, soft music played in the background, and the racks of lingerie featured more silk and lace than Scully had ever seen—even in Stella’s closet. As Scully took in her surroundings, Stella was already guiding her toward a table on the left, which displayed vibrators of every size, shape, and color.

Samples had been set out for customers to touch, with boxed versions of each model stacked behind for purchase. Just the sight of all those toys brought the ache between her thighs back to life. Stella lifted a small, purple, teardrop-shaped vibrator similar to Scully’s old one and held it on her palm.

“A vibrator like this is a good place to start,” Stella said. “A staple for any woman’s collection, but have you ever tried a G-spot stimulator?”

The saleswoman, who had walked over to assist them, stopped in her tracks, giving Stella an impressed look. “Let me know if you need any assistance,” she said, making it obvious from her tone that she appreciated a woman who knew her way around a sex shop.

“I will, thank you,” Stella told her, before turning back to Scully. “So?”

“Um.” Scully looked over her shoulder, making sure no one was close enough to listen in on their conversation. She’d shot people, and sliced and diced bodies for a living, but she’d never discussed vibrators in public before. “I tried one once, but it didn’t do anything for me. Maybe I just didn’t know what I was doing with it.”

“Well, modern day toys have come a long way,” Stella said as she lifted another one off its stand. This one was a deep eggplant color, long and curved and wider on one end. “This is a dual clitoral and G-spot vibrator. You can use it for either or both simultaneously. It can be a bit tricky to get the positioning right. Better if you have a partner to help you.” Her eyes sparkled dangerously at this, and the ache between Scully’s thighs began to throb.

“I guess you’d need the right partner, then,” she said, playing along as she reached for the vibrator in Stella’s hand. It was softer than she’d expected, almost like human skin.

“Try a few and see what textures you like,” Stella told her, standing close enough that Scully could feel the heat radiating from her body and smell the floral scent of her lotion.

“I like the feel of this one.” Scully slid her hand up and down the length of the toy, watching as Stella bit her lower lip, gaze locked on Scully’s fingers.

“Some of them are battery-warmed,” Stella said, reaching over to press a button on the one Scully held. It began to buzz, vibrating against her palm.

Her breath hitched. She couldn’t believe she was getting this turned on in a sex shop. This day was officially insane. And also strangely fun. She pressed her hand against Stella’s, the toy vibrating between them. “I think we should get this one.”

“Whatever you want,” Stella said, the picture of perfect poise, but her nipples were hard beneath her shirt, and it sure as hell wasn’t cold in here.

They spent a few more minutes browsing vibrators. Scully picked out a small one like the one she’d lost in addition to the fancy one Stella had suggested. She’d imagined that Stella would lead her through the shelves of oils and accessories next, but to her surprise, Stella headed straight for the register, her haste betraying her outward calm. She was losing patience with her own game.

“Oh hey, Stell, look at these.” Scully stopped in front of a rack of handcuffs.

Stella arched a brow. “Surely, you’ve used those before.”

“Well, yeah.” She and Mulder had played around with their cuffs a lot back in the day. “But I don’t carry cuffs anymore, and police issue handcuffs aren’t exactly designed for comfort, anyway. They lead to a lot of unfortunate bruises and chafing. But these…” She lifted a pair of pink fur-lined cuffs. “These look fun.”

Stella’s tongue darted out to wet her lips as she looked from the cuffs to Scully’s face. “You should get them, then.”

“I think I will.” But when she looked over at the register, the pretty saleswoman was gone. In her place was a man, dressed just as nicely in all black. He was cute…in a younger man kind of way. And she felt stupidly flustered at the idea of handing him her new vibrators and kinky handcuffs. Knowing Stella would find this ridiculous, Scully tossed her hair over her shoulders and walked ahead, plopping her purchases in front of the salesman with a polite smile.

“Did you find everything you were looking for?” he asked as he began ringing up her purchases.

“Yes, I did. Thank you.”

Stella stood beside her, fingers tapping absently at the countertop, eyes roaming over the various sexy knickknacks on display.

“Nothing for you?” he asked her.

Stella looked up at him. “Not today. Just helping her shop.”

“A good friend,” he observed, his gaze dropping to Stella’s breasts.

Instead of feeling jealous, Scully suppressed a smile as she waited for Stella to tell him off, or perhaps even more likely…drop him with that icy look of disapproval that left men and women alike cowering in her wake. But when Scully looked over at Stella, she was giving him the look, the one that made Scully wet every time she was on the receiving end of it, the one that said, “I want to devour you.”

And okay, now she was jealous. And pissed. What the fuck, Stella? Scully huffed as she accepted the hot pink bag the man passed across the counter to her, fuming silently as she signed the receipt and strode out of the store ahead of Stella, who had an awfully satisfied look on her face. What game was she playing now? Scully couldn’t keep up.

“What the hell was that?” she spat as they reached the sidewalk, but as she rounded on her, Stella grabbed her elbow, pulling her in for a sloppy kiss, tongue delving deep into Scully’s mouth as their bodies bumped together.

When she pulled away, Stella tossed a satisfied glance over her shoulder at the window to the shop and the man behind the counter, whose mouth was hanging open comically as she’d obviously intended. “That,” she said, as she took Scully’s hand, guiding her toward an available taxi at the end of the block, “was for letting Anwar flirt with you at the office last week.”

“Payback’s a bitch,” Scully muttered, smiling now as she followed Stella down the street.

“And so am I.”

[thegreen1969pontiac]

L’appel Du Vide Chapter 1- I Don’t Speak French

                                        Eventual Dean x OC

Summary: When Hope’s sister is killed in a less than a normal house fire, and Sam, her sister's boyfriend, disappears with his brother after her death they’re her number one suspects. When the cops declare the case cold she begins her hunt for the Winchester boys. She follows them in hope for some evidence pointing to the death of her sister, but will she find more than just the cause and the killer? Will she find out more than she wanted to? 

Warning: minor mention of suicide, death, violence, lots of language

Word Count: 1392

L’appel du Vide. It was something I learned in my psychology class. It was, obviously French.

It means ‘The Call To The Void’.

Its when, for a split second, when for that little moment you want to jump into oncoming traffic, or when you are in a multiple-story hotel and you want to jump off the balcony and onto the car below. It happens quite often with the myriad of potentially dangerous things that the world has to offer. 

I was often moving from crappy hotel room to another which gave me plenty of moments to experience this unfathomable feeling. Sometimes I would look out off of the white chipping balcony and lean just far enough off of it that I was no longer on the balcony, my torso was being supported by nothing other than my own spine, and then I could see the dark smoky sky above me and quickly suck in a breath and pull myself back.

After I would do this seemingly ritual action, I take one last sip from the Jack Daniels and coke mix and leave my highball glass for the next person to pick up. I’d open the dirty sliding plastic door that was made to look like glass and get under the lukewarm water with light pressure which honestly just felt like a hose, and wash my long, blonde, hair with the too small shampoo and conditioner bottles. Then occasionally I would end up shaving my legs which would later result in my cursing and bleeding all over the hotels decaying carpet.

 I would get in bed, think about how often couples would sleep there, close my eyes and then suddenly wake up in horror from the assumption that the sheets of the bed most likely haven’t been clean since they were bought and end up sleeping in the armchair that always seemed to come with the hotel room and shiver until morning. And that's how my life has played out since I turned eighteen four years ago, the big, ol’ green 1969 Pontiac GTO hauling me from town to town.

My pride and joy is Theo, I bought him off my uncle when I was 21 with my own money, it was one of the only things that was ever truly mine. Theo was old and needed a little care when I  took the big ol’ boy, but after summers of working on him with my Uncle, I couldn't give him up. Theo was a sight to be seen when I first saw him, the carpet and the leather seats were scratched and stained into oblivion. After a couple drinks shared with the mechanic in New Orleans on a typical rainy day, I agreed to get most of the interior replaced. After the grueling hours that Judd, the mechanic of Orleans put into the car for my sake I also made it my life goal to keep the outside of the car as clean and spotless as the inside.

The car was almost always washed and dried by my hand, in the parking lot of a crap-hole hotel and after it was, it would be waxed with a couple of dirty rags I had in the trunk of the car. I would spend 30 minutes or more scraping unfortunate bugs off of Theo’s windshield.

That's what I was doing, sitting underneath the blazing Wyoming sun and the flickering neon lights that shined down on Theo and I. I was relentlessly trying to dispel a crushed bug off of the corner of the windshield that wouldn’t release its unrelenting hold on the car. My drink was sitting on the pavement next to me, a cheap glass I found in a cabinet was filled to the brim with rum and coke with ice cubes reaching to the surface for a glimpse of the sun's blistering heat.

I normally am not a fan of heat. Sticky sweat and humidity is not my favorite, but the dry Wyoming desert was almost comforting, the warm sun engulfed me in a warm embrace, almost as if the vitamin D was seeping into my pores. I picked up my drink, the ice cubes struggling to still keep afloat as they were melting faster than they could cool my drink.

I hear the familiar ringing from inside Theo. It was the cell that save for my sister and my mother, I never used. 

Seeing as I only ever expected calls near around 7-ish I grew quickly concerned, my father tended to have heart issues and with my sister at college, my mother and father were alone more often than not. I set down my drink on the blacktop and heard the clinking of the glass on asphalt. I went over to the car's rolled down window and pulled the cell phone from out of the glove box. Answering the beeping ringtone before it faded away.

“Hello?” I asked unsure if I wanted to hear the response seeing as I knew it would only be something important, otherwise, they wouldn't have called so early.

“Somethings happened to Jessica. Honey, we can’t make it back there soon enough. You have to go make sure it's her.” My mother said the tears I could hear were threatening to spill. For a second I didn't comprehend what exactly she was asking of me. Identify her for what? Why would I need to make sure it's her?

Then it hit me, like a slap to the face. It felt as if someone ripped out my organs and threw them in a blender only to shove them back in. It hit me harder than anything I've ever felt, more than when my cat was hit by a car, more than when I broke my leg falling off the roof trying to sneak out, more than the worst thing I could have ever imagined.

They want me to identify her body, to identify her non-living body so they knew it was my sister and not some other unlucky girl that was too mutilated to be recognized. Then suddenly I couldn't breathe, I couldn’t speak, nothing. I felt all of that pain in what felt like a condensed ball rising out of my throat and I screeched.

The scream wasn't even that, it was something that dying animals make, something so horror filled and pain riddled that it didn’t sound human. My mother was sobbing on the phone now, I couldn’t find it in myself to console her. I couldn’t even calm myself down enough.

 I don't even remember falling. The stinging in my knees wasn’t important, the blood seeping out of my skin where it had made such abrupt contact with the asphalt didn't matter either. I felt none of it, all I could feel was the mind-numbing pain that seemed to be everywhere. My hands were shaking and tears streaming down my cheeks in large fat tears of utter pain.

“What happened?” I choked out. Nothing more came for a few seconds as if my mother was trying to control the overwhelming disaster that she knew both I and her were facing at the time.

“There was a fire,” I couldn't imagine it, not my baby sister, little Jess, little miss perfect dying in such an aggressive and vicious way.

I couldn't talk about it anymore, I needed to see her, to see what was left of her, see if she still was the young blonde college student that I left her. The smartest in the family, the daughter who was successful and went to Stanford, she was pretty, intelligent, and kind. So why had her death been so morbid?

“I love you.” That's all I could choke out to her as I ran into the hotel and grabbed my things, I threw them into Theo, tears still running down my face in frequent tracks, sobs falling from my trembling lips

 I heard the wheels screech as I whirled Theo out of the parking lot, the highball glass that I set down was crushed as I flew out of what seemed like the last place I would ever feel at peace again.

[a-splash-of-stucky]

Hipster Horticulturist

Pairings: Steve & Natasha (Platonic)

Summary: “You have plants now,” she says.

Warnings: Implied canon-typical violence. Blood. Language.

WC: 1.6k

Notes: I actually adore the Steve/Nat dynamic and it’s a crying shame that I’ve never written it myself. Written for @happystevebingo using the prompt ‘Rooftop/Indoor Farming for Novices’.

consider this round 2 of my unofficial birthday celebration thingie :D

My Masterlist | Happy Steve Bingo Masterlist

She’s been hit.

Badly, but not badly enough to warrant a trip to a hospital or to a safehouse that has a proper surgical kit.

She hasn’t examined the wound up close, but she knows that it’s an ugly gash that marrs her left side, right on the edge of her body. 

At least nothing vital got nicked. 

The bleeding’s stopped for the most part, but it hurts like shit and she’s tired as fuck and honestly? A nap right now would be pretty fucking amazing, thank you very much.

She parks her dilapidated, sputtering truck a couple of blocks away from his warehouse, ‘cause old habits just can’t be shaken. She hasn’t dropped by a for a visit in a while, but she’s confident that he isn’t going to turn her way; it’s not in his nature. She fervently hopes that he’s back from that kerfuffle in Wyoming. If not, she’s going to have to shimmy her way in through his kitchen window, and that is not something that she’s inclined to do in her current state.

From the outside, the warehouse is as unassuming as it always it, with its peeling paint and crumbling roof. There’s a flickering light in the living room window, which is a pretty good indication that he’s home. Armed with that knowledge, she slips her key into the lock, punches in her passcode, and silently slips in through the front door.

The first thing she notices when she steps inside is the greenery hanging from the ceiling. There’s a collection of hanging plants arranged in two parallel rows, their leaves drooping over the sides of their clear pots. She feels as if she’s just stepped into a hipster cafe in downtown.

What the fuck?

There’s a low murmur of voices coming from the living room and she limps towards the source of the sound, wincing as the injury in her side makes itself more known. She finds Steve reclining on his couch, head pillowed on one arm, body turned towards the TV. He’s got some History Channel documentary on.

“Hi Nat,” he says, without turning to face her. “I was startin’ to think you’d forgotten about me.”

“You have plants now,” she says. It’s a statement, not a question, and a ridiculous statement at that — which is saying something, since she’s had to say some pretty outlandish things in her life.

“Nice, huh?” he says, as he pushes himself into a sitting position. It’s then that he properly takes in her appearance, notices the way she’s standing; a crease appears between his brows. Nonetheless, he continues with his train of thought.

“They’re air plants, get their water from the air. Great for people who forget to water their plants — or for people who have to go on extended missions.”

She blinks, still convinced that this is some sort of strange dream. “You’re one of those people now.”

Steve snorts, getting to his feet and stretching his arms over his head. The movement causes his t-shirt to ride up slightly, exposing a strip of his belly. “One of those people?” he echoes.

“A hipster!”

He laughs. “You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”

“It is!”

“Is hipster even the right word for it?” he asks.

“You’re a hipster horticulturist,” she says accusingly. “I can’t believe you. How could you — betray me?”

Steve gives her one of those slow, amused smirks of his. “I think the blood loss is making you delusional,” he says calmly.

“You — ugh, fine. Whatever,” she mutters grumpily, too tired to argue any further.

She hops onto the back of the L-shaped couch and swings her legs over, eager to lie down on something soft. Tempting as it might be to just plop down carelessly, she chooses to carefully curl up in the corner of the couch, not wanting to aggravate her injuries any further.

“I was gonna put a towel under you,” Steve sighs, “Nevermind. The covers could use a wash anyway.”

Natasha grunts in response. Already, she can feel herself starting to drift off, the exhaustion slamming into her system at full force. The last thing she sees before sleep pulls her under are the books stacked neatly on the coffee table, featuring titles such as ‘Indoor Farming for Novices!’ and ‘Grow Your Home-Garden’.

Seriously. Who the fuck is this man and what the hell did he do to Steven Grant Rogers?

——

She wakes up to find that her shirt and jacket had been stripped off sometime during the night, and a white bandage had been wrapped around her middle. Already, her injury is not nearly as painful as it was when she came in. Somewhere off to her right, she can hear Steve pottering around like the hundred-year-old grandpa that he is, humming under his breath as he — wait, what is that trickling sound?

Is he watering plants?

Natasha cracks her eyes open and sits up. Gingerly. With a lot of internal swearing and grumbling about the fucking Italian mafia. Damn them.

She turns around to see Steve bent over some shelves beside the stairs.

“Mornin’!” he chirps, possibly sensing her eyes on him.

“Hi,” she croaks, voice hoarse from sleep.

“Coffee’s in the kitchen,” he tells her.

Well. That’s something.

She shuffles over to the kitchen and pours herself a large mug, groaning gratefully as the bitter, warm liquid swirls down her throat and rejuvenates her system. She cradles the mug in her hands as she pads over to Steve, eager to investigate.

As it turns out, he is indeed watering the plants. Steve’s got an impressive array of them, she discovers — succulents and tiny cacti. Some are arranged in sleek glass bowls, others in terracotta or ceramic pots. Everything’s a mish-mash of different shapes and sizes and colours, but despite the eclecticness, it all somehow manages to work together.

“Neat, huh?” Steve asks, as he straightens up. He’s wearing a black t-shirt with some faded blue jeans, and his hair’s slightly damp like he’s just come out of the shower.

“There’re a few good gardening stores around here, and at least one of ‘em has a good deal on at any time — I’ve collected these guys over the past few weeks,” he says, talking in that proud voice that one gets when they’re talking about their children.

She supposes that he’s nurtured them as if they’re his children, so it’s pretty understandable.

“This one’s my favourite,” he tells her, pointing to a stubby plant that resembles a flattened pinecone. It’s got fleshy leaves which are green towards the centre, but fade into a light red at the tips.

“I call ‘im James ‘cause he died on me, but then resurrected himself after I gave him a new home.”

Natasha blinks. There are so many things to process in that sentence.

“You give your plants names?” she squawks.

“Yeah,” says Steve, like it’s an obvious fact. “Not all of ‘em, though, just the special ones.”

Oh God. He has favourites, now.

“You uh,” she pauses, choosing her words carefully. “James because of—”

“‘Cause of Bucky, yeah,” Steve says, nodding. “Maybe that’s a bit dark and all, but I think he’d get a kick out of it if he were here.”

They are silent, for a brief moment, the air suddenly tinged with a note of sadness. Their search for Barnes has yielded them nothing, and she knows that Steve’s faith is being pushed to the limits. She wants to comfort him and say that they’ll find him, but she knows that they would both see through the lie. If the Winter Soldier does not want to be found, then the Winter Soldier shall not be found.

“Anyway, let me show you the rest of the family,” Steve says, swiftly turning the subject to happier things. He lopes off to the kitchen and gestures for her to follow. “C’mon through!”

Natasha gives a quick prayer to the heavens above and hopes that Rogers has not yet lost his sanity. He may be a hundred, but she sure as heck isn’t letting him go senile.

——

The next time she visits him, it’s two months later and the Steve has taken his gardening to the next level.

At least this visit is out of want and not because of necessity; he’s invited her over for dinner.

Natasha heads into the kitchen and sees that there are small pots lined up along the kitchen window sill, behind the sink. All manner of green plants are sprouting from the black earth, their leaves turned to catch the last rays of the sinking sun.

“I decided to experiment,” Steve tells her, as he drains the pasta. “Herbs are a little harder to keep alive — but they’re a lot more useful, so I guess you win some, you lose some.”

He dumps the drained pasta into the tomato sauce, gives everything a quick stir, then turns off the heat.

“What’re your growing?” she asks, even though she can already identify every plant on the sill, given that she’s a trained field operative, and all.

“That one’s basil,” he says, gesturing to the closest plant. “And then I’ve got parsley here, some mint, chives, and — ooh, the watercress is doing nicely, I hadn’t noticed.”

Natasha watches, a small smile on her lips as Steve tells her about each plant. He’s so — proud. There’s a smile tugging on the corners of his lips and a happy glint in his eyes. She can’t deny the fact that the plants are obviously doing something good for him.

He’s at peace, she realises. He’s found happiness out here, with his house filled to the brim with greenery.

“Y’know,” she says suddenly, interrupting Steve’s spiel about his chervil. “I got a...well, maybe ‘got’ is the wrong word, but I know a farm down in West Virginia — a big place. I could use someone to fix it up. Maybe...maybe you could see what it’s like to have a vegetable patch?”

Steve grins. “I’d like that.”

[galadrieljones]

A Funeral: Chapter 11 (Arthur Morgan x Mary Beth Gaskill)

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2 | Pairing: Arthur x Mary Beth | Rating: Mature

Content: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Angst, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Fake Marriage, Epiphanies, Backstory, Banter, Deep Emotions, Sharing a Bed, Swimming, Arthur to the Rescue, Forests, Abduction, Angst, Heavy Angst, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. In their desperate search for meaning together, they endure a number of trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to one another as well as to the future, and to the unchecked dangers of the natural world.

Thanks @bearly-tolerable for the lovely banner!! <3

For the rest of this story, you can visit the masterpost or AO3, both linked in the replies to this post and also at my blog. ^_^

Chapter 11: Deer Cottage, Pt. 2

They got to the cottage in the early evening. It was good timing, as dark hadn’t fallen and so there was time to drum up and gather their supper. Arthur didn’t want them to be traveling or hunting after dark, and Mary Beth didn’t either. It was just too much risk after what they’d been through the night before. Their plans were to stay in the cottage that night, head north to hunt early in the morning, and then be back to the cottage by evening once more. They had no more plans to sleep in the tent outside, not until they left these more remote parts of the land, heading back to Shady Belle.

Deer Cottage was just as Hamish described it. Modest but clean, with a little garden of lavender and what looked like moss roses. There was some thyme growing around, too, and the moment they got there, Mary Beth began to pick a bunch and gather it into her skirts, and then she found a basket sitting by the green door and dropped it in, along with a selection of poppies and apple blossoms and lavender, too. Arthur fed the horses and made sure they were watered and then together they went inside.

It was small, one room, but it had a very nice and open look about it. The fireplace was clean, with wood chopped and ready, and there was a full kitchen with a basin and a stove and a bed and a table with two chairs. Nothing grisly about it, nothing unsightly or out of order. Hamish was a tender man, it seemed, when it came to keeping his spaces. There were even extra pillows and blankets in the armoire by the door. He noticed, too, there was a gramophone. A real one. It looked dusty and he didn’t know if it was working, but there it was, a fancy novelty item, sitting there by the end of the bed, on the floor.

“This is so quaint,” said Mary Beth, happy. She put the basket of flowers on the table. Then, she went through the cupboards till she found an empty pitcher. “We need water,” she said.

“I saw a working well out back,” said Arthur. “I’ll get it. I’ll see if I can’t shoot something for us to eat as well.”

“Be safe.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, smiling.

The cottage was up a narrow path off the valley road. He took his rifle off of Sarah and his shotgun, too. He didn’t have to go very far. He found a bunch of whitetail grazing in a patch of open grass, the sunlight spreading through like gold. With patience, he honed in on a small doe, took it down in the crosshairs, watched the rest of them scatter, along with several birds. He hauled the deer back to the cottage, flung over his shoulder, tossed it on the ground, real crude, to skin and carve it up. He wasn’t Mr. Pearson, but he could get the job done okay. It was a big score, a nice pelt, and a lot of the meat he salted and wrapped, preserving for the way home. He was bringing in a couple fresh cuts for their dinner now, a big bucket of well water, and some wild carrots, too, which he had found growing along the path back up to the cottage.

When he got back inside, Mary Beth gasped. “Arthur,” she said. “You’re up to your eyeballs in gore."

He looked at his hands, his sleeves, quite bloodied. “You're right,” he said. Then he set down the fresh cuts of meat, the water, and the carrots. “Guess I should wash up.”

“What did you get?” she said.

“Whitetail,” he said. “A good quantity. We’ll have some for tomorrow and the way home as well.”

“Good job, Arthur,” she said, smiling. “I mean it.” She had cleaned up the kitchen, and it looked far less dusty than before. She then poured most of the water from the bucket into the basin, and then the remainder into the tea kettle on the stove. Then, she handed the bucket back to Arthur.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

She watched him, very courteous. He tipped his hat to her and then went out the door to the advancing twilight. She saw him fill the bucket with more water from the well, then he proceeded to splash it over his arms and his face, through his hair till the blood was gone. He removed his shirt, went over to Sarah, found a different one, folded up real tight inside the saddlebag. This one was white. He took a quick look at his stitches, and then he buttoned up the shirt and replaced his suspenders. All of this Arthur did having no idea how she watched him. She felt quietly rebellious. She hadn’t meant to spy. But he was right there, so close, going through with his intimate and masculine routine. He dumped the bucket, filled it up with clean water. Then, he was heading back to the cottage.

She busied herself at the basin, washing some dishes she had found in one of the cupboards. She had also started the burner on the stove for frying up the meat and the carrots. She was touched that he had thought to bring in carrots. It was like he remembered her unfinished business from the night before and made it whole, and he said not one word about it.

He got in and closed the door behind him. He held out his hands, showed her his clean face and collar. “Better?” he said.

“Less bloody, that’s for sure,” she said. “I thought I’d make up dinner now.”

“I’ll, uh, start a fire,” he said, gesturing to the mantle.

“Sounds good.”

Things had changed a little, between the two of them that day. They were more cordial somehow. They had known each other for years, but now it was like that kiss had sealed them up tight, but it also removed them into some new and foreign territory. Neither was entirely clear on how to navigate it yet, but there they were.

After he got the fire going, Arthur began going through the flowers Mary Beth had brought in from Hamish’s garden outside. He chopped some of the thyme for her with the hunting knife from his belt. He set the chopped thyme in a mortar and set it on the counter, beside the stove. She thanked him. He then went about pouring some of the fresh water from the well into that glass pitcher, and then he found an empty coffee can in the pantry. He blew out the dust and put just a couple inches of water in the bottom, and then he put Mary Beth’s assortment of gathered flowers inside. He set it on the table, as he knew she had intended, and he admired its pretty simplicity. It made the cottage feel a little more like a home.

“You know,” said Arthur, leaning now, watching Mary Beth cook. The smell of the meat was filling the air. It was very comforting, making him feel sentimental. He did not have a problem feeling sentimental in front of Mary Beth. He never had. “My ma used to bring home wildflowers like that. In a basket and everything. This reminds me.”

This made Mary Beth blush. “That’s real nice.” She looked at him then, pushing the loose hairs off her face as she stood by the stove. “Where were you born, Arthur?”

Arthur thought on it, went and sat down at the kitchen table, folded his hands in front of him. “I’m not exactly sure,” he said. “I think whereabouts of southern Nebraska. But we took off on the Oregon Trail when I was barely old enough to speak.”

“Oh my,” said Mary Beth. “That must’ve been hard.”

“On my ma, sure,” said Arthur. “I don’t remember much. If anything at all.”

“So up in Oregon, that’s where she died?” said Mary Beth.

“Yeah,” he said, looking down at his clean hands. “She got sick.”

“What sort?”

“I don’t recall,” said Arthur. “A fever, maybe. My pa took me east after that, into Idaho, then Montana where we lived for a long time. He was a hustler, mostly card games, but he robbed folks as well, got busted one night when I was maybe ten years old. We went running into Wyoming, where he was killed, eventually. South Pass City. Pulling a bank job he was ill-prepared to undertake.”

“Did he run with a gang?”

“No,” said Arthur. “Perhaps that was part of his many failures. He did not get on well with others.”

She turned to face him then. The food was almost finished. She leaned against the counter, like she was thinking real hard. “South Pass City,” she said. “Is that where you was found by Dutch?”

Arthur smiled. It wasn’t fine times, looking back. But it didn’t hurt too bad. And her standing there, listening, it made him feel like sharing. “No,” he said. “No. I wandered on my own a while. Maybe two, almost three years. Robbing homesteads mostly to stay alive. I worked at a ranch for about one of them years. That’s where I learned breaking horses. I left there, and then headed back west, to the Tetons, in a place called Jackson, that’s where Dutch found me, working tables at the saloons. He saved me from getting my ass almost beat to death. I was barely fourteen.”

“Working tables?” she said. The meat was done. She checked it a little and then turned off the stove and took the pan off the burner, wearing a green oven mit. “What’s that?”

“Cheating cards, mostly,” said Arthur. He was slouching in the chair now. He’d taken off his hat, hung it on the back of his chair. “I was a good con artist because I was so young. No one suspected a kid to know how to cheat successfully at Blackjack.”

“Cheating cards, you learnt that from your daddy?”

He nodded. “My pa was a poor outlaw and a piece of shit but he wasn’t none too stupid with numbers. He could hold a lot of them in his head at once, and it turned out I could, too. He taught me when I was...nine or ten. I got some sleight of hand I’d use as well. Things I’d picked up over time. No one ever caught me, not right up till the very end.”

This seemed to both amuse and impress Mary Beth very much. She stood over the smoking pan. “I didn’t know you could do all that, Arthur.”

Arthur smirked. “I don’t do it much no more,” he said. “Takes the fun out of gambling. And if you get caught, well, you get killed. I’ll do it to John sometimes just to piss him off, but never in the saloons.”

Mary Beth laughed. “Oh, John,” she said. “He’s kind of sensitive, ain’t he?”

“In certain ways,” said Arthur. “Sure.”

He got up then, instinctually, to get the clean plates off the counter. He brought them over to the table, along with a couple of forks and knives. Mary Beth followed him over, served the venison and the pan-fried carrots. Arthur poured them each a big glass of water, and then together they sat down at the table to eat. The food was good. They spoke in an idle fashion. They felt civilized and grateful as humans in the world.

When they finished, it was full dark. Arthur peaked through the window, picked up his shotgun, which was leaning against the door frame. Mary Beth was clearing the plates and asked him what he was doing.

“I’m gonna just take a quick look around the perimeter here,” he said, looking back at her from the window pane. “I’m sure everything’s fine, but it would just make me feel better to know exactly what’s out there and what things sound like, so if anything changes, I’ll know.”

Mary Beth stopped very cold, holding a plate in each hand. She seemed surprised. “It’s so dark out,” she said.

He sighed. He had half-predicted her concern. “Nothing’s gonna get the jump on me, Mary Beth. I promise. I know what I’m doing.”

“I know you do. It’s just—it’s not just men could be out there,” she said. “There’s animals and things.”

“I know. But I been in these parts many times. I won’t be gone but ten minutes. I promise. I need to take this precaution, Mary Beth. Please understand.”

She still did not move, but she did understand. She nodded, swallowed, dry. She strained a smile. “Just be careful,” she said.

He nodded, trying to reassure her. He was not afraid. She didn’t need to be afraid either. “I always am,” he said. “Lock the door behind me. I’ll be back soon.”

She obeyed. He put on his hat. She went with him to the door, and he went out of the door, then she closed it and turned the bolt and pulled the chain. She heard his heavy boots on the step and then soft in the grass, and she heard him load the shotgun and cock it, ready to shoot.

Mary Beth waited very impatiently after that. She bit her nails. She wondered stupidly at first about why it was he couldn't bring the key, and why instead she had to lock the door behind him. But she knew. It was so that in case someone got him, they couldn't find the key in his pocket, which might lead them back to the cottage. And back to her. He was locked away into the outside world and its myriad of threats and deadly agents just to protect her. She closed her eyes to the possibility.

Mary Beth was used to sleeping outside and noises and enemies everywhere. She was used to men and even women like Karen and Sadie and Miss Grimshaw doing the perimeter walks at night with their big guns back at camp. She never felt afraid at camp. She liked to see the good in their situation. She liked feeling safe. Before now, she trusted that Arthur was a superhuman when it came to the likes of violence, like so many of the other men of the gang. They were impervious. They went out, they shot things, they worked mean angles. They robbed banks and coaches with armed guards. They brought entire trains to their knees. These were serious men of their serious trade. When Arthur had come back almost dead from that O’Driscoll ordeal, even then, she knew in her heart of hearts that he would live. Because he was solid. He was made of something stronger than regular men, and this would protect him from the scourge of mortality. She always saw him that way, maybe him more so than anyone, because he stood so tall and so eager, and he had great skill for what he did.

But somehow, this trip was changing things. It had started with that night at the Winterson’s B&B. It wasn’t about seeing him injured, seeing him bloodied or beat up. That, to her, was second nature. It was about seeing him scared. That night, that dream about Eliza. He was scared. And then the night before with the ambush, when that horrible man had him by the neck in the woods, in the middle of that violent storm, that knife so close to cutting him open right in front of her—he was in danger. He could have died. She could have died, too, or worse, but she wasn’t thinking about her. That’s not what this was.

When he kissed her back in the loft at Hamish’s cabin, it was like a dream. Even if it was only for the moment. She remembered what it was to feel safe and held and accepted, like she had a place somewhere solid and real in the world, tucked away into his arms, arms she had, up until now, understood only as abstractions, symbols of strength and vitality and the unflinching heroism of such a handsome outlaw with a stoic disposition.

Their swelling intimacy, grown of both fear and what might be amounting to love was bringing him all the way down to earth now. She had always known he was a man, and a good man, but now he was a mortal man—he got scared, he lived his live in danger, and he was sort of becoming hers a little bit, and seeing and touching these inside parts of Arthur made her realize that he was not super, he was not impervious—not in his mind, heart, or his body. He could be hurt, and he could die. And thinking of this made her think about a life in which he did not exist. In which she did not hear his boots on the porch step no more, or walking the hallways of Shady Belle at night, making sure everyone was in their right places, safe as houses, before he would allow himself that same luxury of sleeping. He was so solid and big and strong and brave. How can a body like that die? How can a man like that feel fear? She had never thought about it before. And now, he was just out there, in the wilderness, alone, with his guns and his know-how, doing what he always did, which was just to make sure everything was safe, and she was frozen. She could barely even busy herself with the dishes. She was so consumed with her sudden realization that Arthur Morgan could die, that her heart was like a dumbass drum in her chest. And at some point, it was getting to be too damn much.

So she turned around from the window, and she tried to smack some sense into herself like Miss Grimshaw would do. Miss Grimshaw was a mean bitch but she knew a thing or two about practicality, a trait without which no woman of ambiguous station could have survived in their world. Mary Beth took a deep breath, leaning against the table.

“Get it together, Mary Beth,” she said. “This ain’t nothing new.”

After that, she came to her resolve. She pushed off the table, washed the plates and set the pan in the basin. She filled it with some water from the bucket, and added a little soap to let it soak. She found a bottle of bourbon under the sink then and took just one sip, and it burned and made her cough. She had no idea why she did this. Maybe because she thought it was something Sadie would do, or Abigail. These women who were a little older and ripened to the world, and they both had been in love with men and gone through real fucked up shit in their lives with men, and their maturity and wisdom about men gave her something to shoot for. She set the bottle down on the counter. She breathed. She blinked. And that is when she looked over at the bed nearby the crackling fire, and she noticed the gramophone.

It was dusty, but it looked new. It was half covered in a plaid-looking dust cover, tucked against the wall. Dutch had one sort of like it. He would play music that permeated through the camp and made it feel romantic and safe. She went over, and she took off the dust cover and picked it up. It was heavy, but she was strong. She brought it over to the kitchen table. It had a record and everything, and it was a little dirty on its surface, so she wiped it down with a soft linen towel, and she wiped down the record, too. The label was missing. She didn’t know what she was in for. But she secured that record back on the turntable, and then she removed the little break on the spring motor, so the turntable rose up a little and the record started to spin. And then she set the needle down on the record, gently, and in an instant, it started to play.

Meanwhile, Arthur was outside. He did not encounter much on their horizon. It was quiet, and typical, and a boring perimeter check, which was the only good kind, but still. There was a grown black bear, night-prowling, rubbing its back on a tree not too far. When he came upon it, he made eye contact with the beast, pointed his gun and made a whistle, shouting for it to flee, and he waved an arm in the air. The bear was annoyed. It lazied away from that tree and kind of gave him a rebellious look, but then it lumbered into the dark, all aloof. Arthur lowered his gun. He was chewing on a piece of bark. He spat it to the earth and looked around some more. The world was pristine. He was done. He started heading back toward the cabin, and pretty soon he got close enough that he could hear music coming from inside.

It was weird at first. Not what he expected—such a manmade sound. He got up to the door, knocked, peaked through the window, took off his hat when he saw Mary Beth. She opened the door and right away she took his hand, gathering him inside the cottage. She palmed his cheeks like she was checking to make sure nothing had got a piece of him in secret while he was gone, and then she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him so hard, it dragged him down the full ten inches of height he must’ve had on her.

He laughed, holding her, dropped his hat. He was taken by surprise. “I’m fine,” he said. “There was nothing out there but a dumbass black bear.”

“Did you kill it?” she said, her face deep in his neck.

Her hair was getting in his mouth, his nose, everywhere all around. It was a clean smell of rainwater and iron, and it tickled. “No,” he said. “It might’ve robbed us blind of our provisions but it ain’t no danger. I just scared it off.”

“Okay,” she said. She was still right there in his collar, like she was breathing him in real deep.

He didn't want to move. He pushed all of her hair over one shoulder. He was taken aback by her level of relief and concern. As usual he had underestimated her affection for him, or perhaps he just kept forgetting. A defense mechanism of sorts. He sighed and held her face gently and pulled away so he could look her in the eye. “I’m fine,” he said, smiling. “See?”

Mary Beth nodded, her cheeks red and she kind of cast her eyes downward like she was embarrassed. “I know. I'm sorry.”

"Don’t be sorry."

They met eyes, and there was a moment, but then Mary Beth defused it by tucking her hair behind her ears and moving away. She went past him, and he exhaled and watched her go, and then he locked the door and closed all the curtains, and he leaned his gun against the kitchen table and removed his neckerchief and rolled up his sleeves and took a deep breath. He went over to the gramophone, where Mary Beth stood now with her arms crossed, watching the record spin. Arthur examined it with his hands on his hips. It was playing a lovely waltz, violins and a piano and everything. “It works,” he said after a little while.

“Yeah,” said Mary Beth. “It’s pretty new. I think it’s nicer than Dutch’s.”

This was amusing. “Don’t tell him that.”

“I never would.”

Arthur was rocking back on his heels a little bit now, looking at Mary Beth and her pretty face, her warmth, smiling at the gramophone. He was done with the day. The day was over, its various procedures and protocols taken care of. All these things he had to do to safeguard against so many of life's uncertainties. Riding, hunting, preparing, protecting. But that wasn’t all there was to it, was there? Life.

When he had been outside before, getting dirty and cold, spooking that bear, he felt good about their dinner, their conversation, and how it had been so warm in the meantime, even despite this newfound tension between them. It made him think of her, and, again, how he just liked hanging out with her, and how he knew her touch now, her taste, and he'd felt her, and he'd let her in, and he hadn't allowed this for himself in so many years. So many. It changed things, and while he was outside, away from her, he missed her, and he did not want her to be worried, and it was too much. It turned out that it was too much, but for a man like Arthur, too much was probably just enough. It was only that he needed a little bit of hindsight. What does a man want at the end of his day? When his duties have been fulfilled, and the moon is high. What did Arthur want? He glanced around the room now. His gun was leaning by the door. His hat hung up for the evening. He felt accomplished in some weird way he could not pin down and could not describe, and yet, he was unfinished.

“So,” he said, deferring to her. "What do we do now?" She always had good ideas.

She had both of her hands behind her back. She looked at him, hopeful and a little pleased with herself. She said, “Do you wanna dance?” And she held out her hand.

Arthur smiled. He took her hand in a familiar fashion. He said, "Sure."

[avocadean]

Witches, Man

Title: Witches, Man

Words: 1.2k ish

Warnings: mentions of suicide (not a big part), Dean 

A/N: So... I just thought of this out of nowhere. The start of it is crap because I haven’t really written in so long, so forgive me, please. 

Cool I forgot my tags...sorry guys.

@graceb200371 @rosegoldquintis @phire23 @wishedworld

“Hey Dean, get this.” Sam was squinting his eyes at the computer screen in disbelief.

“Is it a case?”

“Uh, yeah- I think so…” Sam cleared his throat before continuing, “It’s in Wyoming. Small town. The article says that ‘locals have been filing complaints with the local police about some of their neighbors’- and I quote, ‘shouting the names of women who they’ve had an affair with.’ It then goes on to say that basically, the people who were shouting the names died within 24 hours.”

Dean brought his coffee mug up to his mouth and finished the last of it before saying, “Alright, we’ll leave in ten.”

The brothers followed their usual pre-hunt routine- Sam researched more on his computer and informed Dean on details that he’d found, while Dean would sing quietly (at first) to his cassette tapes.

The sun set long before the brothers got to Wyoming. Sam and Dean checked into a cheap and run-down motel when they got to the small town and finalized their game plan for the next day.

“So, I’ll go and see the families and try to found out why this witch is doing-”

“Because she’s a witch, Sam! That’s why she’s doin’ what she’s doin’!”

Sam gave his brother a signature look and continued. “...And you can go to the morgue and find what you can.”

Dean grumbled an approval and started to get ready for bed. Sam followed suit, and both brothers bid each other goodnight; though both would keep one eye open.

-------

Dean stood outside of the building he was just in with his cell phone pressed against his ear. “Sam. Hex bags were on all four ‘vics. Definitely a witch.”

“Alright, I’m leaving the last house soon.”

Dean hung up without a goodbye and got in his car. The engine started with a rumbling purr and the tires kicked up dust on the way out of the parking lot.

------

Back at the motel, Sam and Dean compiled the information that they gathered while they munched on the fast food that Dean picked up. They narrowed the location of the witch and decided to go after their meal.

“Dean?”

He spoke with a mouthful of burger, “Yah?”

Sam looked at his brother in disgust but continued. “Another one died. A woman this time.”

Dean stopped chewing for a second, and raised his brows, “She was a dirty mistress?”

“No- never mind. Eat your food. I’ll get the stuff ready.”

With a thumbs-up to his brother as he walked out of the dingy door, Dean finished eating his burger and fries and decided to take his soda with him. He double checked that he had his gun and that it was loaded with witch-killing bullets. Satisfied, Dean walked out of the door.

The trunk of the Impala was open, but Dean didn’t see Sam. Immediately, panic coursed through Dean’s veins and his face dropped.

“Sam?” No answer. “Sam?” Dean walked around the trunk and saw the little bit of blood on the ground. The curse he shouted was muffled by the slamming of the trunk. Quickly, Dean got in the Impala and drove like lightning to the location.

“Hang on, little brother… I’m comin’.”

---------

A throbbing pain in his head was what woke Sam up. Groggily, he opened his eyes and lifted his head. After blinking a couple of times, his eyes focused. He tested the strength of his bonds, but to no avail- Sam was staying where he was.

His head whipped up- a little too fast, he noted- as a young girl walked in. His eyes widened, concern for her safety becoming his number-one priority.

In a whisper-shout, Sam said, “Hey! You gotta get out of here! The witch will be back.”

The girl looked at him with confusion, “What do you mean?”

“The witch that took you and me-” Sam noticed that she didn’t look like she was a captive, especially because she wasn’t tied up.

It dawned on him quickly when the girl was looking at him with slight amusement on her face.

“...You’re the witch.”

The look of amusement changed to a smile. “There ya go! I knew you’d figure that out soon enough.”

Sam look at the witch- the monster he was hunting… the thing that took him down with such stealth and power that he didn’t even know what hit him- and saw how youthful she was.

“How um… how old are you?”

She plopped herself down on a chair across from Sam and crossed her legs. “I’m seven hundred years old.” Sam scoffed, and any feeling of guilt he had was gone. But before it could vanish completely, the witch spoke again. “I’m kidding. That’s such a cliche. I’m eighteen actually.”

Instantly, Sam was filled with grief. Partly due to the fact that he and his brother hunted an 18-year-old girl, but also due to her choice of...activity.

“What’s your name?”

With a slight bounce in her tone, the young witch replied. “Y/N. My name is Y/N. Not very witchy, I know, but my mom named me that, and that’s the only thing I have left of her.”

Sam could tell where Y/N’s story was going, so he prodded a little. “What happened to her?”

With a deep sigh, the girl’s bubbly personality was gone, replaced by a sad tone. “She killed herself when I was ten.”

Sam felt guilty, but he knew that if he kept prodding, he’d get to the answer of why she was doing what she was doing. “If you don’t mind me asking… do you know why?”

“Why what?”

“Why your mother killed herself…”

Y/N started to pick at her nails- they were very interesting.

“Oh… Um, yeah. My dad cheated on her.” Sam’s heart fell a little, confirming his theory.

“Is that why you are killing people?”

Y/N’s head snapped up so fast she could have gotten whiplash. She dropped all interest in her nails, and was focused on Sam. “...What?!”

“Those men, the ones you hexed. Did you kill them to get back at your father?”

“Whoa, no! I didn’t kill anyone- I swear!” Y/N stood up from her chair, making it scrape back against the concrete floor.

“Its OK- well not really -but I understand why you did what you did-”

“I didn’t kill them!” Y/N shouted. Sam was taken aback and took a minute to study the young witch’s demeanor. She was genuinely upset, shaking a little bit even. While Sam was staring at her, Y/N continued to defend herself. Her once happy tone turned to a panicked and erratic one.

“I swear, I wouldn’t hurt anyone. I mean, maybe their pride, but that’s all I did! I didn’t kill them… I wouldn’t- I couldn’t.”

Quickly, Sam tried to calm her down. “Hey, it’s OK, I believe you. Calm down.”

“Calm down? Calm down?! How can I calm down when I maybe just killed 4 men?!” Sam’s face twisted, “What?”

“Wait… didn’t you hex that woman?”

Y/N furrowed her thick brows. “What woman? Why did you just turn pale?” the young witch noticed. And she was right. Sam was pale. “Sam?”

She followed Sam’s gaze and turned around. She was met with another guy- Dean, she presumed. Panic set in even further when Y/N noticed the gun that was pointed directly at her.

“...Oh.”

Dean smirked upon seeing the witch’s face and cocked his gun. “Adios, you bitch”

“Dean no!” Sam yelled, desperately. But he was too late, and Y/N was on the cold floor with a perfect mark in the middle of her forehead.

[sayo-writes-fanfiction]

On the One Hand- Death: 4- Highs and Lows, Mostly Lows

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Plunking her bag down in the doorway of Bobby's study, Sonya did a quick mental check of everything she packed and nodded to herself in satisfaction before moving to join Garth at the desk where Bobby stood waiting.

"Got everything?"

Holding back a sigh, Sonya nodded absently at the older hunter's question.

"Machete?"

"Yep."

"Gun?"

Patting the small of her back where the pistol he had gotten her rested comfortably, she nodded again. "Check."

"Salt?"

"Obviously."

"Clothes?"

"Figured I'd make new ones on the way there."

Narrowing his eyes at her sarcastic quip, Bobby continued. "Lighter?"

"Gonna rub some sticks together."

"ID?"

Reaching back, she patted her back pocket where her wallet rested." Right here."

"Other ID?"

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Sonya reached up and pulled a freshly made square of plastic out of the pocket of her open button down. "Got it."

"Killing a vampire means..."

"Cutting off it's head."

A beat, then- "You-"

"Salt and burn the remains. If you're feeling froggy, do a little tribal dance around the fire."

Hearing Garth try to cover a laugh up with an unconvincing cough, Sonya pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.

"Don't swallow any-"

"Vampire blood, I know, Bobby." she said with some exasperation. Fixing him with an earnest stare, she held her hands out slightly. "I've been reading up on all things monster for the better half of a year."

Huffing lightly under his breath, Bobby sat down in his chair, relenting a bit. "then git goin'. Don't need you in my hair anymore."

Sonya snorted at that, eyebrows raising slightly. "What hair?"

"Get out."

With a huff of laughter, Sonya sent Bobby a wry smile and spun around on her heel, heading back towards where her bag laid. "Call you when we get there." She tossed over her shoulder, waiting long enough to hear Bobby's usual grunt of acknowledgement before stepping outside and closing the door behind her.

With a small sigh, she shook off the feeling of forgetting something and moved  to join Garth beside his truck where he stood waiting. Giving her an easy grin, he slapped the top with his hand and opened the door. "Ready to go?"

"Apparently." With a slight grin of her own, Sonya tossed her bag in behind the passenger seat and slid inside. Looking through the windshield at the house, she stared at it as Garth started the monster of a vehicle and turned around to drive away.

Turning her attention to the side mirror, she watched the house disappear in a cloud of dust before vanishing entirely from her field of view when the truck turned onto the main road.

"And I'll fly up into the sky!"

Sonya beat out a rhythm on the dash in front of her, mimicking the drums blaring from the stereo.

"Then i'll fall.. To the burning Earth below!" She bellowed out with Garth, her voice cracking a bit with the volume. Tipping her head back, she slapped her hands harder against the dash.

"Into the skyyyy!" Garth's off-key voice made her grin wildly and join in for the finish.

"And down... To... Earth!" They shouted together, neither one caring if they were in tune or not. With a resounding thud of her hands on the dash, the song finished.

Four hours of driving west had given the two of them an opportunity to learn something new about each other. Like the fact they both liked obscure bands barely anyone knew. It was a preference, Garth claimed, one you either picked up and loved, or hated it outright, there was no in-between. Leaning her arm out the open window, she let out a whoop of laughter as Garth tipped his head back and attempted to what she thought was a yodel.

Spotting a road sign up ahead, she reached over and turned the beginning base to another song down and pointed it out. "Looks like we're a few minutes out."

Nodding his head in agreement, Garth tapped his thumbs against the steering wheel in thought as they drove by the sign declaring they were entering Douglas Wyoming. "What did the reports say again?"

Leaning over the back of her seat, Sonya dug out the papers she tucked into her bag and shook them out. Scanning a couple of statements printed neatly on the first page, she cleared her throat and began reading out loud. "The first victim, Mary Stephen, 28, was found near North Platte river, throat torn open." Turning the page over, she grimaced slightly at the photo of a young woman with long brown hair laying near the edge of the water, limbs splayed out as if she had just been tossed aside.

"The second victim, Joshua Northon, 16, was found three days later in the same place. Marks on his wrists and ankles indicating he had been restrained before death." Flipping it over, she eyed the picture of a classic football star, complete with a Letterman jacket. Squinting slightly, she studied the close-up picture of the boy's neck, eyeing the obvious marks left behind by a feeding vampire. "Why was he restrained but the woman wasn't?" Garth's voice cut through her thoughts, making Sonya pursed her lips slightly and looked over at him in thought.

"She was probably attacked outright and he was kept as a sort of... Doggie Bag." She curled her lip slightly at the thought and shook her head, letting the papers fall onto her lap. "Either way, it has Vampire stink all over it."

Nodding his head enthusiastically, he turned onto the main road, pausing at a stoplight before turning right onto a less busy road. "Right on, lets find us a place to stay and something to eat then, amigo."

Grinning slightly at his exuberance for hunting all things monster, Sonya agreed with a low hum. "Two rooms though, we may be friends, Garth, but I don't ever want to find your underwear hanging over the side of the bathtub again."

"That was one time!"

"One time too many,  my friend."

Stopping in the open doorway of her motel room, Sonya grimaced at the less-than-idea decor and kicked the door shut behind her. After paying for their neighboring rooms, the both of them agreed to a couple of hours to settle in and clean up from the ride over before going out to find something to eat. Tossing her bag onto the bed, she turned in a small circle to eye the area critically.

A single twin bed sitting in the middle with the headboard settled against cracked and peeling green wallpaper. It wasn't even a nice color of green, something closer to pea soup if she had to put a name to it. Turning around, she eyed the bathroom door with some trepidation before moving to push it open with a single finger, bracing herself for whatever lay beyond it.

Squinting open one eye, she felt a small rush of relief when she spied a relatively clean room, white tile, standing shower tucked into a corner and a toilet that looked like it had been bleached within an inch of it's life on the other side of the open door.

Nodding her head a bit, she breathed out a small sigh of relief and turned to face the room once again. At least the bathroom looked clean, she didn't think she'd catch anything from the toilet if she used it anyway.

With her inspection done, Sonya moved back towards the bed and opened her bag to dig around a moment to find the canister of salt. Straightening back up, she started pouring a thick line across the windowsill and across the threshold of the door. Thankfully it opened outward, all she had to worry about was not breaking the line when she entered or exited. Precautions finished, she moved back towards her bed and pulled out an old, unused journal she found a few months prior while digging around in Bobby's attic out of pure boredom.

Untying the string, she flipped it open and scanned over the first few pages she had filled with idle ramblings about the show she remembered watching before showing up there. Various things underlined from time to time, names mostly, of people or cities. Vague recollections of the story line, something about the apocalypse and then a good character turned bad? It was all very fuzzy and hard to focus on, much like a piece of dust stuck to your eye, it's there, you see it in your peripheral, but if you try to look at it the damn thing moves away.

One set of names stuck out the most, so much so she had written them at the top of the first page in bold and underlined them several times. Sam and Dean, no recollection of what they looked like, or even gender, but those names were prominent. With a shrug, she flipped to a new page and clicked the pen in her hand, beginning to write about her first official hunt, even if it was with another hunter.

Pausing in her writing, she looked up at the window, watching the curtains stir slightly in the breeze from the overhead fan. Not that she was a hunter herself, not really. Sure, she knew what to do, how to kill monsters and even track them down. But until  now, she didn't do much about it other than help Bobby when other Hunters called or stopped by for help.

After this though, she'd have the right to consider herself one, even if no one else agreed. It was just the first of what she hoped to be many hunts, first of many cases. A small smile hovered around her lips at the thought. Sure it was dangerous, but something deep inside crowed in excitement at the thought of finally doing something real to help people other than sitting off to the side with her head buried in a book.

Looking back down at the page, she doodled in the top corner idly, tracing the outline of an eight while she continued to think to herself about the current case they were on.

From the looks of things, it couldn't be very many vampires according to Garth. Maybe three or four at the most. She wrinkled her nose slightly at the idea of more than just one or two, her fingers twitching slightly in a sharp downward stroke of the pen, putting a line through the eight she drew from top to bottom.

But she really couldn't complain, Sonya shrugged, watching without really seeing as she drew a line off to the side, connected at the end to the first line through the eight so it tipped up just a bit. It was a case that Bobby himself handed to her willingly, if that didn't say he thought she was ready for this, than nothing would.

With a small huff, she stuck her tongue out slightly between her lips, watching as she completed the doodle with an arched line going up then another one straight down, looking a lot like a backwards number four.

A knock on the door drew her out of whatever daze she was in. Blinking a bit, she shook her head and looked through the window to see Garth standing there, hands in his pockets as he waited for her to answer.

Not bothering to look at the journal anymore, or even finish her entry, she slapped it shut and tied the pieces of leather in a quick knot before reaching over to open the door and push it open. "Mind the salt."

Looking down, Garth carefully stepped over the line she made and shut the door behind him with a curious hum. "Bobby taught you well."

"Yeah, well, considering the kind of thing that tends to come around when a hunter stops by the house, you generally learn to keep a salt line at the door just in case." Shrugging slightly, she stuffed the journal into her bag and stood up, stretching her arms over her head with a low groan. "Ready to get something to eat?"

"Absolutely, talked to one of the housekeeping girls working the rooms and she mentioned a little restaurant that made the best homemade fries this side of the state." He rubbed his hands together eagerly with a lick to his lips. "Said we gotta try some while we're in town."

"Absolutely." Grinning at him, Sonya waved to the door so he'd open it and step out, following behind him as she shut and locked it behind her. "Lead the way, comrade."

"Ah, German!"

"Russian, Garth."

"Right."

After one of the best meals she had in about a year, Sonya and Garth moved farther into town, tracking down the first lead they wanted to follow. Mary's sister, Lily, lived just down the block from the older woman, and was the last one to see her before she showed up dead the next morning.

Parking the truck alongside the curb, Garth looked over at her curiously as she pulled out her fake ID with a curious expression. Bobby had given it to her before she went upstairs to pack her things, not even an explanation, not that she needed one, it wasn't the first fake he had given to her.

But now she had the chance, she studied the plastic idly, taking in the picture he put on it then moving to the credentials listed below.

"Apparently I'm a private detective." She finally announced, turning to show Garth as he shuffled through the center console a moment before pulling out his own piece of plastic. "And I'm..." He squinted at it a moment and turned it to face her with a grin. "State police. You helping us with the case then?"

"Probably, but I'm having strong flashbacks of a show called Psych." Sonya muttered, rolling the sleeves of her button up down and buttoning it up about halfway to make herself seem more presentable. "Psych?"

"Never mind, some TV show I used to watch, not important." Waving a hand at him, she opened the door and stepped out, her gaze drifting up to the small apartment building in front of them.

Maybe four apartments at the most, all of them with their own balcony that faced towards the street. Turning to look at Garth, she eyed his hastily made tie and mussed hair with a sigh. "Wait, hold still." Moving in front of him, she rolled her eyes and undid the knot he made, carefully fixing and adjusting the tie so it sat a little more professionally before reaching up and fixing his hair so it didn't look like he just got into a fight with a hair dryer.

"There, much better." With a grin, she stepped back and admired her work, one hand reaching out to slap his away when it came up to loosen the tie. "Don't ruin my work."

"I hate ties." He wined, making her snicker lightly and link her arm with his while they walked towards the apartments. "Then you should have thought about it before picking your ID."

"I'll be the private detective next time." He grumbled in a very un-Garth way as she reached out and pressed the buzzer for Lily's apartment with an amused grin. "Sure thing."

Looking at him from the corner of her eye, Sonya pursed her lips thoughtfully and looked forward again. "You know, you should keep your hair that way, looks good on you."

Garth glanced over at her and reached up to touch his hair lightly with a thoughtful expression. "Ya think?"

"Definitely."

A crackle from the speaker in front of them cut their conversation short as a young woman's voice came through. "Yes?"

Clearing his throat, Garth moved forward so she could hear him better on her end. "Hello, I'm with the state police here investigating your sister's death?"

The crackle and hiss coming from the speaker sounded for a moment before she spoke again. "Sissy's death was ruled an animal attack, why are the police looking into it?"

This time, Sonya stepped forward, putting a hand on Garth's shoulder to move him to the side. "There was new information that came up recently that brought some curious eyes towards it." She explained smoothly, silently thanking her lucky stars for her affinity for reading so many mystery books in her high school years.

A small pause then a buzzer sounded, indicating the door being unlocked. Sharing a look with Garth, they both shrugged and pulled it open to step inside, one of the doors at the top of the stairs opened, a brown head of hair sticking out to look down at them. Offering the young woman a smile, she walked up the stairs with Garth following behind. "You must be Lily."

"Yes..." The young woman hedged, obviously still nervous as she eyed the two of them when they came to a stop in front of her door. "Do you have ID?"

Reaching into her shirt pocket, Sonya pulled out her ID and handed it over to Lily, watching with some amusement as she stared at it closely then slowly handed it back to her so she could take Garth's next. Bobby had pointed out early on when she brought up the topic of fake IDs used in cases like this that generally the public knows little to nothing about what an official ID looks like other than police badges and the like. It was the ones that worked in law you had to watch out for.

Taking the card back, she tucked it away and stuffed her hands into her pockets, waiting for the woman to finish her inspection and hand Garth's ID back. "Why is a private detective working with the police anyway?"

"I generally lend a hand when the police run out of leads. A fresh pair of eyes." She shrugged lightly and offered Lily a small smile, one that spoke of stories she could tell if they had the time to. Visibly relaxing, Lily smiled back and moved away from the doorway, waving the both of them in with one of her hands. "Come in then."

Nodding at her in thanks, she and Garth stepped into the entry way, pausing at the edge of the linoleum square in front of the door to keep the carpet from getting damp should any shoes be wet when they come in. Stepping past them, Lily moved to the left where a small living room set up was, a love seat and a reclining chair along with a small coffee table set in the middle.

Sitting down on the edge of the recliner, Lily waved at the love seat for them to sit on. "Thank you Ma'am." Garth smiled winningly at her and settled down in the seat along with Sonya, both of them grunting a bit in surprise at how far the cushions sank down.

"Oh! Sorry, I should have mentioned the springs were broken..." Lily jumped up, ready to help them to their feet only to stop when Sonya laughed and waved her off. "No, it's fine, fine. Not the first broken couch I've sat in." Hesitating a bit, Lily slowly sat back down, watching the two of them with a small, worried frown tugging at her lips.

Garth grinned and slung his arms along the back of the couch, long limbs stretching from end to end as he relaxed back fully against the seat. Rolling her eyes at his unprofessional appearance, Sonya sent Lily an apologetic look. "Sorry, he's new to the force. Still a little... Rough around the edges."

Giving them a tight smile, Lily nodded her head slightly and tapped her fingers on her knees as Sonya pulled the packet of paper from inside her button up- she refused to carry anything resembling a purse- and flipped through the pages before finding the report on Mary. "Now it says here you were with Mary the night before she was found?"

Lily nodded and fiddled with her hands, fingers spinning a ring on the first finger idly while she spoke. "Sissy was here for dinner, we usually have dinner together on Friday nights after she gets off work." She bit her lip, eyes welling up with tears as she looked down at the floor. "I should have made her stay, she kept saying she didn't drink that much, but she was stumbling down the stairs."

Reaching out, Sonya laid her hand on top of Lily's getting her attention and stopping her from fiddling with her ring anymore. Idly she noticed they were cold and wet, probably was washing them before they buzzed the door. Shaking off the random thought, she focused on the woman's face, a gentle smile on her own. "Lily, it isn't your fault, you have to know that. No woman, no matter how old, don't do anything if they really don't want to."

Lily offered her a weak smile and nodded her head. "You're right, of course." A small sniffle prompted Garth to lean forward and grab the small box of tissues sitting on the table, offering them to her with a little smile of his own.

Taking one with a grateful look at him, Lily wiped her eyes and nose before taking a slow breath. "Then, she called me from her car, said something about almost being home before the call cut off. I think her phone died, she never really did keep it charged properly."

Sonya shared a look with Garth, they didn't have a lot of things to go by, the bare minimum of evidence that Bobby was able to get from the basic sources. If they wanted to get their hands on anything from the scene or even the coroners report, they would have to test their skills against the police department.

"That's- That's all." Lily shrugged slightly, her hands twisting on her lap again as she looked up at them. "Next day I got a call from the police department saying they found my phone number in her Emergency contacts."

Nodding slightly, Sonya heaved herself out of the trap of a couch and offered the young woman her hand to shake as she stood up too. "Thank you, it's one thing to read what happened and another to hear the information for yourself." Looking over at Garth, Sonya bit back a laugh as he struggled to his feet to join them. "Look, I don't think there's anymore you can tell us right now, but-" She reached into the pocket of his jacket and snagged one of the cards with his cellphone number on it and held it out to her with a smile. "If you can think of anything else, anything at all, please call this number and let us know?"

Lily took the card from her and nodded, staring down at the number scribbled across it with some measure of confusion. "It's my personal number, much easier to get a hold of me with that." Garth offered when she looked up at them in question. Her eyebrows smoothed out when she understood and nodded. "Of course. Absolutely."

Shaking her hand, Garth turned to wave Sonya towards the door. "We'll be on our way then. Please, don't hesitate to call if anything comes up, even if you don't remember." Garth paused beside the open door, sending Lily a serious look. "There's no telling if whoever did this knows where you are."

"Uh... Yes, right." Lily's eyes widened a fraction as he shut the door and lead the way down the stairs. Once outside, Sonya slapped him on the shoulder making the taller hunter flinch and look down at her in surprise. "Ow!"

"What the hell was that? Are you trying to scare her? She's already upset over her sister dying but now you got her paranoid someone's gonna come looking for her!"

"I just wanted her to be careful!" Garth complained, dodging away from Sonya when she went to slap his arm again, quickly moving around to the other side of his truck out of her reach. "And you know I'm right anyhow!"

"It doesn't mean you have to scare her!" Sonya snorted, opening the door with a jerk and slipping into the seat with a scowl as he clambered in as well, starting the engine while tossing her cautious looks the entire time, waiting for her to try and hit him again. "Alright, alright, i'm sorry." He groaned when she didn't say anything when he pulled away from the curb and back onto the road. "I shouldn't have said it."

Looking over at him, Sonya pursed her lips and slumped slightly in the seat. "You're right though, if the vamps find out about her, she could end up their next meal."

Tightening his grip on the wheel with one hand, Garth reached up and loosened the tie so it hung around his neck. "I know, that's why we gotta find them before they do." Shooting her a small grin, he nodded towards the papers still in her hands. "Anything else in there?"

"Not really." Sonya hummed, flipping through the papers, scanning them a moment then tossing them into the back seat. "You'll have to go to the police station to get your hands on the official reports."

"You don't wanna come with me?" He glanced over at her with a raised eyebrow, surprised she wasn't already suggesting they head over there to begin with. Sonya shook her head and sent him a wry smile, one hand reaching up to pat her pocket where the ID sat. "I don't really wanna chance this right now, first case and all, it wouldn't do to get arrested right away."

"Fair point, wanna go back to the motel?"

Looking out her window, Sonya spied a small shop among the others lining the street and smiled lightly. "No actually, let me out here would you? I wanna look around a bit."

"Right-o." turning the wheel, he pulled up along the curb and stopped, watching as she hopped out onto the side walk. "Shouldn't take long, wanna meet here or at the diner?" He  nodded down towards the corner where the restaurant sat. Glancing over towards it, Sonya nodded. "Yea, meet you there." Patting the side of the truck, she backed up a step and watched him pull out and drive away.

Turning, she tucked her hands into her pockets and wandered down the sidewalk to stop in front of the small store she spotted earlier, a wistful smile tugging at her lips as she studied the crystals and trinkets hanging in the window. It had been so long since she had seen a wiccan shop, even longer since she visited one.

In her old life, as she had started calling it, she regularly visited one a few towns away, the woman running it a bonified wiccan that helped way more than a string of psychiatrists ever could. Getting help with keeping the energy in her home made living there far calmer. And now, considering what she had to live with, it wouldn't hurt to get a few extra precautionary items to keep the house safe with.

An hour later found Sonya sitting in the back with a young woman, maybe a couple years younger than her, drinking a cup of green tea and laughing at some stories the shop owner shared.

"She really said, 'you're the reason my husband cheated!'?" Sonya managed to wheeze out between bouts of laughter. The owner, Sam, which she thought was ironic considering her fascination with that name along with Dean, nodded her head with a wry smile. "Not in so many words but it's basically what she was saying."

"Oh my." Sonya snickered and took a sip of tea, letting it's warmth seep into her body with a satisfied hum. Looking over at Sam, she offered her a wry smile and set the cup down. "You know, when I came in here, I wasn't sure if you were the real deal or not."

Sam shook her head and smiled herself, leaning back in her seat as she studied Sonya with a small tip of her head. "It was apparent the moment you walked in why you were here you know."

Sonya grimaced slightly and lifted a shoulder. "Is it that obvious?"

"Hon, your soul is shining brighter than a disco ball." Sam raised an eyebrow and tipped her head towards her chest, like she was staring at her soul. "It's like a beacon almost. I'm surprised none of the creepy crawlies spotted you yet."

"Well, this is my first time out and about... Around here anyway." Sonya hedged, not sure how much she should say to this woman. Sam closed her eyes in thought and nodded suddenly, standing up, she waved at Sonya to follow her. "Come here, I want to show you something."

Getting up, Sonya frowned and followed Sam farther back into the shop, ducking past a curtain with several protective spells woven into it. Stepping into the smaller room, she watched Sam run her fingers along the spines of several books in a large shelf before stopping on the thinnest one and pulled it out. Turning to face Sonya, she held it out with a small smile. "Take this, read it then call me." Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a card and placed it on top of the book Sonya now held, her name and number printed clearly on the white card.

"It will help."

Looking up at her, Sonya wasn't sure if she should hug her or break down crying because for the first time in a year, she felt some semblance of normalcy again. Even if it was as simple as talking to someone who under stood.

"I don't know-"

"Don't worry about it." Sam shook her head and waved a hand towards the door. "Go on now, I think that friend of yours is probably waiting. Didn't you say you were meeting him at the restaurant?"

"Oh! Yeah, shoot, I forgot all about him." Eyes wide, Sonya spun around and quickly made her way back towards the front door. "I'll call you, thank you again!" Stepping outside in the bright sun, she shielded her eyes against the sudden glare and looked around, feeling the tense muscles in her back loosen slightly as relief once again washed over her.

Looking down at the book in her hands, she turned it over curiously looking for a title or something but it was blank. Besides the design stamped in silver along the spine, it wasn't marked by anything.

Flipping open the cover, she paged through it until she came to one with writing on it. In an elegant script, obviously handwritten, were the words 'Touched by God'.

Furrowing her brow, Sonya frowned at the words and looked over her shoulder at the shop in confusion. This wasn't exactly what she had in mind, she wasn't exactly religious and with Sam being Wiccan, she didn't think she was christian or anything else either.

Looking back down at it, she let out a small sigh and shut the book, tucking it into one of the large cargo pockets of her pants before heading down the sidewalk towards the diner. She was the real deal though, so if she thought it could help her in the long run, then maybe there was something in there after all.

Tags: @olidiavalree

[roadtripwiththewinchesters-blog]

S1E3 - Dead In The Water (Chapter 1)

A/N: I’m posting again after taking a really long break. My apologies, I had a bit of a family crisis. Everything’s all good, time to get back to my preferred universe. 

Word count: 3,080

Summary: It’s been over week since you took the wendigo case in Blackwater Ridge. With no new leads on their father’s whereabouts, the Winchester boys are getting antsy and clash about what to do next. A newspaper article sends the three of you to Wisconsin, where something stirs in the dark waters of Lake Manitoc, responsible for the disappearance of a young girl. 

“And last night, Joni invited Mrs. Lieberman over for dinner and she brought one of her tuna casseroles-”

“Oh no...” I groaned, having had a firsthand experience of our neighbor’s cooking skills. 

I had spent the past ten minutes of my Wednesday morning in one of Wyoming’s finest payphone booths, as my little brother Gus filled me in on the latest events back at home. 

“I tried to get her cat to finish it for me, but even he wouldn’t touch it.” 

Despite how much I loved hearing about the things going on in his life, right now my stomach was growling, egging me on for some breakfast, making it increasingly difficult to pay attention to him. My eyes trailed to the hotel diner behind me, where Sam and Dean had occupied the counter - their heads were practically butted together and I rolled my eyes at the thought of them arguing again. It had been over a week now since we had left Colorado and we had found no new leads on John’s whereabouts, which made everyone tense. Dean had started looking for cases elsewhere, to Sam’s annoyance. Sam didn’t think we should be doing anything else but searching for their dad. I knew he was worried, but I had to agree with Dean - although I didn’t tell him so. The last thing I wanted was for Sam to think I was taking his brother’s side. I only agreed that until we had something real to follow, taking cases was all we could do. 

I said my goodbyes to Gus and headed inside. Sam saw me come in, holding up a hand to wave me over. It seemed their squabbling had simmered on its own - I couldn’t help but notice the vacant seat that was now left between them.

With a small smile of greeting, I hopped onto the middle seat, eyes skimming the menu suspended on the wall. The smell of pancakes and bacon was almost intoxicating enough to make me forget we were looking for a job. 

“So, got anything?” I asked, eyeing the newspaper spread out in front of Dean.

“Think so,” Dean placed the page in front of me, the article he had circled in red capturing my attention. 

“Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin.” He began, paraphrasing. “Last week Sophie Carlton, eighteen, walks into the lake, doesn’t walk out. Authorities dragged the water; nothing.”

I stared at the photo they had used of Sophie. It struck me that she was only a few years younger than I was. I remembered taking my yearbook picture like it was yesterday. Dean continued, “She’s the third Lake Manitoc drowning this year. None of the other bodies were found either.”

I admitted it sounded like our kinda gig, but more than that, Sophie’s life was over before her senior year was and nobody had a clue what had happened to her. I felt like her family was owed the truth.  

“Alright, Lake Manitoc,” I said, nodding. “I’ll get breakfast to go then.”

We made the thousand miles from Wyoming to Wisconsin in about two days. We made an overnight stop at a motel for what I knew was my sake - despite Sam’s protests that he and Dean were tired too. We both knew they could’ve made the trip in half the time without me, but Dean insisted I was doing them both a favor for coming with them. I was grateful regardless, I wasn’t used to living on the road like they were. Apart from Sam’s hiatus to college, this was the only lifestyle they had ever known, and it seemed old habits really did die hard, as he had adjusted back to it with ease. If my aunt Joni hadn’t taken me and Gus in when my mom died, we probably would have faced the same upbringing.

Since I had hit the road with the Winchester boys, I had thought over my decision profusely. There wasn’t much else to do on our travels but listen to the radio and think, until the ever-moving horizon turned my brain to jelly. 

I realized I might have been a bit rash, tossing my college degree aside to come with them, but I had convinced myself it was the right thing to do. Their dad was missing, and Sammy was grieving, and whilst I could never imagine myself completely embracing hunting as a lifestyle, it offered me the kind of freedom I had been craving my whole life. 

I had decided that I would stick with them at the very least until we found their dad, alive and well. I owed John that much considering all he had done for my mom before she passed. 

It was around midday when we reached town and we didn’t plan on wasting the day. Sam and Dean took off right away to talk to the Carlson’s. I didn’t have an ID for the Wildlife Service (I’d have to get that one made for the future), so I checked us into a motel and began digging through website after website for anything on the history of the lake. 

I didn’t mind being left alone for a while. I had been stuck in a car with them both bickering for two days so I rather appreciated the silence. I sat cross-legged on the bed in my room, Sam’s laptop propped up on my lap. I really hadn’t been snooping, but I had saved a document to the computer and when I searched for it in his recent items, I stumbled across a picture of him and Jess. I was compelled to click on it. From the costumes and the date on the file, it was from Halloween, just days before... 

Jess was dressed as a nurse, but I wasn’t surprised to see Sam not in costume. He had never liked the holiday - too much crazy in his life already, I supposed. She was in his arms, and they were both beaming at the camera. That wasn’t for me to see, and it only infuriated me. I closed the file, slammed the laptop shut and pushed it aside, suddenly feeling very guilty. Sam had been happy. He was doing what he wanted for the first time in his life. I had been so proud when he was accepted into Stanford, I had even been the one to send him off. But now it was back, the thing that had killed his mom, and it was fucking with his life once again. Maybe I was going to have to stick around to see the thing dead after all. 

I jumped at the sound of my ringtone. It was Dean. 

“Hey, what you got?” I asked, nonchalant. 

“We’re on our way down to the police station now,” he informed me. I could hear the rumble of the Impala’s engine in the background. “We were just at the Carlton’s house. Sophie’s brother Will says she was a hundred yards out, when she was dragged under.”

“Well, what did he see?” I inquired, sitting upright as he peaked my interest. So far, we really had no clue as to what we were dealing with. 

“He wasn’t there.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. “But if he didn’t see anything, how can he be sure she didn’t just drown?” I had to ask the obvious, we had to be certain this was our kind of job. 

“Sophie was a varsity swimmer.” Dean said shortly.

“Oh.” That was good enough for me. “I think I have something too.” I began. “It’s a good thing you called before, I looked into the area. Manitocs’ dam is falling apart and the town can’t get a grant to repair it-”

I heard him and Sam discussing something in low tones so I wasn’t sure he was really listening. “Dean? Listen, this is important. It could blow your cover with the Sheriff. The lake’s gotta be the source of this thing, but it’s going to be gone in a few months, so I was thinking that might explain the increase in bodies, right?”

I waited for his judgement, but all I got was some feedback on the other end of the line. He was distracted. “Alright, good job, we’ll be back soon.”

I busied myself with reading John’s journal the rest of the day. Dean had left it with me for research, but, naturally, I was distracted by the vast knowledge it contained. I soaked up page after page of notes on creatures I didn’t even know were real, some I hadn’t ever heard of. John’s sketches were terrifying. I noted down a few phone numbers scrawled in the margins that caught my eye - I presumed they were family friends so I set them aside for Dean to call later. It didn’t feel like my place to follow them up myself, but I thought maybe one of them may have heard from the eldest Winchester.

A couple hours passed, I had exhausted my resources and was staring idly out of the window, consumed in a daydream, when I caught a glimpse of the Impala turning into the motel lot. 

There was a knock on my door a minute later, I called out that it was open and Sam stuck his head through the gap to tell me that they were back. I was still a little dazed, and he must’ve noticed because he frowned at me slightly before coming to a stop at the foot of the bed. 

“You okay?” He asked, shrugging off his jacket.

I gave him my full attention, suddenly burdened by a surge of guilt as I remembered how I had invaded his privacy earlier. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. What did the cops say?” I said, turning our focus back to the case. 

“We talked to the sheriff,” he informed me, the bed dipping slightly as he sat on the edge. “He did a sonar sweep of the entire lake.”

“And?” I prompted, hopeful, as there was another knock on the door.

“And nothing.” Dean interrupted his brother, shutting the door behind himself. “Lake was clean.”

“Well I dug up as much as was on public record...” I scooted down the bed, to present my finds to them. I flicked through the disordered stack of paper that was my research until I found what I was looking for. “Turns out there’s been six more victims over the last thirty-five years, and none of those bodies were recovered either.” Dean paced the length of the room in thought, his arms folded. “The most recent three were all only in the last couple of months.”

Dean scratched his chin before deciding, “I think you were right about the dam. The lake’ll be gone soon so it’s upping the body count.”

“Whatever this thing is, it’s running out of time to get what it wants.” I concluded grimly.

“So, what?” Sam interjected, setting the records aside. “We got a lake monster on a binge?” 

We exchanged glances - all three of us skeptical. “The whole lake-monster theory- it just bugs me.” Sam said, not yet satisfied with the verdict.

“Maybe a water spirit?” I offered half-heartedly.  

“We have to find out more about this thing before somebody else gets hurt,” Dean decided.

“Dean, we don’t have any leads.” Sam said shortly. He turned to me to elaborate. “Will wouldn’t let us talk to his dad.”

“I mean, the poor guy...” I muttered at the thought of Sophie’s father.

“I don’t know,” Sam said unconvinced, glancing at his brother. “Did you get the feeling he wasn’t telling us everything?”

“You should’ve seen the look on his face,” Dean told me. 

I glared at him. “Yeah well, next time we need to pose as Federal Wildlife I’ll have my ID ready.” 

“Barr.” Sam interrupted suddenly. He was peering at his laptop in thought, eyes tracing the screen as he read. “Barr. Where have I heard that name before?” 

Christopher Barr was one of the three recent victims. I learned he had been married to the Sheriff’s daughter, Andrea, who the boys had met down at the station along with their son Lucas. Sam mentioned there had been some shameless flirting on Dean’s part, of course, but I cut him some slack - he hadn’t realized she was a widow. A year ago, Christopher had taken Lucas swimming when he disappeared just like Sophie Carlton. The poor kid was left floating on a wooden platform for two hours before he was rescued.

“Maybe we have an eye witness after all,” I muttered, exchanging grim glances with the pair of them. None of us wanted to drag a kid back into this mess but it was looking more and more like the only lead we had. 

“No wonder that kid was so freaked out,” Dean remarked. “Watching one of your parents die isn’t something you just get over.”

I skimmed my eyes over him. 

Damn. I had forgotten hunts could get like this; really fucking personal. 

My mom had been dead for almost nine years now. It was an accident; I was thirteen. That’s how I had really met the Winchesters. My dad had been out of the picture for years, so when she passed we fell under the care of my aunt Joni, as my mom’s only living relative. Joni had the funeral once we moved to Oregon so Gus and I could still be close to her. I got my first glimpse of Sam and Dean at the service. Even among crowds of people I had never met, the pair of them stuck out like sore thumbs. I didn’t know it then, but they had come to attend in the place of their dad, an old friend of my mom’s, who was... otherwise unavailable. 

 As if high school wasn’t brutal enough, I had to start freshman year, not once, but twice. Had I not bumped into Sam underneath the bleachers on that very first day, my life would probably be very different now. It had been his first day too, Sam and Dean had enrolled for a couple of months, and we quickly found we had more in common than just that. Dead moms, annoying brothers, and the like. I had never had a friend like Sam before, but with the Winchester’s arrival in town, so came the sudden presence of the supernatural into my life. 

It hadn’t really been their fault, it was just a coincidence. In fact, had they not realized a poltergeist had latched itself onto my brother and I, we probably would have died. They said it was attracted to the negative emotions surrounding my mom’s death - the grief, the anger. When everything was over, Sam told me what he’d been hiding from me, his family secret; the truth of what was really out there - and it scared the shit out of me. I had just been a kid, trying to wrap my head around the concept of death and the loss of my only parent. But what was the existence of the supernatural after dealing with all of that?

I hadn’t realize that there were other ways for death to cripple a kid until I saw Lucas. I didn’t think it was such a good idea - going to a playground without a kid - but Dean insisted we play it cool. With a bit of subtle stalking, we found Andrea and her son on the grass - the kid a few feet away, his head down as he drew with a fistful of crayons. Sam and I let Dean take the lead on this one.

“Can we join you?” he asked Andrea, casually.

Dean was undoubtedly a people person, though he didn’t always come off that way. He was also good with kids, which didn’t take me by surprise like it did everyone else. I knew he had practically raised Sam himself, but sometimes when he wore his aloof attitude for too long, even I could forget this side of him. 

Andrea looked up. “I’m here with my son.” She was pretty, I noticed. 

“Oh. Mind if I say hi?” Dean said, already making his way across the grass.

“He’s harmless, I promise,” I smiled sitting beside her. I held out a hand, “I’m Y/N by the way, we haven’t have the chance to meet.”

She introduced herself politely, still looking uneasy about Dean approaching her son. Sam interjected with some timely small talk. 

“Tell your friend this whole Jerry Maguire thing is not gonna work on me,” Andrea said, eyeing him stubbornly. I suppressed a smirk as I realized she was attracted to him.

“I don’t think that’s what this is about,” Sam told her, sitting next to me.

“He seems wonderful,” I said, watching Dean kneel beside the small boy. “Lucas, is it?”

Andrea smiled warmly. “He’s a real good kid.”

I nodded. “I have a kid brother,” I felt compelled to tell her. “He’s a little older than Lucas.”

“They grow up fast, don’t they?” Andrea remarked.

“Just wait ‘til he starts bringing bugs into the house,” I warned her, earning a laugh from her. 

Andrea seemed more comfortable after that, as I had hoped. She eyed Sam and I for a moment. “So, how long have you two been together?” 

“Oh no-” I shook my head.

Sam cleared his throat, “We’re not-”

Despite the same assumption being made incessantly over the years we been friends, we had never learned how to deal with it.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Andrea said, and the three of us sat in an awkward silence broken only by Dean’s return. 

Before he said anything, she began explaining her son’s disposition to us. Since his dad’s accident, Lucas hadn’t said a word, not even to her. Doctors had said it wasn’t an uncommon result of post traumatic stress when it came to kids. 

“You know, he used to have such life.” Andrea sighed, watching Lucas with the kind of softness only a mother could harbor for her child.

“He was hard to keep up with, to tell you the truth. Now he just sits there. Drawing those pictures, playing with those army men. I just wish...” Her sentence trailed away from her as Lucas approached us, a picture in his hand.

Andrea smiled at him.“Hey sweetie.”

But Lucas stopped in front of Dean, his head down, holding out one of his drawings . 

“Thanks.” Dean looked taken aback, swiftly accepting it. “Thanks, Lucas.”

Lucas quickly returned to his mother’s side, but Dean seemed troubled as he stared at the page. He flipped it over for Sam and I to see, whilst Andrea’s back was turned - it was a simple picture of a house, but it left the three of us unsettled. Was this Lucas trying to tell us something?

GIF CREDITS

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2,3. @gracefuldean

TAG LIST 

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