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luci-in-trenchcoats · 4 years ago

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A Place To Call Home: Halloween

Summary: A casual Halloween night out for some drinks between the reader, TJ and Cody becomes anything but when the reader thinks she may have been drugged at a bar. When she calls Jensen for help, their relationship takes a fundamental change...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x foster daughter!reader

Word Count: 6,100ish

Warnings: language, drinking, drugging, angst, fluff

A/N: This part takes place after the Jensen’s Day timestamp. Enjoy!

______

“Trick or treat!” said Allie after your dad answered the front door in a batman t shirt.

“Well aren’t you the cutest little Elsa,” he said. He dropped a few big handfuls of candy in her bag and then a few more. He tickled Colin and got a laugh from him. “Colin you are the most adorable baby Yoda ever cutie and I gotta say...you ain’t a half bad Mandalorian, kid. You almost look tough or something.”

“It’s cause I’m a badass,” said TJ as he stuck out his chest.

“It’s cause you’re a nerd,” said your dad. You walked inside, Colin giggling as your mom stole him away without a second glance. “Nice costume though.”

“Y/N picked it out off some website or something,” he said. He sneezed and your dad shut the door. “God my allergies are killing me lately. Ragweed is horrible this year.”

“I know. De and I have been popping allergy meds the past few days,” he said. “You get it the worst.”

“Yeah but I started taking it like a week ago to build it up. I think it’s helping. Also, a bounty hunter and an adoptive dad? Mmm, peak man crush right there, babe,” you said, your dad rolling his eyes as TJ kissed your cheek.

“And what exactly are you supposed to be? A curtain?” teased your dad as you spun around.

“I thought I’d go another route,” you said. You took off your robe and he went wide eyed. “Soldier...girl?”

“Oh my God. You’re Solider Boy. That is so fucking cool!” he said as he looked you over.

“Jay, fuck’s a bad word,” said Allie.

“And we don’t repeat bad words, do we,” said TJ. “De’s got some more candy for you somewhere I bet.”

She took off up to the TV room and your dad walked around you.

“What do you think?” you asked. “Look real?”

“Okay that’s like good. Like real good. It’s just like mine from the show. Like even the shield looks the same.”

“It’s from the show. Kripke sent it to me. I know it’s a little big for my back but I couldn’t not use it,” you said. “I took a long shot and asked him on Twitter about it and he just like sent me the thing. He was really nice.”

“Good,” he said as he looked you over. “I am impressed. You guys might win your costume contest thing at whatever bar you’re going to.”

“I just want to go drink,” you said, TJ throwing an arm over your shoulders. “We’ll be back around eleven, midnight?”

“Go have fun. Mom and I’ll watch the babies tonight. Pick ‘em up in the morning,” he said.

“We didn’t pack bags for them,” you said. He stared at you and shook his head.

“You live a quarter of a mile away. We shall survive without you for one evening,” he said, pushing you both out the door. “Go have fun with Cody. I’ll see your hungover butts tomorrow, okay?”

“Don’t have to tell us twice.”

“Cody,” you said at the bar a few hours later. He finished off his drink and shook out his head. “Can you check on TJ? He’s been in the bathroom awhile.”

“Yeah. Order me another gin and tonic?” he asked.

“Can do,” you said. You hopped off your seat and paused for a moment, getting your bearings before you walked over to the bar. “Gin and tonic and another...graveyard…”

“Graveyard smash?” asked the girl behind the bar.

“Yeah. Another one of those. Oh and a bottle of bud,” you said. You handed over your card to pay, tucking it back in your shorts pocket. You brought the drinks over to the table, finishing off your margarita and the last of TJ’s old beer before you started sipping on the Halloween mixer.

It took about thirty seconds before you realized what you’d done.

“Fuck,” you said. You pursed your lips and took out your phone, biting your bottom lip before you dialed.

“You better be drunk calling me,” chuckled your dad. “What’s up, kiddo?”

“The guys are in the bathroom and I just drank from a glass that nobody was watching,” you said. You shut your eyes and felt a little off, not sure if it was because of the already decent amount of alcohol in you or something else. “What do I do?”

“Go to the bar and sit there and don’t move. The boys will be back soon,” he said. You tried to move but felt wobbly and sat back on your seat. “Y/N, don’t hang up on me.”

“Dad, I don’t think I can walk over there,” you said. “I’m drunk but...shit I fucked up.”

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Um, the uh...the place to the right of Jared’s.”

“Okay. Sit there. I’m gonna call…” he said as you stared down at the bathrooms. “Y/N. Answer me.”

“I think something’s wrong,” you said. “The boys are taking too long.”

“Cody is a police officer and TJ is tougher than he looks. They’re probably throwing up or something,” he said.

“TJ said he felt funny,” you said as you stared at his glass. “What if it was in his drink?”

“I don’t know but whatever you do, do not leave your spot,” he said.

“But it’s TJ.”

“Y/N I’m having a hard enough time not freaking out right now. Please do not move,” he said.

“Hey! Soldier boy!” said a guy walking by in a homelander costume. “Nice suit.”

“Can you do me a favor?” you said, the guy smiling as he leaned against your table. “My husband and friend went to the bathroom a long time ago and didn’t come back. One’s the Mandalorian and the other one is a zombie. Can you check on them for me?”

“Yes I can very drunk girl,” he chuckled. “I’ll be back.”

“Y/N, stop putting the phone down,” said your dad in your ear.

“Homelander’s going to look for the boys.”

“Your boys or The Boys?” he asked.

“Should I have clarified?”

“Just...I’ll be there soon. Don’t-”

“Boys!” you said, Homelander wandering back over with a very pale looking TJ and a wet Cody.

“I think your friends were puking in the alley,” said Homelander.

“Thank you so much,” you said. “You’re so sweet.”

“Mind if I get a pic? Your costume is kinda perfect,” he said.

“Not at all,” you said. You hopped off your seat and felt better. “Ah, okay. Just drunk.”

“Hm?” said TJ as you hung up your call and the other guy gave him his phone. “Hey there’s a starlight over there too.”

“Starlight! Come get your pic taken with the Seven, girl!” you shouted.

“She’s drunk,” said the homelander guy with a laugh.

“After three of those graveyard smash things? Oh for sure,” said TJ.

Half an hour later you were onto another drink and TJ was fanboying over star wars with another guy in a Mandalorian outfit. Cody was talking to the starlight chick who was maybe in a relationship with the homelander guy. They were at least mutually pining for one another if they weren’t already.

“Morris. Come on. I’m drunk and even I can tell Kayla Starlight over there is dying for you to ask her out,” you said. He shrugged and you cocked your head. “Oh come on.”

“She’s been my best friend since I was like four. Like, I can’t fuck up twenty something years of friendship if she’s...how fucked am I?” he asked as you smirked.

“So fucked,” you laughed. “Trust me. I was besties with my husband for years before we finally talked about it. Sometimes you just gotta-”

“Why the fuck haven’t you been answering your phone?” you heard your dad say. You spun around and gave him a smile.

“Is that the guy that played-”

“Walk away kid. Now,” growled your dad.

“See ya around, Y/N,” he said, Kayla disappearing with a wave with him. TJ spun around and your dad shot him a dirty look.

“What’d I do?” asked TJ.

“You three are glued to your phones yet tonight for some reason, you seem to have forgotten they exist. If you’d read a text then you’d know that she called me half an hour ago saying she thought she’d been drugged.”

“What?” Cody and TJ said, both of them staring at you.

“Fuck, Y/N I thought someone took you,” said your dad. You opened your mouth and he shook his head.

“She’s just drunk,” said TJ.

“Well thanks for the update. You could have answered your phone,” he said. He glared at you and shook his head. “Don’t ever do that again.”

He left the bar and you slid off your seat, jogging outside, telling the boys you’d be back in a minute. There were a lot of people out for a Friday night and it took a second to find him in the crowd.

“Dad,” you said. You caught up with him as he walked down the sidewalk. You tugged on his arm and the man spun around, very much not your father. “Sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

“Nice costume,” he said and you stepped back into another body, your head swimming. “You gonna puke? Alley’s over there.”

You turned your head and jogged around the corner, spitting up your stomach with a big heave. You wiped off your mouth and sighed, getting up to your feet. There was a shove on your back and you got pushed further into the darkness, falling onto the dirt and gravel. You spun around on your bottom and saw the guy from before.

“Be more careful, kid. You’re tripping there.”

“You pushed me,” you grumbled as you stood up, picking up a rock in your fist as you went.

“You’re on something. You got that look in your eye,” he said. You narrowed your eyes and he walked forward, close enough for you to whack him in the head with the rock. He swore as he fell down and you ran back onto the street, jogging away until you got to a street corner and saw a familiar back of someone’s head.

“Dad,” you said, tugging on his jacket, relieved to find it was him this time. “Dad, there was-”

“I don’t want to speak to you right now,” he said. You swallowed and stared at him, his face hard.

“Dad. I-”

“You never hang up the phone with me when you call me like that ever again, do you understand?” he said. You stared at him and his jaw clenched. “Of course you don’t. You’re drunk.”

“Dad I’m not. I-”

“You smell like vomit,” he said with a scoff. You turned around and saw the man from before hanging back, shooting you a look. “Go back to the bar, Y/N.”

“Dad-”

“Would you just go?” he shouted.

“Dad don’t. I need-”

“For fucks sake. Just go away.”

You let go of his arm, tears welling in your eyes.

“Grow up,” he said. You stepped back, watching him walk across the street.

“D-Daddy,” you said. He stopped in the crosswalk and looked back at you, his gaze following yours over to the man. The man saw him look at him and took off back towards the bars when he saw your dad scowling. Your dad jogged back over to you, tensing when you took a step back from him.

“No one’s gonna hurt you,” he said. He stepped closer and you squeezed your eyes shut. “Y/N. What’s wrong?”

“I feel funny and I’m drunk and I’m scared and I’m scared of you,” you breathed out. “You were gonna leave me alone.”

“Y/N-”

“You said you wouldn’t leave me alone,” you said. You stumbled over to a nearby wall and slide down it, your head in your hands. “Don’t leave me alone. You promised. You said so.”

“Okay,” he said as he sat down beside you. He kissed the top of your head and you heard him shudder. “You’re okay, munchkin, I promise.”

“How are you feeling this morning?” asked the doctor that walked into your room.

“Tired,” you mumbled. TJ and Cody were there in their own stalls, still in their costumes, your dad out in the hall talking to someone.

“Your blood alcohol content was up there,” he said. “Especially you, Y/N.”

“I want to go home,” you groaned.

“You’ll be discharged shortly,” he said. You grumbled and half an hour later you were signing something that you could leave.

“Y/N,” said your dad as you walked away from the nurses station. You glanced over your shoulder, glancing down until he came over. “We need to talk about last night.”

“No we don’t. We got too drunk. I fucked up. Lesson learned,” you said. You started to head out and he grabbed your shoulder. “Jensen let go.”

“Y/N,” he said, spinning you around. He opened his mouth and you crossed your arms, shrugging him off. “I made a mistake.”

“I had to beg you to help me. I called you daddy I was so scared,” you said. He shut his eyes and you growled. “Look at me.”

He snapped his eyes up, his eyes a little red already but you were too angry to care.

“The only other time I’ve ever called you that, I thought you were dead on that road. I thought...I thought there was absolutely...I was drunk and maybe drugged and your reaction was to get pissed at me, at us, for not answering phones. A man tried to attack me and I got away because my dad told me to grab whatever I could if I was ever in that situation. There you were, the safest place in the world, the safest I could ever feel after something like that happened and you told me to go away. I was terrified and you could see it on my face and you left me. You made me beg for you to help me. I don’t know who the fuck you were last night but you were not my father. You’re Jensen again until he decides to come back.”

“Y/N,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Congratulations. You’re just like every other foster father I ever had.”

He stared at you and you turned around, walking past both TJ and Cody.

“Y/N,” said TJ and you kept walking. “Y/N. Jensen, she didn’t mean that.”

“Yes, I did. Let’s go TJ.”

One Week Later

The doorbell rang and you rolled your eyes, TJ walking past the couch and away from the door.

“TJ, can-”

“Tell him yourself,” he said, going to his office and slamming the door. You glared at it before going to the front door. You opened it quickly, your dad standing there in his raincoat and swallowing thickly.

“Is this about work?” you asked.

“No,” he said quietly.

“Then get off of my property.”

“Y/N-” he said as you slammed the door shut in his face. He rang the doorbell again and you ripped it open. “Honey-”

“I’m not your honey or kiddo or tall munchkin or anything, Jensen. This is me telling you that I want you out of my life,” you said. He lowered his head and you heard him sniffle. “I don’t give a fuck about if you cry. Get out of our lives. Stay away from my family.”

“I’ll do whatever you want me to,” he breathed out, forcing his head up. His eyes were red and puffy, face tired like it’d been that way for days. “I’ll do whatever you want. I promise.”

“You humiliated me,” you said, stepping outside and pulling the door shut. “I thought you loved me.”

“I do,” he said. “I love you so much you-”

“You don’t even know. Boo fucking hoo,” you said. He stepped back and looked small, rain dripping down on him now. “The real world sucks. Get used to it.”

“I made a mistake. Please,” he said. “Y-you don’t have to forgive me. You can...just let me try. Please. We’ve always tried. P-please let me try.”

You stared at him, watching him look down, watching him debate getting on his knees.

And it dawned on you what you’d done. What you’d said.

“Y/N, Y/N, honey,” said TJ. You looked up from the floor of your bathroom, your dad knelt down on your other side. “Honey, look at me.”

He grabbed your face and you felt wet tears streaming steadily down your cheeks.

“What happened?” you asked. “I was on the porch and now I’m here?”

“You were talking to your dad outside and he said you just...fell over crying.”

“Something’s wrong with me,” you said. You shut your eyes and TJ looked around.

“I’m gonna call the doctor,” he said. “Jensen can you keep an eye on her?”

“Of course,” he said. He kept his distance and you sniffled, opening your eyes. He looked down when you met his eyes and you started to cry.

“I’m sorry,” you said. You grabbed his arm and sat up on your knees, giving him a big hug. “Dad I’m so sorry. I love you. Please forgive me. Please. Please. I’m sorry. I want to be your daughter. I want my dad back. Please.”

“I wasn’t going anywhere,” he said. He relaxed and felt like himself again, your head resting on his shoulder.

“Uh, guys?” asked TJ. You lifted your head up, TJ holding up his phone. “Y/N, I think I know why you freaked out on Jensen so bad.”

“How would the doctor know that over the phone?” asked your dad.

“There’s a recall out on a certain allergy medication warning people not to take it according to this headline,” said TJ.

“Why would-”

“It’s not allergy medicine. It’s an antipsychotic drug. They mixed up the pills during manufacturing. Apparently if you give those to people that don’t need them, it fucks with their heads,” said TJ.

“You take them too,” you said as TJ nodded, your dad quiet. “Dad you and mom do-“

“I think we all better go to the hospital and get checked out. Right now.”

“How do you feel?” asked your mom a few hours later.

“My head feels normal again,” you sighed from your hospital bed. You opened your eyes, her hand running over your head. “Did I fuck it up. With dad. I think I broke it. That thing we had and it’s never going to fix back the same way.”

“You were on a very strong antipsychotic without you knowing. We are lucky all you had was some anger and a few delusions. It could have been much worse,” she said. “Daddy’s not mad, sweetie.”

“Mom I’ve never seen him like that. I was so…”

“Wasn’t just you,” he said as he rounded the corner into the room. He was out of his clothes and in a pair of pants and a plain t shirt now, holding up the bracelet on his wrist. “Why’d I have to get all the crying? I would have rather have been pissed off like you got.”

“Your test came back positive?” asked your mom.

“Yeah. So far that’s Y/N, me, TJ, Cody. The younger kids don’t seem to have it thankfully since they take the kid version. They want you to get tested though,” he said.

“But mom’s been normal,” you said as you sat up.

“Well…” he said as she rolled her eyes. “Mom’s been a little...aggressive in-”

“Don’t need to know,” you said. He chuckled and he took a seat on the opposite bed, your mom heading out. They hooked him up to an IV to clear out his system and he took a seat beside you on the bed. You looked down, getting a bump on the shoulder. His hand as on his lap, palm facing up and you smiled.

“Thatta girl,” he said as you rested yours in it. “Gonna take more than some antipsychotics to tear us apart.”

“You are the greatest foster father I’ve ever had and arguably the kindest human being I’ve ever known,” you said. He was quiet and you took a deep breath, looking across the room. “You protected me, even when you were being affected by this. I want you to forget everything I’ve said from Halloween night on. It wasn’t true. Not a second of it.”

“Was the daddy part true?” he asked. “The accident.”

“I expect you to protect me when TJ’s not around. I expect it when he is too to be honest. I spent a long time protecting myself. I was scared on that road. You couldn’t protect me. You couldn’t protect me from watching you almost die. I know how life works and that parents are not invulnerable. They get hurt. They get angry. They make mistakes. They’re human. But I’ll always be your child and on a rare occasion, I’ll need my fucking daddy to tell me it’s okay and I’ll believe him. I’m sorry for hurting him so badly.”

“You are still as ridiculous as the day you walked in your room and told me not to bother with you,” he said, tucking your hair behind your ear. “You can hurt me. You can destroy me. You can ruin me beyond repair. You’re the only thing that puts me back together though. Heals the wounds so I forget they existed. I’ve been broken before. More than you know. I am sure I will fall apart again too. But these small creatures I call my children fix all of that. The girl who ran away, who was afraid of me, she just told me I make her feel safe. I protect her. So I’m sorry but I won’t forgive you since there’s nothing to forgive. You weren’t yourself and neither was I yet you still pushed past it and realized this wasn’t normal for us. Maybe some people fight and some families would have let it go but we know we don’t stop trying in this family. Even when we’re all a little off. I’m proud of you.”

“For what?” you said quietly. He fixed your hair again, playing with it for a moment. He tickled the back of your ear and you giggled. “Dad.”

“Giggles never hurt either,” he said. He threw his arm over your shoulders and pulled you in close, kissing the top of your head. “You’re not that scared kid anymore, Y/N. You’re never gonna be her again. You’re strong. Even now, I know this will bother you for a little while but it won’t change anything. We’ll be even better if that’s possible.”

“You were begging me at the house,” you said.

“Could have gotten that new bronco you’ve been looking at. Sounds like you lost out,” he chuckled.

“Dork,” you said as you hugged him.

“I’m sorry for how I acted that night at the bar too. I’ll never do it again. I promise to not leave your side if you ever call me for help. Not for a second.”

“Dad you don’t have to apologize.”

“I’m bigger than you. I get to force this apology,” he said. “Am I forgiven?”

“Always,” you said. You saw a guy go past in the hall and you went wide eyed. “That’s the guy from the alley!”

“Hey,” said your dad with a smile as you got up. He walked out with his IV, you on his tail as the guy turned around with his doctor. The man looked at you and shook his head. “You’re the dickhead that tried to hurt my daughter aren’t you? I thought that was you.”

“Ew,” you said, looking at the infected cut on his head. Your dad moved forward and you caught his arm. “Um, maybe we can call the police?”

A security guard at the nurse’s station got up and the man sighed, your dad narrowing his eyes.

“I was only gonna kill him a little,” he said. The man stared and your dad cocked his head. “I’m hopped up on anti-psychotics buddy. I can be very creative.”

“Dad,” you said, dragging him back into the room. “Let the police handle it.”

“I did get a little too happy about fantasizing over that,” he said as he sat down. You rolled your eyes and took a seat, laying back on the bed.

“Am I too big for a cuddle?” you asked.

“Nope, especially not in the hospital,” he said. He sat back and you rested your head on his shoulder. “Where is that husband of yours anyways?”

“I think he’s on the phone with the lawyer trying to sue or something,” you said. “Let him wander the halls and get it out of his system.”

“Excuse me?” You both turned to look at the door. “Hi. I’m Morris Harrison with Richmond...Solider Boy?”

“Homelander?” you said as Morris shook his head. “Uh, hi?”

“Hi. I uh, I’m a lawyer at Richmond and Associates and we’re working the class action against the pharmaceutical manufacturer. I got a call about more cases,” he said, handing over a business card.

“We’ll be getting the family lawyer in contact with you rest assured,” said your dad. He nodded and looked away. “You okay?”

“Morris this is my dad, Jensen. Dad this is the nice boy from the bar you shouted at,” you said.

“To be fair, I was mentally impaired...and I mean come on, Homelander? Gotta be careful of those,” he smirked.

“I was actually gonna be…” he said, shaking his head. “Sorry.”

“You and Kayla were gonna be Sam and Dean! Oh yeah. Now I remember,” you said.

“I like the new friend,” chuckled your dad.

“I’ll see you guys around sometime. Maybe a little less drinking this time?” said Morris.

“Yeah. Text TJ. We’ll get together,” you said. “Oh. I gotta ask. How’d the Kayla situation work out?”

“We have our sixth date tonight,” he said. You grinned and he rolled his eyes. “You’re alright drunk girl.”

“Later Homelander,” you said with a wave as he left.

“He was nice,” said your dad. “Did I really shout at him?”

“Yeah. I think he’s a fan so thank you for being nicer this time,” you said.

“Well...at least you made a few new friends out of this experience?” he said. “Silver lining?”

“I will take a quiet, happy day for now,” you said.

“Me too, kiddo.”

Three Days Later

It was after ten when you slipped inside your parents house. It was a little dark, your siblings all at sleepovers. You poked your head around a corner, your dad in the kitchen mixing two cocktails together. He lifted his head up, cocking his head.

“Y/N?” he asked as you stepped out from around the corner. “What are you doing here?”

“I know you and mom got the house to yourselves so I’ll only be a minute,” you said.

“Uh, what?” he said as you walked over and gave him a hug. He returned it and ran his hand over your head. “Y/N. I know you didn’t mean what you said. You can stop apologizing. Please.”

“I know,” you said.

“Alright then,” he said. “I’ll take free hugs anytime.”

“Dad.”

“Yeah?” he asked as you squeezed him hard. He returned it and you smirked as you looked up. “What are you up to?”

“Can I show you something?” you asked. He nodded and you pulled him with you towards your old room, back to being one for guests. You walked him inside and sat him down on the bed as he watched you. You went over to the closet and turned on the light reaching up top into a shoe box. You took it down and walked it over, handing it to him.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“My dad’s kinda sappy and he writes me these letters,” you said. He rolled his eyes but smiled, putting his hands on top. “I started writing back. I put them in this box and figured one day you’d find them. But I know it wouldn’t hurt for you to maybe peek a look now after everything.”

He nodded and smiled, freezing when he took off the lid.

“Y/N...how many letters is this?”

“A boxful?” you said. “I maybe write them with more...frequency than he does. They are dated and hopefully in order.”

He picked out the first one and shut his eyes. You bit your bottom lip and he took a deep breath.

“This is from four days after your seventeenth birthday.”

“Every time I went to therapy I wrote one. Some are for mom but your names are on the envelopes.”

“Why does this one say dad?” he asked, holding up the first one. “I wasn’t dad for years.”

“Oh we both know you were my father the first day I stepped foot in here,” you said. “I could pretend to a piece of paper. It was safe. It wouldn’t hurt me. I started calling you dad in my head a very long time ago. I just didn’t say it in case you didn’t want me to be your daughter in the end.”

He put the envelope back in the box and carefully put the lid on, tucking it by his side. He wiped off his face with the back of his hands and looked up at you.

“Next month you turn twenty eight. You’ll have been with us for a hair over eleven years. This last year...the accident...TJ and his dad...now this...you’re the adult more lately than I am.”

“Dad I’m almost twenty eight like you said. But my head still feels...younger. You’re fifty one. But you still probably think of yourself as a twenty year old kid.”

“You are learning the secrets of adulthood after all,” he said, wiping off his face again. “Y/N...I have this fear when it comes to you. It’s only you. I understand why. But it’s a fear I’ve lived with for quite a long time. It’s a fear I thought came true earlier in the week.”

“She was a bitch that didn’t know better.”

“Don’t call yourself a bitch,” he said, sounding young, shaking his head. “You’ve always been tougher than me. I put on a good act but I’m...I’m privileged and I’ve had an easy life and even that seems hard sometimes. I couldn’t be you. I’m not strong enough. I’m not strong enough to erase the fear that I had, that lingered.”

“What are you afraid of?” you asked as you sat down on the bed.

“I have always loved you. But there was a time you didn’t love me and it took a while before it was unconditional. I’ve always had this fear that I would fuck up and hurt you, make you not love me anymore and that’s selfish of me. I know it is. But I can’t lose you. It just...I was broken last week. Like somebody ripped part of my soul out and it was gone forever. I’ve dealt with grief and death and heartbreak and nothing has ever hurt like that. The drugs did all that I know but...I would have done anything to get you back. Anything. And this girl, this amazing young woman, she writes me letters. She’s been writing me letters for eleven years. I never had to be afraid of you either, did I.”

“No,” you said. “But it’s okay. Boys are allowed to get scared too.”

“Your parents did a pretty good job with you,” he said.

“Yes. I think the four of them did too,” you said.

“I didn’t raise you.”

“Yes you did,” you said. You shoved a hand in your pocket and pulled out an envelope, handing it to him.

“Another for the box?” he asked.

“I already snuck today’s in there,” you said. “This is different.”

“What is it?”

“Just open it.” He untucked the flap and laughed, pulling out the sheet of paper. “TJ thought it was cute.”

“An IOU to tag along whenever I’d like when you go out drinking,” he chuckled. “I’m gonna need several hundred more of these while you’re at it.”

“How about like three?” you said.

“I will settle for you calling me if you think you’re in trouble,” he said. You nodded and he rested his head on your shoulder. “Even drugged up you still did that.”

“Well, the drugs didn’t kick in really until that night. Having allergies sucks,” you said. “You get the runny nose and itchy eyes and the crazy stuff. So not fun.”

“Nope,” he said, giving you a hug. “I was totally gonna have sex with mom all night but now I got all these letters to read.”

“Oh God, gross,” you said, shuddering as you stood up. He laughed and lay back on the bed, giggling as you shook yourself off. “I don’t need to hear about your nasty sex life.”

“I have an incredible sex life. Like so much-”

“Goodbye father,” you said as you walked out of the room.

“You don’t even want to know how often if I’m being honest,” he said as you walked quickly to the front door. He cracked up and you groaned. “Night, kiddo.”

“Night, dad. Enjoy your letters.”

You woke up around three in the morning, rolling over in bed and catching a few texts on your phone. You lifted your head and saw they were from your dad, a smile growing across your face.

I read the last letter first. All I gotta say is you never have to worry about me going away, no matter how much you scream and shout. You’re stuck with me forever, kiddo. Not even strong medication can tear that apart. Nothing can.

Also, for the record, I get to be the sap in this relationship, not you. Box full of cards. Do you know how hard it is to one up that? Do you? Keeping me on my toes kid. I’m sure I’ll come up with something though.

Love you tall munchkin.

“Something wrong?” mumbled TJ. You put your phone down and shook your head.

“Not at all,” you said. You tucked in close to his side, TJ rolling to his own and tucking your head under his chin. He hummed and rubbed your arm, kissing the top of your head. “Love you.”

“Love you too, honey.”

________

A/N: Read the Dads timestamp here!

#spn #supernatural #jensen x daughter!reader #rpf #au #spn reader insert #supernatural reader insert #reader insert #spn fanfiction #jensen x

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redsector-a · 3 years ago

Text

AO3 Ask Game

I was tagged by @themarshalstale which, thank you so much! I feel like I always get missed on these (I know why, it’s been 84 years since I published anything but still). 1. How many works do you have on ao3?

46 it seems. Which...look I’m slow man so that’s not surprising. lol Also crippling depression does not make for much production, at least for me.

2. What’s your current AO3 wordcount?

309662 according to the stats.

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

So do I could only AO3 or in like life? lol I suppose it should only be on AO3 since this is an AO3 ask game. Hrm. Basically AO3 can be summed up as: Marvel (in several iterations - all Avengers related) Torchwood Highlander But isn’t it more fun to consider my entire fandom life, which, I’m sorry, I’m old so...yeah. Not all of this is was published and beyond that a lot is not available anymore...which is likely for the best. Highlander Star Wars Babylon 5 Ronin Warriors/Samurai Troopers Marvel (again, several iterations also of note Avengers and X-Men both count) Torchwood Star Trek LOTR Stargate (SG-1, SGA) Mortal Kombat I dabbled with the idea of Potter fic but never got past the ideas stage.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1: You rearrange me till I’m sane Clint finds himself spiraling into a deep depression after the Battle of New York...until the Winter Soldier ends up saving him and inadvertently giving him a new purpose – to save the man that the Soldier had once been – Bucky Barnes. Not one to be outdone, the Soldier decides that his new mission is to ensure that Clint remains alive himself. Protecting a blonde man with a self-destructive streak is somehow very familiar to him. Through the back and forth of who is saving whom they cross the country and learn more about themselves and each other – and perhaps find a reason for living. 2: Five Dates Bucky Didn’t Realize He Was on And the One He Planned Himself To say that Bucky was surprised when Clint kissed him was an understatement. But it was nothing compared to the shock he felt when he learned they'd been dating for months without him realizing it.Clint gets whisked away for a mission before they have time to talk and Bucky is left to figure things out on his own - hindsight being 20/20 he can't help but wonder how he missed things the first go around.

3: Puck Luck Bucky Barnes is used to the ups and downs of an NHL season. He's used to the unpredictability of the game, knows that bounces don't always go your way, but that doesn't make a broken hand in the final third of the season any easier to deal with. Especially not when he ends up with an impromptu roommate/personal assistant in the form of one Clint Barton - his agent, Natalia Romanova's (rather attractive) friend he hadn't known existed before his injury.

It's just for six to eight weeks - what could possibly happen in that span of time?

4: Loose Lips Launch Ships

Based on the following prompt: “We go to school together and I think you’re cute and apparently you’re also the pizza delivery guy and my little sibling opened the door screaming hey sibling! you know that kid you’re in love with? you really weren’t kidding when you said his jawline could cut steel holy shit-” Bucky is the pizza delivery guy. Clint's younger (foster) brother has a big mouth.

5: Indelible Bucky Barnes has a pretty decent life – a good job, good friends, a cat that adores him - but something is missing. He’s always found body art to be beautiful and inspiring, and on a whim (and with the hope that maybe he can find what he’s missing) he decides to take the plunge and get a tattoo. That's how he meets Clint Barton. Clint's talented and compassionate and there is an instant spark between the two of them. It's not long before Bucky finds himself wondering and wanting more from the relationship despite the ghosts of the past that crop back up. Because Clint makes him feel normal in a way he truly hasn't for years...

(this was pre-Alpine so I was totally chuffed when canon confirmed Bucky’s status as a crazy cat lady (affectionate).

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not.

I really really really want to do it but I often times don’t end up doing it. There are a few reasons. First, I am akwward AF and bad at interaction adn I feel like just saying thank you would be...not enough? Second - I often times tend to like...turtle (aka retreat into myself) when life gets Too Hard/Busy which happens a lot to me (sigh) and then I miss the vague window in my mind in which it would be okay to respond and then it’s even more weird. I do love and cherish all of them. Like there was one months ago that made me go “hmm...I didn’t think I was going to do a sequel to that fic (You rearrange me till I’m sane), timestamp glimpses sure but a sequel hadn’t come to mind” but then the comment made me think! So...who knows? lol Anyway, I literally have been rereading some in an effort to try and get myself going again. Know that if you have commented, I love you.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

At the moment? Probably: Look at you look at me Bucky's in love with Clint - problem is he's really not supposed to be. For Winterhawk Week 2019 - Forbidden Love (I really don’t want to give away the spin in the fic but...if you’re familiar with the Secret Avengers Vol 2 run circa 2013ish (aka when SHIELD initially ‘took control of the team’) that’s a bit of a hint as to the spin). Were it done, Torch Song would be up there. ;) Torch Song Clint is sent back in time, via an alien device, to 1938. While he tries to figure out how to get back home, he takes up singing and entertaining to make ends meet and does his best to not disrupt the timeline.Then he meets a 21 year old Bucky Barnes. --- A torch song is a sentimental love song, typically one in which the singer laments an unrequited or lost love, either where one party is oblivious to the existence of the other, where one party has moved on, or where a romantic affair has affected the relationship.

7. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve ever written?

Does *wanting* to write crossovers count? lol I want, so badly, to do more crossovers and fusions (which...are kinda deeper versions of crossovers in a way). The only one I do have posted is a crossover between Highlander and Torchwood -

The Immortal Mr. Jones A series of vignettes (some long, some short) in the life of the newly immortal Ianto Jones. My most ambitions project that I have been working on since late 2011/early 2012 is a fusion of the Avengers with Stephen King’s the Stand. I will get that done at some point *shakes fist* The Stand, for those who don’t know it, is an epic 1000+ page novel about a flu epidemic (I know) that wipes out over 99% of the population and then two figures representing Good and Evil pull the survivors in two directions for a showdown. So basically it’s a non-powered modern AU set in that universe. It’s a passion and comfort project. lol

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yes. Well, minor bitching back when I was in a prior fandom because I tagged a pairing in a fic but it was pre-slash and not labeled as pre-slash. I got hate on...I think it was Torch Song? And I’ve gotten hate on tumblr re me and my fic in general as well. Fandom! *jazz hands* Oh! And I’ve also been hit by those reviewers within Winterhawk (among general Clint pairings actually) who like rate you on either number scales or the “meh” scale. Which isn’t hate exactly but...it’s passive aggressive bullshit because I can’t believe none of them realize at this point that the authors can see their bookmarks - you know?

9. Do you write smut?

Yes. Do I write it well? I have no idea. lol

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I am aware of. Well...there was, I think, one of those reposting sites that had a few fics on it but I don’t think it was being passed off as someone else’s? I can’t quite recall. It’s why I have a note on AO3 about reposting my work anyway.

11. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not entirely, but sort of. Let me explain - I am part of a PBEM game; which for those unfamiliar since it’s a term that was most heavily in use 15-20 years ago, in which you basically do a round robin type writing thing but rather than everyone writing the same characters you write your own characters and you play off what other people have done. Another way of looking at it is it’s basically DnD without dice and written down rather than done out loud. You also don’t have to all be around at the same time. It’s a lot of fun and yes I have been in it for 20 years even though there aren’t many of us left but they are some of my dearest friends and fabulous writers. Wins all around. One of the other writers and I have actually toyed with the idea of doing a co-written fic actually, mostly because we work super well together and keep getting ideas for things but can’t really do them as rpgs since the pbem style isn’t used much anymore.

12. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Winterhawk probably. Though, let’s be real - Han & Leia are epic and amazing as are John & Delenn (from Babylon 5).

13. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Does wanting to expand The Black Stallion books as a wee child count? lol Not much of that was written save for world building ideas but there was a great oral tradition of telling stories to my friends. Otherwise...maybe a tie between Star Wars and Highlander. Star Wars was a love since I was super young but the writing bug didn’t hit me until around the same time Highlander was a thing as well.

14. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? You rearrange me till I’m sane for sure. Though Torch Song, if it were finished, would be tied I imagine (I suck at picking favorites). Honorable mention to Puck Luck and Indelible. Tagging: I have seen this like a million times (okay 5) so I feel like everyone has been tagged already that I know. But...I guess... @vexbatch @crazycatt71 @heartonfirewrites and @disruptedvice sorry if anyone has been tagged before.

#icyredfics #writing #winterhawk #long post

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irarelypostanything · 3 years ago

Conversation

Unnecessary Arguments - Politics

Person #1: To be clear, the reason this was originally called “unnecessary arguments” is that it was supposed to be for discussing dumb topics. Like whether the Prius is a good car

Person #2: It’s an overpriced cheese wedge that gets 76 horsepower and decent mileage, if and only if you drive in the left lane at 40 miles an hour

Person #1: I’ll counter that later, but it seems there have been some really interesting political topics coming up. “Cancel culture.” Wokeism. The question of whether, or rather to what extent we should have the government censor big tech, and a newly emerging delta variant that is far more contagious but is only really gaining adequate media attention now

Person #2: Yeah, so should we stop masking now, or until the end of time? Also, aren’t you the one who posted on Instagram that, and I quote, “The pandemic is fking over”? Wow, I wonder what the word fking means

Person #1: I made the wrong call at the wrong time. What’s important now is that we resume the vigilance we had previously. But something has come to my attention. We have a certain candidate for a certain organization, and he has said some tremendously racist things on social media

Person #2: What did he say? “I voted for Trump last year”? Wow, we should probably make him lose all of his friends and job and then delete his accounts

Person #1: Well, in response to the NFL players who kneeled for the flag, he publicly posted that “if they don’t like our flag, maybe look at this one.” He then followed that up with a picture of the Confederate flag

Person #2: Oh

Person #1: He has made a number of other racist statements as well, including but not limited to telling them to “go back” to where they came from

Person #2: It says here he also deleted the social media posts, so what’s the problem? It’s a non-issue

Person #1: The problem is that he represents an organization that serves the youth all over the world. The problem is that he is running for office in a position that encompasses three states. The social media posts, then, are fair game for scrutiny. Do you really want to elect a leader who is full of hatred and racism?

Person #2: Don’t say it…

Person #1: Especially considering the entire country just got rid of the guy who represented extreme hatred and racism?

Person #2: That’s it. I’m so tired of this. We’re adults, right?

Person #1: Sometimes you surprise me

Person #2: We have the freedom to make political posts on social media. I acknowledge that we also have the freedom to use social media to call out other people. You think a bunch of political statements you disagree with are adequate grounds to then claim this man is unqualified for a leadership role in your organization? Fine. Don’t vote for him. But don’t proceed to act like he carried out some sort of violent racist act because of some caption he put in some picture

Person #1: Okay, so you have a nonprofit that exists for the purpose of helping young people, right?

Person #2: Sure

Person #1: You can’t break free of the politics, then. You need to demonstrate that you’re fit to rule. And if all I see when I search through your Facebook feed is hatred, what kind of message does this send?

Person #2: Those social media posts were stupid, I agree, and so he deleted them. Where does this end? What if we decided one day that we wanted to ban Christians from our group, because we disliked their common stance on gay marraige? What if we decided republicans were the problem? This organization is supposed to be a non-political one. That we still make it a point in our meetings to recite the National Anthem is one of many traditions that has persisted, but any tradition is open to the possibility of being overwritten. It used to be an all-male nonprofit...that was changed as we changed. But we have free speech

Person #1: As the saying goes, this is not what our founding fathers had in mind in the 1700s when they drafted the Facebook Terms of Service

Person #2: There was a bar in Sacramento. Someone tweeted that the bartender attempted to drug her. Tons of people on Yelp, Facebook, and Reddit rushed to her defense and tried to get the bar shut down. The police investigated. The entire thing was completely fabricated, and then she deleted the Tweets. Do you think the bar ever recovered from that?

Person #1: Are you comparing an allegedly baseless accusation to the accounts of someone with actual screenshots and timestamps to corroborate her claims?

Person #2: No, because this is even less relevant. If you’re going to assassinate someone, why keep it to Facebook? Get on the SEO game, guys. Do it on Medium. Do it on Twitter. Tarnish a name until you reach the point that googling a full name immediately makes Google suggest the word “racist.”

Person #1: Okay, so this is what upsets me most about your argument

Person #2: Here we go…

Person #1: You use your fear-mongering tactics. I’ll hear words like “cancel culture,” “woke,” what have you. You’ll claim that we’re far too oversensitive

Person #2: You are

Person #1: ...because we take a stand, and then I’ll see such blatant disregard for common decency. People in high positions who, and this is textbook racism, attempt to persecute and villainize others on the basis of their race. All with the common message that we’re not allowed to be American because of the color of our skin, and no matter how hard we try we will never belong

Person #2: Actually, the people we are “targeting” are not grouped by race at all, but by a common disrespect for the country we should be proud citizens of. What do you and I have in common? The flag

Person #1: So what you’re saying is that if someone doesn’t share your level of respect for the flag, and for what it represents, then we should go back to the countries we came from. But not the United States, because even if we were born here it isn’t truly our home

Person #2: No, what I’m saying is that the posts you keep referencing didn’t actually target people on the basis of their race. It targeted them on disrespect for the flag

Person #1: Kneeling was originally intended as a sign of respect

Person #2: Don’t give me that

Person #1: Over time, the narrative shifted. That somehow these actions were directly disrespecting veterans. And now, here we are, discussing how the act of kneeling is fair licence to let all the racism this man was previously holding back bleed through. If someone cuts me off while I drive, I’m not going to yell a racist slur, because I’m not a complete piece of human excrement. And I’m definitely not going to write racist things on social media

Person #2: Yeah, and you’d better not, or else someone is going to dig it up in several years even after you’ve taken it down and use it to prevent you from having a life, or a job, or friends

Person #1: Leadership is responsibility. I never said his life should be ruined. What I am doing is merely suggesting that he is unfit to lead us or our organization

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steterismylife · 5 years ago

Note

AU where no one knows Scott is a beserker, and Peter kills him, becoming the alpha, and the pack reluctantly becomes his. Peter carries on with courting the Stiles. Is that okay?

“Do it now!” They all screamed at him, and Peter was content in doing what he was about to do. The berserker was being held back, and he surged forward to kill the thing. Only was it then that Peter realized who it was once he felt the power rising within him. He breathed in deeply and smirked as his eyes settled from his blue into the red of the alpha. Malia, the first to see his eyes change, gasped, and looked down at the berserker that laid on the ground.

“NO!” Kira screamed out as she made it into the room with Stiles by her side. Peter turned towards her and saw her fall to her knees. “We… We were too late…” Her head dropped, and Peter didn’t feel bad for her at all.

“Oh honey, you can do better than that, McCall boy, surely,” Peter told her as he let his eyes settle to their natural blue. “I’m sorry for what I did… I didn’t know…” Peter told her and offered a hand out to her. “But it seems like you guys don’t have a pack leader anymore, and I’m here to fill those criteria.” He told her smirking.

Liam was on his knees, whispering no over and over again as he realized what had just been done. Tears slipping down his face as he screamed out Scott’s name, causing everyone to turn towards him. Malia knelt down by him and tried to comfort him and say it wasn’t his fault, but she knew it was no point.

“You knew when you charged, didn’t you?” Stiles asked as he had his hands balled up. “You knew it was Scott! Didn’t you?!” Stiles yelled.

Peter glanced at him after he had helped Kira up. “And what about it?” He asked.

Stiles glared at Peter. “You knew it was him, but you didn’t even try and save him first?! Did you want to be alpha that badly, you sick fuck?!” Stiles yelled at him.

Peter winced at the insult, and he shook his head. “Tsk tsk, Stiles. Honestly, I didn’t know it was Scott until the last moment. I saw his eyes, but I couldn’t stop myself. I’m sorry.” Peter shrugged, and Stiles began to shake with rage.

“You could’ve stopped yourself! You’ve done it before!” Stiles yelled and stomped his way over to Peter. “You stopped yourself from turning me!” He stated.

“Barely,” Peter confessed, and Stiles blinked. “That’s right. I wanted to turn you so bad, but when I saw that scared expression then… I couldn’t do it, and I don’t know why. There was something about you that I didn’t want the wolf to take away from you.” He told Stiles. “You’re fine the way you are.” He added.

Stiles went to open his mouth to try and make a comeback, but then he closed it. “You’re a horrible person.” He told him. “Can’t believe you killed him, ass.” Stiles pushed Peter away from him, then went to walk away.

“I understand you guys are mad at me, but remember you can’t all leave the pack.” Stiles froze when he heard Peter. “You need alpha, and I’m willing to be it. If you don’t have me to protect you guys, then you’ll die off faster than ants who are set on fire by a pyromaniac.” Peter said, and they turned to face him. “I’m willing to protect you all.” He added, and Malia got up to go by his side.

Liam was hesitant but ended up going to his side also.

“Any more?” Peter asked, and he made eye contact with Stiles. “What about you, pack member?” Peter asked him.

Stiles blinked to that, and he felt something there but ignored it. “Fine, but only because you seem genuine in wanting to be a good alpha,” Stiles grumbled, and he went to stand by Peter.

Peter smiled, and he went to hug Stiles close to his side. “You made the right choice!” Peter assured Stiles who bit his lip. Stiles wasn’t too sure he really did make the right choice, but he glanced at his best friend’s body. He had no choice.

—

The funeral for Scott was hard on Stiles. Having your best friend die was always hard even if he didn’t treat too well. Stiles was treated more as an equal with the pack thanks to Scott, but now he wasn’t included. So, he stayed in the house to the point that the whole pack got worried.

“What if he tries something, dad? Wouldn’t that be worse?!” Malia was arguing with Peter as the others stood by.

“I agree. Stiles being holed up in his house or let alone in his room is quite worrisome. He could have tried something. I am sure his dad isn’t checking up on him enough.” Lydia hissed and frowned deeply.

“Shouldn’t a pack leader care more about their packs anyway?” Mason cut in from next to Liam on the coach who was looking down. “McCall always sought out Liam when he knew he was upset,” Mason commented.

Peter took a deep breath then smiled at the three. “The problem is that Stiles doesn’t want to be bothered. I asked him, and he said he’d be back once he is ready. We all need to respect his wish as his fellow pack members.” Peter told them.

“It has been three months!” Malia yelled.

“And he lost his best friend, honey. I am surprised Kira even comes to meetings!” Peter snapped to Malia, who rolled her eyes. “Everyone is coping with Scott’s death differently. You can’t just expect Stiles to be able to get out of bed so fast just after his best friend’s death. That’s just rude.” Peter hissed to them all then turned. “This pack meeting is over. Everyone go home now.” Peter demanded as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d make a visit to the Stilinski house but to inform Stiles of stuff, not to get him back.

—

Peter stopped in front of the Stilinski house and stared out his car window to look up to the house. “Maybe I should send him a text…” Peter mumbled softly. He didn’t want to surprise Stiles too badly.

-Hey, I am stopping by for a visit.- Peter sent it to Stiles.

-I know. I saw you pull up. Going to sit in the car longer?-

Peter glanced up to see Stiles staring out the window when he saw the other step away from the window. Peter then looked down when his phone went off again.

-Come in, asshole.-

Peter sighed profoundly, and he went to get out of his car then went to the front door. His knuckles almost made contact with the wood, but Stiles opened the door to stare at him. “Finally, here to check up on me?” Stiles asked him as he stared at him.

Peter went to open his mouth to address the other, and Stiles arched a brow. “Sorry, it took so long. Thought you’d want some personal space after Scott’s funeral.” He told him.

“There is giving someone space than giving someone too much space, Peter,” Stiles told him, and he sat on the bed with a book he had been reading beforehand. “Though I thought you’d take a lot longer to try and get in contact with me,” Stiles told him, and Peter pursed his lips.

“Everyone expressed their concern about you just recently, but if you’d like, then I could make sure to visit you frequently to see how you’re holding up.” Peter offered as he glanced around the room. It didn’t seem too cluttered. Just dark.

“That’d be nice,” Stiles mumbled then looked up at him. “Though I am surprised you came yourself. Scott always sent a pack member.” Stiles told him, and Peter blinked.

“But the pack leader should always come with a pack member. Granted, I didn’t, but he should’ve at least. That’s peculiar.” Peter rubbed his chin as he spoke.

“He probably thought that since he dealt with me before he was a wolf, then he could just send his pack to do his work after he was the head wolf. Though I supported him a lot when he was going through his first stages of being a wolf because of you,” Stiles said.

Peter nodded to that as he remembered Stiles being around Scott all the time. It was one of the reasons he considered making Stiles into a wolf, but he didn’t since he respected the fact Stiles didn’t want it.

“I remember that. I was surprised you stayed with his friend after how he had been treating you. It seems all unfair, in my opinion.” Peter stated, and Stiles shrugged to it.

“I got used to it after a while. Scott would be stressed out, and I understood. Sure, I was left behind, but it’s not like I wasn’t used to it.” Stiles explained, and Peter sighed to that.

“Would you like me to check up on you again?” Peter asked and went to leave.

“Tomorrow is good,” Stiles told him, and Peter nodded.

“It’s a date then,” Peter told Stiles.

—

Stiles woke with his thoughts racing. They’d been that way since Peter had left the day before. Why would he call it a date when it wasn’t? He hadn’t even been appropriately asked onto a date beforehand! So, why call it a date?

Stiles rubbed his face, then got up out of bed and went to get into the shower. Maybe Peter was just playing around with him. That would make more sense.

He got out of the shower after spending some time under the stream. “He’s just pulling my leg like always. God damn it.” Stiles rubbed his face with a towel, and he slid on some pants.

He grabbed a decent shirt to slip on, then he sat on his bed for a while after he grabbed a book. He just wanted to preoccupy himself with something to take his mind off of things. He got distracted from a chapter on vampires when his phone went off.

-I’ll be over in ten minutes.-

Stiles read the text about five minutes ago. He glanced at the timestamp, and he wondered if he should finish getting ready. He got up and heard the knock on the door when he went to fix his hair.

Well, ten minutes went by faster than Stiles expected. He rushed downstairs and opened the door to reveal Peter in his usual V-neck. “Ah, so you were joking about it being a date?” Stiles asked while leaning against the door frame.

“No. This is my usual date attire. Can I not take my favorite human out for a nice lunch date?” Peter asked, and Stiles scoffed.

“Whatever, let’s get this over with.” Stiles huffed out, and he grabbed his jacket from his couch. Then he slid his shoes on.

“After you.” Peter allowed Stiles to exit his house and showed him to his car. “Did you sleep well last night?” He asked him.

“Well enough,” Stiles told him and watched Peter open the car door for him. “Though it was sort of restless since I couldn’t stop thinking about the date today,” Stiles stated.

He got into the car, and he stared ahead as Peter joined him on his right. “I would say I am flattered you thought about me so much, but it worries me that you didn’t get enough sleep,” Peter spoke as he drove. “What helps you sleep normally?” Peter asked him.

Stiles sighed then shrugged. “Normally, I just read until my mind is exhausted, and my eyes are drooping,” Stiles told him as he looked at him. “So, I just tire myself out.” He finally answered.

Peter listened and pursed his lips as he made a turn. “That’s not good, Stiles. You should find a healthier way of sleeping at night.” Peter informed him.

Stiles rolled his eyes at the statement. “Not like I will find one. No one likes to help me with my problems, Peter. Everyone just tells me to get over myself.” Stiles told him.

“That can’t be true. I am sure Scott tried and help you. He was just the wrong person.” Peter said as he parked in front of an apartment building.

Stiles looked out the window as he listened to Peter speak. “Say what you will. It doesn’t change the fact that no one really helped.” Stiles said and got out of the car. “Are we at your place for a home-cooked lunch date?” Stiles asked Peter once he was at his side.

“Yes, we are. Did you want a change in venue? I can arrange that if you truly desire that.” Peter said. “Anything to make you comfortable,” Peter added.

Stiles glanced at Peter when he heard him. “Your place is fine. Being in a crowded restaurant wouldn’t benefit me right now. I wouldn’t be able to handle it.” Stiles admitted.

Peter nodded then led Stiles inside to his humble abode. “Make yourself comfortable,” Peter advised. “I’ll start making us our lunch.” Peter finished as he got into the kitchen.

Stiles glanced around the apartment and felt nervous. Sure, Peter was trying to help him get out more by placing him in another house, but it just made him uncomfortable. He decided to take a step further, but he shook his head. “I’m just going to leave. Thanks for trying, though, Peter,” Stiles called out. He turned and left Peter’s apartment before the other could stop him.

Peter stopped prepping the food he got out and watched Stiles leave. He frowned some as he thought to himself about what he could do for the other. He’d have to try something else.

—

It may have taken Stiles some more time to fully accept Scott’s death, but he did. Peter helped by going over to his house every day after the whole date scenario. Instead, Peter just hung out with him in his room and kept him company as he began to read more and more on supernatural creatures. Peter would even help him with some terms and things he didn’t quite understand.

“So, could we try getting out again? You know going to an actual restaurant for a meal.” Peter suggested to him. He was laying down on Stiles’ bed while the other was reading a massive hardcover book.

“You think I can handle that?” Stiles asked Peter as he closed the book after putting a bookmark there. “I mean being there with you should settle my nerves, but I barely have been outside in the past two months,” Stiles explained.

Peter went to sit up as he listened to Stiles. “I know, but I do think you’re ready, and besides, I’ll be there with you,” Peter assured him.

Stiles sighed, then he set the book on the side dresser. “Did you want to do it today?” He asked Peter. He wished he had more warning so he could give himself a pep talk, but casual dates were okay. What could go wrong?

“Yeah, we can go out for dinner and have a little ice cream get together after,” Peter told him. He stood and stretched out his body with a groan.

“Sounds nice,” Stiles told him and watched him stretch. “I should shower before we go. Considering it has been a while since I have showered.” Stiles told him.

#mssmartian #steter #i don't remember why this was in the askbox #but here you go #my writing

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presumenothing · 6 years ago

Text

no longing for the sun

Sameen Shaw’s unterrible, pretty okay, not-too-bad week.

(or: my exchange of interest fic for @keita52, also on ao3! post-finale, canon compliant, running in the same vein as my two previous ficlets. and of course – title from that quintessentially shaw song, future starts slow.)

Shaw tells Fusco about the Machine coming back online, of course.

His face as he processes this is priceless, really, and Shaw wishes she’d thought to record it as he asks, “Cocoa Puffs too?”

Shaw’s made sure to get nicely drunk before even starting this conversation, so she only shrugs.

“Hello, Lionel,” says Root, a little tinny from the speaker of Fusco’s handphone. “Miss me?”

“…not particularly,” he says, eyeing the phone like it’s suddenly turned into a venomous spider, before turning it off and wrapping it in the layers of his discarded jacket.

Shaw could point out the dozens of other phones and miscellaneous devices still scattered around the pub, much less the earpiece she has on even now – she really could, but then again she’s hardly one to talk about being logical over the Machine’s and Root’s existence anyway.

Whatever, Shaw decides, and wonders if she should get another plate of chips.

(Much afterwards Shaw chews ponderingly on a lone chip and says, “I guess Root’s the Digital Interface now. Since she’s… in the cloud now, or whatever the hell this is.”

“Sure,” Lionel responds slowly, sliding her drink away before offering to drive her home.

Shaw responds in turn by reacquiring the glass with extreme prejudice, and downing both their drinks before taking him up on that offer. It’s too cold to walk back to the subway at this hour, even for her, and bloody Uber drivers never knew how to shut up anyway.

“I could get you a self-driving car instead.” Root pauses, a crackle of silence over the earpiece. “A literally self-driving one.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Shaw answers aloud, and rolls her eyes at the sideways look Lionel gives her.

Root pouts audibly. “Why, I just thought you’d like a ride, Sameen,” she whispers, and Shaw coughs, choking on thin air.)

ii.

Shaw’s parked across from their latest Number’s office building (or rather, she’s in a car that’s parked there, but details) when there’s a knock on the passenger window.

She glances over to see a familiar face peering through the window.

Her hair’s pulled up in a messy bun that had probably taken much more effort than all appearances would suggest, but that is most definitely Zoe Morgan looking back at her, eyebrows half-raised in an obvious question.

“If this is your way of telling me to get out more, I swear,” Shaw mutters under her breath, reaching over to unlock the door.

Root hums thoughtfully. “I just thought you could do with some company. Well – some other company, I mean,” she adds as Zoe opens the door.

Shaw huffs a breath of profound annoyance, but shakes her head when Zoe looks over in askance. “Not you,” she says shortly, gesturing at her earpiece.

“Ah,” Zoe says, looking almost bemused. “This happen to be the same friend of yours who called me?”

“Probably,” Shaw answers quite honestly – she knows that Zoe was around when Finch and Reese first met Root, but it’s not something she ever had much reason to know about in detail before, and she’s hardly going to ask now.

(She’s also aware that the Machine uses different voices sometimes when the situation calls for it. It’s the only way they’ve been able to upkeep the various identities necessary for the work, since Shaw doesn’t have any near the same level of enthusiasm Finch had for juggling three dozen fake covers like some bizarre nerd circus act.

It’s always Root that talks to her, though.)

Out the corner of her eye Shaw spots someone heading for the building opposite. Too tall to be their Number, but he’s the first one she’s seen with a matching lanyard looped around his neck, and Shaw has seen more than enough trouble to recognise it in the nervous dart of his eyes.

She doesn’t snap a picture. They’d reestablished access to a good half of Harold’s many accounts now, at least, because his contingency plans were the type that could survive even a robot apocalypse, to no one’s surprise. But fancy zoom lenses still rank pretty far below buying more servers in terms of getting back up to some kind of proper operating capacity, so Shaw carries only a compact camera in addition to her handphone, and it’s too far to get a good shot with either one from here.

Root can probably pull up the lobby surveillance feed later if they need it anyway, she decides.

Shaw does make a note of the time, though, as she grabs a bag of pretzels from her backpack and opens it. “I’d have thought you would be in some fancy business brunch at this hour. No fires to put out among the city’s richest today?”

Zoe laughs lightly, and reaches into the bag when she holds it out. “There’s always something to put out, it just scheduled for a late lunch instead. Imagine my surprise when I got a call on my rare morning off.”

Right. Shaw doesn’t roll her eyes, but it’s close – if Zoe Morgan does surprise any more than Shaw herself did, she definitely hasn’t seen any evidence of it.

She crunches somewhat viciously on another handful of pretzels instead. “Let me guess, your mysterious caller gave you an equally mysterious address?”

“Happens about as often than you’d expect, in my line of work. So I followed the directions, and…” Zoe shrugs elegantly, slanting a faint smirk at Shaw. “Fancy finding you here at the end of it.”

“Yeah, fancy that,” Shaw grumbles, but it’s unexpectedly hard to maintain a proper grudge in the face of Zoe’s easy grin. “Don’t expect me to pay you for your time though.”

No wonder John had liked her so much, Shaw finds herself thinking, and scowls even harder. Dammit.

“Of course,” Zoe agrees, looking entirely unfazed. “I’m hardly on the job now, am I – unless there’s something I don’t yet know about?”

Shaw blows out a breath, sends a tiny puff of dust flying off the dashboard. Maybe she should leave the card of a decent car washing service pinned to the steering wheel before she goes.

Beside her Zoe is quiet.

“No,” Shaw says finally. “Not on this one.”

Zoe’s a smart lady. There’s no need to mention what else there is – or had recently been, rather – that she might not know about. “Whatever happened… wasn’t pretty, was it.”

Shaw blinks hard, stares out the window. “It’s over, at any rate.”

Zoe’s breath catches, just a touch louder than usual. “Well,” she finally says, “you obviously know how to reach me if you need me. At the usual friends-and-family discount, of course.”

Shaw looks over – Zoe’s eyes are red but dry. Nothing a little makeup can’t cover. “Yeah?”

“Well.” Zoe tilts her head, her smile regaining that edge of sharpness. “Only if you bring the dog.”

Shaw snorts. “Only if you’re off-duty, then. Unless you want to turn up to that lunch covered in dog hair.”

The corner of Zoe’s smile twitches. “Fair enough,” she concedes.

(Another thing you learn in my line of work, says a text later that night. Very few things are ever really over.

Shaw doesn’t reply, only snaps a photo of Bear with his tongue lolling out and sends that back instead. “Stop giving my number to random people,” she mutters aloud.

“Well.” Root’s voice somehow conveys a shrug just from the words alone. “No one asked you to reply.”

Shaw pulls a face at her handphone camera.)

iii.

She’s walking away from the house of their Number’s ex-boss’ former chaffeur-slash-sometimes-chef (long story, don’t ask) when the payphone on the next street corner rings.

Shaw hadn’t even known that they still had payphones in neighbourhoods like this one, posh enough that even Harold might’ve even thought twice before buying a house here – not because of the price, mind, but he’d never been one to like ostentatiousness to match.

Anyway. Shaw spots the surprisingly unremarkable phone booth but doesn’t hurry to it, only lengthens her strides a little.

The phone’s still ringing when she arrives, of course, and habit makes her lean slightly against the side of the booth rather than turn her back on the street, however empty it might be.

Shaw picks up the receiver. “I know I said no to the cochlear implant, but there’s no need to ring me just to make a point, y’know,” she says without hesitation.

“I dunno, I thought it’d be nice. Just like old times, you know?” Root says, but before Shaw can figure out what the hell that means she’s already continuing. “Anyway, I thought you’d want to be standing still for this, at least.”

Her eyes search automatically for the nearest camera, and she raises an eyebrow at it. “What, I win the lottery or something?”

“Well, if that’s something you’re interested in…” Root answers, but even the lilt of teasing sounds slightly distracted. “I finally finished going through the last of the data from when ICE-9 hit.”

“I remember, you said that it’d scrambled all your timestamps or something?” Shaw frowns slightly, before realisation hits like a shot to the gut. “Did you – ”

“Yes.” Root doesn’t even wait for her to finish the question. “Harry’s alive, Sameen.”

Shaw suddenly understands the unevenness in her voice. Feels it herself, even.

“I found footage of him heading to the airport,” Root continues, the words coming out in a rush. “Plus a matching withdrawal on one of his older accounts. Harold Martin’s.”

Of course. Because Harold, for all his brains, could be the most sentimental of idiots sometimes.

“He’s gone to Italy, then.” To be with Grace, Shaw doesn’t need to add. (At least she damn well hopes he has, or she might just go to Rome or whatever specifically to kick his ass. Before dragging him to Grace’s doorstep herself and knocking on the door.)

“Most likely,” Root agrees. “Though seeing as most of the airlines are still floundering over their sudden throwback to the dark ages, further details will have to wait.”

Shaw doesn’t argue. It’s good as confirmed, for her, but she understands why Root – why the Machine would want to be sure. “What about John?” she asks before she can stop herself.

Root’s quiet for twenty whole seconds, which is already an answer in itself, really.

Shaw waits anyway.

“His last transmission was from the same coordinates that the missile was aimed at, minutes before it hit, and I haven’t been able to find any records of him past that point,” Root finally says, voice soft. “I’m sorry, Sameen.”

No news is no news, she’d told Lionel. And that’s still true, except – well.

For all that they’d been opposites she and John had been more alike than anything else. And Shaw already knew what she’d done, what she’d chosen at that bloody Stock Exchange, the same choice she’d make again.

Possibly that’d been their problem all along, Shaw thinks as she looks up, blinking hard into the glare of the afternoon sun. They’d all walked into this ready to die.

They just hadn’t been prepared to lose each other.

(“I bet that last call was to Harold, wasn’t it,” Shaw mutters under her breath, and Root doesn’t answer, which is just as well.)

iv.

Shaw arrives at the principal’s office to find Gen sitting outside, a streak of rusty brown against her white uniform sleeve. Dirt, not blood, Shaw checks with a swift glance.

The mulish expression on Gen’s face still brightens immediately at the sight of her, though she doesn’t call Shaw by name, instead flicking a glance towards the blonde woman sitting behind the desk.

Smart kid.

Shaw gives her a nod, and heads past her to extend a hand to the woman – secretary to the principal, confirms the plaque on her desk, and really, only Finch would be able to find a school where even the principal needed a secretary.

“Samantha Partridge,” she says, manner as brisk as the blazer she’d swapped her usual leather jacket out for. “You called about Gen?”

“Miss Partridge.” The woman’s severe bun is even tighter from this close up, enough to give Shaw a headache just from looking at it. “Indeed. We take disciplinary matters very seriously here at Fitzhugh Quinnell Preparatory, as I’m sure you’re aware, and your ward here was involved in an altercation with several other students earlier.”

Shaw resists the urge to look back at Gen, and only says flatly, “Was she.”

The secretary’s minute frown intensifies, clearly not having gotten the response she expected. “I don’t know what values your family espouses, Miss Partridge, but we will not tolerate such behaviour from our students. Any further incidents would easily be grounds for expulsion.”

Shaw’s voice goes even flatter. “I don’t think so.”

She doesn’t know what strings Finch pulled back then to get Gen in this school midway through the school year, but she’s willing to bet that whatever it was probably involved a metric crapton of money.

From the shift of the secretary’s expression, she’s either aware of this, or just too accustomed to dealing with people with more zeroes in their bank balance than letters in their name. “Be that as it may – ”

Shaw’s almost reluctantly impressed by her persistence nevertheless, but she’s really not in the mood for this right now. “Does Gen need to see the principal or not?”

“She’ll be required to have a meeting with the school counsellor tomorrow,” begins the secretary.

That sounds exactly like no to Shaw’s ears, so she coughs pointedly. “If that’s all, then, I’d like to talk to my ward now,” she says, and hightails it out of there with Gen in tow before there’s any answer.

It turns into Gen tugging at her hand instead quickly enough, turning down a corner until they’re in a corridor of empty classrooms.

Gen watches quietly as she jimmies the lock of the third door on the left, which opens onto an immaculately well-kept music room that’s conveniently soundproofed.

“Shaw! You really came!” Gen says once the door’s closed behind them.

Shaw eyes her expression, excitement mixed with disbelief, and sighs, stretching out an arm. “C’mere,” she mutters, and Gen promptly rushes over.

She’s put on quite a bit of height, Shaw can’t help but notice, and the curls in her hair have straightened out into waves. It looks good on her.

“Let me guess,” Shaw says not quite dryly, when a full minute’s passed and Gen still hasn’t let go. “You picked the fight intentionally just so I’d come, didn’t you.”

“The number you gave me for emergencies wouldn’t connect,” Gen says, half-muffled by her blazer.

“Right, sorry ‘bout that, we had some pretty major issues a while back,” Shaw answers, before the implications register and she reaches for Gen’s shoulders. “Wait. You got into trouble?”

“Not really? But one of the girls in my class had someone blackmailing her parents, I think, and I wondered if you and Harold could help. So I tried calling, and…” Gen peers up at her, a little uncertainly. “You’re not mad, are you?”

Shaw gives in to the urge to ruffle her hair. “Of course not. Wouldn’t have given you that number if I didn’t want you calling me, would I?”

“Okay.” Gen nods, her arms tightening around Shaw’s waist before she finally lets go. “I was really worried. I’m glad you’re alright, Shaw.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Here, I’ll give you the new number to call,” she adds as she reaches for her handphone.

(They’d never given out their actual phone numbers, of course. But unlike the contact details they used for temporary covers, the ones they gave Numbers redirected back to their phones through some overly complex system managed first by Harold and then the Machine – until Samaritan had come along to fuck everything up, of course.

Shaw herself had only passed the one number to Gen. But she knows that John had handed them out like candy, and even Harold had given out a few himself, so she makes a mental note to tell Root to check if those numbers are still connecting.)

Gen’s still tapping deftly at her phone as she asks, “Are you free this weekend?”

“Assuming no one decides to try murdering anyone e–” she manages to say before Root hums meaningfully from her earpiece, and Shaw rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m free. Most probably.”

“Good.” Gen pockets her phone, and grins. “Can we have a sleepover?”

Shaw blinks. “Look, I don’t know what they teach at this posh school of yours but I’m not twelve – ”

“Thirteen!”

“ – not thirteen, I’m a responsible adult. Who doesn’t do sleepovers.”

“Have you ever done a sleepover?”

Shaw sighs deeply, and ignores Root’s laughter in her ear. “…no.”

“Great, we can figure it out together then!” Gen cheers. “And I want to meet your dog, too. I didn’t get to meet him properly the last time.”

“No more getting into fights, then,” Shaw says only half-heartedly. “I hate being called to the principal’s office.”

“Well, you get into fights all the time,” Gen points out.

Shaw can’t really argue with that.

(Heavens only knew how Harold had survived raising a tiny supercomputer terror, she thinks, if this is what semi-older-sistering one child is like. No wonder he’d been so stressed all the time.)

She’s standing there in the afternoon sun, Fusco’s arm slung across her shoulder, staring up into the blindingly bright sky – except that the missile swerves sharply to head towards them – no, past them to a faintly smiling Root, standing just out of reach dressed all in black.

“Shaw,” she says – except that no, her mouth hasn’t moved and the tone’s all wrong, terse instead of smiling and Shaw jerks awake all at once, to the voice echoing just slightly off the subway’s arched roof. “Sameen!”

“Okay,” she mutters, breath drawing up short and shallow, then again, louder. “Okay, I’m awake.”

The wireless speaker beside the bed winks on, a circle of blue light. “You alright, sweetie?”

“I’m fine,” Shaw says, though she grimaces when she feels the cold sweat that’s soaked into her back.

(It still isn’t a lie, either way – if nothing else she’d stopped dreaming of being back the simulations. Reality might have gone to shit, but at least now Shaw remembers what it is most of the time.

Seeing the sorry charred remains of Decima into the ground personally had probably helped with that.)

She seriously considers getting up to change for a moment before flopping back down. Not like she hasn’t slept in far worse places, anyway.

Fifteen minutes later she finally gives up on sleep as a bad job for the night.

Shaw muffles a heartfelt ugh in the sheets – time for a laundry run tomorrow, probably – before pushing herself up.

She grabs a bottle of water and downs half of it in a long gulp. “Hey, Root.”

“Yeah?” Root asks, from the bank of monitors on the desk. Behind her the Machine hums, whirrs on steadily.

The lights flicker on as she walks. It’s – almost nice down here in the quiet of night, now that the worst of the damage has been repaired, but Shaw looks at the shadows cast long across the subway tile and asks, “Ever think about moving house?”

“Get our own place, that kind of thing?” Root laughs. “Why, I never thought you’d be the one asking to move in with me, honey.”

Shaw rolls her eyes. “No, I was just thinking of someplace where the closest delivery isn’t Chinatown.”

Root’s voice curls with amusement. “Well, I’m sure I can manage something. Though I’m afraid Harry never did prioritise the availability of nearby food places when he was buying property.”

Just tea shops, probably, Shaw’s about to say, when there’s a soft whine from behind, and she turns to find Bear whuffling softly at her.

She tosses the empty bottle into the bin and kneels down to scratch behind his ears. “Up for a late night movie, big boy?”

“Should I find something in Dutch, then?”

Shaw glares at the nearest screen, now scrolling through what looks suspiciously like Netflix all on its own. “Do that and you’re not getting any popcorn.”

“You don’t have any popcorn,” Root points out, very correctly. “And you finished the last bag of chips yesterday, so.”

“I could always get some,” Shaw grumbles under her breath as she straightens and goes to gather the blankets and cushions off the bed, piling them on the subway bench across from the largest monitor.

Snacks and laundry run it is tomorrow, then.

Bear jumps up and settles in beside her like a fluffy furnace of warmth, and Shaw waves a hand imperiously before pulling the covers up around them. “Come on already.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Root says, low and close, as the lights fall around them.

(Shaw wakes up the next morning with a vague recollection of Root snarking constantly at the movie’s plot, plus the world’s worst crick in her neck.

It’s still the best sleep she’s had in a long time.)

#poi #person of interest #sameen shaw #root #shoot #the machine #lionel fusco #zoe morgan #genrika zhirova #fanfiction #mine #tHIS TOOK SO LONG TO WRITE DEAR LORD

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