#also the asks i owe have been drafted and should be posted tomorrow

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Since I’ve Been Loving You

Summary: A few months after helping the reader get out of an abusive relationship, Dean and she are ready to shift their relationship to more than being just friends. But when Dean goes missing and the reader is forced to leave him in a moment of need to get help, it’ll send them down a path exploring Dean’s past neither one of them could have seen coming...

Pairing: Cop!Dean x Cop!reader

Word Count: 18,000ish

Warnings: language, kidnapping, injuries, past abusive partner, murder, whole lot of creepiness

A/N: Hi there! If the title and first few scenes of this story seem familiar, you’re not wrong! I originally wrote this story way back in 2017 and at the time felt it was too “dark” to share, hence why I only used the first bit as part of a collab experiment (which can be found here). However it’s been awhile and I’m a lot more confident with what I share (and to be honest, I’ve put out worse stuff than this). Rather than letting it sit in my drafts forever, I’ve decided to share the original story I wrote myself! Enjoy! Also shoutout to @campingmonkey​ for reading some of my stuff I considered not fit for posting and encouraging me to put it out there!

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“I’m home,” you said, smelling something tasty from the kitchen. You kicked off your boots and wandered into into the back of the house where Dean was stirring a pot, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “Dude, you’re not on dinner duty tonight.”

“How was work?” asked Dean, stifling a sniffle as he spun around a ladle in the stew he’d put on.

“Fine. You’re supposed to be resting Winchester,” you said, bumping him to go sit down. “I told you last night-”

“I’m relieved of my chores this week, I know,” he said, pulling the blanket tighter. “I’m lucky I’ve got such a nice roommate.”

“You’re the one that let me stay here after Redge,” you said. “I really should be making you dinner every night after everything.”

“No, that’s not how it works around here. We’re a team and besides, you’re awful at washing the cars,” he said, a tired smirk on his face. “How was work?”

“Redge was an ass but he’s always been that way. You get some sleep today? Go to the doctor like I told you?” you asked, Dean rolling his eyes at you. You crossed your arms and huffed. “Go tomorrow. I don’t want to have to drive you to a hospital over the weekend.”

“It’s a cold, Y/N,” he said. You dished up a bowl for him and yourself, not expecting him to eat much but he was still grumpy when you sat across from him. “I’m fine.”

“Alright, don’t bite my head off because I care about you,” you said, standing and grabbing him a glass of water. “Need anything?”

“No. Thanks,” he said, starting to pick at his food. You ate in silence apart from Dean coughing or sneezing a few times. He shifted in his seat more than once and you knew he was going to ask about work again. “You okay, Y/N? You’re never this quiet during dinner.”

“I got partnered with Redge today. I wasn’t a fan,” you said, playing with a carrot to avoid seeing Dean’s face. “I got used to working with you and being around Redge all day like that again with you not there just…I don’t know. I told chief I want to work with someone different tomorrow.”

“He still thinks you and Redge just had a bad break up, huh?” asked Dean. “It’s not like you tried to tell them about what he used to do when no one was around or anything. Although I guess it would look pretty bad to have the chief arrest one of his own.”

“Like I said, I owe you for getting me out of that,” you said, Dean shaking his head. “Still not biting on that offer yet?”

“You’re happy and safe, that’s all I could ever want from you,” said Dean, putting his spoon down, about half of his bowl left.

“You want to go up to bed or watch some TV with me for a while?” you asked, Dean nodding towards the family room. You cleaned up and shook off his offers to help, coming into the living room to find him curled up on the couch, his blanket still all around him.

“How you holding up?” you asked, taking a spot at the end of the couch, throwing your feet up on the ottoman. You put a pillow down so Dean could rest his head against your leg comfortably in case he decided to go to sleep. You put a hand on his forehead and saw him curl into the touch.

“S’just a cold,” he said, turning on the TV. You ran your fingers through his hair, knowing on the rare occasion Dean was up for a cuddle, he liked to have it played with. But even in those moments where he let his walls down all the way, he didn’t talk about certain things. He barely spoke of when he was little. You knew his parents got divorced when he wasn’t very old and that he felt like it was his fault just from the way he talked but that’s who Dean was. A hard man that could be softer and sweeter than any you’d ever met.

“I think I’m ready,” you said, Dean humming before turning his head up to yours.

“Ready for what?” he asked, giving you a sleepy smile.

“It’s been almost four months since I left Redge. You got me back to normal again, feeling safe and strong and like I have a home here with my friend. But I’m ready to try something new if you get what I’m saying,” you said, Dean’s face turning sad.

“You want to move out? Did I do something wrong?” he asked. You shook your head and gave him a smile. “Was it because I told you I liked you back-”

“Dean, I like you too is what I’m trying to say. As in, I’m ready to try dating again…try dating you,” you said, ruffling his head. “We’ve been flirting for weeks. Want to actually give this a go?”

“Why would you ever want to date me?” he asked. God, he could be thick-headed sometimes.

“I like your sense of humor, your kindness, the way you help people. You got some comfy flannels too,” you said, Dean’s face softening. “I like you Dean.”

“Want to go on a date when I’m feeling better?” he asked. You nodded and bent down to give him a kiss on the cheek, Dean pushing you away. “I don’t want you to get sick too.”

“It’s just a cold I’ve been told,” you said, Dean laughing before pulling one of his arms free of his blanket and reaching over to hold yours. “I love when you’re all cuddly.”

“As your new boyfriend I’m going to start getting very cuddly,” he teased, letting out a big stretch and a yawn. “On second thought…”

“Bedtime?” you asked, helping him up. “You need anything come get me. I’ll be quiet and let you sleep in. There’s leftover stew in the fridge but I’ll come home at lunch and make you something to eat.”

“I’m a grown man, I can make myself lunch,” he said, standing up as you grabbed his blanket for him. “I should really go to work.”

“You’ve got a ton of sick time built up. Take the day off and recover,” you said, patting him on the back as you got him upstairs.

“Night,” he said once you got him tucked into bed.

“Night Dean. See you at lunch.”

“Dean, I’m home,” you said, tossing your keys on the front table, expecting to find him in front of the TV but instead he was nowhere in sight. “Dean, I got hot soup and fresh bread from that place with the pies.”

The house was quiet and you sat the food down on the table, hoping he was passed out in bed. When you got up there the sheets were messy but his blanket was still there which struck you as odd. He hadn’t gone anywhere without it for two days, almost childlike with the way he carried it around.

His phone was near the bed and it wasn’t until you’d wandered around the house twice before you called Sam.

“Is Dean with you?” you asked, hoping for some odd reason Sam decided to drop by town this week and hang out with his brother.

“Hey, Y/N. No, I haven’t heard from Dean since the beginning of the week. What’s up?” he asked.

“Nothing, he’s just not home. He’s been sick and I thought maybe you took him to the doctor since Baby’s still here. Maybe he got a ride from someone else,” you said, stuffing lunch in the fridge and heading back outside.

“He didn’t leave a note? That’s not like him,” said Sam, his voice concerned now. 

“Yeah. He probably got a neighbor or something to do it,” you said, Sam obviously hearing the worry in your own.

“Give me a call when you find him,” he said. “I’d appreciate it.”

“Will do Sammy,” you said, hanging up.

When the sun was starting to set though as you were leaving the station hours and hours later, you were starting to go out of your mind that no one had seen or heard from Dean since you checked on him before going to work. Your one thought was it had to have been Redge. Who else but your ex would want to screw over the guy that gave you the courage to leave in the first place?

So that’s when you started to think like him, think of the places Redge used to take the two of you, when things got too messy for home. It was another hour before you were parking your car and slipping out of it, a backpack on your shoulders and the satellite phone you’d stolen from Dean’s camping gear in your coat pocket.

It was dark and the terrain was a bit dangerous and it had decided to storm out, making it almost impossible to see. You went in the woods a short ways on the path before veering off, heading west and deciding you weren’t stopping until you were forced to. After an hour you saw the abandoned ranger’s station and broke inside, taking a short reprieve from the weather. You were gazing at a map when you nearly slipped, the floor wet from your boots but you spotted a patch of dried blood on the ground that made your stomach churn. You looked back at a map and saw that there were a pair of mines about five miles out.

“Please tell me I’m overreacting,” you said, heading back out, eventually coming across the boarded up mine, a plank missing that was big enough to get even Dean and Redge through. “Overreacting is all. Just overreacting.”

You aimed your flashlight inside and saw nothing at first glance, then a pair of ruts in the ground where someone had been dragged. You shuddered and followed it down the mine, eventually turning right and left, your flashlight falling on a bare foot and then up to the slouched over man it belonged to.

“Dean,” you said, rushing over, shoving against him as you spotted the dried blood on his stomach, the dark patch and belt around his leg. A flannel that wasn’t his was balled up against it, his own shirt held in place over his bare stomach by his crossed arms. He didn’t even look alive. “Dean,” you said shaking him again, his skin sweaty and icy cold. “Dean.”

You heard a faint grumble that was music to your ears as you shook him again, getting a louder one this time.

“Back for more?” he asked, fluttering open his eyes, watching them go wide at the sight of you. “What are you…”

“I’m going to get you out of here, okay? Then I’m going to kick Redge’s ass,” you said, figuring out what he needed first.

“Wasn’t him. Bad guy,” mumbled Dean with a sniffle, trying to go back to sleep.

“No, you got to stay awake babe,” you said, grabbing your water from your pack and lifting it to his lips, Dean sucking it down fast. You tossed a space blanket you had over him and he looked like he wanted to cry. You put a hand on his forehead and it was burning up. “Shit, you’re worse.”

“S’just a cold,” he said, getting some sense back. “You got to go. Go away before he comes back.”

“Redge can’t hurt you anymore, Dean, I’m going to-”

“Not Redge, someone else,” said Dean with a shudder. “You think I’d be fucking scared of that pile of crap?”

“Dean what’s…” you said, Dean nodding his head and shoving the bottle and blanket back in your bag. “Dean, no.”

“He’s coming back,” whispered Dean. “Go hide and then get out. Don’t come back.”

“Dean,” you said, his hands using most of his strength to give you a light shove. 

“Please, do what I said,” said Dean quietly, your bag shoved in your arms as you spotted a flashlight down a different tunnel. “Please.”

It hurt to leave him but the look on Dean’s face made you do as asked. You took off and hid around a different corner a ways down, listening as footsteps walked towards Dean and stopped.

“Screw you,” you heard Dean say before he started to mumble and then take a big choking gasp of air. “What’d you just give me?”

“Medicine. You’re welcome,” said the voice, definitely not Redge and not one you recognized. “You going to behave this time?”

“Give me back my gun and we’ll-” Dean said before it sounded like something smacked him in the face.

“I stitched you up and everything. Couldn’t have let my new toy bleed out,” said the person, a man, his voice deep and harsh.

“I am not your new toy,” said Dean, spitting blood out of his mouth from the sound of it and coughing up a storm before breathing raggedly.

“No, you’re right. You’re my old one, aren’t you Dean?” said the man, Dean hissing as you tried to make out what he was doing. “Took a long time to find you, boy. Too bad Daddy’s not around anymore to come and save you.”

“Well I’m flattered but why don’t-” said Dean before you heard his head hit against the rough wall, a tiny whimper of pain coming out of Dean.

“Just as mouthy as you were back then. You don’t even remember me,” said the man.

“No but my dad sure as hell told me what happened when I was old enough. You took me right off the front porch, psycho,” said Dean. “You’re the reason they-”

“Your mom had a nice right hook,” the man said, Dean sucking in a gasp as he grunted. “Too bad she ain’t around anymore either. Been waiting a long time for this.”

“For what you freak?” asked Dean weakly, his mouth mumbling again as he huffed.

“It’s duct tape you big baby,” he said, Dean grunting more now as you heard him struggle, breathing in hard. “God, you’re going to take some breaking in.”

Whatever was going on, you knew that you needed backup and that you’d beat yourself up about not bringing your gun with you later. You got out of there as quietly as you could and radio’d the station, keeping an eye on the entrance as you hid. But neither one of them ever came out.

You stayed there for another hour or so, the rest of the station showing up finally, the chief waving you over to talk when they came out of the mine empty handed.

“What-”

“The mine is empty. There’s multiple ways in there. You’re sure this guy knows Dean from when he was a kid? There’s no report of anything ever happening to him,” said the chief.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if they made the whole thing up just to screw with me some more,” said Redge.

“For fucks sake, Redge, I just want you to not be an abusive dick, not go to jail for shooting and kidnapping my boyfriend,” you said, puffing out your chest. “So they’re gone? Dean’s just gone and we have no idea where he is? He’s hurt and sick and-”

“How did you find him?” asked the chief. “This isn’t exactly my first thought for a search.”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe Redge would like to share how I know about secluded places where people can hurt other people?” you said, crossing your arms at him.

“If she thought…I took Dean she would have gone to the old ranger’s station,” said Redge, kicking his boot on the ground. “Probably saw a map and figured if he wasn’t there he had a shot at being in the mines.”

“You two need to work on whatever issues you’ve got,” said the chief, giving you a hard glare.

“Can we focus on Dean? They can’t have gone far right?” you asked.

“Let’s hope not.”

“Coffee?” asked Redge, poking his head into the conference room you were using as a base in your search for Dean. You shook your head, holding up your cup. “How’s it going today?”

“Redge, don’t pretend to play nice,” you said, looking back over your shoulder. “We both know you don’t give two shits about Dean.”

“He’s a cop. We got each other’s backs and all that...whatever,” he said with a shrug, trying to take a step in the room before catching your glare. “You too, I mean if you ever need a friend, shoulder to cry on you can always-”

“He’s only been missing two weeks and you already think I’m just going to come crawling into your arms? Get lost,” you said. “You aren’t even working this case.”

“Okay, I’ll just go do my job and Dean’s then,” he said, slapping the door frame hard on the way out. 

Another week went by of nothing and then another and another. After missing for two months and Sam coming to stay with you to help out, the case officially went cold.

Another month and Sam had to leave town a few days, tidy up some things at home before officially making the move there but he swore he’d be back as soon as he could.

The chief told you to take a few days off and give yourself a break. You took the excuse with Sam gone to get out of town yourself, drive and drive until you were exhausted and crashing at some cheap motel a few states over. You’d spent the day in a bar and your head in a bottle and tried to forget about how he had saved you way back when and you couldn’t do it back.

“Another one,” you heard a guy farther down the bar say, your head whipping up. You didn’t stare as you heard him flirt with the bartender. He sounded like the man from the mines but you were drunk and couldn’t be positive. Still though, you jotted down his license plate when he finally left and got a cab back to your room. When you’d sobered up enough in your motel to figure out who it belonged to, you had a spark of an idea. The guy only had a few drunken misdemeanors but he owned a large lot of acreage with plenty of buildings on it.

The next morning you got up early and you threw on your boots and backpack, and headed out on the property. You checked every tiny ass shed, every big ass garage, every out building, every rusted old car until it was night and you were ready to curl up on the ground and go to sleep.

You only had a few more buildings though so you kept going, ready to hit the bottle of bourbon you took from Dean’s house the second you were in your room. It looked like every other shed you’d been in, pieces of junk and metal lying around. This one had a door hatch to a cellar like most of the others and the second you threw it open, you saw more of the same. You went down the steps, barely keeping your eyes open as you swung the flashlight around and your eyes went wide.

There was light down here and a sink and a tiny mattress and a whole slew of other crap that would have drawn your attention if not for the scruffy, green eyed man who was looking at you like you weren’t real.

“Dean?” you asked, watching him shake his head at you, your gaze finally looking over his body as you took in a sharp breath. “Dean it’s okay,” you said, pulling a knife out of your bag and walking over, his body backing up against the wall so fast as he sat down, giving you a hard glare. “I’m just going to cut you loose.”

“You’re a trick,” he said, looking around and you carefully took a step forward. “Don’t touch me.”

“I won’t touch you,” you said, holding up your hands. “But you want that cuff off your ankle? I have to come closer.”

“Give me the knife,” he said. You bent over and slid it to him, watching him grab hold of the thing tethering him to the back half of the room and cutting it free. He stood up and you smiled.

“Dean are you-Dean!” you yelled at him when he backed you up against the wall, holding the knife out, way too close for comfort.

“You’re drugging me again, aren’t you? This probably isn’t even real. Y/N would never be here. She just wouldn’t. You’re just making me think what I want again, aren’t you?” asked Dean, his face fuming under that beard as you tried to think of a way to calm him down. “You’re just-”

“I brought your shirt. The one you gave me that first day I moved in,” you said, slowing taking your pack off and handing it to him. He was only in the tee and pair of flannels you’d last seen him in, the clothes ratty and practically falling apart now. “The red and-”

“Black one,” said Dean quietly, giving you a long stare before backing up and ripping open the bag, the flannel right on top.

“It really helps when you’re feeling crappy,” you said, his hand holding the knife dropping it completely. He pulled the flannel out and you saw a flicker of relief on his face.

“Real?” he asked running his hand over it, looking at you and the open door behind you.

“You want to come home? We’re kind of overdue for our date,” you said, Dean giving you a head nod. He carefully put the flannel on as you pulled a pair of his sneakers out, glad you’d brought them on the off chance he didn’t have any footwear. You picked up the knife and stuffed your bag closed, Dean standing quietly in the middle of the room with his head down. “Dean?”

“What?” he asked, your hand taking hold of his, feeling so much rougher than you remembered.

“Come on,” you said, giving him a little tug so he took a step. He was okay for a minute until you got close to the stairs and you saw how pale he’d gotten, how nervous he was to walk farther than he’d been allowed to go for so long. “Nice romantic starlit walk,” you said, taking a step up, going one at a time with him as he looked around when you were in the shed.

“I don’t remember this,” he said. “I don’t remember after the mines until I woke up here.”

“We got a little walk to get to my car,” you said, stopping when the two of you stood outside and he looked up, taking a deep breath.

“Okay,” he said, spinning around happily before it all faded away. “Wait what time is it?”

“About 10, why?” you asked, hearing a truck off in the distance.

“We have to go,” said Dean, letting you take the lead as you tried to run, Dean a bit slower than you’d seen him before. “He drops off food at night.”

“It’s only a couple miles to the car,” you said, slowing to a jog so he could keep up, his hand shaking the whole damn time until you had him shoved in the passenger seat and you were driving away, calling the local cops. Dean was quiet apart from saying he was hungry and even after you swung through a drive thru fast for him, he was quiet, looking around like he didn’t quite believe everything.

By the time you’d gotten to the local hospital, a few officers were there to let you know they’d got the guy but Dean seemed more interested in arguing with the doctors.

“If he doesn’t calm down, we’re going to have to restrain him,” said the doctor, as you heard Dean yelling in his room.

“Dean,” you said, brushing inside past a group of bodies as Dean glanced around the room angrily. “Dean, none of these people are going to hurt you.”

“Tell that to the one that stabbed me with a needle,” said Dean, rubbing at his arm where his IV was and giving a nurse a glare.

“Dean. Check?” you asked, hoping he’d remember what that meant. You’d never done it on him and you honestly weren’t sure how he’d come up with the little daily check in’s after you left Redge but they’d always made you feel better that cared like that. He glanced around for a second and back down at himself in a hospital gown, all the marks on him proving life had been awful the past few months.

“Yellow,” he said quietly, willing himself to calm down. “Just tell them to stop poking me and touching me and…” he said as he looked around at the room full of people, rubbing his arms like he was trying to hold himself. “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay babe,” you said, holding his hand, nodding for the doctor to go back to whatever he was doing. Dean hissed a little when the doctor lifted up his arm.

“His shoulder is likely dislocated,” said the doctor to you. “Do you know if this is recent?”

“Dean?” you asked.

“Last week,” said Dean, ducking his head down. “I got in…trouble.”

“Let’s x-ray and see if we’ve got any nerve damage,” said the doctor to a nurse. 

“Dean, you tell the doctor and nurses what they need to know. I promise nobody’s going to hurt you. I’ll be right here when you get back, okay?” you said, Dean nodding his head as he relaxed around the people trying to treat him.

“Alright,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before you were forced to go. “Don’t go too far.”

It took them two days before they released him, a whole slew of nutritional issues not to mention everything they warned you about. Apparently Dean was prone to sudden, potentially violent, outbursts now and your history of abuse didn’t make for a great combination.

It was fine the first night back at home with Sam helping out until you dropped the syrup on the floor after putting some on Dean’s plate.

“What are you a klutz!” shouted Dean, waving his hands everywhere. “You don’t drop things, got it?”

“Dean,” said Sam, watching his brother carefully. “That’s Y/N. She’s not going to hurt you for not making your room spotless.”

“I used to get hurt,” said Dean glaring down at you as you wiped up the little bit that had actually spilled on the floor.

“So did Y/N. You got to let us help you,” said Sam, guilt washing over Dean’s face as he realized he’d snapped.

“I’m as bad as Redge,” said Dean, running a hand over his face before bending down to help clean up, even if you were finished.

“Check?” you asked Dean, his head shaking. “Check?”

“Orange,” he said, glancing at his lap.

“Why are you orange, Dean?” you asked, running a hand over his head, Dean seeming to be most responsive to soft touches like that lately.

“I yelled at you for no reason and what happened with me is no excuse for treating you like that,” he said.

“Okay,” you said, helping Dean sit up again back in his chair. “I want you to try something. Whenever you feel like getting mad, think about if it’s because you’re mad or if because it’s something you used to get in trouble with him for. If you want to get mad because I toss dishes in the sink and forget to put them in the dishwasher, get mad. If you want to get mad because my covers are crooked when I make my bed, maybe you aren’t really mad but you’re tired of being scared so it’s coming out that way instead. So if it’s the later and you’re scared, you just come find me or Sam and give us both a big hug okay?” you said. “We’ll give it right back until you’re not scared anymore.”

“Are you serious?” asked Dean, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t need a…what are you doing.”

“I’m giving you a hug,” you said, bending down and wrapping your arms around him. “You’re scared so it’s hug time.”

“This is a monumentally stupid idea,” said Dean, looking to Sam for help.

“I don’t think so,” said Sam, standing up and walking over to your side of the table. He bent over and gave Dean one too, the older Winchester groaning as he was trapped between the two of you.

“You two are annoying,” said Dean, letting his head lean against yours.

“Check?” you asked, Dean giving you a tiny smile.

“Yellow green,” said Dean, watching neither you or Sam pull away. “I don’t get out of this until I’m green, huh.”

“Now you’re getting it,” you said, kissing the top of his head. After a few minutes of you and Sam straining your backs you heard Dean chuckle that he was green.

“I guess you have a point,” said Dean, Sam ruffling the top of his head as he returned to his seat.

“You gave me lots of hugs when I first started staying with you,” you said to Dean. “Made me feel safe. I get what’s going on in your head, trust me.”

“Some random psychopath kidnapped you and you have no idea why too?” asked Dean, a teasing smile on his face. “I just want to know what he had planned.”

“You want to talk about it?” asked Sam, Dean shaking his head. “You focus on getting back to your old self and let the police figure out the rest. Y/N’ll probably take a crack at it and she’ll figure it out in a few hours I bet.”

“Months of nothing and when I snuck off to get drunk I got lucky Sam,” you said, Dean flinching a little in his seat. “I’m just glad work will get back to normal.”

“How was Redge?” asked Dean, his face looking very much like the old Dean. “Don’t tell me he’s tried anything or I swear…”

“Redge is more indifferent of Y/N than anything at this point,” said Sam. “She may have thought he took you at first. She’s scary when she’s pissed off.”

“I don’t like you near him all day, not after what he did to you,” said Dean. “I thought he was on a different shift than us anyways, only came in because I was sick a while back.”

“They were down an officer and I made sure he knew he was on a short leash,” you said, shoving the last of your dinner in your mouth. “A very short leash.”

“Remember when he was our biggest problem?” asked Dean, running a hand over his torso, his fingers tracing over a spot through his shirt. “Getting shot sucks.”

“Y/N, do you want to clean up and I’ll help Dean with a shower?” asked Sam, Dean’s face a mixture of embarrassment and content. “Oh come on, like I’ve never seen you without pants on.”

“Shower sounds good,” said Dean, parts of him still filthy where he didn’t get a good scrubbing at the hospital. “Then I want to pass out in an adult sized bed again.”

Sam helped Dean up but let him walk on his own, the two of them up in Dean’s bathroom for awhile until you heard the water turn off and Sam shouted for you to come in. Dean was sitting on his bed in a tee and boxers, looking pretty tired but his eyes had a spark back in them.

“How’d we do?” asked Sam, ruffling a towel in Dean’s hair, getting a laugh out of his brother. “We can’t do anything about him being horrendous unfortunately.”

“Oh shut up,” said Dean, pushing Sam away with a smile. It got even bigger when he saw what you were holding, his blanket he’d been using before he was taken.

“Alright, get in,” you said, Dean shifting around so he was under the covers, Sam helping you spread the blanket out over top of him. “Do you need anything…and he fell asleep already.”

“Huh,” said Sam, Dean passed out the second his head hit the pillow. “He wasn’t joking about wanting a real bed again.”

“Should we stay?” you asked, Sam shrugging. “The doc said we shouldn’t coddle him.”

“He was cracking jokes in the shower,” said Sam. “You’re his girlfriend though so I’m sure you can-”

“Sam, we dated for all of four hours before this happened. We’ve never even been on a date,” you said. “You stay. I got to go check out a few things.”

“Y/N, it’s late, where-”

“I want to know what that guy was up to,” you said, walking out. “I’ll be downstairs. I promise I’ll come up in a couple of hours.”

“Y/N, he’s home and safe again. Take the night off,” said Sam, that slightly older brother tone coming out. “You need rest too.”

“You didn’t see him in that basement, Sam, or the mines. I want Dean to know this guy is never coming near him ever again,” you said. “I’ll log on quick and see what the prelim file says. Then I’ll be back, I promise.”

“Fine,” said Sam, taking a seat in a soft chair in the room and kicking his feet up on the bed, shutting his eyes.

“Thanks for everything,” you said, Sam keeping his eyes closed but giving you a smile.

“Family doesn’t have to thank each other,” said Sam, nestling down into his chair. “Don’t work too long.”

“I won’t,” you said, heading downstairs to the office, figuring it’d take you five minutes tops to read over the early report. You were logging in when you heard a car out front and saw the blue and red lights through the window. You growled and stormed to the door before they had a chance to ruin Dean’s sleep. Art and Charlie were giving you careful stares as you squinted at them on the front path. “What do you guys want?”

“Is Dean okay?” asked Art. You looked between them both and then saw another car come up.

“Don’t tell me the guy got loose,” you said, the officers looking at each other before at you. “How hard is it to-”

“Where’s Dean?” asked Art. “Now, Y/N.”

“In bed asleep. Recovering. Don’t you two dare go and wake him up with what’s probably going to be the most restful night’s sleep he’s had in months,” you said, two more officers, one of them Redge coming into view. “Well, let’s have a party in the front yard why don’t we? Not like-”

“Is he alone?” asked Charlie, taking a step forward. You scoffed and he shook his head. “Is he?”

“No, he’s with Sam and-Hey!” you said, watching all four of them rush inside. They only sounded like a freight train going up the stairs like that as you stormed after. “Dean’s fine alright? You can visit in the morning.”

You heard groaning from Dean’s room and wondered how pissed he’d be that Redge was in his house. The sheets were messy and thrown back as you looked around for the source of it but instead saw Sam holding his head in his hands.

“Looks like he got him,” said Charlie, moving with Redge out of the room and down the hall. “Art, new guy, stay with those two.”

“It’s Jimmy. Again,” said the black haired man that was helping Sam sit upright. You flicked on the light and saw the spot of blood on his head.

“Dean, he…ow,” said Sam. You walked over and rubbed on his back, ready to kill whoever it was that let Dean’s creepy stalker take him again.

“House is clear, set up a perimeter in the neighborhood. Art, help outside,” said Charlie as you glanced around.

“How did he even break in?” you asked, only the bathroom window open from the looks of it and there was no way up. “We’re up on the second floor.”

“Y/N,” said Jimmy with a cock of his head. “Dean’s kidnapper is still in custody.”

“Then who-”

“Dean just…” grunted Sam. “He sat up and clocked me way harder than he ever has in his life, grabbed a bag from the closet and sounded like he threw on his shoes and bolted out the window.”

“What…” you said, starting to move for the bathroom but Jimmy catching your arm. “Why would he do that?”

“There’s evidence that Dean wasn’t always in that basement,” said Jimmy.

“What does that mean exactly?” you asked, squinting at him. He sighed and looked away.

“It means that Dean very likely did what he had to in order to survive and at some point, it broke him,” said Jimmy.

“He’s scared and has PTSD, he’s not broken,” you said, shrugging out of his hold.

“The kidnapper had an alias, multiple aliases. Multiple plots of land and a couple other basements, just like that,” said Jimmy. You opened your mouth to argue but Jimmy shook his head. “Dean’s DNA is all over those places, those crime scenes. Three other men, all Dean’s age, some looking like they’ve been there a long time. All three were murdered. By Dean.”

“You’re being insane right now, I mean-”

“Dean kept a journal. We found it in the basement. They had to fight, they had go against each other to live and at a certain point, Dean started hurting them because he liked-”

“Stop. Talking,” you said. Sam looked ready to throw up but this guy didn’t know Dean and he didn’t know you. He was the rookie meant to replace him until Dean got on his feet, a quiet gig where he could probably do the mundane small town crap with his eyes closed. But this guy was a stranger and frankly he was the only cop in town you remotely trusted after everything with Redge. “Officer…”

“James Novak,” he said. “People call me Jimmy.”

“Jimmy, I used to be in an abusive relationship with Redge, you know, a cop? Dean, your ‘murderer’ saved me from it, gave me a home and a friend and a safe place to stay. He would not do those things to those other people. He’d try to save them. Dean is really smart. He would probably make the guy think he likes it to get more freedom and work on getting back at him. When I found him, he wanted to kill the guy. Dean doesn’t-”

“You’re talking in theory. You can’t know-”

“Dean has been alone with Sam and me for the past twelve hours. If he’s so bad, why didn’t he rip us to shreds then?” you asked. “I don’t know what he’s doing but he’s trying to protect us because that’s who he is.”

The officer didn’t say anything but he looked at you and Sam, knowing Dean would have had to give his own brother that hard of a hit in order to have enough time to get away.

“He didn’t do it. Give me a chance to prove it before you write him off too,” you said, Jimmy’s gaze flickering down and back up.

“You have no way to prove his innocence. Even if it was under duress, it still…” he trailed off, moving behind you as he stared at the wall. “Why would Dean have a teddy bear on his dresser?”

You spun around and saw the brown stuff bear on the other side of the room.

“I don’t know, I thought it was supposed to be a present or something,” you said, Jimmy picking it up and practically ripping it in half. “Hey that’s…what the fuck is that?”

“A hidden camera,” said Jimmy, holding up the lens and the wire that was tucked safely behind the dresser and probably into the wall, out of view. “Who put this here?”

“We both just assumed Dean was going to give it to Y/N on a date or something,” said Sam, glancing around.

“Has anyone else been in his house since Dean was taken?” asked Jimmy, glancing around.

“The internet guy, roof repair, the…” you trailed off, looking over at Sam.

“The mold guy,” said Sam, turning to Jimmy. “We were booted out of the house for three days.”

“The house is bugged?” you asked. You sighed and ran a hand through your hair. “It would keep Dean in line, show him we weren’t safe here.”

“It certainly helps but it’s not proof enough that Dean-”

“Then help us get it, Jimmy,” you said. “Please.”

“Running makes him look guilty,” said Jimmy. “But he might have run if he thought you were safer without him.”

“How would we be safer?” you asked, Jimmy shaking his head.

“I don’t know. But something is going on around here and we’re going to get to the bottom of it.”

“Sammy, I miss Dean,” you said, plopping down on the couch after work, throwing your legs over his lap as you stared at the ceiling. “He’s gone from person of interest to don’t be hesitant to use force on him.”

“I want him back too,” said Sam, letting out a sigh. It’d been almost a month since Dean took off and you weren’t all that surprised when his kidnapper was let loose after a failure to gather evidence on him. He played the part of dumb and innocent well, avoiding the alias thing when his lawyer explained that your guy never technically owned the land from those other lots. Sam called bullshit on it but there wasn’t enough there. You’d never technically seen the guy with Dean and your relationship with him left you more liability than help at this point. 

“You think Dean’s hiding from him? What if he got ahold of Dean again, no one would have any idea where to look, let alone we’re the only two people that care at this point,” you said. A knock at the open screen door made you sit upright as Jimmy came in with some takeout.

“Glad to know I’m valued so highly around here,” said Jimmy, taking off his shoes and heading for the kitchen.

“Three people care,” said Sam, hopping up as you sat down for dinner. “Anything at all today Jimmy?”

“Not on the Dean front,” he said, giving you a sad smile.

“I know you’re trying when you really don’t have to. We appreciate it Jimmy,” you said, watching him shrug. 

“I never even met Dean and I like him more than any of the other people we work with. I do have some other not so great news, chief mentioned after you left,” said Jimmy. You waited for him to continue as he pulled out a few boxes, sliding them over to you and Sam. 

“We’re waiting in suspense,” said Sam, Jimmy taking a deep breath.

“Y/N, you’re being…reassigned to patrol 8,” said Jimmy. “Chief is sticking you back-”

“Redge is my partner! Come on. I don’t want to drive around with him all day,” you said, Jimmy sighing. 

“I tried to tell chief that it wasn’t a good idea but everyone looks at you all shady now and Redge is the new golden boy since Dean’s been gone. He thinks Redge will figure out if you’re really up to something with Dean,” said Jimmy.

“Thanks for dinner, Jimmy,” you said, grabbing your box and your car keys, both guys grunting from the kitchen. “I want to be alone right now. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

They continued to grumble but let you be. You drove past the edge of town and parked in a field you used to go to when you wanted to get away from Redge. You sat on the hood of your car and pulled out your burger, taking a big bite and wondering if transferring would make you look guilty too.

You finished fast and were positive the guys were talking about you as much as they were Dean tonight. He’d vanished into thin air and you always wondered if he went back to where his kidnapper was from, if there was some reason he would go looking for something else.

You glanced at your phone and it was only seven. If you drove all night you could make it there by the morning and spend the weekend looking for him. Sam told you not to do that more than once though. Last thing you needed was you going missing too.

“Where are you, Dean?” you said quietly after finishing, laying back and closing your eyes.

About three seconds later something hit you hard in the hand and you whacked at whatever bug just stung you. Glancing down there weren’t any bug guts, just a blue paintball splatter. You spun your head around to the right, nothing but tall grass in that direction. Teenagers ran around out here a lot and you wouldn’t be surprised if you took a stray-

“Ow!” you said, waving your hand as it got hit in the same spot twice. “Knock it off!”

When it happened one more time though and your face was scrunched up in pain, you had to wonder what kid had a shot that accurate. You slid off your hood and walked to the right, the shooting seeming to stop now but you heard a rustling that made you jog after. You couldn’t keep up in the dense terrain but there was an obvious path to follow. By the time you got through, the sun was set and you were using your phone for light. There was a run down farm house in front of you, no lights on inside but the door was open.

“Call it in,” you muttered. It very well could have been the kidnapper but if it was Dean, they’d whisk him off to prison and not think twice. “I better not end up in some lifetime movie.”

You grabbed a sturdy looking branch and made your way inside slowly, trash everywhere but a few paint ball pellets leading a path for you down a hall and to a flight of stairs to a basement.

“Not a horror movie, not a horror movie,” you mumbled, taking as silent a step as possibly onto the first step. Halfway down they started to creak and you knew your cover was blown if you had one in the first place. It was dimly lit and you’d only scanned half the area before your makeshift weapon and phone were snatched away from behind, a shove pushing you forward against a wall. You spun around, ready to knee the person but stopped when you saw Dean staring back with a dark hoodie and jeans on.

“You need to stop trying to find me,” he said, tossing the stick to the side, turning off your phone and throwing it on the ground.

“Looks like I did and that was expensive you know,” you said, Dean’s face showing no amusement. “I know you didn’t-”

“You don’t know what I did,” said Dean. “What I can do when I get pushed far enough. This is your warning to stop looking for me and get on with your life.”

“Dean, I’m not scared of you,” you said. He stepped forward so your back was pressed up against the wall, his arms on either side of you as he leaned down.

“You should be,” he said, his face hard and dark.

“They’re forcing me to take Redge as my partner,” you said, Dean’s face holding strong but his eyes flickered for a few seconds, concern darting all over the place. “You can’t fool me, Winchester. You’re not the bad guy.”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m not, Y/N,” he said, leaning back and moving his hood back to run his hand through his hair. “It’s the part I have to play from now on.”

“Why? Let Sam and me and Jimmy help,” you said, Dean raising an eyebrow. “New cop meant to come in to replace you. He doesn’t believe you did that stuff.”

“The guy is out there. He only wants me so I have to stay away from you and Sam so that he leaves you alone,” said Dean.

“He’s not a cop, he can’t-”

“This guy took me as a kid, Y/N. I was too little, way too little to even remember but he had me for a few days. I always thought it was random but I knew dad left something out of the story. I was a cop’s kid and it wasn’t hard to figure out dad screwed somebody over and they wanted to get back at him,” said Dean.

“Why’d he come back Dean? This seems personal but the stuff with your dad is done with, isn’t it?” you asked, Dean shaking his head.

“I’m not telling you,” said Dean. You crossed your arms and he crossed his. “I’m not telling you.”

“Dean, please, give me something,” you said. “I’m trying to prove you’re innocent and it was a set up but-”

“Y/N, just stop. It’ll never happen. I’ll always be on the run. There’s too many things to this. You have to get on with your life. You’ve spent the past half year looking for me and you got to move on,” he said. “Sam too. Tell him to go back home. Maybe you can go with him, get out of this town, find another nice guy. There’s more than one of us out there.”

“I want you,” you said, stepping forward to try and hug him, Dean stepping away. “We never even went on a date.”

“I guess I don’t really have to break up with you then,” said Dean, kicking it the ground. “We never even had a chance to try.”

“Why did you bring me here, to tell me to go away?” you asked. Dean nodded and shrugged.

“Basically. I wanted you to know I was okay and that-”

“You are not okay,” you said, looking him up and down. “You’re more scared than when I found you in that basement. You’re angry and cold and you think this would all be easier if I turned my back on you and let you live the rest of your life in some kind of on the run Hell or in prison. Guess what? I used to be that way until you told me I could never push you away from helping me. You made me furious because you wouldn’t understand that I was a lost cause. You know what? I wasn’t and neither are you. If you don’t tell me what’s going on right now I swear I’ll find a way to force you to tell the truth.”

“This is different, sweetheart,” said Dean, a sliver of warmth in his voice again. “It’s too late and you’re forgetting I made you a promise that’d I’d keep you safe. You have to do what I tell you and forget about me.”

“Make me,” you said. Dean sighed and cocked his head over to the side, a bottle and a rag on top of a shelf. “What is that?”

“I want you to leave now. Tell Sam the house is his if it’s not already in his name. Sell it and get out of this place,” said Dean.

“No. You’re not letting me help you and I can and…” you said, Dean grabbing the rag and tilting the bottle over it for a second. 

“You’ll wake up in your car in a few hours,” he said, glancing down. “I wish I could-”

Dean was strong enough to pull the rag away after you’d pressed it against his mouth but the fumes left him weak and it made the rest of the job easy until he was slumped over on the floor.

“What the fuck is going on with you, Dean?” you asked, looking at him like he’d passed out on the couch, so much softer when he wasn’t clenching his jaw at you. You grabbed your phone and thankfully it turned on even if it was cracked. Thirty minutes later Sam and Jimmy were there, throwing a blanket over an out cold Dean in the back of Jimmy’s car.

“Now what do we do?” asked Sam.

“I think we’re going to have to interrogate your brother.”

Dean was not all that happy to wake up and find his wrist cuffed to a chair at the small, out of the way house Jimmy was staying in. The three of you were in the kitchen trying to figure out how to keep Dean safe and get him to open up when he started yelling at the top of his lungs.

“Dean, calm down,” you said, flinging open the door to the back room he was in, Sam and Jimmy right behind you. “No one is-”

“Let me out, now,” he said, trying his best to dislocate his thumb to get it off but you’d made the cuffs too tight on purpose, Dean grunting when he saw it was no use. “I swear-”

“Check?” asked Sam, Dean blinking a few times. “Do you remember check, Dean?”

“I’ll check you into the wall if you don’t let me leave right now,” said Dean, fuming at the both of you, his gaze landing on Jimmy. “You must be the new guy, huh? Do me a favor and cut me loose.”

Jimmy stepped inside and grabbed a chair, placing it across from Dean and taking a seat.

“Oh come on, I-” Dean got out before Jimmy slapped a hand over Dean’s mouth and Dean’s free hand shot up to tug on his wrist. To your surprise, it didn’t move and Dean started to dig his fingers into Jimmy’s flesh hard.

“You’re being very stupid Dean,” said Jimmy. “Or would you remember me better if I told you my name was Cas?”

There was a slight pause on Dean’s part as his eyes looked over Jimmy, dropping his hand away the same time Jimmy moved his.

“You do remember me,” said Jimmy, giving Dean short smile.

“I always thought…” said Dean, smiling a little at him, giving you and Sam both a look. “This is...Cas.”

“So your name isn’t Jimmy Novak?” asked Sam, Jimmy, or better yet Cas, giving a shrug as you took a seat nearby.

“My cover name is. I’m a special agent,” said Cas, turning his attention towards Dean. “I met Dean a long time ago.”

“You were the older boy there,” said Dean quietly, still looking incredulously at the black haired man. “How are you not dead?”

“You really have a hard time remembering those couple of days huh? You were only a little squirt then I suppose,” said Cas, looking over at you and Sam. “My dad used to be your dad’s partner. Only difference was I was old enough to remember getting taken. Dean’s a little fuzzy on the details but I’d expect that.”

For some reason Dean got all kinds of relaxed and stopped trying to find a way out of his chair, perfectly content to sit there now. You went and grabbed a bandage for him to come back and saw the cuff was gone now, Dean avoiding your gaze. 

“Can I patch that up?” you asked, the red mark on his wrist bloody in a few spots. He nodded but wouldn’t look, a slight shake to his arm.

“Want to tell these guys what I know Dean? What you remembered when you were taken a few months ago?” asked Cas, Dean holding his hand in his lap when you finished. He was quiet and Cas sighed. “You were more of a fighter as a two year old, come on man.”

“You were an annoying six year old,” said Dean, glancing up at Cas. He found Sam’s gaze before yours, upset with himself some about trying to force you to stay away. “I don’t want Y/N to-”

“This girl has spent so many hours trying to find you, Dean. She gets to know the truth too,” said Cas. Dean looked ready to argue before the fight went out of him and he slumped into his chair.

“There was another boy, older than me. He had a weird name,” said Dean. “Redge.”

“Before you go feeling soft for him, Redge is this nutjob’s son. When he found out Dean of all people was the reason you broke it off with Redge-”

“I broke up with Redge and his psychopath dad does all that to Dean as revenge? Redge plants evidence to incriminate Dean? What are we in, a horror movie?” you asked, throwing up your hands.

“Pretty much,” said Cas with a shrug.

“I need a drink,” you said, heading over for the kitchen, finding a bottle of old bourbon in a cupboard, taking a long sip. 

“I knew she’d think this is her fault, I didn’t want to tell her for this exact reason,” said Dean, following Cas into the kitchen, Sam on his tail and stealing the bottle from you and putting it up high where you couldn’t reach.

“It explains how Dean’s DNA got all over crime scenes he never visited, why he was forced to keep a journal, it explains a lot really,” said Sam, sitting up on the counter, keeping an eye on Dean who looked on the verge of bolting. “Hey, I asked you check and you didn’t say anything.”

“What difference does it make how I’m feeling? I’m used to it by now,” said Dean, rolling his eyes. “None of this makes any difference. I’m still royally screwed and he’s still out there and it sounds like Redge is in on it. I can’t do anything so the reunion was great and everything but leave me alone for all our benefits.”

Dean stood up to head for the door but Cas caught him by the hood and shoved him into a seat at the kitchen table.

“Dude, back off or-”

“I’m working a case and until I have solved it and got my guy, you’re going to do exactly what I tell you, all of you will,” said Cas, letting Dean go, pushing on his shoulder when he went to stand. “I wouldn’t let this slide even if it was as simple as a little revenge case but it’s not and we both know it.”

“It’s not?” the three of you asked, Cas running a hand through his hair.

“Oh my god, did you never once look at the files our dads were working on around that time? Investigating a serial killer? Never?” asked Cas. Dean looked like a deer in the headlights, staring up at Cas towering over him. “You’re lucky he likes you better as a pet than a victim or you’d have been killed a long time ago.”

“Cas, go take a walk,” you said, Sam standing to go with him as he saw you were getting ready to make Cas a victim himself. When they were both outside Dean had dropped the hardness and had that sad look on his face again, the one when you drove him away from that basement and to the hospital. “Dean?”

“Cas is right. I am lucky,” said Dean. “Everybody else he kills but I pissed off his son so lucky me got to stick around.”

“You never told me what he did to you,” you said, walking to stand by his side, taking his hand in yours. “You only ever said you got in trouble.”

“I’ll tell you someday, I promise but right now can we not fight? I really don’t want to fight anymore,” he said, voicing barely cracking at the end. You sat next to him and wrapped him into a hug, Dean welcoming it as you wondered when the last time he had any sort of touch at all in his life. “Why didn’t you give up on me?”

“You don’t give up on people you care about,” you said, running a hand over his head. “I always wanted to repay you but I never thought it’d be like this.”

“I would have done with a pie,” said Dean, a tiny chuckle from him doing wonders for your own nerves. 

“We’ll figure out some place safe for you while Cas investigates. A place like this maybe where you won’t have to run or worry about getting caught by the cops or our guy,” you said.

“That sounds much better than that tent I’ve been staying in,” said Dean. “Anything sounds much better now.”

“You tried to not let me help. Over and over again,” you said, Dean resting his head in the crook of your neck.

“I know. I barely let you take care of me when I had that cold. This was too much to put on you,” said Dean. 

“Me showing up at your door with a duffel bag and begging you to let me crash with you for the night, promising I’d be gone in the morning felt like too much. It always felt like too much when you made me breakfast or brought home surprises for me or complimented me or did a thousand other things. One day I realized I’d never convince you of that. It was so much easier when I let it all go. You’ll let it all go too Dean. You’ll get there,” you said.

He shrugged and took a deep breath. He almost started to relax before he pulled his head up and looked back at the door. You wondered if he wanted Sam when he bolted up and ran for it.

“Dean! What the-” you got out before he stopped and looked at you, rushing back over and taking hold of your hand. 

“Don’t leave my side,” said Dean, pulling you along after him and out the door. He glanced around the small clearing before there was nothing but woods and the small dirt path that would eventually lead to the road.

“What’s-” you said before he threw a hand over your mouth, spinning the two of you around, spotting Jimmy’s car and rushing over. He flung open the door and shoved you in over to the passenger side before he started to rip open the dash with his bare hands.

You watched him wide eyed as he pulled on some wires, face smashed against the steering wheel until he got a spark and the engine came on, tugging you back into the driver’s side.

“Get out of here. Get out of town, just get as far away as you can and hide,” said Dean, panting as he pulled your seatbelt on.

“Dean, I don’t-”

“I remember and Cas...Cas was a nice kid. He took care of me. But I don’t remember him ever leaving with me,” said Dean, shaking his head. “Sometimes I swore I heard another set of boots wandering around in that shed too.”

“Dean, Cas has helped us, stood up for you, he’s-”

“Y/N,” you heard Cas say, both your and Dean’s head’s whipping to the front of the car where he was walking around. “Where are you going? We need to figure out a plan.”

“Stay the hell away from her,” said Dean, standing up and slamming your door shut. You weren’t in the car for more than a few more seconds before the lights flickered and went out.

“I always have problems with that freaking battery,” said Cas, rubbing a hand over his face. You climbed out and Dean stood in front of you, Cas cocking his head. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

“I know who you are you son of a-”

“I am trying to help you, Dean. Is he having some kind of meltdown?” asked Cas to you. Dean had been overreactive since the moment you saw him, not thinking clearly and assuming the worst scenario would happen every single time. Cas had been calm and collected apart from his small outburst at Dean.

“Where’s Sam?” you asked. Cas practically growled and you took another step behind Dean.

“I have no issue with Y/N,” said Cas. “Hell, she knows what a dick Redge can be first hand. She can go.”

“Where’s Sam, Cas?” asked Dean. Cas shrugged and held up his hands. 

“Like I said, Y/N can go and I highly advise you do and forget all about this before you get dragged in. My issue is only with the Winchesters,” said Cas.

“Go,” said Dean, pushing you backwards with one hand. “Now.”

You didn’t argue it and went off down the path, Dean glancing over his shoulder to give you the smallest of smiles, a quiet thank you. You went down the road until you were out of view, going a little further before ducking into the woods and carefully making your way back to the house, Cas now holding a gun in his hands as Dean sat on the hood of the car, his hands cuffed behind his back.

You figured you had a couple options. Sneak up on Cas and get his gun to save Dean. Stay hidden and hope Cas brought Dean to wherever Sam was and sneak them both out later. Or call for backup from your completely un-trustable department and hope whoever showed up didn’t make you another victim.

You didn’t have enough time to think of your fourth one before a hand shot out over your mouth and a cold muzzle pressed against the back of your neck.

“Don’t move.”

The hand around you made you backup slowly, going with them even if you knew it was likely to certain death. You walked with them for a while before they spun you around and led you forward, walking on and on until you were well out of shouting distance of Dean.

“Hands behind your back,” he said, your body only doing so when he pressed the gun harder against your skin. You quickly felt a pair of department issue zipties around your wrists, his hand pushing you down to the ground. You expected a bullet but the gun moved away and he walked in front of you, staring you down. “What the hell are you involved in, Y/N?”

“Redge, if you’re going to kill me just do it,” you said, his gun staying by his side a good sign you told yourself. “If you’re not going to do that then what-”

“Saving your ass. Cas plays games. Letting the girl go is one of his favorites. Two months from now when Dean hasn’t broken yet, he’ll pull you out of whatever hole your in and kill you in front of him, then threaten the same with Sam if he doesn’t get with the program. I don’t know where Cas put him. You’ll thank me when you’re still alive,” said Redge, fiddling around in his backpack, grabbing you by the arm and walking again. 

“Redge what the fuck are you-” you got out before he slapped a hand over your mouth, a piece of duct tape over it.

“Shut up until I can explain,” he said, dragging you along until you came to the edge of the road, Redge shoving you in the backseat of his car and driving away, back towards town. You kicked his seat and he growled, getting louder when you didn’t stop. Eventually he pulled into his garage of your old home, shutting the door and taking you out, pushing you down on the couch as he made sure all the blinds were shut. When he ripped the duct tape off fast you nearly bit his hand off but his hands in tight fists made you think twice.

“Explain before I kick your ass for kidnapping a cop,” you said, Redge’s eyes rolling hard. He sat down on the ottoman and leered at you, cocking his head. “What?”

“If you had just stayed with me, none of his would have happened. Sam and Dean would be fine. You’d be fine. It would be okay, you know that?” he asked.

“You used to hurt me and that wasn’t okay, Redge,” you spat out. “Stop talking out of your ass and pretend for two seconds you’re not a piece of crap and maybe I’ll not ruin your life for stopping me from saving my guys.”

“You can’t save them. It’s too late. Grab your stuff and go,” said Redge. “Cas’ll give up trying to catch you pretty fast. He knows you won’t say anything.”

“Why wouldn’t I? He’s only…oh, I don’t know a complete and total liar,” you said, your shoulders starting to ache. “Would you cut me loose? You’re not exactly screaming trustworthy right now.”

“You’re the one being investigated by internal affairs, Y/N. For all I know, you’re another one of dad’s star students,” said Redge. You cocked your head and Redge took a deep breath. “Six months of your record is missing when you were twenty. Why?”

“I was in school which you’d know if you ever listened to me. I did study abroad but you wouldn’t know anything about that considering you tuned out everything I said unless it was yes sir,” you said, Redge looking you over. “What do you mean students?”

“I’m a saint compared to dad. He really just…gets the urge to kill people and does it I guess. I never saw it but I mean, he slipped it into asking about how school was and all that,” said Redge. 

“You never told anyone anything? Never another adult or-”

“One day, when I was five, I came home and there were these two boys in the basement. Dad told me to play with them, take care of them, keep them under control. He said I’d get a big reward if I did. It wasn’t hard with the little boy, Dean, but the older one was bigger than me and he shoved me around so I shoved back. I thought we were playing like at recess or something. That’s all I did was play with them. After a couple days, the little boy went away but that other one…he didn’t. I got a new brother I was told,” said Redge.

“Cas,” you said, Redge nodding his head. “Oh, why didn’t you say something Redge?”

“Because I’m not a good guy. You know that,” said Redge, looking you up and down, all too aware that you were still restrained. “The more Cas gave in, the more I liked it until a couple months later and we were in a new town and Jimmy was my older brother at school. The longer he stayed with us, the more he got to be like dad until eventually Jimmy was the one going into the family business. Sometimes I wish dad hadn’t kept him. It sounds bad but Jimmy, Cas I guess…he’s ruthless and cunning. Dad was always happy with the quick and dirty but Jimmy likes the slow burn,” said Redge, his face dropping as he thought of something.

“Redge, work with me. It doesn’t sound like you guys are on the best terms,” you said, Redge laughing at you and crossing his arms. 

“He’s worse than me, worse than dad, but that don’t make me the golden boy,” said Redge. “Cas has his toys to play with. I only ever wanted you back and here you are. You can be safe here from him, safe from dad too. I’ll be better this time.”

“Are you asking me to stay or telling me I am,” you said, Redge’s gaze on the floor in front of him. His hesitancy made you braver and you tapped his leg with your foot. “Redge.”

He stood up and went to the kitchen, grabbing a knife as you swallowed hard. He put on a hand on your arm and spun you around, cutting through the zip tie and picking up the pieces, tossing them in the trash on the way back to the kitchen. He pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge and handed it to you, taking a seat back down.

“You were my first long term girlfriend. The first time I ever lived with someone else. That control was something I lived with for years, it’s what I thought love was and how to get respect and all that. As much as I want you back, I know I’m not good. Dean’s always been the guy for you and I took you because he was too shy at first, even if I knew he wanted you. You’re not mine but you got to stay away from Cas. He’s going to call my dad and they’re going to go to town on him, Y/N,” said Redge. “Sam too. You just got to move on.”

“I’m being investigated because of my relationship with Dean, right? They think I potentially knew he committed those crimes or set all this up?” you asked, Redge nodding his head. “Go with me to the station and vouch for me. Tell them all that. Tell them the truth and help me save them. Sam is a civilian, Dean is another cop and you’ve got some penance to serve, Redge,” you said.

“It’s my family. My literal psycho murdering family,” he said. “I go against them-”

“Your family is hurting my family. Family has your back and all that but yours is built on fear and pain, not love. That’s not a real family. Your family would hurt you for trying to stop them. Dean and Sam, I’m sure I’ll get an earful from them but I’ll get a crap ton of hugs too. Give me a shot, please,” you said, Redge sighing heavily.

“Y/N, odds are we’ll never find them,” said Redge, a tiny smile on your face. “But we could try.”

Two Months Later

Redge hadn’t checked in with the station in a few days and the looks you were starting to get made you nervous. Sam had vanished but Cas…Cas showed up for work the next day a few months back like nothing more had gone on that night than having an easy dinner and watching some TV. Redge stayed quiet when he saw Cas back, never saying a word to anyone about all he’d told you. You didn’t know who or what to believe anymore. The investigation on you was proving nothing you figured but you knew they believed you were the one who took Sam and was involved with all the rest.

“Hey,” said Cas, knocking on your desk as you looked into the old files on Redge’s dad. “You’re riding with me today.”

“Shocking,” you said, grabbing your winter coat, hoping wherever the boys were they weren’t freezing to death. You’d kept your distance from Cas since that night, occasionally trying to track him but Cas always one step ahead of you, no thanks to help from Redge you guessed.

“Coffee run?” Cas asked when you climbed in the passenger side of his cruiser, shaking your head. “This doesn’t have to be as bad as you make it out to be. I’ll buy.”

“A cup of coffee? Well I guess we can be besties forever now, huh,” you said, Cas pulling out of the lot for your four hour patrol around town. 

“I let you go. Someone in my line of work doesn’t really do that,” said Cas, looking over at you. “You’re a good cop. Once the investigation clears up, maybe you’ll think about moving on to a bigger town, work some bigger cases than the run of the mill crap we do all day.”

“Do you have a point at all? Otherwise you can shut it for the rest of today,” you said, crossing your arms, wishing you’d get a call to give you something else to think about.

“Playing nice with me makes life easier for them,” said Cas. “Perk up. You’re prettier when you smile.”

“Whatever you say boss.”

Three Days Later

You were at a motel room in a random town that only took cash. You used a rented car to take to “borrow” another one, promising yourself you’d return it to the owner before they got back from their vacation. You left your phone behind and your computer, no credit cards, anything Cas could use to figure out where you were. When it was almost two thirty in the morning, you slipped out of your room and walked down a few blocks, hood up as you scanned the alleys for the one you were looking for.

Right on the dot, you saw a man leaning against the brick wall of one, his head curling towards yours when he must have noticed your gazing. He gave a tiny nod you returned and he waved you down. 

“You’re less intimidating than I expected,” said the playful voice, standing up straight, his height rivaling Sam’s almost.

“Nick,” you said, pulling your hood down, the man doing the same. He was a bit older than Cas, around ten years maybe but even in the dim alley, you could see the familiarity. “I know where your baby brother is.”

“See, you kept saying that on the phone but Cas is dead. I haven’t seen him since he went to go play in the yard. It’s been over thirty years, kid. If you found his body, that’s great but I made my peace with what happened a long-”

“Look,” you said, shoving a hand into your pocket and pulling out the picture of Cas in uniform, Nick’s face going blank. “He’s alive.”

“He’s okay. Little guy became a cop,” said Nick, not exactly a smile on his face but as close as you were going to get for a harsh guy like him. “Why didn’t he…what…why did you find me, have us meet like this?”

“You’re a criminal and I’m so far in this thing I’ll work with bad guys to stop even worse ones,” you said. Nick handed the picture back before you shook your head that he could have it.

“You’re a cop,” he said. “Internal affairs, some law and order crap like that?” 

“Your brother took two people very important to me. I will explain everything I can to you but I’ll be upfront about this. You’re not getting the happy ending with your brother you want. It’s not going to happen,” you said, Nick looking over your head. 

“Inside,” he said, pushing open a back door to the bar you were outside of. “You look like you need a drink.”

Nick quietly sipped on his beer as you told him everything you knew. When you’d finished, you didn’t get any denial or shock or any of the other reactions you were expecting. Just a small chuckle that made you wonder if you’d only added one more crazy person in all this.

“To think I was the bad son,” said Nick. “Dad and his stupid pride, wouldn’t do something bad to save his own kid.”

“I read through the old files of Chuck’s, the ones in the storage shed in Toledo,” you said, Nick’s head popping up. “I’ve broken a few laws trying to get my boys back, I’m not a saint either. But your dad tried to get Cas back. It was one or the other and Dean was younger so-”

“So Cas got the shaft. Wow, way to go dad,” said Nick, standing and grabbing a bottle of some hard liquor, pouring it straight into his empty glass, enough to knock out a horse if he finished it all.

“He tried after that and that’s why he got killed. This guy Chuck and John Winchester were investigating is bad news. Ruthless and he made Cas just like him,” you said, Nick seeming unfazed.

“This is my problem how?” he asked, taking a long drag, scrunching his face up at the burn of it. “You’re the cop, that’s your job to fix crap like this.”

“You were supposed to watch him and you let your kid brother go play outside by himself when you were told to not let him out of your sight. How’s that for your problem?” you spat back, Nick’s face going cold, downright scary. 

“You sure you aren’t the bad one? You sure know how to rip open old wounds,” he said, taking another swallow.

“This was a waste of time,” you said, standing up, heading for the back door until Nick’s hand caught your arm. 

“You said this guy Redge, that you breaking up with him is what started all of this, right?” asked Nick. You felt his hand get loose and you moved it away, looking down at Nick in the booth. 

“It got Dean involved and it made Redge’s dad go after him again and it brought all of this up so yeah, it’s pretty much all my fault,” you said.

“If I’d watched Cas like I was supposed to, Cas wouldn’t have gone that route and maybe that Redge guy would have turned out different and maybe a lot of things would be different so if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine,” he said.

“You don’t know that,” you said.

“You don’t know that you and Redge had anything to do with Dean. They all knew each other before you came along. This could have been in the making long before you showed up,” said Nick.

“If you say you’re going to help, are you going to turn around the next day and pretend that didn’t happen? I’m running out of people to turn to, Nick,” you said.

“I think I should have a talk with my brother. On one condition,” he said, your head dropping.

“I can’t promise any clearing of your record or any of that. I’m on the outs. I can’t even promise you’ll live through this,” you said.

“One condition,” said Nick, standing up. “We’re going to need backup and I know the guys for the job.”

“Nick, this-”

“Kid, I wasn’t asking. You want to find Dean and Sam? Trust me.”

On Monday morning the chief called you into his office to tell you Cas was your new partner, Redge back at work as you figured he didn’t turn up anything concrete, not that he was ever really investigating you. You were stopped at the diner for lunch with Cas a few days later, silently eating together when Cas kicked you under the table.

“What?” you asked, mouth full of salad, Cas giving you a hard glare. “Don’t tell me the place is getting robbed,” you said, spinning in your seat to see nothing going on.

“What is that?” he asked, pointing outside at a man outside playing on his phone.

“A guy on his phone?” you asked, not sure what was going on with him. Cas studied your face and relaxed. “What?”

“Nothing. You’re not arguing with me as much lately. I was suspicious,” said Cas.

“Well you said it yourself. I’m free and alive. I need to start looking out for myself,” you said, Cas raising an eyebrow. “I’m smart enough to admit defeat. I need to move on, get out of this town and forget this all ever happened right? Let you have your…extra curricular activities.”

“You’re giving up just like that,” said Cas. You shrugged, playing around with your fork. 

“I never even went on a date with the guy. I’m loyal but I’m not a dumbass,” you said. “Maybe I’ll go somewhere warmer, where it doesn’t snow in the winter.”

“Oh you’re cruel. You ever want a date, give me a call,” said Cas with a wink. 

“I do have a slight favor to ask,” you said, Cas’ smile falling away. “A letter of recommendation would help with a transfer considering everything I went through. I’m not sure they’ll take me with that on my record if I don’t have someone to-”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem,” said Cas, easing up again. “I’ll make you sound good and all that.”

“Thanks,” you said, Cas going back to his sandwich until you were climbing in the cruiser, back on your patrol for the second half of your shift.

“You’re really giving up on them. They’ve been so adamant that you’d stay away and do what asked. I guess you’re finally getting with the program huh?” asked Cas.

“I have one other favor to ask,” you said, turning to Cas. “You and your family stay away from me, they don’t come after me. I don’t want to look over my shoulder the rest of my life.”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem,” said Cas. “You’ve kept your mouth shut and been good. You’ll keep it shut too. No one will bother you.”

“Alright then,” you said, holding out a hand, Cas shaking it with an amused look on his face. “I’ll start looking for new positions tonight.”

It was nearly three in the morning when you got a call on your burner phone from Nick.

“Did Gabe get it?” you asked.

“Oh, he got more than that alright,” said Nick. “Somebody wants to say hi.”

“Hey Y/N,” a tired Sam said on the other end. “You working with a bunch of convicts now?”

“Well I sit next to a serial killer at work. Thievery isn’t so bad compared to that,” you said, hearing a tiny laugh from Sam. He sounded in good spirits but you could only imagine how wrecked he was. “Are you okay?”

“Oh it’s like Christmas morning,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s not Christmas is it?”

“Not for a few more weeks,” you said, sitting up with a big smile on your face. “We got to go pick out a tree.”

“Yeah, we’ll get right on that,” said Sam. “You got Dean back yet?”

“No, we agreed getting at least one of you out was worth the risk,” you said, standing and heading over to your closet to get dressed.

“I haven’t seen him since I saw you last. I don’t know where-”

“It’s okay Sammy. Nick’s brothers are going to stay with you and make sure you get to a hospital and get better,” you said, pulling out some clothes and tossing them on fast. 

“I’m honestly okay. Cas never did anything so I assumed Dean’s been playing along. What are you going to do?” asked Sam. 

“I’m going to Cas’ house. He’s going to want a new way of keeping Dean in line,” you said.

“Y/N, you can’t-”

“Nick, you know where to meet me. Let’s go have a chat with your little brother.”

“Nick, you ready?” you asked, stepping out of the car parked around the bend, just out of view from Cas’ house. Nick looked down the dirt path, giving you a nod. “Want to give me a heads up of what you’re planning on saying?”

“I’ll let you know when I figure that out myself,” he said, taking a step forward. “You sure you want to come with me?”

“You need the backup,” you said, pulling out your gun. Nick just nodded and went around to the front door as you went to the back. He knocked like he was dropping off a pizza and you took a deep breath. You heard the front door open and slipped in the back, quietly coming through the hall as you saw Cas take a step back and another. Nick landed a punch square to his face and had him restrained fast as you had to fight the urge to rip his head off. “What happened to talking?”

“He kind of deserves it, don’t you think?” asked Nick as you rolled your eyes. Cas grunted as Nick rolled him up, shutting the door as you saw just how off guard he was. “Cas.”

“Nick?” asked Cas, looking his older brother up and down. “Wh-What...”

“What is wrong with you shortie?” asked Nick, Cas’ face softening at the nickname. “What is going on in that head of yours?”

“Whatever she told you, it’s a lie, it’s all-”

“Cut the crap,” said Nick, Cas dropping his head down to the floor. “You got taller.”

“So did you,” said Cas quietly, turning his attention to you, the softness falling away. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What you just put on my family?”

“Sorry but your dad and Redge aren’t exactly-”

“Not those psychos. Nick and Gabe and Michael. Do you know what you just dragged them into? What I’ve been keeping them safe from for years?” asked Cas, his eyes shooting daggers but flickering with fear for the first time too. “They’re going to go after them finally. After everything I put up with, it’s gone because of you.”

Nick scrunched up his face and raised an eyebrow, probably thinking Cas was nuts.

“Cas,” you said, holding your gun in your hands. “We found Sam. He didn’t exactly sound like someone who’s had a rough go of it lately.”

“Sam played the part he needed to. Dean’s been doing his part too I suppose. I may have exaggerated things a bit,” said Cas, glancing down.

“Exaggerated how?” you asked, your eyes going wide when you saw the chief come in through the front door.

“Stand down officer Y/L/N,” said the chief, your gaze going to Nick who looked like he would try to take him on if you asked. “Stand down.”

“Crowley, I don’t exactly trust-”

“Cas you’re authorized to disclose your case,” said Crowley, Cas breathing a sigh of relief.

“Not like she was only about two seconds away from shooting me, asshole,” said Cas, giving Crowley a hard look before softening his gaze towards you and Nick. “I’m very deep undercover. Very, very, very deep undercover.”

“It all makes perfect sense now!” you said, squinting at him, Crowley rolling his eyes. “You want to explain, get going.”

“The easy version? I got taken as a kid and raised by a not so nice guy and Redge. I figured out how to play along, gain their trust. By the time I was old enough, got more freedom, it was just Nick and my brothers left and there was always this unspoken threat in the air that I couldn’t go back to them. I stayed away and became a cop, try to figure out a way to bring him down and Redge. I was approached at the academy about undercover work. They knew who I really was and who my fake dad was and that I could go under and gather evidence against a guy they’d been tracking for twenty years but couldn’t prove a damn thing about,” said Cas. “I couldn’t hop on board that train fast enough.”

“Wait so you never…” you asked, Cas shaking his head. 

“Redge did. I was always going to be his fall guy if it ever came to it so I was told to keep my mouth shut. I’ve made it harder over the years but when you got with Redge and then you two stopped, those two wanted to rip Dean apart. I convinced them to go a different route, screw with you both in a less violent way. It worked and they started to get sloppy for the first time. They actually believed that I’d finally come around to their way of thinking. The evidence we have now though is huge and more than enough to put them both away,” said Cas.

“Awesome, then what’s with the continued charade?” asked Nick, cocking his head.

“We don’t know where Dean is,” said Crowley. You looked at Cas who shook his head.

“Redge called my dad after he found you in the woods,” said Cas, Nick giving him a glare. “Fake dad. Cut me a little slack, I’ve been dealing with this stuff since I was six.”

“Keep going,” you said, throwing Nick a glance to cool it.

“Fake dad showed up and took Dean, not too long after I had a chance to explain myself to him. I don’t know if Dean every truly believed me but I told him I’d keep you and Sam safe until I could get him too,” said Cas. “We just need to find him.”

“Would Redge know?” you asked, looking at the chief who was shaking his head. “I’ll go be bait if I have to. We’re getting Dean back if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

“The guy’s been around the Montana area, sticking to a fifty mile area. Dean’s likely somewhere in there,” said Crowley. “It’s too big of a search area though.”

“When Redge took those few days off earlier in the week, where’d he go?” you asked.

“Montana,” said Crowley. “You think he went to go pay Dean a visit?”

“Check his phone records and we’ll find out.”

The property you were searching was huge and the local police department was even smaller than your own, just four of you out there trying to search 100 acres while you knew your guy was the next town over.

“Y/L/N, sun’s going down and snow’s heading in. We need to call it a night,” said another officer over the radio.

“I’ve got a flashlight and gloves. I’m good,” you said, flicking your light on and continuing your search. 

“One more hour, then we need to head in,” said the officer. You clicked off your radio and continued your search, finding a big farmhouse that was a nice break from the cold wind on your face, your cheeks and nose hurting from the icy air. You kicked around the straw on the floor, finding only solid dirt beneath it, taking a short breather behind a bale of hay. It was warmer there and you took a deep breath, glancing around to see a pipe sweating nearby. You hopped up, nothing at all seeming to require heat in the open barn unless of course there was someone living under it. You started kicking the straw again, spending most of your hour picking through every inch of the space. 

You yelled when you found nothing, kicking at a bale of hay. You huffed and figure you’d start looking around outside when you spun back around.

“Wait,” you said to yourself, looking around the whole barn, noticing there was only the one bale in the whole place. You bent down and shoved with your shoulder, digging into the ground to get it to budge a little before it slid away. The small cellar door made you smile as you flung it open and hopped down, shooting at a locked door and opening it to find a tiny room warm.

The man on the cot rolled over and wiped at his eyes, yawning as he did so. He blinked the green orbs awake, sitting up fast when he saw you.

“We got to stop meeting like this,” you said, Dean leaning back against the wall in relief. “You’re not going to go all Rambo on me again, are you?”

“You look really cute with a pink nose,” said Dean, waving you over. You bent down to try and cut through his tether again but this one was made of steel cable and you didn’t exactly bring bolt cutters with you. “Try my foot.”

“I’m not cutting your foot off,” you said, Dean rolling his eyes. He put his foot up on the cot and pulled up his pant leg to show the metal cuff on it.

“I meant try picking the lock,” said Dean. “Unless you found the keys.”

“Yeah, right outside the door, didn’t you know?” you joked, the sound of the cellar door slamming shut making your smile fall.

“Tell me that was the wind,” said Dean. You took off back the way you came, going through the door and up the few steps before you pushed on the door. It didn’t budge much and you knew it wasn’t that heavy. You pushed again and again, dropping down and hoping when Dean was free he might have better luck. 

“I think it’s just stuck,” you said.

“I don’t think we’re that lucky,” said Dean. “Do you have anything to eat in your bag?”

“Yeah,” you said, slipping it off and digging through to find a few protein bars, Dean barely getting the wrapper off before devouring one. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” he said, halfway through another before he forced himself to stop. “We should save these.”

“It was just the wind Dean. A big storm is coming through,” you said, riffling around in your bag for something to try and get him loose. You took off your hat and shoved it on his head, throwing your scarf on him too. 

“How cold out is it exactly? This is Kansas not-”

“We’re not in Kansas anymore,” you said, Dean giving you a bitch face. “Well we’re not, Todo.”

“Awesome,” said Dean as you ran a hand over your head, finding a bobby pin in there. You pulled it out and twisted it, shoving it in the lock and a few moments later, watching it release Dean’s leg. 

He sighed when it fell off and he removed the rag he’d shoved there to cushion it, stretching it out as you twisted your bobby pin back in place.

“Let’s work on that door,” said Dean. He stood up with your help but he seemed healthy for the most part and definitely happier than when you’d rescued him the first time. You both had to shove hard but the door flung open eventually, a big gust of wind blowing through the open space that had Dean ducking back down. You gave him your bag with some boots and gloves, Dean throwing his hood up but still cold in his thin hoodie and a pair of jeans.

“Let’s get you home Dean.”

“Alright,” you said, throwing a blanket over Sam on the couch the next day, Dean already bundled up in his own as they both gave you shy smiles. “You’re both fed, Dean got cleared by the hospital, you’re in your warmest pajamas and tucked in. What else do you guys need?”

“You to sit down and take a break, sweetheart,” said Dean, patting the spot between him and Sam. You gladly sat, feeling them share their blankets with you as a holiday movie played quietly on TV in the background.

“Longest year ever,” you said, both of them laughing a little. The doorbell rang and you hopped up, knowing the department wanted to give you all a proper apology but that it could wait for the morning.

“Hi,” said Cas when you opened it, holding a box under his arm, looking down. “Can I come in?”

“Can you look at me?” you asked, Cas slow to lift his head. “You ever hear of a little thing the Winchesters have called ‘Check’?”

He shook his head and you smiled.

“You will,” you said, opening the door for him, his face red from the cold. “Guys, you mind if you have a quick visitor?”

“Cas, our guardian angel,” joked Dean, Cas looking away nervously. 

“Dude, relax. You’ve risked a lot to keep us safe,” said Sam. “We’re good with you.”

“Y/N is in need of an apology,” said Dean, not too happy with the way he spoke to you, even if it was to keep up appearances with Redge. “Later though. What’d you bring us?”

“It’s from my brothers and me,” said Cas, putting the box down between them. “For helping bring us together again.”

Sam and Dean shrugged and opened the box up, both of them reaching inside and holding up a leather jacket.

“I guess your dad gave it to our’s once and it got tucked away in storage. It has sentimental value Nick said. John gave it to him as a way of saying our families always have each other’s backs or something like that,” said Cas, rubbing the back of his head. 

“You guys want to hang out this weekend?” asked Dean, Sam giving Cas a smile. “Our dad’s were best friends. I think it’s about time the kids were too.”

“Is that okay, Y/N?” asked Cas, the boys looking back over the couch at you. “You’re the one that’s seen everyone go all…”

“I think a big family dinner would be nice,” you said.

A few days later you were sitting on the couch with Dean slouching into your side, talking to Nick and Michael about which Zeppelin album was better, Sam and Gabe and Cas trying to figure out who had the worst pick up line. You didn’t realize you’d fallen asleep until Dean was carrying you upstairs, the guys telling you goodnight as they threw on their coats.

“Didn’t mean to ruin the party,” you said, Dean pausing outside your room before going down to his and putting you on the mattress there.

“It’s your turn to get some overdue rest, Y/N,” said Dean, shutting the door and kicking off his pants, climbing into bed beside you. 

“You don’t have to go to bed if you don’t want,” you said, Dean chuckling to himself. 

“We’ll see the guys tomorrow. It’s getting late anyways,” said Dean, pulling you in close. “You’re so warm. I’ve wanted to do this forever.”

“Me too,” you said. “You know Nick and Gabe and Michael…they’ve got records,” you said. 

“Used to have records. They’ve been expunged thanks to helping catch two serial killers. With Cas back and a family of cops around, I’m pretty sure they’ll get on the straight and narrow soon,” said Dean. “Wouldn’t want to have to arrest our new friends.”

“How are you feeling? After everything I mean. You’ve spent only a handful of nights in this bed over the past ten months,” you said. Dean hummed and you rolled on your side to face him, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not so bad this time.”

“I kind of distracted myself through most of it,” said Dean. “I don’t think anyone’s ever had as much time as me to come up with the perfect first date.”

“I’d rather just stay home with you on the couch and never let you out of my sight if that’s okay with you,” you said, giving him a tired smile.

“You came up Netflix and a pizza too?” he teased, shifting his head closer.

“Check?” you asked, Dean closing his eyes as he tilted his head and gave you a short kiss.

“Green sweetheart,” said Dean, fluttering his eyes open when he moved back. “How about you?”

“I think I’m okay again too,” you said, snuggling into his chest. “This is the weirdest relationship I’ve ever been in.”

“Considering your last boyfriend was a serial killer, I’m not sure how to take that,” he said, chuckle as you gave him a pout. “I really do have to ask though…why’d you never stop trying to save me?”

“You’re my best friend. Maybe we haven’t gotten into the couple stuff yet but you’re my best friend and I love you and you owe me at least two back massages for everything I’ve done,” you said, Dean giving you a big laugh you felt in your chest before he was kissing you again.

“That can be arranged,” he said, closing his eyes. “Thank you for everything sweetheart.”

“Goodnight Dean.”

"Morning,” you said, turning to curl into Dean, your eyes blinking open when you saw him gone. You hopped out of bed and found him staring at the back door in the kitchen, the sun just coming up. “You okay?” you asked, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

“Yeah,” he said, reaching for your hand to hold in his. “Sorry if I woke you up.”

“You’re good,” you said, bumping into his arm. “We can go outside if you want.”

“It’s cold out,” he said.

“You have winter clothes,” you said, Dean nodding to himself like he’d forgotten that. “Do you have anything you want to do today?”

Dean shrugged, just looking outside at the snow covered yard. You bumped him again and he looked down, catching your smile.

“When Sam gets up we’ll head into town and grab breakfast. I got a surprise for you,” you said, Dean tilting his head. “It’s a good surprise.”

It was nearly dinner time by the time you three got back, Dean giving Baby a pat and smile at getting to driver her again. 

“I can’t believe you convinced us to go sledding,” said Sam, sipping on his leftover hot chocolate. “In Kansas too. How’d you find that place?”

“A super secret place called google,” you said, Sam grabbing a snowball from the front yard and tossing it at you as he went inside to warm up. Dean was smiling as he stood by Baby, his cheeks red from spending most of the day outside. “You have fun today?”

“Yeah,” said Dean, wrapping you up in his arms and holding on tight. “I needed that.”

“I know. Want to go watch a Christmas movie and warm up?” you asked.

“Die Hard?” he asked. You rolled your eyes but shook your head. “What do you want to do for dinner?”

“Speak of the devil,” you said, spotting Cas pull up in his car, his brothers popping out with a few bags. “The boys brought barbecue.”

“Ribs, brisket, pulled pork, chicken, corn bread, mashed potatoes and a whole bunch of other artery clogging goodies...everything a recovering boy needs,” said Gabe, patting Dean on the back as they got the food inside before the cold got to it.

“We’ll have a quiet day tomorrow if you want. You just looked like you needed some fun today,” you said.

“I did. I still do but with you watching my back I’m going to turn out just fine,” he said, leaning down to give you a kiss. “You know I always had the biggest crush on you, from the second we met actually.”

“I thought you were cute in your little uniform and jeans. I wished you’d been my partner from the start,” you said.

“I’m your partner now,” he said, giving you another fast kiss. “In more than one area of your life.”

“You’re much cuddlier than I remember,” you said. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Well see this cute girl told me if I got scared I should get a hug and she’d make me feel better. She’s pretty smart,” said Dean, still holding on tight.

“You remember that?” you asked, Dean humming. “Do you want to go get some warm food in you?”

“Yeah,” said Dean, not moving an inch. He waited a few more seconds, looking up as the sun was setting and fresh snow was coming down. “Alright, let’s go have family dinner.”

“I think we should do it once a week, get everyone together,” you said, Dean smiling wide. “You like the sound of that?”

“Having a big family of full of misfit cops and lawyers and thieves sounds perfect, sweetheart.”

_______

[circuspierrot-blog]

🎪 🎪 🎪

Starter Call!

🎪 🎪 🎪

[justasparkwritings]

Troll In Love: Part 1

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Exes to Lovers, Non-Idol AU

Rating: PG-17

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: What happens when your work nemesis and your ultimate troll team up to flip your world upside down? 

Note: This piece is for the #thebtswritersclub fic exchange! Look out for Part 2 later this week. 

This fic is dedicated to, written for the incomparable @xjoonchildx​, who I have been lucky enough to be paired with. A major fan, this was an intimidating endeavor, and I’m kind of in love with what I’ve created for her. And if she hates it .... it’s trash okay? jk... kind of. 

Banner by me. 

Monday: Pitch Meeting

           “Everyone has an inherent archnemesis,” Claire began her presentation, eyes peering across the conference room, attempting to make thoughtful eye contact with her peers.

          Finally, a staff writer, this pitch marked her first foray into feature writing. It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried, in her three years at the company as a freelance writer, it wasn’t that she didn’t draft proposals, complete preliminary research, no, she absolutely did. But there was always someone in front of her, someone who always came around the corner, nicking first place with seconds to spare. Claire hated you from the moment you arrived, bright eyed and excited, a recent college graduate gunning for a position at the magazine. While it took her years to pitch a cover story feature, years to move from an assistant to full-time staff writer, you had done so in a handful of years.

          Today, Claire decided, that would change.  She had prepped and planned for weeks, laid in wait for Marissa to give her the go ahead to pitch her idea to the team. Adjusting her Dior, she shifted from heel to heel before speaking again.

          “We all have that one person who no matter what we post, they find a way to demean it, turn it negative, make it about something completely unrelated. Whether that’s politics, or religion, or sex, there is that one troll we can’t help but root against. My proposal is to use a few members of staff to find their internet trolls, to engage with them over a period of time, and if they’re willing, interview them, both separately and together. I want to discover what it is that makes them keep commenting, why they always seem to gravitate towards certain posts, who their audience is and how it relates to our greater understandings of our enemies.” Claire sighed, the heavy lifting of her presentation just beginning.

           “I like it, who do you want to use?” Marissa asked.

           “Someone from each of our most high-profile teams, or the people in our office that have the largest social media followings. For a few that overlaps,”

           “Who are those people?”

           “Y/N, Jaxson, Hoseok, Emma and Bridgette,” Claire explained. “They have an average Instagram following of ten thousand, and on Twitter it’s twelve thousand.”

           “What do you post that gets you so many followers?” Gillian questioned.

           “My ass,” Jaxson laughed. “But really, it’s Drag Race content,”

           “Good, you have a list. I need written permission from each of you to interview you and your top internet harassers.”

           “I’d like to request that my name be off the list,” You asked, hand still raised.

           Hoseok asked, knowing the answer deep in his bones. “Why?”

           “I just, I don’t think it’d be a –

           “Nonsense, you have a large following, I’m sure there’s someone who pisses you off regularly,” Marissa interrupted.

           “Yes, there is! What’s his name? Jimin?” Claire pretended to scan her page, her cursory glance perfunctory instead of practical.

           You heard the gasp leave Hoseok’s mouth before you registered what was happening.

“Fuck you!” You snapped. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate, but the sentiment remains.”

           “It was, but it also sealed your fate.” Marissa stood. “Start assembling your team and listen to Claire, I’m sure she has a list of things she needs from you.”

           ���I do!” Claire chimed.

           “Great, get me the contracts from legal and get it to each of the people you’ve listed before 5PM today, I want signed consent before you leave this building.”

           “What if I don’t want to?” You asked, your final plea.

           “You owe her for the debacle with your last interview,” Marissa reminded you.

           “It’s not my fault they were drunk both times! I got the article done and out. It was one of our biggest issues in the last year and was followed up by two other feature pieces by me that beat that record,” You countered, your success an unnecessary brag in a room full of people who feared and admired your work.

           “I don’t care, Y/N, handle it,” Marissa sauntered out, her assistants following close behind.

           Slouching in your chair, your eyes landed on Claire, glaring daggers into her perfectly straight midnight bob. She was everything you hated, a brown noser, a narcissist, a career driven monster who had been biting at your heels since you arrived. She was jealous, blinded by some lofty goal that she’d be an editor or editor in chief before 28, a feat rare in fashion, unless you were Elaine Welterwroth or Margaret Zhang, of course. They had become editors and editors in chief by ages 29 and 27 respectively. Though Zhang had begun her career blogging at 16, a fact that only infuriated Claire who was too busy popping pimples and trying to lose her virginity to her junior varsity boyfriend.

          Claire could spend days listing everything she hated about you. She hated your easy interactions with coworkers, the ability to have the entire room stop and listen when you spoke, the craft of your written work and relationships maintained with subjects years after interviewing them. She hated how you left work with Hoseok on your arm or went to drinks with the assistants and interns. How you achieved so many bylines, becoming an editor in your own right without so much as breaking a sweat, while she was scraping the barrel to be noticed. You seemingly had everything Claire wanted, and Claire was sick of it.

Monday: Your Office

           “Thank you, for your participation,” Claire said, sitting across from you in your office.

           “You aren’t welcome, I’m actually rather unimpressed with your ability to ambush not only me but the other people you’ve trapped into doing your article,” You crossed your legs, adjusting the waist band of your trousers and continued to scowl at her. Claire had only heard of your less than cheerful personality, though it remained largely rumored, she had never had it confirmed or dared to see it in person.

           “How, charming,” She rolled her eyes.

           “Look, you don’t want to be talking to me, I don’t want to be talking to you. Just tell me what you want so I can send you on your way.”

           Claire watched as you reached across your desk to grab your black and white planner, flipping open to the weeks page and holding your pen at the ready. The inside, covered in stickers and hand lettered phrases, fit the persona Claire so desperately wanted to mimic.

           “I need you to read and sign this,” Claire slid the agreement across your glass desk. “Then, I need you to identify the username of your troll, and I need to borrow an intern from your team.”  

           “You can’t have one,”

           “Marissa said I could have whatever I needed, and I need an intern to comb through your tweets.”

           “I can save you the trouble, I rarely tweet, when I do, it’s addressing the same ass hat,” You explained.

           “Well, I need their handle,”

           “Fine,”

           “And the intern,” Claire was firm.

           You rolled your eyes, before pressing the intercom. “Hey Alexis, can you send Erin to me?”

           “Sure thing,” Alexis replied.

           “Thank you,”

           Claire rolled her eyes.

           “Jealous?” You questioned.

           “Read the contract, sign it and send it back to me along with answering the Form that’s in your inbox,” Claire directed.

           “Great,”

           “I’ll be back on Friday to go over your tweets and exchanges before we decide on a tactic to reach out to them and ask them to come in for an interview,” Claire explained. It didn’t annoy you that she was prepared, but it did piss you off a little to know how much she had thought this through. Maybe you should give her a chance, professionally, not socially, Claire would remain a bottom feeder.

           “Who says they’re in the city?” You questioned.

           “If not, we’ll Zoom with them, okay?”

           “Excuse me, you wanted to see me?” Erin peered through the door; wavy bangs parted slightly to expose her forehead and freckled cheeks.

           “Yes, your projects are on hold. Claire here needs your help with her feature article, and as my intern, you are to report to her for the remainder of the project,” You explained.

           Erin’s eyes widened, never had she been reassigned to a special project, let alone with Claire who was notorious for running interns and assistants into the ground. “Who will take over my work?”

           “Can you make a list of where you’re at and send it to me? I will meet with the team tomorrow to talk about where we need to fill in the gaps,”

           “Okay,”

           “Claire, this is Erin, if you are a bitch to her, I will ensure you don’t ever write a feature piece or move past copy editor here or anywhere,”

           “I don’t know where you get off thinking you can speak to me like –

           “I am your superior, and you will respect my intern or face the consequences,”

           “Fine,” Claire turned and left, leaving Erin wondering what on earth she had been roped into.

Tuesday: Happy Hour

           “You gave the real handle?” Hoseok asked over drinks after work, a little happy hour to celebrate leaving the office before 7PM.

           “What was I going to do? She could easily look at my Twitter and Instagram and find out, why lie?”

           “What happened to preservation?” Hoseok mocked.

           “Either I give in and get Claire off my back, or I get called to Marissa’s and have consequences, like I’m a fucking child.”

           Hoseok eyed you suspiciously. “Did you give her his name?”

           “You saw in that meeting, she already knows. I blame you,”

           “Me?”

           “Yes you, always talking about dance classes with Jimin, the good old days of photographing him and styling him in college. He abandoned me to go to school with you, and you’ve taken it all in stride.” You explained. It wasn’t a new story, a new plea, a new exploration of your tempestuous non-relationship with Jimin. It was sad, really, listening to you express the hurt you’ve never let go of.

           “He didn’t abandon you to come to school with me,” Hoseok laughed.

           “Potato, Tomato,”

           “You should talk-

           “Nope, you made your once monthly ‘you should talk to Jimin’ comment a week ago over margheritas, you don’t get another for ten more days,” You scolded.

           “Fine, fine.”

           “I don’t even know where he is,” You muttered, pink liquid of your Paloma slipping down your throat.

           “That’s a lie,”

           “Can you stop calling me out and let me hate him?” You hadn’t meant to snap, but the constant chatter revolving around Jimin was too much to handle, it was too much in two days, too much in the years since you last saw him. Park Jimin was, and has remained, too much.  

           “Fine,” Hoseok resigned. “Have you looked at your tweets lately?”

           “No, I refuse to go back and read whatever horrors I wrote in 2019,”

           “You should,” He suggested.

           “I guarantee Claire will force me to read them. Probably aloud at some last-minute staff meeting she puts together on Friday to fucking fillet me,” You rolled your eyes again, the last dregs of grapefruit clumping together as they slid down the side of your glass.

           “Maybe if you weren’t so,” He starts.

           “Bitchy?”

           “Your words, then she would like you,”

           “She’s hated me since I got there, I’ve tried being nice. I’ve tried being cordial. Claire and I will never mix,” You explained.

           “He’s gone blonde you know,” Hoseok’s eyes have flittered past you, glancing down the street at the setting sun, glad he brought his latest Gucci jacket to keep him warm in the early spring evening.

           “Didn’t you hit your moratorium on how long you can talk about Jimin in a conversation?”

           “You said his name!” Hoseok argued.

           “He isn’t Trump, Hoseok. I can say his name, sometimes.” ��

           Hoseok let the moment simmer, cooling gently before turning it up to a raucous boil. “I’m having a kick back next Wednesday, will you come?”

           “If he’s not there,” You answered.

           “I can’t promise that,”

           “Then I can’t promise either,” Chewing the ice from your glass, you let your mind wander to the possibilities of what might happen should you show up to Hoseok’s party and are greeted by Jimin. Blonde Jimin. Jimin with the sparkling eyes and winning smile. Jimin who harasses you on the internet weekly, Jimin who you haven’t spoken to since you were 22, Jimin whom you hated with every fiber of your being.

           Worst case scenario, you couldn’t avoid him and would be forced to speak words to him. Best case, you time it perfectly and he’s either just left or hasn’t arrived and you can doll out pleasantries before Irish-goodbying and never having to confront him.

           “Y/N, please, you haven’t seen my new place yet and it’s finally furnished,” Hoseok pleaded.

           “I’ll think about it,” You resigned.

           “Great!”

           “I fucking hate you and our friendship,” You scoffed, signaling the waiter to bring you the check. You should’ve ordered food, being buzzed and talking about Jimin was never a good idea.

           “I know you do.” Hoseok winked before picking up the tab for you both.

           “At least tell me you haven’t invited Seokjin,” You asked, slipping your coat over your shoulders.

           “Well-

           “You’re fucking with me, right?” You questioned. “You fucking invited both of my exes to a, I’m sorry, kick back? Hoseok, no.”

           “I love you, and I’m sorry, Seokjin helped me find some great pieces for the place, and you know he’s friends with Namjoon and Jungkook,” He tried to explain.

           “That doesn’t mean I want to stare at them over my tenth flute of champagne and my plate which will be piled high with cheese and crackers and pieces of salami.”

           “You and Seokjin are fine though, you ended-

           “Don’t say amicably,” You cut him off.

           “Well, close to it. Please,” He begged. Begging never looked good on Hoseok.

           Staring into his dark irises, a shade mimicking your own, you couldn’t hold the anger brewing. Being around Seokjin was always a better alternative than Jimin. Though the pity he often felt towards you, at your angered state which has never really subsided, was embarrassing. “I’ll think about it.”

           “I love you,” Hoseok pulled you into a hug.

           “Yeah, yeah, then why do you keep doing this to me?”

           “Because I love you,”

           “Tell Taehyung to call me,” You said, waving to him before stepping into the waiting Lyft you’d called at the bar.

           “I will, can’t make any promises,” Hoseok winked before turning towards the subway, where he’d pull out his head phones and scan through the photos he’d taken throughout the day, waiting to get home to Taehyung to analyze, edit and critique them.

Thursday: Claire’s Makeshift Office

           “Are you ready?” Claire asked, sifting through the papers on her desk.

           “You had me come to your office, after you scheduled a meeting to ask if I’m ready? Yes Claire, I’m fucking ready,” You snapped.

           “Erin,” Claire gestured towards your intern who tried to hold her eye roll.

           “So, I combed through your tweets, sifting through your interactions with Mochimin, which is a very creative username,” Erin began.

           “Yeah, his name and nickname combined,” You rolled your eyes.

           “And we read through them all, well mostly me… and I have to ask, are you sure these are your tweets?” Erin questioned.

           “Yes, and what should be his responses,” You answered reaching forward to grab the printed copies waiting for you. You scanned over the interactions, the subtweets, the blatant tags, the retweets and comments not just by Jimin, but a few of your friends too.

           “Why have you been telling us he’s the troll?” Erin asked.

           Her question caught you off guard, eyes wide, shock echoing in your bones.

           “What the fuck? What do you mean? Look at how he fucking responded!”

           “Y/N, you’re the troll!” Erin laughed. “It’s you, not him,”

           “I am not! This is a fucking joke! It’s not April Fools yet, way to put the cart before the horse!” Your voice radiated throughout the small conference room.

          Claire, not having an office of her own, had requested it to conduct most of her teams work. It was your least favorite of the conference rooms, colder both in décor and temperature than the others, it was situated on the corner leading to the kitchen. Glass on two walls, it was the definition of exposed. Everyone could see your outburst. Everyone could watch you fall to pieces. You guessed Claire had planned it this way, to demonstrate how focused her team was, how dedicated to the project they were, to show everyone her value as a staff writer instead of a freelancer. You also assumed she did this to ensure that whatever break down you were beginning to have, would have at least ten witnesses, ten people to side with her that your behavior was irresponsible and reckless.

           “Oh please, get over yourself,” Claire chuckled. The light in her eyes proved your assumptions, she was enjoying this. “Do you see how you interact with him?”

          “What do you mean how I interact with him? He started this!” You lowered your volume, side glances from colleagues passing by alerting you to the unprofessional decibels you’d began reaching.

          “In almost every interaction, you bait him, hook line and sinker. It’s you, Y/N,” Erin explained.

           “No!”

           “Yes, this poor man, just living his life while you’re purposefully harassing him!” Claire feigned shock, eyes widening, mouth slightly open. It was taking everything in you not to resort to physical violence.  

           “I would never,” You glowered.

           “You have! For years, it’s always you,” Erin said again.

          “I, no, that’s impossible. He started it!”

          “Admitting is the first step,” Claire’s placid smile was demanding to be smacked off.

          “Fuck you! This is ridiculous!”

          “July 10, 2020: Thinking of one man in particular, hoping the bleach in his locks burns in the summer heat.Followed by his comment: thinking of one woman in particular, hoping she knows I wear a hat and use purple shampoo.” Erin read.

          “I, I, no!”

          “October 13: Nothing makes me happier than not being invited to a birthday bash with all my friends. He responded: All you have to do is ask. On your birthday, he tweeted: Happy B-Day to the girl who … oh never mind she hates me. You responded: nobody asked for your half-hearted bullshit, next time I hope you choke on it.”

          “He started it!”

          “Why are you so awful to him?” Erin wanted to know.

          “I am not, he began harassing me first,” You tried to argue.

          “Does Hoseok know?” Claire chided.

          “Know what?”

          “About your vendetta,”

          “It’s not a vendetta!”

          “Then explain why you tweet or subtweet him at least twice a week, and then when he responds, tweet him again! You don’t even tag him, just vaguely mention discernable parts of his personality or appearance,” Erin explained.

          “I do not! How do you know what he looks like?” You tried to counter.

          “His profile picture, and a certain friend of yours doesn’t mind sharing-

          “You asked Jungkook? Or was it Taehyung? Or I’m sorry, both?” Your eyes were wide, breathing labored, anger boiling to inhumane levels.

          “Well, if we asked Hoseok you would’ve kno-

          “You called or texted or DM’ed Jungkook and Taehyung, and asked about Jimin?”

          “Yes,” Erin bowed her head, guilt written into the freckles her blush tried so desperately to hide.

          “I cannot believe you, Erin,” You spat.

          “I’m sorry Claire wanted me to,”

          You turned your gaze to Claire, who had begun to cower in her seat.

          “You did the one thing, the absolute one thing that you knew, you fucking knew, would set me off. You did this on purpose, you fucking bottom feeder, you fucking dillweed you crossed the fucking line, Claire,” You spat. Your volume had lowered into a low growl, far more deadly and intimidating than any yelling you had done.

          “We have the proof, Y/N, you can’t deny it, you attack Jimin regularly,” Claire unskillfully attempted to move the conversation away from Jungkook and Taehyung. Like you would balk at her intrusion.

          “You don’t get to violate my personal life, to violate the lives of the people I care deeply about, to expose sources and put them in danger should this article go south, poking and prodding into the lives of people who are dealing with their own bullshit to push your own fucking agenda, Claire,” You were seething, Te Fiti in Moana, Mrs. Weasley against Bellatrix, Kim Kardashian against the ocean searching for her diamond. Your wrath knows no bounds, and Claire had finally crossed the line into territory she could never come back from.

          “It’s for the job, nothing personal.” Claire shrugged. You could see it in her eyes, she wanted blood and was elated to be getting it.

          “This is entirely personal.”

          “Well, you can ask Jimin about it when we interview him,” She smiled, lips upturning revealing her veneers, red lipstick perfectly matte and shaped against her thin flesh.

          “No, absolutely not,” You shook your head.  

          “Yes, that’s part of the deal you agreed to,”

          “I take it back. I revoke my consent!”

          “It’s non-negotiable,” Marissa said. She had sauntered in during your berating, watching as you tried and failed to continue believing that you weren’t the troll. “You have agreed to this, and you will sit through the interview and cordially answer Claire’s questions.”

          “Marissa, this is crossing a line,” You stated.

          “You have to be held accountable,” Claire said.

          “Fuck you, Claire. Believe it or not, there are somethings that are beyond your understanding and a few that are not appropriate for work,” You continued to scold her.

          “Y/N, why are you being so hostile?” Claire was mocking you, with Marissa by her side, she was invincible.

          “You picked me on purpose. What have you been working with Hoseok? Is this some larger plan to get me to talk to Jimin? I don’t want to talk with Jimin or talk to Jimin, isn’t it bad enough he’s being brought into my work? Oh and let’s not forget you using Erin and Hoseok to gain access to Jungkook and Taehyung, who are beyond off limits.” You listed each of her offenses, careful to leave out indiscretions that occurred before this project of hers began.  

          “You agreed to-

          “No, I was forced to do this by you, Marissa,” You began.

          It wasn’t hard to glower at Marissa, one of the most decorated editors in chief, beloved by Condé Nast, best friend of Anna Wintour… Everyone aspired to be her, but in the last year, through your promotion and growing turbulence within the magazine, her leadership had begun to falter. Her steady hand, guiding each staff writer and editor towards success and elevating everyone’s work, was crumbling at an alarming pace. Yet, no one knew why or if anything was being done to rectify the damage her wake was leaving.

          “I was coerced into this under some pretense that I owe Claire something for a so called fuck up that resulted in the biggest boon in our magazines readership in the last year, which was followed up by not one but two feature bylines and my promotion. I have done more than enough at this company, in this industry, to sit here and be forced to engage with a man who destroyed my world. I will not speak with him, or to him or listen to him. I will not, and if you force me, I will get legal involved. Should this bullshit continue, you can expect my letter of resignation next week.”

          Standing and shoving your chair in, you turned on the heels of your Oxfords and marched straight to your office. Closing your laptop and shoving your planner into your tote, you grabbed your phone.

          “Where are you going?” Hoseok asked. He moved in time with you, following down the many corridors of your office and towards the elevators.

          As you stepped in, you pressed lobby and waited for the doors to be closed before turning to him.

          “Did you tell Erin she could contact Jungkook and Taehyung?” You asked.

          “She did what?” Hoseok yelled, soundwaves bounding off the metal and plastic of the elevator, reverberating in your ears.

          “Did you?”

          “No, I can’t believe she, are you serious?” Hoseok couldn’t lie, a fundamental flaw in his design made it impossible for him to tell the smallest fib.

          “Did you work with Erin and Claire to get me involved in this feature? To get me to talk to Jimin?” You didn’t mince your words or pad your language to make him feel less attacked. You needed the answer, and you needed it now.

          “No, I didn’t know Claire was doing this until she pitched it. You think I would-

          “Hoseok, they called Jungkook and Taehyung. They want Jimin to come in to be interviewed, they won’t stop until I-

          “Until you what?”

          “Marissa has always supported me, championed me. But Claire has her number, she has her locked and loaded, aiming for me and I don’t know why,” You confided.

          “She has been slipping lately,” He agreed. “There’s only one way to stop this,”

          Together you stepped out of the elevator, moving past the turnstiles to the revolving door.

          “Am I crazy?” You asked, the insecurity beginning to overtake your bravery.

          “No, something weird is going on,”

          You clarified, “No, I mean, am I crazy for… for doing this to Jimin?”

          “I don’t know if you’re crazy, but you’ve definitely not been your best self,” Hoseok answered.

          “He makes me so-

“You still love him,” Hoseok interrupted.

          “I-

          “Go talk to him,” Hoseok encouraged. “Call me after, we can get drinks and wallow or pick out an outfit for your hot date.”

          “What if he-

          “Just, talk to him, okay?” Hoseok requested.

          “Okay,”

          “I’ll check in with Jungkookie and Taehyungie,” He assured.

          “Thank you,”

          “I’ll also scope out open positions, we can’t stay here,”

          “I love you, Hobi,” You confided, a statement that flowed so easily past your lips, you didn’t have to think or parse through the emotions that went along with it. You’ve always loved him, always will.

          “I love you too, Y/N,” Hoseok draped his arm around your shoulders before placing a kiss to your forehead, a gentle embrace, a squeeze of confidence, a gesture of love. He moved swiftly from you back into the building, and as you watched him walk away, you took a deep breath.

          Taking your phone out of your pocket, you dialed a number you had tried to forget.

          “To what do I owe this unexpected delight of a call?” He asked. His voice was the same, chipper and cunning in the same breath.

          “I need to speak with you, ASAP,” You told him.

          “Okay, I’m working from home today, come over whenever,” He invited you without hesitation.

          “You still live at the same place?”

          “No, moved up. I’ll send you the address,”

          “You know who this is?” You asked, uncertainty back in your bones.

          “What, Y/N, you thought I deleted your number?” Jimin laughed, one of only a few sounds that shot right to your knees, making any posture unstable in the docile sounds of his joy.

          “I, I don’t know, I guess. Look I’m going to hail a cab, I’ll be there in 20,”

          “I look forward to it, just tell the doorman you’re here for me and he’ll let you up,” Jimin said.

          “Okay, see you soon, I guess,”

          “I can’t wait,” Jimin was smiling, you couldn’t see it, but the lilt in his voice was all the assurance you needed. Bracing yourself for the impact of him, of his voice, of his laugh, of the way he looked at you, you hailed one of the last remaining cabs in the city and prayed for courage.  

Next: Troll in Luv Pt. 2

[miracle-sham]

Crack Your Bones and Say Those Lies.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Saturday Challenge 3: And They Were Roommates} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [Spotify Playlist Link] |

———

| After getting roped into the Vigilante life by Chat Noir, her friend and partner in crime, Maladroit tries her best to help fight crime to make the city a better place, if only Red Hood and his gang would stop causing problems. |

| Or alternatively, Marinette and Jason are roommates with secrets. Both have huge crushes on each other but more importantly, both are trying to juggle moonlighting as their secret identities. However, when watching the nightly news together, everything changes. |

| Word Count: 5,014. |

| Warnings/Tags: No Miraculous/Different Powers Au, Roommates, minor gang mentions/Red Hood is a gang lord, gun violence, Vigilantism, Identity Shenanigans/Mistakes, Miscommunication, some emotional hurt, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, and Domestic fluff. Also Oblivious, Protective, & Mutually Pining Marinette and Jason. |

———

| A/N: Hey! Sorry this is nearly a week late but where I live got hit with a nasty heatwave and I was barely able to write from sheer exhaustion from the heat. But on a happier note, I'm so glad I've finally been able to write and post a proper Vigilantes au (as in like Spidey style vigilantism with homemade gear and all!) Because that kinda Vigilante au especially combined with roommates is my favourite trope ever! Well maybe joint with Dragonrider AUs, but still! I've had multiple Vigilante Aus sitting in my notes and drafts so it's brilliant to finally release one into the wild! Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

It's Friday night, and Maladroit and Chat Noir are midway through their usual patrol of their slice of territory in the city.

“Race you to the billboard!” Chat Noir calls out, snickering in an almost cat-like-chitter as he launches himself forwards. Swinging over Maladroit's head with his grapple, he lands on the next roof ahead, in a perfect three-point landing.

Maladroit giggles, “Oh, you're so on!” She grabs her grapple and shoots. Swinging after him and onto the same roof. She instead, dive forward rolls for her landing and uses the momentum to propel her into a run.

Losing his lead due to the momentum loss of the three-point landing, Chat Noir vaults over a roof vent.

Forced to swerve to the side, Maladroit barely dodges a massive puddle of rainwater on her side of the roof.

Neck and Neck, the two raced across the rooftop. Closer and closer to the billboard they raced.

Nearly there! She thinks, c'mon! Reaching an arm out to slap the billboard—

Bzzt!

“Eep!” She yelps, startled by the buzzing crackle of her earring-comms. Unintentionally, she accidentally veers to the side and crashes straight into Chat Noir's side.

They collide with a loud thud, and two of them crumple into a pile.

“Graceful as ever, Mal.” A voice teases over her earring-comms. “Joking aside, didn't mean to spook you, sorry!”

Maladroit groans, “thanks,” and gingerly extracts herself from the vigilante limb pile.

“Gamer!” Chat Noir cheers, having heard him through his own disguised comms. “Got any crimes for us to fight tonight?”

There's a chuckle over the line, “Lucky you should ask, Chat, I do happen to have found some villainous plans for you to thwart.”

Chat Noir cracks his knuckles and stretches. “Oh? What are they?”

“Two which are time-sensitive.” Gamer adds.

Maladroit stifles a squawk, “Two! That are time-sensitive?” Her voice goes up a pitch on the last word, making it sound like a question.

“Uh-huh.” He confirms. “Chat Noir, there's a break-in at a jewellery store two blocks over from you. I'm sending you the directions now to your phone.”

Chat Noir does a two-fingered salute to the nearest security camera. “Got it, G! Detective Noir is on the case!”

“And Maladroit, we've got reports of sightings of Red Hood outside his usual area. By the Warehouses on fourth. There are no security cams around there so I've got nothing but rumours to go on. See if you can check it out and find out what he's up to.” Gamer informs her, sounding slightly irritated at the fact he's got little information to give her.

Maladroit nods, grumbling slightly. “When isn't he up to something.”

Slinging an arm around her shoulder, Chat Noir grins like the Cheshire Cat. “C'mon, Mal! It'll be a quick sweep and nothing will turn up like the last twenty times we've gotten this kinda tip-off!”

“You owe me ice cream from André's when we're in civvies tomorrow!” She huffs. “I made us macarons last time!”

“I haven't forgotten!” Chat Noir protests. “Anyway, see you tomorrow if we don't catch each other for the end of the patrol?”

Maladroit nods. “Yep! See ya later Minou!”

The two split. Chat Noir dashing after the directions, and Maladroit swinging towards the warehouses on fourth.

———

Breathe, Maladroit—reminds herself, perched on the rafters in one of the warehouses on fourth. Staring at the blood-red glowing mask of the red hooded villain, who happens to be oh so creatively named the 'Red Hood', leaning on the balcony railing on the opposite side of the warehouse to her rafter, and presumably glaring up at her.

“It's you again, Maladroit.” He growls, distorted by whatever voice modifier he's got wired into his mask.

She can't help but wince at the reminder of the word she had accidentally said the first time she had ever helped Chat Noir fight crime. Which irritatingly enough, stuck as her vigilante name. Especially since her second attempt at a name, Ladybug, didn't stick. She frowns beneath the black and red spotted bandana covering her mouth, and tightly grips her bladed yo-yo—with piano wire instead of string—of the same colour scheme.

“What are you planning, Red Hood?” She spits out, voice also modified by her bandana, a tad too grumpy and bitterly for the awkward-but-smiley "persona" she's supposed to act like (although it's not so much of a persona when that's just how she is almost all the time). But in her defence, she's had a rough day at uni, things have been awkward at home because of her crush on her roomie lately, and more importantly, Red Hood's lackeys have been a pain in the neck for the past week, so her reaction is more than warranted.

He has the audacity to laugh. “What makes you think I'm going to tell you, Pipsqueak?”

“Well,” Maladroit huffs, “I was hoping you were feeling considerate.”

Red Hood shifts his shoulders. “Aww, sorry Pipsqueak. I'm not feeling particularly considerate today.” In a split second, he slips both guns from his holsters, spins them, and shoots.

Maladroit squeaks, instinctively tugging on her power, and dives off the rafter to dodge the shot. “Rude!”

She's just able to shoot her grapple off and swing up to another metal beam.

“How the fuck do you keep dodging my shots?” He snarls, gesturing at her with his guns in short angry-looking motions.

In response, she throws her yo-yo at him, tugging on her power again. The yo-yo spins through the air, slashing through the Red Hood's jacket sleeve and slicing a deep groove into the gun, then rewinds on the wire back to her. “What makes you think I'm going to tell you, Bullet Boy!” She parrots back, cheekily.

“Hey!” Red Hood snaps, aiming another shot at her.

Tugging on her powers once more, Maladroit yelps as she swings to yet another metal rafter beam in order to avoid the shot. “Your aim sucks!”

“Fuck you!” He retorts, firing off four more shots aimed at her head.

There's a horrifying moment as she barely manages to tug on her powers in time. The bullets barely skimming past her hood, one even tearing the fabric slightly.

“Mal!” Comes Gamer's terrified voice over her earring-comms, “I need you to pull back immediately! Red Hood and his gang have been spotted nearby and Chat can't get to you in time to back you up if you do get into a fight!”

She raises a hand to her earrings and quietly laughs hysterically. “Little too late for that, G! I'm uh currently staring… face to gun to him”

“Oh, fuck!” Gamer responds, voice going up a pitch. “I'm contacting Chat now. Try and get out if you can but prioritise not getting yourself killed, please!”

Red Hood fires his guns again. “Eyes and ears on me, Pipsqueak.”

Squeaking yet again, Maladroit desperately tugs on her power once more and swings to another rafter. Her heart thunders in her chest as loudly as his gunfire. She spits out a frantic, “no promises!” to both of them.

“I've informed him, your backup is on the way.” Gamer tells her.

The main warehouse doors clatter open with a resounding slam! Followed by the stomping of multiple pairs of boots storming inside.

Maladroit waves at Red Hood, the quiet terrified hysterical laughter practically bubbling out of her mouth. “Haha, well I'm afraid that's my cue to Bug Out!”

“Oh, I don't think so, Pipsqueak.” Red Hood taunts, shooting six bullets at her, rapid-fire. “I ain't finished with our convo yet.”

Squeaking for the umpteenth time, and really just giving him even more reason to keep giving her that stupid pipsqueak nickname, she riskily shoots her grapple, aiming and swinging towards the warehouse's large balcony windows.

“Get the fuck back here!” He snarls, voice deepening with fury. Pausing to reload before firing off more shots at her with abandon.

Maladroit wriggles midair, tugging on her powers to try and dodge the shots. She curls into a dive forward roll as the grapple forces her to land onto the balcony. The same one that Red Hood has been stood on this entire time. Oh, help me! She thinks, eyes widening behind her makeshift red with black tinted lenses, goggles-slash-domino mask.

He aims his gun at her once more. “Move and you fucking die, pipsqueak.”

Putting her hands in the air, she swallows a gulp of air. Her body armour is padded beneath her red, and black spotted, hoodie but it isn't bulletproof. And she can feel the straining exhaustion of overusing her powers clawing at her.

They're at a standoff. Still as statues, the both of them. It's almost poetic how they parallel each other. He's got his gun aimed at her, whilst she's desperately clutching at her grappling hook gun in one of her raised hands. Both donned in red. Both committing crimes in the eyes of the law. Two sides of the same coin, one and the same.

Maladroit feels sick to her stomach, staring down the barrels of his guns. Ever so slowly, she tugs on her powers. The window a little bit behind her creaks quietly enough that Red Hood doesn't seem to notice beneath the clamour of his gang doing whatever it is they're doing below.

She counts her breath and tugs on her power. A minute passes with no movement, no words, nothing happening on the balcony. Out of the corner of her eye, she can just see that it's now open enough that she should be able to make it out unscathed. Or at least mostly unscathed.

Closing her eyes, not that he can see, her power snaps. Instinctively she doubles over and slaps a hand over her mouth. Barely in time as a stifled scream is yanked from her throat, leaving her panting for breath. Her knees crash onto the balcony flooring. A bullet whizzes past her neck.

“Shit. What the fuck was that?” Red Hood grumbles, sounding genuinely concerned. He storms across the balcony towards her.

Maladroit can't help but flinch, bodily throwing herself back as far away from him as she can. Mind racing in panic.

He stows one gun back into a holster then reaches a hand towards her. “Hey, hey, hey. Calm down.”

“Gotta go! Bug-bye!” She squeaks out, wrenching on her power with all her remaining strength, and bolting for the window.

“I think the fuck not! Fucking pretending to be hurt.” Red Hood barks, ripping the gun back out of its holster.

Narrowly dodging the spray of bullets shot at her, Maladroit dives through the window and fires off her grapple. Safely swinging far away from the warehouse.

———

Carefully Maladroit drops with the ease of far too many nights of practise, onto the fire escape outside her bedroom window. She crouches and lets the shadows of the night hide her form. Creeping closer, she checks the windowsill for any marks or signs of tampering but it all comes away untouched. Content with her quick security check, she fumbles for the disguised piece of string wedging the window ajar in a way that's barely visible unless you know where to look for it. Got it! She thinks to herself, grabbing ahold of it and prying it, and the window above it, up and open.

Slipping through the open window, she sits on the sill to rip her thankfully not-too-dirty studded steel-toed boots off. Picking them up in one hand, she wiggles the rest of the way into her room and immediately resets the security measures, yanking the curtain down for privacy.

Maladroit then shuffles over to her bed. Tikki—her gorgeous fluffy red and dark brown miniature dachshund—blinks sleepily up at her, from the dog bed next to it. The puppy yaps in greeting before snuffling and curling back up to sleep.

She coos at the cuteness before continuing on. With the other hand not carrying the boots, she pries the blanket covered duffel bag out from underneath. Wrestling to unzip it in one janky and awkward motion, grunting slightly at the exertion. The metal of the zip digs in but the discomfort is mostly mitigated by the padded gloves and wrist guards she's wearing. The easy to clean plastic bag designated for temporary storing of her boots is dragged out of the bag and said boots are tossed in without a second glance.

Huffing, she starts to take the rest of her cross between mostly homemade and refashioned sports kit vigilante gear off. First, tugging down the hood of her hoodie and unclipping the black scrum cap hidden under it. It's dumped unceremoniously into a secondary plastic bag in the open duffel bag. After that, Maladroit removes the black neck guard and pulls her makeshift goggles-slash-domino mask over her head. Those too, are dumped into the other plastic bag. Then she unties the bandana with the nose guard underneath, from around her mouth and nose. Unsurprisingly, they're also dumped in the bag.

Next, she undoes the velcros on her red and black padded gloves, black wrist guards, as well as black elbow, knee, and shin pads. Also dumped into the other bag. With the outer protective wear removed, Maladroit pulls her hoodie over her head. Continuing on, she peels the padded rugby body armour and shorts off, and then the thermal under-armour. All dumped into the third and final plastic bag. “I swear,” Maladroit mumbles to herself, “getting changed out my gear never gets easier. And to think back when I had my last P.E. lesson at school, I thought I'd never have to touch this kinda kit ever again. Rip me.”

Lastly, Marinette—no longer Maladroit seeing as she is no longer in her vigilante gear—throws on her running-to-the-bathroom spare bathrobe to cover herself. She hastily shoves the three plastic bags into the duffel bag and kicks it under her bed. Purposefully leaving it unzipped but quickly fixing the blanket covering the bag, so that she can more easily grab her kit to clean everything later, whilst keeping it sufficiently hidden.

With that mostly taken care of, she nabs the mouthguard case, some clean pyjamas, and dashes out of her room—clinging awkwardly to the bathrobe. She hops in the apartment's shared bathroom, the rest of the place is silent, meaning her roomie, Jason, must have gone out. Still, Marinette locks the door regardless. If there's one thing she's learnt in her foray into the nightly masked vigilantism, is that one can never be too careful.

“Shit! Nearly forgot to take this out.” She grumbles to herself, just as she was stepping into the shower. Prying the mouthguard out of her mouth as she shuffles over to the sink, she gives it a quick rinse under the tap. Followed by a thorough scrubbing with her toothbrush and glob of toothpaste. She pops it into the mouthguard case and leaves it on the side of the sink for now.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Marinette finally allows herself to indulge in a good half an hour-long hot shower to get the grime from a night of crime-fighting off of herself.

She's only just drying off her hair, having already changed into her pyjamas, when the blare of the TV echoes through the apartment. Tensing up, her anxiety runs wild. It's what they get for living in the cheaper but slightly dodgy apartments where the walls are thin and the doors are thinner. Grabbing the mouthguard case, she wraps it up in the bathrobe and peeks out the bathroom door and looks down the hall into the open plan kitchen lounge. Jason's back, he's sitting on the sofa watching the TV.

Shoulders untensing, she finished drying her hair and heads out into the hallway. In place of a greeting, she exclaims, “oh! Jason, you're back!”

Jason flinches slightly and looks over his shoulder back at her. “Yeah, a friend had an emergency so, y'know.”

Immediately, concern wrenches at Marinette's heart, “oh no, I'm sorry. Are they… okay?”

He waves a hand in a so-so gesture and clears his throat awkwardly. “Uh, yeah. They're fine now.”

“That's good!” She says, nodding, as she makes her way fully into the lounge and the TV catches her attention. “Oh is it nearly the eleven o'clock news already? I need to watch this! Alya texted me earlier saying I have to, and she sounded really excited!” Glancing down at the bundle in her arms and flushes red. “Actually, I'll be back in a second!”

“I'll yell as soon as it actually starts.” Jason offers, smiling warmly at her.

Marinette just misses the smile, rushing back to her room, and throwing a quick, “thanks,” over her shoulder back at him.

Also missing his smile turn fond and the good-natured roll of his eyes at her antics.

Barely half a minute passes before she's bounding back into the lounge, with a sleepy Tikki at her heels. She plops herself down on the sofa next to him and hopes the blush on her face could simply be mistaken for the flush of running about like a mad thing instead. Tikki whines until Marionette picks her up and lets her on the sofa with them, padding over to the furthest corner to curl up in.

Jason points to the pink floral steaming mug on the coffee table, right next to his Pride Prejudice and Zombies themed mug. “Whilst you were in the shower, I made us both hot chocolates with marshmallows, my granddad Alfie's recipe.”

“Oh!” Marinette responds in pleasant surprise. She turns to him and positively beams, eyes shining with happiness. “Thank you so much, Jason! You're always so thoughtful!”

He blushes and rubs the back of his neck bashfully. “Yeah, well, I thought it's only fair since you normally make 'em. And I visited Alfie recently, and I promised to get you his recipe to try, so I thought it'd be a nice surprise for once!” He pauses and points at the big bowl also on the coffee table, “also I cooked us some popcorn.”

“Aw! Thank you again! I really appreciate this!” She scoops up the hot chocolate with slight reverence and takes a sip. Immediately her face lights up even more in joy. “Oh, this is delicious!”

Jason chuckles, “isn't it the best! I'll pass that onto Alfie though, he'll be glad to know you like it so much. Speaking of which, he's gonna give making them a try next time I'm up since I wasn't there long enough this time. Would you fancy coming with me to see him, then?”

Her eyes widen and her heart stutters in her chest, feeling close to bursting from happiness. “I'd love to! Do you have a date when you're thinking of going up?”

He nods. “Yeah, maybe around—”

But he's interrupted by the starting audio of the eleven o'clock news.

They both immediately shut up and watch the screen intently as the news anchors appear on the show. The starting discussion is somewhat boring, talking about the local billionaire Wayne-or-something business and a related upcoming charity event of some sort.

Marinette doesn't pay attention to it, but she does catch Jason wrinkling his nose and scowling at the conversation.

Luckily, the topic shifts quickly enough. “And now, over to our newest reporter, Alya. We hear there's been some rumblings regarding the conflict between local vigilante Chat Noir, his sidekick Maladroit, and the gang controlled by the infamous Red Hood himself.”

“That's stupid,” Jason grumbles, “Maladroit is a fully-fledged vigilante in her own right and not just the catboy's sidekick. That's like saying Nightwing is Batman's sidekick!”

Marinette frowns, very touched by his words and trying her damnedest to appear nonchalant. “I don't know… from all the-uh news clips, Maladroit seems like Chat Noir's sidekick to me. She's always hovering nervously near him like a strong wind would spook her.”

“C'mon! She's been reported to have held her own against Red Hood on multiple occasions, alone!” He argues, sounding rather offended on her alter egos behalf.

Scoffing, she shakes her head. “Clearly that's because he's going easy on her! He's never directly shot her, according to the reports clearly, he's soft on her!” The lies taste bitter on her tongue.

Jason splutters and flushes bright red, turning away from her slightly. “W-well that's obviously a testament to her skill and not Red Hood's mercy! He's always reported as being a merciless killer, why'd he be soft on her!”

“I don't know!” She makes a dying-choking noise as she flushes even more red than earlier. Shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth to avoid having to respond any further.

Luckily, the news shows pans over to Alya standing in front of a screen showing a recorded feed of a warehouse. Not just any warehouse, but specifically the one on fourth that Maladroit had faced Red Hood in less than an hour ago.

Marinette feels her pulse quicken at the reminder of the close shave she'd had.

“Hey wait a second, those warehouses don't have security cameras at all? How'd they get this footage?” Jason complains, eyes narrowed at the TV.

It feels as though ice has been poured down her spine at his words. She freezes, body stiffening in shock. He's right… G said there's none because that's why he asked me to check things out. The only people who'd know this are Chat, Gamer, myself, and Red Hood and his gang. She swallows thickly and tries to subtly side-eye Jason. Oh no. I've been crushing on my roommate who works for Red Hood's gang? Oh god! The friend with the emergency was referring to Red Hood calling him into work!

She can't help but inhale a shallow panicked breath. He could've been one of the lackeys shooting at me and Chat this past week. Or, or I could've hurt him with my yo-yo. Or—

Jason turns to fully face, clearly registering the blatant panic on her face. “Hey, hey, hey, Marinette, you're okay, you're safe. What's wrong?”

“Are you working for Red Hood?” Marinette blurts out, accidentally, the words pouring out in an unintentional panicked rush. “Are you in his gang?”

He jerks back, fear, confusion, and hurt crosses his face. “Wh-what? What makes you think that?”

“His gang was just in that warehouse, and you were out on an emergency for a "friend". And how would you have known unless you were there tonight and working for his gang?” She chews her lip forcefully and winces as the taste of iron floods her mouth.

He reaches towards her, eyes widening concern.

She flinches back, suddenly reminded of how similar this is to that moment with Red Hood on the warehouse balcony.

Jason jerks back as if her flinching burnt him. Raising his hands, he leans away from her to give her some semblance of space. “Fuck. Look, I'm not going to hurt you! Have I ever hurt you whilst we've been roomies?”

Nervously, she shakes her head.

“I really care about you, Marinette. Hell, we've lived together for nearly a year now. I would never hurt you, okay! I promise.” Tears prick in his eyes, and he grimaces slightly, lowering his hands to rest on his lap. “Yeah, I uh, I'm working for him. But I do everything I can to keep work from following me home. I didn't tell you because I never wanted to scare you.”

Guilt gnaws at her. “I'm sorry! I shouldn't have judged. I—” She takes a shaky breath, “I really really care about you too. I'm just worried, what if Red Hood, or even Maladroit, or any of the other vigilantes hurt you? What if you get hurt in one of those gang wars?” Her words aren't lies but they're not the full truth either.

He sighs, “I can't promise I won't ever get hurt on the job. Maladroit and the other vigilantes do a lot of good but Maladroit especially is far too nice to hurt any of us. I've uh, seen her fight some of the others gang members, and been fought by her too. And out of everyone against the gang, she's the one who leaves us with barely more than a scratch at worst.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Most in the gang really respect her for that, y'know.”

Marinette's brain feels like the windows shutting down sound. “Oh. Oh.”

Sheepishly, he smiles half-heartedly at her. “Yeah.”

“So, is that why you were so adamant she's a fully-fledged vigilante in her right?” She asks, feeling bashful yet honoured whilst completely surprised.

Jason clears his throat and glances away. “Uh-huh.”

“Oh.” Her brain rewinds a moment. She splutters for a second, desperation racing through her. “Wait, she's fought you!?”

Full-on grimacing, he nervously laughs. “Left but a scratch!”

“Are you misquoting Monty Python right now? Oh good gods, that's the knight who says that after getting his limbs chopped off!” Marinette exclaims, looking every bit as horrified as her tone of voice conveys.

“Seriously, I've never gotten worse than a couple of minor cuts and bruises, I'm fine!” Jason reiterates.

She frowns and gingerly shuffles across the sofa closer to him. He keeps leaning back away, so she physically throws herself at him, pulling him into a tight hug. Incidentally burying her face in his shirt. “Okay, okay. Just, please let me know next time you get hurt. I've a friend who lived in a bad situation before, so I know how to help patch up minor injuries. Promise?”

Jason stiffens at the hug and slowly moves one hand to cup the back of her head whilst wrapping the other around her back. He shuts his eyes, cocking his head back and sighs. “Alright. I promise I'll tell you. And I'm sorry for keeping something this big from you. As I said, I was worried you'd be scared of me or that you'd get dragged into gang-related shit because of it.”

“You don't need to apologise.” Marinette mumbles in response, “I get it. I really do understand.” She bites at her sore bleeding lips again in guilt, her secret identity left unspoken on her tongue.

He shrugs, “so uh. I'm guessing you're still happy to stay roomies then, right?”

“Of course!” She responds without missing a beat hugging him even tighter.

Eventually, they release each other from the embrace to finish their now lukewarm hot chocolates and popcorn. The news continues playing, no longer forgotten in the background as the two try to act as if nothing has changed.

———

Jason collapses onto his bed with a heavy sigh. He pulls out his phone and rings a number on autopilot.

The dial tone plays as the line connects. “Hey, whaddup Jay?”

“Holy fucking shit balls, man.” Jason groans. “I fucked up.”

Roy hums, “like need help burying a body fucked up or what?”

Jason groans even louder, smushing his face into his bed covers. “My roomie is smart, right. I accidentally let a tiny detail slip when we were chatting whilst watching the eleven o'clock news as usual. And she now thinks that I'm in Red Hood's gang.”

There's a long pause, before Roy bursts into raucous laughter. “Holy shit, I'm dying! She's not wrong!”

“Yeah. I know. She ain't right either though.” He grumbles in response. “She was absolutely terrified when she realised. Nearly had a full-on panic attack and everything.”

“Oh fuck.” Roy helpfully says.

Jason grunts in agreement. “She was also real concerned that Red Hood or the vigilantes have hurt me.”

“Well, that's better?” Roy offers, sounding rather unsure of his own words.

“Yeah but she's taken thinking I'm some low-level member of my gang this badly, how the fuck d'ya think she's gonna take finding out I'm the big bad Red Hood himself?” Jason sighs. “I don't want to ask her out without her knowing this, 'cause it could endanger her.”

Roy hums again, “well, you've been roommates this long already and she's been completely safe from the Vigilante-Gang life so far.”

There's a gentle thump as Jason lifts his head and throws it into the sheets again out of sheer frustration. He relents, reluctantly. “That's true…”

“See. And since it sounds like she's not planning on moving out, clearly she doesn't mind living with you. Just ask her out to dinner already.” Roy adds, cheerfully.

Huffing, he rolls over on the bed. “I'm starting to feel like those weird girl slumber party ads with the creepy phone-a-boy games.”

Roy wheezes, followed by a thudding noise and the distant sound of his cackling.

“Wow. And to think I called you for help. I'm offended.” Jason goads with no bite, waiting a few seconds to hear Roy's response but it's just more laughter.

He rolls his eyes and ends the call, not like Roy will mind. Throwing an arm over his face, Jason barely refrains from grabbing his pillow to scream into. He doesn't, obviously. Because the walls are thin enough that Marinette might hear him and he's worried her enough this night as is.

Sighing like a lovesick protagonist in a period romance novel, Jason moves his arm to run his fingers through his own hair. A date. Just gotta ask her at some point, to dinner at a fancy-ish restaurant. It'll be fine, what's the worst that can happen?

Her terrified reaction on the sofa flashes through his mind, followed by the reminder of how small and scared Maladroit had seemed when she had fallen to her knees on the warehouse balcony. There was no way that she was faking the pain, like he'd initially thought. She had practically staggered in her mad dash to escape. And there's no way for me to find out whether she got to somewhere safe afterwards. God, she could be lying dead in some dank alleyway for all I know right now. Fuck, I hope she's okay...

He groans in distress and shifts in place. Already feeling like he really won't be getting any sleep at all tonight at this rate, thanks to his concern for those two.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, Likes, and Reblogs are much appreciated! |

| I decided to go close to canon for names this time, hence why Chat Noir remains unchanged but Max is Gamer (because A. that was his Akuma name, and B. he's like Player from Carmen Sandiego in this, couldn't help myself), and Marinette is Maladroit (from the first thing she calls herself in Origins). |

| Oh, also whilst it's not explicitly stated in the text; Marinette/Maladroit's has the power of luck/being lucky, Chat Noir has the power of being unlucky, and Red Hood has "Perfect Aim" aka he's a hitscan. Which is why Maladroit is able to dodge his bullets by making herself "lucky enough" to dodge in time. |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I'll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

[hansoulo]

thread count

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Reader (gender neutral, no Y/N)

Warnings: liek… cursing? mentions of nightmares. bed sharing. the works.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: posting this at noon bc im tired of staring at it in my drafts 🤡also i recognize that star wars decided glass is called transparisteel but given that it’s a stupid ass decision i’ve elected to ignore it. enjoyyyyy :)

“No.”

“Mando-”

“No.”

You let out a frustrated groan, your rucksack dropping to the floor with a heavy thud as you flopped back onto the bed. The one, single bed.

“It’s too late to go anywhere else, alright? We’re basically stuck here. Let’s just make the best of it, okay?” He grunted at this, still standing at the doorway gripping his disintegrator rifle. “Drop the ‘tude, tin can. Could be worse,” you mumbled as you reached to wipe a hand over your face, sinking into the soft sheets.

It was kinda nice, actually. You couldn’t remember the last time you slept on a real mattress, with real pillows and blankets that didn’t feel like sandpaper. The inn owner was sweet, a wizened old woman who’d only smiled when you asked if there were any rooms available. Just the one, she had said. Down the hall.

This was ridiculous.

The Mandalorian stepped forward, closing the door with a large hand on the rusted knob. The room was small and sparsely furnished, but it was a far cry from your usual, less than ideal sleeping arrangements, so you relished in the feeling of the pillows beneath your back before propping yourself up on one elbow, eyelids already drooping as you watched him. He looked… awkward. If you had any more energy, you’d probably laugh. “I could- ” he cleared his throat, setting the rifle against the wall, “I could sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scoffed as you reached down to pull off your boots, throwing them haphazardly into a corner. You’d helped him with the occasional bounty for years, and known him for longer than that. You could share a fucking bed. Besides, it’s not like anyone else was around to see. Minus the baby of course, but it (he? she?) didn’t really count, right? It was already sleeping. “It’ll be fine.”

“No, I’m going to just-”

“Mando,” you glared, standing up. “If you sleep on the floor, you’re gonna be even more of an ass tomorrow morning. Just do us all a favor,” you waved a hand towards the baby in its pod, “and get over yourself, alright?” You reached down to the hem of your top, tugging it above your head before you heard him make a low, distorted sound - probably a cough, but the modulator made those kinds of things hard to tell. Left in your undershirt, you crouched down to stuff the fabric - dusty and soiled from a day of travel - back in your bag. “What?”

He shifted on his feet, his helmet ducking slightly at the sight of your exposed skin. “Oh c’mon,” you groaned, your expression teasing. “You stabbed a guy with a serving fork yesterday, Mando. I don’t think this could be any worse.” If you could see underneath his helmet, you’d be willing to bet he was blushing. Funny, how that worked. How he worked.

The bedsprings creaked underneath your weight as you laid down again, pulling the blankets out from their tucked corners. The window on the other side of the room lay open, bringing in a chill that had you drawing the covers tighter around your shoulders. “Could you close the window?” you whispered, tracking the glint of beskar through half-closed eyes as he complied with your request. His armor reflected orange light - dim and flickering from a small lamp hung beside the door - before it was snuffed out by a gloved hand. You let out a quiet thanks, not bothering to fight the exhaustion dragging at your mind as he stood above you. “I’m going to sleep,” you mumbled, turning on your side to face the wall. “Do what you want.”

⫸ ——-– ⫷

Flat, white light crackled across your vision and you opened your eyes with a groan. You could hear rain beating against the windowpane, glass rattling with every new roar of thunder in a way that had goosebumps erupting across your arms. It was dark outside, inky and fogged over save for the few flashes of lightning that cast the room in sharp relief. You didn’t really mind the storm - you usually liked them - but something about the way it sounded had you on edge. It was a bitter kind of rain, unrelenting and loud and really, really cold. Bracing yourself on your hands, you lifted your head, only to knock it against the edge of something metal. “Ow what the fu-” Oh. Oh.

He hadn’t been next to you before - no, you would’ve remembered if he had - but now... now he was. Next to you. And he… had a hand on your hip and- and you were still facing away from him but you squirmed, feeling the weight of his arm on your waist, heavy and slack. No gloves. No vambrace. No pauldron. Just… the helmet. No shit, bantha-brains. The Mandalorian let out a breath, the sound low and seeping syrup in your bones. Was he still asleep? Maybe you should- “Stop moving,” he rasped, his voice hoarse.

“Sorry,” you whispered, your words thick with sleep. “M’just cold.” It was a half-truth. You were cold, but the fact that you were pressed up against one of the most feared bounty hunters in the galaxy probably didn’t help either. Neither did the fingers digging into your hip. Or the arm tucked underneath your neck. Or the hand attached to said arm that was skimming across your collarbone, seemingly unaware that it was touching anything at all. He drew you in closer and you could feel his legs slotted into yours, your toes brushing the bare skin of an ankle (that didn’t belong to you) before your scattered thoughts were forced elsewhere.

“Then why’d you take off your shirt?” he mumbled. The rain pounded a rhythm in your head, lulling you down and allowing yourself to sink back into his arms. You didn’t really want to think about tomorrow morning. If things would be weird. There was a chance neither of you would remember this when you woke up, though, so it’s not like it mattered. Even if you did - if he did - you knew it was all business.

“Hm?” you said, tucking your chin and scooting back slightly. Your back met the hard planes of his chest, his skin hot and thrumming even underneath the thick material of his shirt. The man was like a fucking space heater. Ha. Space heater. Funny. You were funny. And tired. And- wait did he ask you something?

“Why take off your shirt if you’re cold?” he repeated. The last word trailed off as a palm moved across the expanse of your stomach, his thumb rubbing circles across the raised seam of your undershirt and burning the skin beneath.

“I wasn’t cold then,” you huffed, reaching a hand over his and guiding it below the thin fabric until it rested still on your sternum. A better version of you, more awake and with more critical thinking skills - with the power of thought in general - would probably kick you for using the Mandalorian like a fucking hot water bottle, but that didn’t really matter. You were cold - and exhausted and laying on a bed that was very, very comfortable - and he was warm. You couldn’t really be expected to take any responsibility for this. “Plus, the shirt was dirty,” you added, only dimly registering how your fingers laced with his, tracing battered, scar-shiny knuckles in your half-sleep. He hummed and leaned forward, the metal of his helmet rounding smooth against your hair.

“You’re thinking too loud,” he said, his breathing falling back into tandem with yours as you felt your eyes fluttering shut. “Go to sleep.”

⫸ ——-– ⫷

“Mando, wake up. Wake up, please.” Your voice was tremulous as you shook his shoulder, stretched over tight with desperation and knocking against the walls of the room. Your plea bounced back hollow, a high, unrelenting tone that made your ears ring. Everything was caving in on itself, crumbling slow and then all at once in a way that had the sweat on your temples icing over. You weren’t a child anymore. You shouldn’t have nightmares. “Please.”

He sat up quickly, a hand bolting out to the blaster tucked underneath his pillow and aiming steady at the enemy that had yet to show itself. “Is someone there?” he asked, graveled over but still frighteningly alert. A light sleeper, you supposed.

You shook your head, wet tracks crackling on your cheeks as you spoke. “No, no one. It’s fine.” He relaxed at this, setting the blaster down at his side. His palms were dry when they came up to your face, slightly calloused but still soft as they traced over the rolling tears.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” you whispered, meeting the dark slit of his visor before ducking your head. “It’s nothing, I-” you sniffed, swallowing the air that was caught in your throat. “I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

“Hey,” he called out, hesitant and a bit unsure. “You okay?” You nodded, closing your eyes in an attempt to clear your vision before opening them a few moments later. The Mandalorian only stared, his helmet tilting with a cock of his head.

“Just nightmares,” you said when he remained quiet. “But they aren’t normally this bad.” The remains of a sob fragmented beneath your ribs, bubbling up in a wet cough that burned your throat. His hands came to rest at your back, flat and steady against your spine until your breathing evened. “I’m sorry,” you repeated after a few minutes.

The Mandalorian let out a quiet noise, gruff and a bit pained-sounding. “It’s okay,” he said, his fingertips pressing softly into your shoulder blades. You could only just hear him through the storm outside. “I get them too.”

You faced the beskar, gaze searching for the eyes you knew were looking at you and finding nothing but darkness. It was enough, though. To know he was looking. “You do?”

“Every night.” A beat passed before you hiccuped again, swiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “It’s still late,” the Mandalorian whispered, his hands gentle as they reached around your shoulders. You let him pull the covers over you, feeling his words soak into your back. “Let’s just go to bed.”

permanent: @ah-callie @itzagoodthing @spookypym @opheliaelysia @watsonwise @damndamer0n @amarvelousmandalorian @bunnyart-blog @agirllovespasta @pascalispedro @pascalplease @coffeencontemplation @chelsfic @lesqui @javierpenaspinkshirt​ @symbiont13 @glowingpena @squidlywiddly87 @1zashreena1 @hiscyarika @lostingoogletranslate @keeper0fthestars @bobafvtt @halfwaythereroyal @starwarsiscooliguess @huliabitch​ 

[trashinaglass-archive]

Train Me

A/n: I know it’s not my usual, but I’ve been getting into Star Wars recently and this is a concept I thought up. I didn’t really plan on posting it, but what the hell. Why not? Does more sitting on the profile than in my drafts lol. Don’t message me about any technicalities of Star Wars land. I know them, but it’s fictional so I can make it whatever the hell I want bitch

Inspo came from a book (The Iron Fey trilogy, I can’t remember exactly which one, maybe the second?), but I think it’s the cutest concept. And I think it fits well with Star Wars.

I’m like equally obsessed with Anakin, Obi Wan, and Kylo/Ben/whatever we calling him so I struggled for a long time on who I should write this with. I ended up putting it in a generator app and got Kylo. I’m not sure what name to go with for him, but I like when they call him Ren so I’m gonna use that.

His brows furrowed as his eyes looked up at you quickly, silently questioning if he’d heard you correctly. “You want me to what?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, half wondering if you never should have asked at all. “I want you to train me,” you repeat. “Teach me to fight and use a saber... like you do.”

“Where did this come from?” Ren asked.

“I’ve seen things happen. It’s scary to think about, because I know you’d protect me if anything were to happen, but what if you weren’t here when it did?” You noticed a sigh fall from his chest; it was something he never wanted to think about. “I just want to be able to defend myself.”

He nodded subtly, moving to stand in front of you. His hands grabbed your arms gently and his forehead rested against yours as he spoke softly, “I understand.” He paused for a second as if recollecting his thoughts. “And it’s a good idea. As much as I want to protect you, you shouldn’t have to depend on me to keep you safe.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead before backing away. “We’ll start tomorrow,” he stated, his voice holding authority as he walked around you, not missing the opportunity to smack your ass on his way out.

. . .

“Ready?”

You looked up as Ren walked in your direction, tossing a small package your way as he passed by you. You catch it, noticing the heaviness of it before unfolding the fabric to find a thick silver rod, the hilt of a new lightsaber. You took in the intricate designs of it as you pick it up, the cold of the metal biting at your hands.

Looking up to meet his eyes, you find yourself silently asking permission. He gave a single nod, encouraging you to turn it on. You press the button and watch as a brilliant white light shoots out from the hilt. Grasping it in one hand, you carefully twirl it around like you’ve seen others do many times before. You couldn’t help but quietly giggle at the sound it produced.

“It’s pretty simple to use,” Ren spoke, stepping closer to do, the hilt of his own saber already in hand. “Just ... try not to hit yourself.”

“I assume that’s the hard part?”

“For you at least,” he chuckled. “Now, defend yourself.” The quiet click of a button was heard before his own saber lit up in front of you.

You held the lightsaber up, blocking his hit as you smile to yourself thinking of how easy dueling must be. Both of you go back and forth blocking swings, Ren seeming to become more aggravated. He swung his saber, and you were quick to block it, except this time he leaned forward causing the tip of his blade to sink into your shoulder for only a second.

“Ow!” You scream, backing away from him as you drop the lightsaber you had been holding to look at the injury. “What the hell?” Ren turned his lightsaber off as well, tucking it into his belt as he got closer to you, also picking up your lightsaber as he passed it.

“You aren’t taking this seriously,” he said, his voice wavering between anger and fear. He quickly took a breath to console himself. “This isn’t a game. I know it’s easy to joke and think it’s fun when it’s not real, but one day it might be. One day it’ll be someone that wants you dead, and you have to keep yourself alive. Because I don’t know what I would do if something ever happened to you.”

You nod, letting him know you understand what he was telling you. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“You don’t have to be,” he said simply. You replied with another nod, not sure what else there was to say. “But I am, sorry. I don’t want to hurt you, but I just need you to know how serious it is. Sometimes the best way to understand is to experience it firsthand,” he chuckled darkly.

“I know. I don’t blame you,” you assure him, pushing the pain in your shoulder to the back of your mind. “Let’s go again.” You reach for the saber he was still holding, but he held it back out of your reach, putting it in his belt next to his own.

“Later.” He took a moment to assess the wound on your shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss to the edge of it causing you to gasp softly at the pain. “Let’s go get that checked out.”

[cinaja]

Before the Wall part 40

Masterlist

----

Miryam survives the next month, as well as the one after that, and the one after that, which probably means that she is doing something right when it comes to dealing with her problems, even if it doesn’t always feel like it. Especially when she keeps waking up drenched in sweat in the strange bed in her suite in Telique, when the shadows chase after her through the palace halls or she sees Ravenia and Artax lurking in the dark, it is terribly hard to feel like she is making any progress at all.

But after the first month – the month that was supposed to have been her last – she can’t deny that things are improving. Slowly, unsteadily, but it does get better. The hallucinations get fewer and further in between and trying to talk about her feelings no longer feels quite so much like there are shards of glass stuck in her throat. Even Jurian’s absence that she felt like a missing limb in the first weeks becomes more bearable.

Life falls into a rhythm that far from comfortable but about as good as it gets in the middle of a war. Living in Telique means that her life is now centred around politics, but while it can become exhausting at times, it also makes many things easier. It also helps that her assignments as a witch become fewer and further in between, removing that stress factor from her daily life. Miryam suspects either Andromache or Nakia have something to do with that development, even though they both adamantly deny any involvement.

But the biggest change out of all has less to do with Miryam personally and everything with the Alliance because after over five years of war, the Alliance Fae seem to have finally decided to truly commit to the fighting. It’s a miracle – and perhaps the final proof that most Fae are selfish bastards. Millennia of human suffering have barely been able to touch them, but the moment the fighting reaches their doorstep, they manage to put their private struggles aside and start truly working together.

It’s ridiculous, really. Ravenia with her disregard for the rules of war manages to do what over five years of war and all of Miryam’s struggles haven’t been able to achieve and gets the Alliance members to finally put their differences aside. If Miryam wasn’t so relieved that it looks like they might actually win this war for the first time in years, she would be furious.

Sitting at her desk, she finishes up a draft for soldier transitions for the next month, then neatly puts the papers on a stack and looks at the clock. Quarter to six. She’ll be late to her meeting with Drakon, but at least she’s finished with her paperwork for the moment. Miryam gets up, stretching her stiff limbs. She’s been sitting over her work for at least four hours without pause.

Still a little stiff, she walks out of her office. Tasia is sitting at their own desk in a smaller office outside of Miryam’s and they are still bowed over a stack of papers. Tasia is a secretary, formerly employed in Andromache’s staff until the queen transferred them to Miryam, insisting that the leader of the Alliance should have at least some kind of assistance. Miryam was uncomfortable having anyone working directly for her at first, but all the other councilmembers have assistants, so it must be fine. It helps that her and Tasia have formed a friendship over the past months, after Tasia had gotten over their initial hero-worship of Miryam and stopped calling her “my lady” every sentence.

“Anything important?” Miryam asks, nodding at the stack of papers that formed in front of Tasia.

“Not really.” They scrunch up their nose, shaking their head. “But this letter is weird.” They pick it up and hand it to Miryam. “It says on the envelope that it’s only meant for your eyes, so I didn’t open it.”

Miryam takes the letter from them and frowns down at it. The envelope is made of thick paper, clearly expensive. Miryam carefully opens it and takes out the letter.

Lady Miryam,

I know it has been several years since we have seen each other, but I hope you still remember me and the favour you owe me. I’d like to call it in now. Meet me tomorrow at dusk on the spot where we last saw each other.

Until then, Eris.

“Are you well?” Tasia asks.

Miryam realizes that she has been flaring down at the letter, crumbling the paper in her hand. She schools her fingers back into neutrality and forces her fingers to relax.

“Yes,” she says with a smile. “Just a particularly unpleasant acquaintance of mine.” She neatly folds the letter and puts it into her pocket. “I’ve got to go. Why don’t you head home a bit earlier today as well? You can finish up the letters tomorrow.”

Tasia smiles and jumps to their feet. “Thank you.”

Miryam smiles and walks out of her quarters, calling out greetings to some of the guards and servants as she passes. After a few months in the palace, she knows many of the people working here, especially the ones who usually work near her quarters, and Miryam formed loose friendships with some of them.

Drakon is waiting in the gardens, back leaned against the wall. He’s talking to one of the human guards who are posted by the gates, but quickly excuses himself when he sees Miryam and walks over to her.

These meetings have become another part of Miryam’s new life in Telique. They don’t always meet the same day or at the same time because the war has a habit of ruining any schedule they try to come up with, but usually, they manage to get in a few hours every week. Even those few hours are stolen time and usually mean that they both have to cut down on sleeping that day, but Miryam has come to treasure these moments that seem to belong entirely to herself.

“Where are we going today?” Miryam asks.

“It’s a surprise,” Drakon says and holds out a hand to her.

There is no general rule to the things they do together, except for the fact that these hours belong entirely to them. They’ve visited a theatre in Erithia, gone out for dinner in Telique, spent an evening playing cards and visited the tulip fields in one of the southern kingdoms. Especially in the beginning, taking even these few hours for herself when she could be working seemed selfish, but she can’t argue that it helps. It doesn’t make the nightmares go away or ease the pain of what happened, but when she feels like she is drowning in responsibilities, knowing that she can get out – if only for a few hours – at least allows her to breathe.

Today, Drakon winnows them to a dense forest. Mist is hanging high up in the trees and the air is humid. They landed next to a bush with huge, purple flowers the size of Miryam’s head. In front of one of the, a yellow hummingbird the size of Miryam’s finger is hovering. Amazed, she watches it until it is whizzes away.

“Erithia?” Miryam asks.

Drakon nods. “I hope you don’t mind a short walk.”

Miryam doesn’t mind at all. They walk through the forest in silence for a moment, climbing over fallen trees and rocks. The ground rises, first slowly, then the way becomes steeper. Miryam is out of breath far more quickly than usual, which is probably a side effect of now living in a city. She really needs to remember to exercise more. However she will manage to squeeze that into her schedule.

“I know these meetings are meant to be a war-free zone,” Miryam says, “but there’s something I need to tell you about and it can’t wait.”

Drakon frowns. His face immediately turns serious, and Miryam feels bad for bringing the war into their meetings, but she really can’t change it this time.

“Remember what I told you about my visit to Autumn?” She asks. Drakon nods and she continues. “Well, I wasn’t entirely truthful about how it went down. The truth is that Eris Vanserra warned me about the trap and helped me escape.”

“Eris Vanserra? But not the one who – “

“ – was engaged to Mor, yes.” Miryam sighs. “He demanded a favour in return, without specifying what it was. I had no choice but to accept. He wants to meet me tomorrow to call it in.”

Drakon curses. “The Autumn Court is allied to the Loyalists,” he says, “And Eris is…”

“A piece of shit. I know.” Miryam sighs. “But I owe him, so I have to meet him tomorrow.”

“Well, you could always…” Drakon squirms and starts fiddling around with his clothes. “I mean, you could…” He breaks off.

“I can’t just not go.”

“No, I mean…” Drakon sighs through his nose. “I haven’t ever done this, but there are people in my employ – were in my father’s employ, I mean – who could… You know. Make sure he doesn’t show up.”

Miryam stops walking and stares at him. She turns her head over in his head, trying to find how she is misunderstanding them, only to come to the conclusion that he is indeed saying what she thinks he’s saying.

“Are you offering to have Eris assassinated for me?” She asks.

Drakon looks down at his feet. “Well…” He tugs at his hair, making it fall over his face. “I mean, I wouldn’t… But…” He wraps his arms around himself. “He left Mor for dead in that forest,” he says, as if he’s trying to defend himself. “He…”

“He would certainly deserve it,” Miryam interjects gently to save him from his obvious mortification at his own suggestion. She still can’t quite believe that Drakon suggested something like this.

She bites her lower lip. How she’d love to agree, if only for what he did to Mor. She would kill him herself for that if she could. But he saved her life. No matter how selfish his reasons might have been, she owes him. Miryam, like most people on the Continent, values honour, and honour demands that she repays the debt she owes him. She can kill him afterwards, but not before.

“Thank you for the offer,” she says, “But I think I should at least listen to what he has to say first.” If the price he demands is too high, she can still ask Drakon to send one of his assassins.

“Of course.” Now, Drakon seems even more mortified at his own suggestion. “I shouldn’t have… I mean…”

Miryam takes him by the hand. “It was a good idea,” she says, “And it would have been well-deserved. I might come back to it some time.” She grins and squeezes his head. “Much as I appreciate your willingness to have Eris murdered for me, I was just going to ask you to accompany me to the meeting. I can’t winnow, after all.”

“Oh.” She didn’t think it was possible, but Drakon manages to look even more mortified. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” Miryam squeezes his hand and keeps walking. “Then that’s it with the war for today. Now, where were we going?”

“Still a surprise,” Drakon mutters.

Miryam grins and starts questioning about one of the new laws he’s working on. Talking to him about his laws is always a sure way to distract him, and it works again today. She knows that Drakon has gotten over his shock about his own suggestion when he changes the subject from Erithian politics to Miryam.

“How are you?” He asks.

Answering that question has gotten a whole lot trickier since they agreed not to lie to each other. Her usual “fine” no longer works, so she has to either refuse to answer – which she has done more than once already – or actually talk about her feelings.

“Better than last week,” she says, which is true, but doesn’t say much. Last week was terrible. For the first time in weeks, the hallucinations had reappeared and Miryam had to cancel all of her meetings for an entire day because she couldn’t get out of bed. “And I slept four hours at a time last night, so I think that’s a new record.”

“That’s good,” Drakon says. He easily climbs up a steep passage, wings flared for balance, then holds out a hand to Miryam to help her up.

“I ran into Jurian yesterday,” she says when as she’s standing next to him and they continue walking side by side.

When Miryam decided she needed to leave Jurian, she didn’t have any kind of idea for what their relationship would look like afterwards. She had hoped they could remain friends, but she figured the choice was with Jurian, and he didn’t seem interested in ever seeing her again.

But as usual, war interfered with their plans. Three weeks after Miryam left for Telique, two of Jurian’s captains stood in her office, begging her to return. Without Miryam, they lack someone to coordinate the army and deal with the logistics, and things are running into difficulties. She wanted to return right away, but Andromache told her off for being stupid and asked how often she wanted to test her limits until she finally accepted that she had them. (Andromache has the unfortunate habit of getting exactly to the point and making it impossible to argue with her.)

So now, she visits Jurian’s camp once a week to help out with the logistics. Jurian isn’t pleased with the arrangement and usually does his best to stay out of her way, but today, they ran into each other when she was on her way out of the camp.

“How is he?” Drakon asks.

Miryam shrugs. “He still doesn’t want to talk to me, so it’s hard to tell.” She tries and fails not to sound bitter. Jurian barely had half a look for her yesterday. Not that she can really blame him. “But I think it’s getting worse,” she adds.

Drakon nods, looking down at his feet. “I keep thinking we should find some way to help him. And I know we tried, but…” He shrugs.

“I know,” Miryam says softly. Rationally, she knows that neither her nor Drakon could have done anything else to help. Jurian doesn’t talk to Drakon anymore, and Miryam… Well, she simply isn’t strong enough for to help him. But there’s always the feeling that they could have done more.

Drakon sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “You know what, I bet we’re both thinking something like: You couldn’t have done anything, but I should have found a way if only I’d tried right now.”

“How could you have helped Jurian when he wasn’t speaking to you?” Miryam asks, only to realize that she just reaffirmed what Drakon had been saying.

“And you were dying,” Drakon says. “Realistically speaking, my chances were better.”

Miryam opens her mouth to object, to say that she could have managed, then sighs. It’s pretty damn obvious that she couldn’t have. It couldn’t have been more obvious that she had reached her limit.

She shakes her head and lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “This is all fucked,” she mutters.

Drakon simply nods, and she is so, so grateful that he doesn’t offer any empty words of comfort right now. If he had said anything, she would have known he was lying just to make her feel better, and then, she would have had to dismiss the rest he said as well. The next time he has to help her over one of the steep passages, she doesn’t let go of his hand afterwards.

They have been walking for almost an hour when the trees in front of them suddenly part. In front of them, a wide canyon yawns open. Reddish rocks with black lines running through the stone. With a roar like thunder, a waterfall crashes down into the deep, hundreds and hundreds of feet into a river that flows through the bottom of the canyon.

“Beautiful,” she whispers.

Drakon smiles. “We can go sit over there,” he says and points towards a stone that reaches out over the canyon’s edge.

Miryam takes a step backwards. “Uhm.” She eyes the stone. It looks very thin, and under the stone, it’s a very long way down. “Just making sure: You know that I don’t have wings, right?”

 Drakon grins. “It’s a very solid stone. I promise.”

Miryam looks from Drakon to the stone and back. “Okay,” she says, giving herself a mental shove.

She isn’t even scared of heights, not after spending so many hours in a bird’s head. Slowly, she walks towards the stone and steps on it. It remains perfectly solid under her feet. She walks until she can see all the way down to the ground of the canyon, then, she sits down. Drakon sits down next to her.

“I used to come here with my sisters when I was younger,” he says. “Well, not often, because they were usually busy with their own duties. But when they had time, we packed camping supplies and flew all the way from Sajeo.” He stares down at the waterfall for a moment longer, then shakes his head and starts looking through his bag.

“What were they like?” Miryam asks as Drakon fishes out a blanket, some bread, cheese and even a small cake from his bag. “Your sisters.”

“Wonderful,” Drakon says simply. He neatly puts down his blanket, then spreads out the food over it. Only then does he continue. “Leja was the oldest, already well over two hundred years old when I was born. She was quiet, solemn, but there was no one better to go to if you had a problem. Daliah was almost a century younger and completely different, loud and wild. She could always make you smile, no matter how serious a situation might be.” He smiles sadly. “They were both brilliant. My father had a hard time picking which of them to make heiress.” He shakes his head. “I loved them.”

Miryam nods. “I’m sorry,” she says.

Drakon cuts off a slice of bread with his dagger, adds some cheese and hands it to Miryam.

“Look,” he says and nods towards the canyon.

Miryam turns and nearly drops her bread in surprise. The moon has climbed higher in the sky, high enough to shine into the canyon, and now casts its light down onto the waterfall and the river. Little drops of water glimmer like diamonds and the water rushing down seems to be made of liquid silver.

“That – “ Miryam begins, but the words catch in her throat. She can only stare at the down into the canyon and hope that somehow, her mind will preserve the image so that she can revisit it whenever she feels the need.

----

Jurian is aware of Miryam’s absence every moment, every day. Lying in bed, talking to his soldiers, looking through his correspondence. He always knows that she isn’t there with him, that if he turns around, she won’t be there. The only times he manages to forget is when he’s fighting, or planning a new way to catch Amarantha. But even that now seems to be connected to Miryam.

She left him. She left and didn’t look back. Didn’t even try to understand him. All this talk of doing what it takes, and the moment he did exactly that, she left him. Because she couldn’t take it. Wasn’t he the one who had to endure Clythia’s touches, who spent every waking moment working to bring Amarantha down. But she was the one who couldn’t take it. And now, his life is going to hell, and Miryam gets out completely fine.

It’s the worst on the days she visits. She doesn’t visit him, of course, she comes to deal with the camp. The first few times, she also tried to talk to him, but he screamed at her to leave him alone, to stay the hell away. And eventually, she did.

He didn’t want her to. Or maybe he did. These days, it is hard to tell. He wants Miryam to come back to him. He never wants to see her again. He loves her, he hates her, all at once. It’s tearing him apart.

Jurian presses his palms against his temple, trying to ease the headache forming there. Last night, he once again chose working on his battle strategies over sleep. The sun is too bright in his eyes and he downs another glass of the expensive wine Clythia brought to their meeting.

“What are you thinking about?” Clythia asks.

Miryam, Jurian thinks, and ways to murder you and your sisters. But unfortunately, Amarantha has proven impossible to get a hold on lately. None of Jurian’s traps seem to work, she always manages to slip through his fingers, and she doesn’t dare to face him in open combat.

“I’m thinking about how beautiful you are,” Jurian says. The words are ridiculously cheesy, but of course, Clythia still blushes and leans forward to kiss him.

Jurian refills his glass.

 “Doesn’t it ever bother you that I’m mortal?” He asks between sips. It might not be the smartest question, but his head is beginning to feel light from the alcohol, and Clythia never once catches on to anything he says or does. She’ll likely interpret this as him being worried about her losing interest or something similarly idiotic. “For all your talk of forever, you must know that I will die sooner or later.”

Just this once, he wants her to show a hint of understanding that they are not the same. That they stand on opposite sides of a war, that he is human and will always be and that this romance she came up with and praises to the skies is nothing but the delusion of a bored, rich Fae noble. Clythia, always trailing around after her sister, getting lost between past and future, read too many of her love stories and tried to make one real in the most catastrophic way possible.

If she wasn’t trying to enslave his people, if she wasn’t so completely indifferent to their suffering, Jurian might feel bad for her delusions. But any pity Jurian might once have held for spoiled, arrogant, indifferent Fae has long since burned away.

Clythia brushes the question of with her usual irreverence. “You needn’t worry about that.” She twirls a strand of hair around her finger, smiling cheerfully. “I actually meant for this to be a surprise, but I talked to Amarantha about this exact problem.”

“Oh?” Jurian asks. In his experience, anything that involves Amarantha ends badly for him.

“Yes!” She smiles. “She was sceptical at first, but I convinced her to look into the King’s spellbook for me and she says she found a spell that can conserve a person’s soul through time.”

She doesn’t seem to realize how terrible that sounds. Jurian doesn’t want his soul to be conserved, whatever that means. A commander he once knew kept dead reptiles in glasses on his desk, conserved in some kind of liquid, and this is what the word reminds Jurian of. He suppresses a shudder as he realizes that he wouldn’t put it past Clythia to put him in a glass and display him in her rooms. She’d probably find it romantic, too.

“And you think that will work?” He asks, trying not to show his unease.

“I know it will.” Clythia smiles brightly. “You will live forever. I’ve seen it.”

A shiver runs down Jurian’s spine. “Seen?” He asks. “You mean in your visions?”

“Yes!” She takes his hand. “So you see: Everything is going to be fine.”

This time, Jurian foregoes the glass and drinks straight out of the bottle.

----

“I don’t know why we are even here,” Sinna mutters. She is dressed in full battle armour, a sword and three daggers at her side. And she looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.

Miryam sighs. “You don’t need to feel obliged to wait around with me, though. You could leave and pick me up again in an hour or so.”

An hour ago, Drakon sent her a messenger that he is stuck in an emergency meeting with his council back in Erithia after Ravenia’s soldiers attacked a bigger city, and that he won’t be able to get out in time for Miryam’s meeting with Eris. He sent Sinna instead, and Miryam suspects the general would much rather be back in Erithia, chasing after Ravenia’s soldiers. The entire issue is probably on Miryam for not thinking of a back-up plan should Drakon be unable to accompany her.

“Oh, rubbish.” Sinna shakes her hand as if insulted by the very notion. “As if I’d ever leave you alone with someone like Vanserra.” She wrinkles her nose in distaste and shakes her head. “No, I don’t know why you insist to go to this meeting.”

“Because I owe him a debt and am honour-bound to fulfil it,” Miryam says, but the words taste bitter. Every time she thinks of Eris Vanserra, all she can see is the pain on Mor’s face.

“Why do you need to honour a promise when the circumstances that forced you to make it were so unhonourable?” Sinna asks sharply. “Prythian knows nothing of Continental honour, so why are you keeping to it when dealing with one of them?”

Miryam wraps her arms around herself, shivering slightly. They are far north here, and Miryam’s cloak, although lined with fur, does little to keep the cold out. “I like this as little as you do,” she says, “but – “

Eris Vanserra appears before them. Red-haired and with a slight built, he looks like a younger version of his father, perhaps not quite as cruel yet. Sinna’s hand goes to her sword and lingers even ling after she must have recognized him. Eris must notice the gesture, but he doesn’t comment, instead surveying Sinna from head to toe.

“I thought I asked you to keep our arrangement quiet,” he says to Miryam.

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have requested a meeting in the middle of nowhere,” Miryam replies. “I can’t winnow, as you know, and you can hardly expect me to walk all the way from Telique to swim over to Prythian.”

Eris sneers, then whirls around to Sinna. “And you are?”

“General Sinna of Erithia,” Sinna replies curtly. Her face remains neutral, but her eyes are positively simmering. Eris stares back.

“What do you want, Eris?” Miryam asks before either of them can do something stupid.

Eris interrupts his staring contest with Sinna and turns to Miryam. “You owe me a favour,” he says. “I’d like to call it in.”

“Autumn is allied with the Loyalists. I can think of no favour you’d want from me.”

“We’ve been reconsidering our alliances lately.”

Sinna shakes her head, tapping the hilt of her sword. “So now that we are winning this war, you want to switch sides. You’ve done no work and taken no risks. Why would we allow you to receive parts of the spoils?”

“That’s exactly why I need dear Miryam,” Eris says.

Miryam doesn’t particularly appreciate being called dear, and she likes Eris’s request even less. “Your court already betrayed this Alliance and once. I’d be a fool to trust you again.”

“If I assure you that we won’t betray you again, will that ease your mind?” Eris asks, but his tone is mocking.

“It might, if I trusted your word.”

“Ouch.” Eris puts a hand over his heart in mock-hurt, but his face remains twisted in his eternal sneer. “What have I done to deserve such a cold dismissal?”

“I believe you know.”

Eris’s posture changes, his sneer vanishes. “I was forced into this engagement as much as Morrigan was. My father required it – what choice did I have? I would never have touched Morrigan, but when she slept with that bastard friend of hers, it was so clear why she did it. She wanted out of that engagement, wanted it so badly she was willing to risk everything for it. I did exactly what she wanted to when I broke off that engagement. How could I have known that her family would…” He shakes his head. Lowers his eyes, the picture of quiet regret.

Miryam wonders with quiet puzzlement if he truly believed this would work. If he did, it’s almost insulting. Of all the routes he could have gone, he chose to act like he was always secretly good? Miryam almost laughs. She’d sooner have believed that he had a change of heart.

But the fascinating thing about people like Eris is that they somehow seem to believe that all people who value things like kindness must also be naïve. Somehow, it’s a common assumption that anyone who considers himself to be good must also believe in the good in others.

Should Eris believe this of her, believe that he could trick her this easily, he is truly a fool. Miryam has seen the worst Fae have to offer and she never, not once, believed that there is good in every Fae. In her experience, it is smartest to meet any of them with a certain degree of suspicion until they have proven trustworthy, and as far as she is concerned, Eris has proven himself to be very untrustworthy indeed.

And as for his excuses, Miryam doesn’t believe a word. His reputation for cruelty has to come from somewhere and if he did even half of the things rumour says he did, he is a monster, no matter what his reasons might have been. And if he was truly concerned about Mor’s wellbeing, he would have spoken to her to ease her fears as soon as the engagement was announced. Or he would have at least helped her when he found her in the forest.

“Pick another favour,” she says.

“I think I want this one.” Eris’s smile returns. “And our deal doesn’t give you leave to refuse my requests at will.”

The sound of metal on leather makes them both turn to Sinna. She has been watching in silence, but now, she draws her sword halfway out of its sheath.

“No deal if you are dead,” she says softly.

Eris keeps his eyes trained on the sword. For the first time, he looks somewhat worried. “It that your version of honour, Lady Miryam?” He asks.

“It is yours,” Miryam says.

Sinna glances at her, as if waiting for confirmation. For a moment, Miryam is almost tempted to give it. Chances that Eris told anyone of the meeting are slim, as that would require revealing why she owes him a favour, and even if he told anyone, they’d need to prove that Miryam was behind his death.

Still, it would be a risk, not just for her but also for Sinna and, by association, Erithia. Besides, Eris did save her life, even if it was for selfish reasons. She owes him, and murdering him during a peaceful meeting would be wrong. It might make things easier for her, he certainly deserves it, but Miryam values honour a bit too much to be able to do this.

Slowly, she shakes her head at Sinna, who pauses a moment, then slowly lets her sword slide back into its sheath.

“Alright,” Miryam says to Eris. “I’ll make sure the Autumn Court gets allowed into the Alliance. With that, our debt is settled.”

Eris gives her an insufferably smug smile. “Glad we – “

“If you betray the Alliance,” Miryam cuts him off, “you won’t live to enjoy whatever that betrayal buys you.” She releases her grip on her power, just enough for it to be noticeable in the air. “And if you dare to approach Morrigan, to bother her in any way, I’ll make sure you regret it. Understood?”

Eris’s smile has faded during her speech, and now, his face is tight. “Understood,” he says with barely concealed anger, then bows and winnows without waiting for a reply.

Only then does Sinna let go of her sword. Miryam allows her posture to relax and rubs her hands over her face. Damnit. Damn Eris.

“Could you please winnow me to Andromache’s camp?” She asks. “I need to talk to Mor.”

----

Mor has been called back to the Night Court and she hates it. It’s been years now since she visited the Hewn City, and she has almost forgotten how terrible it is. How the stone seems to press in on her, how they seem to press all life and hope out of the people living in it. She hates this place, hates it more than anything else. If only she could bring the entire cursed mountain down, burying this horrible place under tons of stone.

But she can’t. She still has to play by the Night Court’s rules, follow her uncle’s orders. And today, he ordered her to go meet him.

She knocks at the door to the High Lord’s office, waiting for the gruff order to enter before pushing it open.

“My Lord,” she says, inclining her head in greeting.

“Sit,” the High Lord says, pointing to a chair opposite him. “How are you, Morrigan?”

“Well.”

“And Lady Miryam?” He asks.

Every time he asks Mor to meet him, he always asks after Miryam, and every time, he sounds like he very badly hopes to hear that she is fatally ill.

“She’s fine,” Mor says, because that’s the reply she always gives, whether Miryam is actually fine or dying.

Lately, she is lying far less than usual, though. Miryam is getting better. She no longer looks like a shadow, fading more and more with each day, and her smiles seem more genuine now. She should have broken up with Jurian sooner. No matter how much Miryam might deny that Jurian was the reason why she was unwell, it seems clear to Mor that he must have had something to do with it.

The High Lord nods, seeming dissatisfied as he always does. The rest of the conversation also follows a pre-established pattern. He questions Mor about the goings of the Alliance, particularly on the human side, but also with the Fae and Mor answers to the best of her knowledge.

“Very good,” he says when she is done. “Once the war is over, I might give you a position in court. A few years and you might be emissary to the entire Continent.”

Mor sucks in a sharp breath. The Night Court, like most Prythian courts, has a significant lack of people who are well-versed in Continental politics, so Mor’s knowledge and position are actually somewhat valuable to them. Still, she never would have thought that her uncle would allow her to hold any kind of position at court. And if he makes her emissary…

She nearly squeals. No more Court of Nightmares, never again. Being made emissary would give her leave to spend most of the time on the Continent. She’d have to do what the High Lord wants her to, but at the same time, she would be free. And she’d have reason to keep visiting Andromache without anyone suspecting. It’s perfect.

“Thank you,” she says. “I would be honoured.”

The High Lord smiles at her. “Good. I had worried you had taken a fancy to becoming a soldier.” Mor freezes and he waves her off. “You didn’t truly think I hadn’t noticed that my favourite niece was now fighting in battle?”

Just like that, any elation Mor felt a moment ago vanishes. She breathes in through the nose and watches her uncle. Was the offer a trap? Did he want to get her hopes up only to crush them and punish her for her disobedience? But he wouldn’t do that, would he? Maybe to Rhys, but he always liked Mor better, treated her with less cruelty. And he can’t just fire her as emissary, not without crossing Miryam in the process.

“I’ll admit, I was sceptical at first, but my sources tell me that you’re doing well,” he says.

Mor is only relieved for a moment. Then, the realization that he must have spies trailing her hits her like a brick. Her and Andromache have been careful, but were they careful enough? If her uncle finds out… He won’t have any reason to keep her secret, maybe he’ll even punish her himself.

“I’ve just been wondering,” he continues, “if you ever noticed anything extraordinary while fighting.”

What kind of question is that? But unless this is some kind of twisted game, it means that he neither plans to punish her nor knows about Andromache.

“No?” She says, making the answer sound more like a question.

The High Lord nods, seeming neither disappointed nor surprised. “Tell me, Morrigan, what do you know about your powers?”

This conversation is getting weirder with each comment he makes. Mor shrugs. “Once every thousand-or-so years, a member of my family gets born with the power of Truth.” Truth with a capital T, for whatever reason. “The child in question is always called Morrigan, so I’m actually the fourteenth Morrigan in my family. Apart from fancy naming traditions, the powers themselves are rather boring, though.”

Her uncle nods at her to go on. Mor is beginning to find this rather ridiculous, but she complies.

“I can sense if people are lying,” she says, “And I can read people, meaning I use my power to see their true selves, their very essence, if you will.” And yours isn’t particularly pretty. “Really, it’s just a lot of excitement about a power that is, when it comes down to it, not all that useful.”

Mor has quite the chunk of power for her Basic Abilities on top of it, so it’s not like she can complain about not being powerful enough. But when it comes to Higher Arts, she really drew the short stick. Considering what witches, shadowsingers or daemati can do, Truth always seemed like a rather lame option to her.

Her uncle nods. “I’ve been looking through old records lately,” he says, “and I came across a text about one of the earlier Morrigans – the sixth, if I’m not mistaken. Apparently, she was able to do more than what you describe. Much more. It was said that she could see the truth about anything in this world, that she could make the proudest Fae beg for mercy in the blink of an eye, and destroy entire armies.” He perches his head on his clasped hands and watches Mor out of dark eyes. “You wouldn’t be able to do anything like this, would you?”

“No,” Mor says, but a shiver of excitement runs through her. “Unfortunately not.”

It’s not that she particularly wants to destroy armies, or know the truth about anything. But that kind of power seems like the ultimate protection, ultimate freedom. Keir, Eris, all these horrible people slithering around in this festering court – none of them would ever be able to touch her again. They wouldn’t dare. She would be just as untouchable as Miryam is, and isn’t that all she ever wanted?

“Could I borrow the text?” She asks, suddenly feeling bold. Her uncle isn’t angry at her, or trying to get her in trouble. He just sees her as a possible new weapon. “I’d like to look into this.

Her uncle smiles. “Of course,” he says, sounding very satisfied with himself.

It’s already past sunset when Mor returns to Andromache’s camp. All she wants right now is a hot meal, and then maybe some quiet time with Andromache. But when she pushes open the entrance to Andromache’s tent, she finds the queen sitting inside together with Miryam.

Mor pushes away her momentary disappointment – she’d really hoped to get some time alone with Andromache today – and smiles at both of them. Then, her eyes travel to the table where a tray with buns has been laid out.

“Ah, thank the Cauldron,” Mor says, “Food.”

Miryam smiles and passes her the tray. Mor takes one bun, considers and grabs a second as well.

“I skipped lunch,” she says between bites, plopping down on a pillow next to Andromache. “And you two? Discussing Alliance matters again?”

“Actually, I was waiting for you,” Miryam says. Her tone is far too serious for Mor’s liking. “How was your meeting with your uncle?”

Mor shrugs. She doesn’t feel like repeating what he said to her. It’s not that she necessarily wants to keep it secret, she just doesn’t feel like sharing it just yet. “I didn’t run into my father, so I guess it went well.” She smiles tiredly. “Why were you waiting for me? Did something happen?”

With Miryam, it’s usually something serious. Somehow, she seems to attract serious problems more than anyone else Mor knows. Things have been going better lately, but who knows what trouble Miryam has gotten into now.

“Not really. But there’s a new political development, and I thought I’d tell you before you find out some other way.” Miryam sighs. “The Autumn Court will be joining the Alliance,” she says, sounding not at all pleased about it.

Mor nearly drops her bun. She stares at Miryam, then slowly begins to shake her head. Isn’t it bad enough that Keir is a member of this Alliance? Must Eris also join now? Carefully, she puts her bun down on her leg, fingers trembling slightly.

“Can’t we stop them?” Andromache asks. She reaches for Mor’s hand and squeezes it. “They sold you out to the Loyalists once before, surely that would make it easy for you to refuse their plea to join.”

Hope flutters in Mor’s chest, but Miryam shakes her head. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Andromache presses.

“Because Eris helped me escape when his father sold me out to the Loyalists,” Miryam says, voice flat. “And he demanded a favour in return.” She presses her lips together. “I’m lucky it’s only this he’s asking.”

Mor stares at her, blinking. She never questioned how exactly Miryam, who can’t even winnow, managed to get out of Autumn that day. It seemed enough that she was alive and well, but this…

“You promised Eris a favour,” she says flatly. “That monster could ask anything of you.”

“I know,” Miryam says, lifting her hands as if in surrender. “And I’m sorry – “

“I’m not angry,” Mor cuts her off. She can’t believe Miryam would think that. Why would she be angry? “I’m…” She shakes her head. “You’re one of my closest friends, and you apparently owe everything to the bastard who… Out of all the things I’m feeling about this, anger is not one of them.” At least anger at Miryam.

“I made sure Eris will stay away from you,” Miryam says. “But I realize this is still uncomfortable for you. So it’s up to you. I won’t go through with this if you don’t want me to. I could make sure Eris is… in no state to call in his favour, or bother either of us ever again, if this is what you want.”

Mor almost says yes right there. The words are at the tip of her tongue, but somehow, her mouth won’t form them. She wants Eris dead, she truly does. Eris and Keir both. But…

“Wouldn’t killing him go against your honour?” She asks.

As someone from Prythian, she doesn’t entirely understand why Continental Fae and humans are so obsessed with their honour, but she does know that it’s important to them. Especially important for anyone with a position in politics.

“No one would find out, so there would hardly be any repercussion,” Miryam says. “But yes. Killing Eris to avoid having to fulfil a favour owed would be considered dishonourable.”

Mor nods. “Then don’t kill him.”

Andromache frowns. “Are you sure?” She asks.

Mor nods, but she can’t help but wonder if she truly refused the offer for Miryam’s sake, or if that was just a convenient excuse to hide that somehow, she isn’t capable of killing Eris, nor of letting someone else do it for her. It isn’t out of any sort of moral objection, or out of fear of punishment. She just can’t.

They are always there, constants in her nightmares waking and sleeping, whether they still live or not. Mor is afraid of them, but killing them won’t remove that fear, it will simply cut its tether. As long as Eris and Keir are alive, Mor’s fears have a fix point, and she doesn’t know what will happen if she removes that. But she knows that before she can kill Eris and Keir, she first needs to get rid of that fear.

----

Tags: @croissantcitysucks

[vampiresuns]

How Will It Matter After You’re Gone

For Anatole’s day 13 of @arcana-echoes​: Aftermath.

Title: From Disenchanted - My Chemical Romance (Nana was an MCR teen, it’s only fair).

Quick guide: Here you can check on the Cassano-Radosevic family tree. Medea Pryce & Leonore Kaur are Anatole’s best friends, I owe them a post. Medea is a community organiser, and Leonore a therapist in training. Althea is his twin sister, and Navneet his eldest sibling (there’s seven Kaurs: Navneet, Sashi, Althea & Leonore, and Isha, Vaishnavi and Ashok). Navneet and Anatole end up together in one of his timelines.

Dear Vesuvia,

It is with the greatest regret that the Cassano of this City inform to the public that Aelius Anatole Radošević De Silva, Of The Cassano of Vesuvia, has passed away in the Lazaret on the date —.

Taking this time to mourn, while the Cassano and the Consul will remain in the city, striving to find a cure, we inform the city that Consul Valerius has taken the decision to close the doors of the Palazzo.

Due to sanitary measures, no funeral will be held.

Milenko & Amparo

Amparo sat in the middle of the stage of the closed theatre. She wanted to be alone, everyone’s energy threatening to drag her down and never bring her back again, down to a place where the sun does not rise. Not that it matters. The sun could rise a thousand times over, and she feels like she will never notice it again. Losing Anzano, her grandparent, was hard enough. Losing Anatole was unbearable.

Her Anatole deserved the brightest of requiems, and he will have silence, in a bitter city which will probably not mourn him. Not that she can hold it against them — but it still hurts, just like it hurt to feel him die. She always knows when people die.

“Vesuvia lost it’s last honest lover,” she tells no one.

She doesn’t know how long she’s been sitting there, but she knows she must head back, and for the first time in forever, she dreads Death itself.

When she comes back, she finds Milenko sitting on Anatole’s piano, crying.

Valerian

Valerian Cassano spent three days siting in the winter garden of the Palazzo after his great grandson died. He knew the biggest loss would always be for his parents, he had gone through that long before they had to. Losing a child was something one never truly recovered of.

He remembers so clearly the first time he met that child: golden before his hair caught up with his personality, avid to learn, curious, ambitious, resolved, more intelligent than most people he’s met. He reminded him of Vitale, his father in law.

Sometimes, if you spoke to the dead, they would listen, so he tried his luck: “Elysian, my dearest friend, take care of him. Do what we could not.”

Cassiopeia

Cassiopeia Cassano considered herself a lot of things: dedicated, passionate, fair, reserved, thoughtful. Brave... bravery was something she was beginning to doubt in herself. Seeing your parent die of a disease as invasive as the plague could do that to a person — seeing someone like Anatole, with his vitality of a thousand suns, could cement it a little deeper in oneself.

Cassiopeia didn’t like endings, they were predictable and inevitable and, sometimes, unfair. At least Amparo was back, and she didn’t have to worry about wherever she was and if she would be safe. 

A door opened and closed behind her. She turned to find Iris, her spouse.

“How is Lele?”

“She’s eating, at least.”

“And Lenko?”

“Lenko doesn’t want to see anyone.”

“How... how is...”

“Louisa and Vlad? Please don’t make me answer that.”

“And Va—”

“Don’t.”

Her eyes swelled with tears. Holding her own forehead, she began to cry. Iris sat with her, holding her free hand and kissing her knuckles.

“He rearranged the filing system for the Council by himself— he—” a hiccup, “he had so many plans—”

“I know.”

“He was drafting a social reform for—”

“I know.”

“I’m never going to see him walk around with his coffee, nor terrorise the Praetor. I’m never going to see him— I’m never—”

“I know, my love, I know.”

“He would’ve been a wonderful Consul, Iris.”

Iris’ voice trembled. “I know.” They held Cassiopeia closer. The only thing they could think about was how that could’ve been Amparo.

Mircea & Florentino

“Florence?” Mircea Radošević said, looking and sounding lifeless. “Do you want something to eat?”

“No.”

Mircea understood. He didn’t either.

Medea & Leonore

She’s cried too much to be properly angry, but no matter what she does, no matter how much she pets Leonore’s hair she keeps silently crying, snot threatening to make her unable to breathe alltogether. She’s tired, exhausted, and miserably, dreadfully alone. She feels alone in this world like she hasn’t in years. Leonore has his forehead on her forearm, and a hand on his third glass of spiced whiskey. The only reason why he stopped drinking was because he began crying again.

Medea used to think nothing was enough of a hit to fully break Leonore. He had that quality about him: feelings came, they went, and he sat with discomfort running rampant, only to build up after it was gone with a smile on his face.

Not any more.

Leonore sobbed pitifully, choking on his own cries.

After he finally managed to calm down, he looked at her: “How the fuck will I tell Navneet? How am I telling Althea.”

She began crying again. “I don’t know, Leo — I don’t have the slightest fucking idea.”

“Fucking— How the fuck am I going to wake up tomorrow if he’s, if he—”

“I don’t know, Leo... I really don’t know.”

Antupillán

Antu searched the entire city for Anatole, only not to find him anywhere.

He had gone where Antu couldn’t follow, so he did the only thing he could think of: he went back to Anatole’s room, made himself a lair in his wardrobe, and feel asleep.

If you paid enough attention, you could hear him weeping.

Vlad & Louisa

Aelius Anatole, his son, had come into the world at dawn to seal the lesson that Louisa had brought into his life: that if he knows what love is, it is because they exist. He had nicknamed him Lily because he had always been little, shorter than the other kids, yet somehow stood taller, brighter. He figures all parents think the same of their children.

His son came into the world at dawn. Vlad will never know at what time he left it. He will never know if he was scared. He will never know if the fever kept him lucid. He will never have a body to hold, just like he used to before, when Anatole still asked to be tucked in, demanding to be given a hand to tug on while he fell asleep.

He will have no stories to tell him, he will have no more hallway dances to see him dance, no more dreams, no more smiles. 

Death has taken so much from him, all he feels is rage. For the first time in years, he wishes he had died too, but he has a wife, and he can’t leave her alone.

Louisa De Silva never expected to have any children, nor she expected her only son to be taken away from her. She thinks, no, she knows she will feel hollow for the rest of her life, that nothing ever will be the same: happiness will be a ghost of what it used to be. Food will taste blander than before. Joy will be watered, and laugh will take a long vacation never to return.

That Anatole is now with her sister is no consolation at all. She’s always loved Paris, but right now, she’s envious of her. Wherever it is that they are, if there is such a place, her sister will get to hold her son while she didn’t have a chance to even see him die. She holds the arm of the chair she’s sitting in until her knuckles go white. She feels like fainting.

Incompetent and despotic rulers have taken so many things from her: her family home, her parents when they sent her away, and now, while a different tyrant, the offence is the same, worse even, because they too have taken her son.

Louisa De Silva, mother of Aelius Anatole, is a doctor: she doesn’t need to be told all of this was preventable, but it was her son the one who paid the price.

Valerius

“Uncle! Uncle! Look at what I learnt today in my fencing lessons!” Anatole was 8 then.

“Uncle? Was that your boyfriend?” Anatole, aged 9, hanged from a tree branch to ask him that question.

“Uncle!” He had screamed of joy at 11, running to him in the Palazzo after Valerius moved permanently to Vesuvia.

Dearest Uncle, he had written at 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20.

“Valeriy,” he had called him not two weeks ago, still so sure they would endure this. They are Radošević’s, they are Cassanos, the are Vesuvians but also Balkovian: that meant whatever life threw their way, they survived it.

Or they were.

Valerius feels a knot on his throat: he doesn’t have Anatole’s resolve, his progressive ideas, he doesn’t have his hope, and whatever amount of those he had himself, they died with him. They died with him, giving his life away for a city which would never appreciate him, which would never value him like he did. They did not deserve the soil of Anatole’s shoes and now he’s dead. The boy had given them summer without them asking, a summer which was snatched away from him: Anatole had slipped from his grip like sun-rays between his fingers. 

The world should stop without him. That it didn’t was an act of cruelty Valerius would never forgive, even if resentment poisoned him. No amount to lying to himself will change the fact his Aelius died, that he failed his brother in protecting him, that he will have no successor, no one to pass the Consulship to, and that no one will ever be worthy.

A year later, he will watch the Count burn in his bed, and he will smile: Good, he will think, If Anatole did not get to live, then neither should you.

[a-happy-little-cactus]

Midnight Cuddles

Summary: You can’t sleep, so you go to your friend Bakugou for help, though it’s a bit more than what you were expecting.

Word Count: 1,571

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

A/N: Hey ya’ll! I haven’t posted in a really, really, really long time, but here ya go! Let me know what you think! (Also, I’ve been meaning to write this for a very long time, but never got around to it. Super happy I finally did!)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As much as you loved it here at UA, it had officially screwed you up.

Within a few days, you have somehow managed to go from great eating habits and sleep schedule to living off Bang, Monster energy drinks, and black coffee while getting somewhere around 2 and a half hours of sleep.

With midterms starting in a few days, for both normal and hero classes, your sense of self-preservation seemed to have taken a nice long vacation. Between studying and training, self-care was pretty much one of the last things you were worried about at this point.

As of now, you were looking aimlessly between your computer and your notes, debating how many questions you could miss on this test without absolutely failing. Hearing a sudden knock at your door jolted you back to reality, though it took you a minute to register what was going on.

“(Y/N)! I know you’re still awake in there! Let me in for a minute!” 

Usually it wasn’t weird for your best friend Mina to want to have random midnight talks, so this wasn’t too out of the ordinary. Pushing yourself out of your chair and taking a swig of your coffee, you walked to the door, careful not to run into anything on your way over, since you had forgotten to turn on the light even after the sun went down.

“Hey Mina,” you said tiredly.

“Hey girl, I-” Mina paused, glancing behind you at your room, which was currently being illuminated solely by your computer screen, as well as the mess that was currently occupying your desk.

“Uh, is everything okay?” she asked.

“Hm? Oh, yeah it’s all-” you stop, having to yawn, before plopping yourself down on the bed- “It’s all good. Just a bit of studying.” 

“Okay, girl, what cup number is that?” Mina asked, gesturing to the coffee cup sitting amongst the many other empty cans.

“Honestly, I’ve stopped counting,” you replied, laughing tiredly.

Mina rolled her eyes, walking over and grabbing the cup of coffee, despite your objections, “Look, you’re going to sleep. This can wait until tomorrow. Besides, Aizawa’s not gonna be too happy if you pass out in the middle of his class.”

“Ughh fine, I’ll go to bed,” you said, accepting that that was probably the most you were going to be able to cram for tonight.

“Good. Well, good night (y/n)!” Mina half shouted from down the hall, in somewhat of an attempt to not wake up everyone else.

“Night!” you yelled back, forcing yourself up from off the bed to get ready to go to sleep.

~time skip~

Despite being unbelievably tired, it had been about 30 minutes since you had finished getting ready for tomorrow morning and laid down, yet you had been completely unable to fall asleep.

‘Stupid caffeinated drinks’ 

You cursed yourself internally for drinking so much coffee. Frustrated, you thought about your options:

You could sneak out downstairs to the common area, but if Aizawa-Sensei happened to be down there, you’d definitely be in trouble.

You could try to cram some more, but you had a feeling if you looked at your Chem. notes one more time you would actually die.

Lastly, you contemplated doing something completely and utterly stupid and irrational: Asking to crash in one of your classmates’ rooms. 

You didn’t know why, but for whatever reason, you found it a lot easier to fall asleep with others near by. Usually this wouldn’t be a problem, since none of the girls really ever minded having an unplanned sleepover. However, considering the fact that it was just over one in the morning, and class started in five hours, you guessed they were all probably asleep. 

You thought about asking one of your guy friends, but Kiri slept like, well, a rock, and wouldn’t wake up without a blaring alarm. You would ask Kaminari, but he was probably still gaming, and it’s not too easy to fall asleep with him yelling at his console in the background. Sero would be a good choice, but he was at a family gathering, and wouldn’t be back until next week. Considering you didn’t really feel comfortable asking the other guys in your class, that left you with one other choice: Bakugou.

While yes, usually Katsuki did go to bed earlier than everyone else, like you, midterms had screwed that up. Even though he was still doing well in class, you had actually bumped into him during a 2am snack run a few days ago, so you guessed it wasn’t too far off to say there’s a chance he might still be awake. Even if he did end up telling you to screw off, it was at least worth trying.

Walking through the boy’s dorm hall, you noticed that you were indeed correct, as even while passing his dorm you could hear Kaminari shouting. What intrigued you though, was seeing the light peeking out from the doorframe of Katsuki’s room.

Knocking, you called for him, “Katsuki, I know you’re at least awake, can you open up?”

After about a minute of silence, the door to his room swung open, and you had a rather irritated looking Bakugou staring you down, the draft flowing from his room making you shiver.

He was wearing a black hoodie with sweats, and had a pair of glasses on, which made you notice the pile of notes, costume redesigns, and other sheets of paper scattered across his desk.

“What do you want dumbass, it’s late, and I’m busy,” he said.

“Uh- Oh right! Um, so, I was uh-” you stuttered out, trying to figure out how to word your sentence, which was proving difficult with the combination of his glare and your tiredness.

“Get to the point extra-” he warned.

“Look, can I sleep in your room tonight?” you asked.

His eyes widened, before regaining his irritated composure.

“How come? You got a room, don’t you?”

“Well, I can’t sleep,” you admitted, though that part was obvious.

“And what makes you think sleeping in my room is gonna change that?” he asked.

You looked away, before answering in a quieter voice, “It’s just, well, it’s just easier for me to sleep when other people are around.”

“Can’t you ask one of your other friends?”

“No, they’re all sleeping, and I don’t want to wake them up,” you replied.

After a moment, he sighed, before opening the door all the way and stepping aside to let you in.

“Fine. But you owe me,” he said.

To that, you lit up, nearly knocking him over with a hug, “Oh my gosh thank you so much! And yeah, that’s fair.”

Katsuki froze, before pushing away from you, averting your gaze.

“Whatever, just don’t bother me,” he said.

“Okay, that’s fine. Do you have any extra pillow’s I can borrow? I’d sleep directly on the ground, but it is hardwood, so I don’t think my skull would particularly like that,” you asked, taking in the rest of his room, which was really just a bed, dresser, and some more miscellaneous papers scattered across the room.

“Why the hell would I have extras, I’m not Mina. And don’t sleep on the floor dumbass, you’re going to wake up with bad back and neck pain, and you’re not going to be able to be at your best for when I beat your ass tomorrow,” he said.

Realizing what he had said, you felt the heat rise to your cheeks.

‘Just use his bed? But then, is he meaning he wants us to share?’

 The more you thought about it, the more you blushed, so you put the thought away, and made your way into the bed. Thankfully, he only had his desk light on, so you faced the wall to deciding you should be able to sleep just fine like this. 

“Oi, scoot over. You’re hogging the bed,” you hear after a few minutes.

‘Wait, what?’

You turned around to face him, confused, but he only gestured for you to move.

Blushing slightly, and glad he had turned the light off, you comply, giving him room to slip into the bed.

“Um, I uh, I thought you were working?” you ask, glad that the two of you were currently facing opposite directions, though it didn’t really help with your nerves.

“I was working. But it’s two in the morning, and I guess your dumbass reminded me to go to bed,” he said, chuckling lightly at the end. 

“Oh.”

After a few minutes of silence between the two of you, you felt the draft of his room again, even with the covers. You had known he kept his room cold, but this was just stupidly cold.

“Hey Katsuki?” you called weakly, in case he had already fallen asleep.

“Hm,”

“It’s really cold, do you have any extra blankets, or could you like, change the AC settings?” you ask.

After a moment, you felt him shifting behind you, before feeling him put his arm around you, his body pressed against yours, and sending warmth back towards you.

You couldn’t do anything other than sit there, a blushing mess, and yet again unbelievably grateful that he couldn’t see your face. 

“Better?” he asked.

“I-um, uh, yeah,” you stutter out, covering your face with one of your hands, making him laugh.

“Good,” he said, sounding a bit proud of himself for his job well done.

That night, despite everything, you two slept better than you had in a very long time.

[ekahnomist]

Draft - Policy analysis for post-covid housing

Table of Contents: 

Section I: Background and fundamental theory Section II: Policy options without needs-based assessmentSection III: Discriminating based on need

The coronavirus has ushered in a particular conversation around welfare, both at the federal level and the local level. Politicians and NGOs are touting numerous, contradictory policies to address many chronic problems that are flaring up in this moment of crisis. Lessons from welfare economics give us a useful framework with which to analyze policy decisions. The basis of welfare economics is the claim that it is possible to actually measure and compare the impacts of well-defined policies. The field is based around the basic welfare equation, which is formulated to “maximize social welfare” just as a basic private company might “maximize profit”. In this essay, we ask the question: how do we maximize social welfare with respect to the housing market in the wake of the COVID-19  crisis?

A note on welfare theory

Welfare economics has plenty of critiques, and is by no means a political panacea. A leftist may disagree with the notion that quantifying and comparing utility is useful at all. They may instead believe it prudent to draw a hard line around core human rights that must be agreed to wholesale. Many believe that a specific set of goods fall into the category of “human rights” and thus should not be commodified or discussed in any marginal terms (e.g., housing). From the opposite side of the political spectrum, the political right is devoted to free market economics and considers welfare economics to be overly prescriptive - as an unnatural affront to pillars of “choice” and “property rights”. We would encourage both of these parties, and everyone in between, to consider how the Greeks defined analysis - as the breaking down of a subject in order to better understand it. Welfare economics cannot claim any more or less than that exact endeavor - to break down social questions into their component pieces and arguments in order to better understand them. Frequently, fragments of that “analysis” by themselves may yield an ugly or displeasing thought. It is important to hold them in their fragmentation as we do in the whole - as dependent pieces of the larger whole, each themselves powerless without their context.

Concrete numerical analysis is a near-impossible task in welfare economics. Politicians want to be able to say “A is better than B by exactly X dollars”. Getting that level of rhetorical certainty requires either a herculean effort or some very generous assumptions, bordering on unethical. However, we can rely on a combination of general theorems, specific observed economic principles, and a healthy dose of government intervention to make some powerful claims about the proper steps forward. In this remainder of this essay, we focus specifically on the question of housing security in a renter’s market like Oakland, California. 

SECTION I - Background and fundamental theory

In Oakland, you have two competing claims from renters and landlords. 

Renters assert that they shouldn’t be made to pay rent, because they can’t afford to in a crisis. They claim that for no fault of their own - no violation of their end of the social contract - they are experiencing job loss, increased child care costs, and personal health precautions. Under the status quo, these shocks to their personal finance means eviction, which they will (quite literally) attempt to avoid at all costs because of its nonlinear cost. Which is to say, someone who requires a dollar to stay housed will require (much) more than one dollar after they lose their house (see: Claim 2). 

Landlords assert that their livelihoods require that tenants pay. That the financial hit of a rent freeze would be an economic hit from which they cannot recover. Landlords would view a rent freeze as the government saving one constituency at their own expense. 

Claim 1: There exists a solution: As a first step, we draw some boundary conditions around the problem. Obviously, there is at least one way to meet the demands of both parties, which is for a third party (the government) to shoulder the entire costs of this economic shock. It is possible that the government could pay all landlords the rent that their tenants cannot pay. For obvious reasons, this boundary condition is not a likely scenario, since it is prohibitively expensive for the government. And regardless of what side of the tenant-landlord line one falls, it is hard to argue that this would be the least expensive solution for the government or for our society. It follows that any policy must at least be as cost-effective as this full government subsidy. 

Claim 2: Nonlinear cost of eviction: Someone who requires a dollar to stay housed will require (much) more than one dollar after they lose their house. Thus, from a social welfare perspective, prioritizing basic housing security is a welfare-maximizing pursuit. Otherwise, the social cost tomorrow will be the same cost of housing plus associated costs of housing instability. A recent study shows that an appearance in eviction court increase the likelihood an New Yorker visits the emergency room by 79%. It also found that it increases that same person’s likelihood of spending a night in a homeless shelter by almost 20%. Other social costs remain uncertain - missed school days by children facing eviction with their family, for example.

With these two claims, we now consider the welfare statement at the core of this debate: How can the government invest in the housing market at the lowest cost in order to realize maximal social benefits?

SECTION II - Policy options without needs-based assessment

Base Case: Renters can’t pay rent and are evicted by the county.

In this case, Claim 2 is broken early and often. Under this scenario, the most number of citizens experience homelessness, and the nonlinear costs of eviction are accrued quickly and massively. As of this writing on April 10th 2020, ten million Americans have filed for unemployment during this crisis - the single biggest job loss event in American history. In any region in the US, renters will be faced with their inability to pay rent. Renters would continue to self-discriminate if they can, those with the means to pay rent would continue to do so to avoid eviction. 

Case 1A: Evictions are banned in the short term, but unpaid rent during this time can be used to evict tenants after the moratorium expires.

This is the most common operating procedure in the state of California. In this case, evictions are avoided in the short term, but they are liable to increase dramatically after the pandemic. Under this scenario, some tenants affected by COVID-19 are able to arbitrage over the course of weeks and months to pay back rent and avoid eviction. Fewer evictions are likely to occur when compared to the base case, as renters who can pay rent do so after the pandemic. Though the nonlinear costs of eviction are accrued at a later date and to a lesser extent, these costs are only minimized by a combination of discerning federal aid packages and improving local economies. 

Case 2A: Evictions are banned in the short term, unpaid rent during this time cannot be used to evict tenants after the moratorium expires, but instead converts to consumer debt. Oakland has taken a middle-of-the-road approach, which is to quell the concern of eviction with an eviction moratorium. The most important clause of this ordinance is that a tenant who cannot pay rent during this crisis can never be evicted for having missed rental payments in this time window. A key stipulation is that you have to be able to prove financial hardship as a result of the crisis. This is a fantastic step in the right direction that should be applauded, as it staves off the destabilization of eviction in the short term. The technical details of the ordinance, however, mean that any rent deferred during this emergency period will be converted to consumer debt and renters will continue to be held liable for it. In the months following the COVID crisis, landlords can take their tenants to small claims court, suing for the unpaid rent. Tenants would likely be instructed to pay in installments, liquidate assets (cars), and pay whatever they could. Landlords would get most of their rent back, but a share of it would be lost to transaction costs, which lawyers and consultants would incur in sizable amounts. Knock on effects of unemployment and eviction would likely cost the local government a sizable amount, though no direct government payments would result in this case. Landlords would self-discriminate to an extent - those with more wealth may view the burden of small claims court to be overly costly would attempt to settle with their tenants outside of court, perhaps forgiving rent in some cases and absorbing the cost. 

Case 3A: Renters can’t pay rent and landlords are held entirely liable for rent owed during the crisis. This would have the lowest impact on renters, and would result in similarly low levels of eviction. Many landlords who can afford to absorb foregone rent will do so at varying economic costs. Others would become financially insolvent. It is unclear to the authors at this time how that would affect their net worth. That being said, the average landlord/ business owner in the US has approximately 32x the level of wealth compared to the average renter. Such a significant difference in wealth would suggest that a landlord has a higher capacity to arbitrage (i.e. reallocate resources to adapt to an economic shock) than would a renter (Fessler and Shurz 2018). This case would be of little to no financial cost to the government. Without any needs-based restrictions, such a scenario would likely result in an decrease in rent payments and an increased burden on landlords. Many tenants who can afford rent may decide not to- having been given legal permission to not pay rent. That being said, an identical stipulation to the one given in the 1A Oakland case (above) could continue to require a tenant to provide evidence that COVID has impacted their financial stability.

Section III - Discriminating based on need

The previous cases prescribe the same policy across all citizens, not discriminating based on need. In the next couple cases, the government takes on a more discerning role, where the population is broken up into component groups with different financial profiles. 

Case 2A: Renters are liable for rent immediately after the crisis ends, but can apply for payment assistance from local governments. This strategy has been alluded to by the city of Hayward, though its details have yet to be made public. The city has halted evictions during the crisis, but provides no such protection against eviction for unpaid rent as soon as the crisis ends. Without the post-crisis eviction protection provided in Cases 1B and 2B, such an assistance program is required to work remarkably fast in order to fulfill its mandate. Any delay in the program execution may encourage landlords to go ahead and evict tenants instead of waiting for arbitration. As a result, this case is logically inconsistent and only differs from case 1A if the program proves remarkably fast at allocating its resources. Such a hasty process would likely result in the misallocation of said resources, diminishing social welfare. We will spend no more time elucidating its problems, as they are identical to Case 1A. 

Case 2B: Renters hold consumer debt after the crisis, but can apply to a needs-based rent forgiveness program at the city or county level. In this (entirely theoretical) scenario, local governments set up a fund to help renters cover their rental debt from the COVID crisis. This case can be envisioned if Oakland started a rent forgiveness program for tenants and has a few key characteristics that are worth specifying. 

The lynchpin factor at the center of evaluating these needs-based programs is the value of information symmetry. A needs-based system focused on the renter will, by construction, elicit any surplus wealth held by the renter, and reduce payments accordingly to pay no more than the difference between the rent owed and the tenant’s ability to pay. Said another way, this program might require that the renter reallocate any resources they have in order to pay the debt they owe, and then the government would agree to cover the rest of the rent. 

What remains noticeably absent is any information on surplus held by the landlord. Does the landlord need a full rent paid in order to remain financially solvent? Is the landlord charging a rent that is higher than operating costs? Did the rental amount include any scarcity rent captured as profit due to rent inflation in the Bay Area? It is reasonable to assume that if the answer to any of these questions is yes, the government is overpaying, and there is deadweight loss in our result. 

Moreover, every economic transaction is subject to transaction costs, which accrue to the parties involved in the transaction. In this case, the government and the renters who apply for assistance are subject to the transaction costs. Consider the tenant who makes a wage. The cost of engaging in this program are the foregone wages that they would’ve accumulated had they been working instead. Additionally, job insecurity may prevent a tenant from being able to spend the time applying to this program. Does the application require access to technology? Does it require going to a municipal building? The transaction costs of such a program could include any number of prohibitive costs that would keep tenants from participating, lowering social welfare and increasing the number of residents who face eviction. 

Case 2C: Landlords hold mortgage debt, but can apply to a mortgage forgiveness program at the city or county level. 

Case 1B and Case 2B look similar enough, that many may assume they result in the same outcome. However, there are some key differences to consider both in the realms of transaction costs and asymmetric information. 

By construction, this system will determine whether a landlord is, in fact, at risk of becoming insolvent as a result of this epidemic. As mentioned in Section 1C, the average landlord is, on average, 32 times wealthier than the average tenant. It is far more likely that landlords can absorb an economic shock (e.g., COVID-19) than can renters, many of whom cannot absorb a $500 economic shock to their finances without going into consumer debt. Such a landlord-focused needs-based application would discern between landlords that actually need financial support to stay solvent, and those who can afford to absorb the shock as “ a survivable risk to their portfolio”. Capturing this surplus would drastically decrease the cost of the entire program by 1) excluding landlords who do not require assistance and 2) elucidating and paying the true cost of housing by providing eligible landlords with a more precise amount of support that compensates them for their risk, but does not pay them scarcity rent that had been benefiting from for decades (the difference between lower mortgage payments and high rents).

With respect to transaction costs, we can safely assume that each renter in the bay area has one home (excluding for a moment extraneous cases not exceeding 2%). However, many landlords have multiple properties. Consider a landlord with five units. Whereas in Case 2A and 2B, each of those five tenants might apply for the program, only one application is filed under this case (2C). There are major efficiencies gained by targeting such a program to landlords in this manner. Not every landlord has multiple properties, but for every extra property a landlord has, the marginal cost of application decreases geometrically. 

Moreover, many landlords and property owners have staff trained in property management, who could take care of an application at much lower cost than to tenants who do not have the same professional requirement for financial education. After all, it is the landlords themselves who are currently claiming that being a landlord “is their job”, so such an application would be of lower cost to them.

GK COMMENTS:

[islcndxmisfits-a]

4.21.20 (4.22.20 since it’s 1:30 AM) update.

just a small update on things.

TL;DR :: I suck! but be patient because things are slooooowly progressing day by day :)))))))

because tracker is acting up... i think i got all threads in my drafts or likes... i will continue to work on these AND my starters and hopefully finish them all tomorrow after work. as soon as i get them all drafted, i will maybe probably begin work on queueing them tomorrow (thursday, maybe?? at the end of this week at the latest)

that being said, anything i miss i will find when queueing / after queueing my posts ( and will be 100% verified once they post )

after this round, i’ll probably queue them as i reply to them and queue them in between other queued shit so i don’t get backed up like this again... and work on other shit i’m behind on as i keep up with threads.

i’m just a LITTLE overwhelmed, but once tracker is back to working properly I should be able to get better with things.... that and finishing up some stuff i’m behind on. i’m so sorry for everything. between the virus and work and everything i’ve just been so .... drained and exhausted (mentally, emotionally, and physically) so i’m sorry but expect replies SOON!!

i owe starters & giveaway prizes & other thigns and i know, i am working on them slowly... please if you have any questions, feel free to come ask but also be a bit patient with me cause i more than likely know what i owe people, just haven’t gotten to it yet.

I will try to make a list of things / plans to do something tomorrow at work or when I wake up ( i always say this and never do, but if it’ll help with my overwhelming amount of stress... i will probably do it )

and the stress isn’t all from tumblr stuff;; it’s also from work and i just don’t wanna get into THAT right now, but if i do go and look for a new job then things will be starting to change and hopefully for the better.... <33333

this is just basically me letting myself know where i left off so i can make plans for next time i’m on (tomorrow night)

also anything i finish, i always look over multiple times to make sure i don’t miss anything so if i do miss a thread, i’ll hopefully catch it. however, if you don’t get a reply or whatever by the end of next week (so essentially by May 1, if replies haven’t been posted or you’re missing something, let me know !!)

[kdlovehg]

Chapter 2 - Twelve times the season - a festive everlark fic.

Oh look, I’ve finished another chapter. Enjoy. XO

Click for links to chapter 1 and summary - tumblr

Fanfiction

AO3

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

Chapter 2

First thing the next morning, Peeta received his first envelope from the letter carrier. After finishing his draft the night before, Peeta had made sure to write the post in his best handwriting and had then faxed it over to the head office, eager for them to have it published in time for the next morning. Now Peeta wasn't a fool, he'd made sure to add a footnote so that the publishers were aware of the situation and thus wouldn't put a copy of his column in any of the papers in his apartment building, except for his. Unfair? Perhaps. But it was better than risking Katniss nicking someone's paper and seeing it. This simply avoided the problem altogether.

He tore open the envelope and pulled out a single scoresheet. Now as this was a sponsorship, the company had made sure that there would be a way to track the number of papers being read from page one until the final word in the column. One common way was to check for any fingerprints on discarded papers, that way they'd know if the reader had flicked through the pages or not. They would also send out workers to see if people had chosen not to grab their paper at all as this was all important information in finding out how many people were reading it.

Two, was written in bold in the centre of the paper. Fifty views. No recommendations as of yet.

It wasn't the best start, because no recommendations meant that nobody in the town or wider part of Panem was talking about it but it was fine. He'd only just started. He turned over the page to see a few comments printed on the back, all of which must have been submitted back to the head office.

Mockygirl: Good luck! Can't wait to see where this goes.

Atrinketonthetree: Fabulous idea! Spread that cheer all through the year.

Unfortunately the last comment wasn't as promising as the first ones.

SwiftG: Just leave it. A Grinch ain't gonna change for you so don't bother.

Despite what the third reader had suggested, Peeta had already planned his first move to woo the little Grinch into the festive spirit. He washed, dressed and left just early enough to grab both Katniss' and his newspapers.

Once he'd collected them, he rode the elevator back up to their floor, checking the time as he went. She hadn't left yet so his plan should be perfect. He knocked on her door and listened for her voice, yet he was only greeted by a loud bark.

After waiting for a few moments he knocked again only to receive a muffled "What?".

"Its your neighbour" Peeta said, doing his best to sound perky. "Mellark. Peeta Mellark".

Silence.

Realising that he wasn't going away Katniss replied "Am I supposed to care?".

Peeta ignored her comment. "I brought gifts". That would work. It always did with the children, besides who didn't love free stuff.

"Don't need em".

"Should I leave it against your door?".

A pause.

"Leave what?".

Gotcha.

"Its a surprise. Don't you like surprises? I sure do. Puts you in a great mood for the day".

The door flew open and she stood in front of him, her skirt failing to conceal a layer of shaving cream that was painted across her leg. Katniss held the razor in her hand tightly as if it were a weapon she might strike him with. Her other arm was holding onto doorframe, creating a blockage for Mutty so that he couldn't escape. Regardless the dog peered over as if he too were curious about the surprise.

The familiar scowl settled back on her face. "I hate surprises".

"Here's your paper", he said, thrusting it towards her.

She grabbed it and tossed it over her shoulder, someone managing to make it land on her table. The accuracy was honestly quite impressive.

"You're welcome", he added, both of them knowing that she didn't appreciate the help. Before she could start mumbling under her breath he turned around and left with a "Have a good morning!".

"Whatever".

"You say that a lot don't you Everdeen?", he commented with a grin. For someone who he assumed was smart, she wasn't very creative with her responses.

"Do you mind? I'd like to finish what I started". Peeta tries not to think about her getting out of the shower when he knocked. Imagine if he made her open the door in a towel. Just for a paper she could've gotten herself. Goodness. It'd be hard to talk his way out of that.

"Go for it", he added, refusing to turn around. Granted it was a little rude but if she could do it then so could he. His nice deed had been done so he didn't owe her anything.

At least she hadn't slammed the door on him.

There was progress at least.

He returned to his room and waited for the familiar sound of her opening and closing her door as she left for work. Then seconds later he left to accompany her at the elevator.

Couldn't break tradition.

"What a coincidence", he lied as they entered and she pressed the button for the bottom floor. Katniss glared at him, clearly not believing a word he said.

He glanced over, seeing the familiar paper tucked under her arm. Perfect. Unintentionally, his gaze dropped back to her legs to see a small piece of paper peeking out from beneath her skirt.

She must have cut herself. Odd. Katniss didn't seem like the type to be distracted easily, but mistakes happen, he supposed.

"I hope that wasn't my fault" Peeta said, gesturing towards the injury.

Katniss huffed and tugged her skirt lower slightly so that he could no longer see it. "Course not".

It totally was.

She'd never admit it though.

"The little cuts are the worst kind".

She shrugged, avoiding conversation, but he heard the quiet "So are happy neighbours".

Well she thought he was the worst kind of neighbour? Perfect. The feeling was mutual.

"Forgive me, I was just trying to be helpful. Next time I'll knock and leave it at your door for when you leave".

"Don't".

"Don't what? Its too big to slide under your door".

"Don't be helpful" she insisted. Katniss didn't need anybody's help. The only thing she needed was for this elevator to hurry up. His voice was getting on her nerves.

"Its really not any trouble".

"I said don't".

"Alright", Peeta said, backing off. "If that's what you want".

"That's what I want" she said, finishing the conversation. Gosh he was annoying.

As soon as the elevator stopped and the doors slid open, Katniss flew out of there, eager to get away from her neighbour. Peeta found it amusing to say the least. He'd never made someone run from him before.

"Enjoy your day", he called out after her, if only to wind her up more.

Finnick was right. Being nice wasn't half bad. It was the most entertainment he'd got in weeks.

As a treat, Peeta decided he'd go to a local store, 'The Hob', as it was the closest place to get produce. Inside it they also had a small counter of freshly baked goods, mainly breakfast items, and hot drinks which likely earned them all of their customers. As luck would have it, he noticed that Everdeen was four people ahead of him. Odd since he'd never seen her in the store before.

Despite knowing that he shouldn't, Peeta shouted out to her, his voice quickly getting the attention of the other patrons. "Katniss I didn't know you came here! You should of told me, I could've came earlier to grab you something".

Katniss tensed up, swallowing back a curse at the familiar voice. Of course she couldn't escape him. She knew she should've went straight to work. She just can't catch a break.

Sae, Peeta's favourite barista and the owner of the store, gave him a toothless grin. "Morning Peeta".

"And a good morning to you, lovely", he said with his typical charm. He gestured towards Katniss. "She's my neighbour. I'd like to buy her a hot chocolate".

Everdeen spins around, hand on hip and leans to the side so that she can see around the other people in line. "No. I can buy my own hot chocolate - and cheese buns", she added. "I'm very capable". She didn't want his money. She didn't want his help. Gosh she hoped he'd miss his train so that his day could be as annoying as hers .

"Consider it an apology", Peeta explained as Sae bagged the fresh, gooey buns. She handed it to Katniss along with her drink and waited for the outcome. Peeta knew the older woman must be confused, why would anyone refuse an act of kindness?

"No", Katniss stated and slapped the money down on the counter, capturing Sae's attention.

"Well if you insist", Peeta said as the queue moved towards the counter, every other barista completing their order quickly and with a smile. "I really am sorry. I'll be quieter next time. You won't hear a single Christmas noise from me" he lied. Rather than acknowledge his insincere apology, Katniss grabbed her goods and left the store, not even saying a goodbye to the woman who'd served her.

Peeta considered if Sae knew anything about the woman. Surely she's visited before, just at a different time perhaps? When it was his turn to order he asked, "That girl" and leaned slightly across the counter. He rubbed his face, playing up the curiosity as if the thought just happened to cross his mind. "She come here often?".

"Aw yeah all the time. She orders the same thing, never talks really but what can you do".

"I figured", he said politely. What did he expect? She was an older woman, hardly one to gossip. He asked for the usual hot chocolate and paid, and then gave Sae extra money with the memo that it was to pay for his neighbours order the following morning. "Tell her its from me". Katniss would have to accept his generosity one way or another.

"Well if you're sure boy. She seemed a bit mad about you trynna do it today though".

"She's like that. Talking ain't really her thing", he said as if he was actually friends with Everdeen. Sae handed him his coco.

"I noticed. I'll make sure to serve her tomorrow, just for you Peeta", she added with another grin. There's the community spirit he missed.

"Perfect. Thankyou Sae".

He turned to leave with his drink and added, "Just a shame I won't see her reaction".

Peeta hurried out the store and rushed to the platform, just in time as the train had already arrived. He slid through the doors as they closed and sipped his hot chocolate. What would Katniss do?

///////////////////////////////////

The man was driving Katniss crazy. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? He was obviously just doing it for the attention. No-one was that happy in general let alone in the morning, yet every day its the same smile that he greets everybody with. Katniss knew he was playing a game with her and she didn't like it one bit. So she decided she'd do what she did best - ignore him. Unfortunately he'd already managed to get her to talk on two separate occasions so far but that was a mistake. She knew better now. Walking quickly, Katniss headed towards the Justice building. Being late was never an option. She had bills to pay and a cut in her salary wouldn't help. Besides she had a schedule: work in the morning and then for lunch she would go home, grab a snack, get changed and take Mutty out. Then once the dog was all tired out - which seemed to be never the older that he got - she would quickly wash and change back into her work uniform. Then she'd leave just as he'd settle down for his nap. It wasn't always that way, but Haymitch's building didn't allow dogs so she had to take him in. The more she thought about it, the worse she felt. Katniss loved her Uncle - even though he was a pain - and she was grateful for all that he did in raising her. Luckily he seemed to adjust well to the new place, and by that she meant, she had yet to receive a complaint from the complex.

Even when she was young, Katniss knew she wasn't a people person. Her father had tried many times to help her make friends but she hated everything about it. She'd much rather sit alone in the woods and study the animals. That's why her job in agriculture suited her. She could spend time away from people as often as she wanted to. People were dangerous. Animals were smart. They knew to be careful with their trust and she'd been fooled before. She didn't even want to think of Gale's betrayal. No - it was over. Her mind had moved on.

"Morning Miss Everdeen!", the receptionist said in greeting. She was unusual as the place was known to be quite cold and workers were stoic, but Katniss didn't mind as the girl was never mad at a lack of a reply. On her counter sat a small Christmas tree with ribbons wrapped around it and trinkets hung from the branches. It did nothing for Katniss' mood but she supposed some of her colleagues might like seeing the sight.

With a nod in her direction, Katniss moved on. She didn't remember the young girl's name, or perhaps she hadn't bothered to ask. It didn't matter she supposed. The less familiar she was with people the better. She closed the door behind her, glad to be back in her office. Silent. Alone. Perfect. It gave her time to ponder her odd neighbour. He was a nice guy. That wasn't unusual, but why now was he trying so hard to get her attention? And why did she care?

////////////////////

After work, Peeta headed down to 'Monsieur Cornucopia', a building full of different clubs for young children, so that he could help them with their holiday program and then he travelled to the orphanage. He'd had a good day - better than yesterday at least. The shoppers seemed more patient and they sold out of a lot of fish. He liked to think that it was some type of good karma, for trying to be nice to Everdeen. Sure she rebuffed it, but these things take time.

The kids in the orphanage enjoyed the singing and loved the chance to sing to those in their community that were often forgotten; the elderly, the homeless, even some of the new mothers. The previous week they'd sung at the local hospital, for the new parents, most of whom were underage and thus looked down on. The children didn't judge them though. Maybe that's why he liked them so much. They were just jolly, none of them needed a reason for it, unlike some people.

This week the children were heading down to The Seam. The small living-complex located on the outskirts of twelve, didn't always sound like the ideal place to take children but they wouldn't mind it. He knew how excited they were. Some even hoped to see their old relatives, after being separated from them for good reason. They wouldn't understand that though. They didn't care.

By nine-thirty, Peeta made it back to the lobby, he was exhausted, but still in a good mood. He headed towards the lockers to check for any mail - if it was a special delivery letter then the carrier would take it straight to the room but anything else was just stored in the designated box. As he unlocked, the locker, he grabbed his mail and began flicking through the envelopes. Bills. Gas. Water. No Christmas cards yet but there was still a chance for those that could afford to send them, to do so this year. In his peripheral vision he caught sight of a familiar brunette. Everdeen. He wondered were she'd been as she was dressed in the same clothes that she would wear when taking her dog out but he was sure she must have done so already, and the little fella wasn't with her so she must have been somewhere else. The faint smell of sweat tickles his nose but he doesn't comment on it. She'd probably take it as an insult anyway. Although, he glanced her way, she did seem to be pretty athletic. That was a nice surprise. Not that he should be looking. It was her body, who cared what he thought of it. He looked away before she could catch him. Maybe she'd cuss him out, out loud this time. He didn't want that, it could ruin her mood for tomorrow and then she'd never appreciate his gift.

Katniss kept quiet. Of course she'd seen him, subtlety wasn't his forte, but she chose not to comment. She'd had enough interaction with him for one day. A week even. She just wanted to relax so she watched as he shut his locker closed. She checked her locker quickly, and seeing that it was empty, she closed it again and as had become the custom, the two of them rode the elevator together in blissful silence. Katniss made a point to stand in the corner so that she could have as much space away from him as possible. She needed time to breathe. There were too many people around at this time of year. Peeta chose not to acknowledge the distance between them and when they finally reached their floor, they separated and headed for their own apartment. For some odd reason, Peeta felt as if she was watching him - just staring at his back because he wouldn't see her. Rather than turn around he glanced over his shoulder at her to see the usual scowl on her face. Lovely.

Katniss couldn't figure out why he still hadn't spoken to her. She liked it obviously but it didn't seem right. Just hours ago he was bugging her and now he was content with silence?

Peeta forced a smile in her direction, "Have a good evening, Katniss".

"You don't look good".

His eyebrows jumped up. No way.

She spoke. Goodness had he broken her already?

"Its been a long day" he said, testing the waters. He wouldn't draw this conversation out, that was up to her.

Unfortunately for him, that answer seemed to satisfy her enough and she spun on her heel and disappeared into her apartment.

Accepting defeat, Peeta entered his own apartment and collapsed onto the chair. He wasn't making a lot of progress. But it was only day one. At least he knew there was promise there. Yet before he drifted off to sleep, he remembered that the day was over and thus it was time to start his second column entry. With a huff he hauled himself off of the chair and grabbed a sheet of paper and a pen. He wondered what the commenters would think of it this time.

Twelve times the season - Entry 2

December 15th

A letter and a lady

Operation Grinch to little elf is officially underway, ladies and gentlemen. Have I granted her a cheerful smile today? Oh yes. Did I give her the gift of a surprise? Why certainly! She just hasn't warmed up to the idea yet. Since seeing me this morning, I'm fairly certain she now wishes she'd succumbed to the festivity weeks ago but alas it is too late and thus my presence is here to help.

What wonderful thing did I do you ask? I woke up early - gave up a full ten minutes of sleep for this woman - and trekked downstairs to retrieve her newspaper so that the Lady wouldn't have to even spare a second to locate it. Not only that, but I offered to buy her breakfast. She refused of course, but at least I've set the tone for the next few days. And not only that twelve but I've bought her breakfast for tomorrow. How convenient is that? A lovely way to start her morning I'd say. I can't wait to here about how she reacts to that.

However something occurred once nightfall hit. A strange encounter one might say. I was merely collecting my mail in the lobby when she appeared. Odd but not unusual. Coincidences happen. From previous experience I knew how these encounters would go. If I were to strike up conversation, especially when she is at the end of her day, then I was sure to be ignored, and I didn't feel like finishing my night on a sour note. Now granted I know I'm not her favourite person, but I don't believe I'm the only one. It seems the one with the problem is her.

Now I like to believe that my newfound fascination with her is unsettling. How do I know? Well I changed tactics for a moment. I was tired and thus gave her the cold shoulder. And did she like that twelve? Oh no.

She cracked.

It was small. An ever so small dent in her façade as she asked me how I was. Were I not so exhausted I would have revelled in her words. Am I getting to her? Who knows. Its still early but I'm optimistic people.

I'll end it here for now until I can figure out a new way to... sweeten her up. In fact, I think I might have just found one.

[thelightofthingshopedfor]

I have tomorrow off anyway and then I’m taking the next two days off to give myself a nice looooong weekend, and as is traditional, I have an unrealistic list of things I’d like to get done in the next few days

finish The Outer Worlds

start a new Game Pass game

also, try to test some Game Pass games on my netbook since I’ll be gone for the last week of my subscription, although of course this requires my stupid netbook to talk to the internet again

speaking of being gone: get at least a little more organized about my Florida planning

experiment with Minecraft multiplayer on Xbox 360

finish a fic

type...a bunch.....specifically I should make sure I’ve typed everything I might want to work on during my flights to Florida, but in general there’s still a lot of stuff that needs to get typed up

take down Christmas decorations

clip Hazy’s nails ffs, also brush her teeth

finish some asks I’ve been tagged in

clear out some other drafts

email Marvel

retrospective posts, because I don’t really want to spend the rest of the evening tonight doing that but I’d still like to do something or I’ll feel weird about it and hey, maybe organizing my thoughts will help

the decade in general

the year/decade in fic

2020 goals

take a new picture of my Loki army

keep trying to email USPS

write a letter to the editor

see if I can get on another waiting list for therapy

list at least one thing on Etsy or eBay

working on some kind of customizing project, for Etsy or for myself, would also be a nice way to start the year

it would be super cool if I could do at least a little cleaning but it’s so overwhelming I don’t even know where to start. okay at least put away the newest things from Christmas, that shouldn’t be too hard, and...I recently made a little bookshelf room so get a few books off my floor and cram them in there

exercise...

attempt to organize my to-do lists a little

hang out with @erlkonigstochter because it’s been a bit and that’s sad; Terminator: Dark Fate is at the second-run theater now so maybe we’ll go see that and level up further in gayness, that’s a good way to start the year

consistently do neck-related exercises etc. because ow

in general try real hard to focus on concrete things I can do instead of like...pointlessly vague dissatisfaction with who I am as a person and all the things I didn’t realize I was vaguely planning to have changed by the end of the year/decade until I didn’t

not really necessary but nice:

patch jeans

put together Legos

FFN reposts whoops

continue trying to unfuck iTunes

postcards to voters

[conartister212]

FIRST POST, FIRST POST

So in an effort to prove to myself that I can write (somewhat) on a (again, somewhat) regular schedule, I have hereby opened up ye olden Tumblr account. Call it a christening, call it me being dramatic--my middle name--call it whatever, but here! *throws this post at you* Have a taste, dear new-blog. I hope we have fun together. 

Smith dragged me down the hall by the hand with an impressive (obviously determined) grip, given how sweaty my hands were. Light from the moon filtered into the abandoned hallway through the windows that lined it. The urge to grab onto one of the lockers that made up the opposite wall was nearly insurmountable—I kept myself from doing that because I knew that, despite my face that had to be beet-red by that point, the only one that could save Smith if something went horribly wrong was me. More than that, even today I’m probably the only one willing to save him from his own antics. 

“Oh, come on, you gigantic baby,” he said, just as I was reminding myself why I was still here. “You would willingly go through your entire college and high school careers without doing anything reckless or stupid. What kind of a life is that?” 

I rolled my eyes, and settled into an icy stare at the back of his blond head. “A life where I’m able to get a job and do things besides pay a debt to society. You know, the kind of life I try to make sure you end up having, too?” I retorted. 

“Bah, there’s only danger if they catch you,” he said while shifting the olive green rucksack to fit better over his other shoulder the sound of metal and paint tinkling in the otherworldly silence, “The trick is to scope out the best spot, and always leave early.” 

“Yeah, and how much practice do you have with ‘scoping out the best spot’?” My voice had more of a bitter edge to it than I meant for it to have, but at the same time, final exams week would start the next day. It wasn’t like I had signed myself up for an easy semester in a breezy community college somewhere—university was expensive, and I was determined to keep my scholarships so that my parents didn’t have to pay for me. Smith Yaeger always had things come easy to him—it blew my mind how flippant he always was about it, with a new stunt plan nearly every other week. 

“Enough to know that even if we get caught here,” he raised a finger with his free hand that had adjusted his rucksack, “There’s nothing the school can throw at us since it’s neither anyone’s property (technically), and,” he raised the second finger, “It’s a hunk of junk just lying around anyway, so no one really cares about it.” Well, that had my curiosity. 

“Then why are we doing this? I thought this was about making a ‘statement’?” I reached up a hand to my forehead, and pulled it away wet. I hadn’t realized how humid it was, but we were in Houston, Texas. Of course it was humid. (The only two describing characteristics of Houston are wet, and green.) 

He stopped, then, and looked at me. “Wait a second,” he said, the look in his green eyes more serious than he had all week. “Do you not know what we’re doing here?” 

“Um, I thought we were spray painting a wall, or something… Am I wrong?” I mean, I hadn’t read his “dossier” (which still felt like an overly dramatic term for “file full of documents on the computer” but I guess it was important to him) but I also was incredibly busy this past week, again, with studying for the LSAT and my other pre-law and business classes. 

“My friend, my brother in shenanigans, my dearest companion, partner in crime, and geek-I’ve-known-the-longest. You could not be more wrong. I would not drag you hear, at nearly 12:00 midnight in all black clothes—literally the most uncomfortable track clothes I’ve ever worn in my life in the middle of a summer night—to get caught defacing public property. This is the university that we both go to, and as such, we both know how ridiculously stupid it would be to incur the wrath of the people to whom we owe a debt that will largely be stuck with us a great portion of our adult lives anyway. Literally, the price of this damn school is exorbitant, but that is not necessarily my point. Did I or did I not tell you to read the dossier?” His dumb (that was my inner tantrum speaking) green eyes narrowed at me, and I shrugged because I already told him I likely wouldn’t have time for this. He sighed loudly and I shushed him for it, to which he gave me back a noncommittal wave of his hand. 

“Okay,” he said. “I guess I’m going to have to give you the details here, then.” I wanted to mutter back that he should have just done that in the first place because he knew I’d be here anyway. Someone has to keep saving his ass. I didn’t though, mostly because that would’ve just stalled him, and I desperately wanted to get back to bed as soon as possible. (Not that I had classes until late afternoon tomorrow, but still. I wanted to study in the morning.) 

“Go ahead, but tell me while we walk,” I said. 

I followed after him as he started moving again. “Houston has this museum called ‘The National Museum of Funeral History,’ okay? It’s been around for a while—since 1992, to be exact—and they have exhibits for everything from coffins from Ghana to the caskets of some U.S. Presidents. The point is, they’re super cool, and they have a truly impressive amount of neat history about dying and the dead from different cultures. So what is the problem, you may ask?” He turned around a looked at me as we rounded a corner and started descending the stairs to the gym. “They’re trying to close it, and asked the school’s anthropology and marketing majors to make a billboard rough draft, of sorts, to advertise closing ticket prices to try and get more people interested. This is a government-started, largely government-run facility, mind you. They’ve just decided in recent years that they don’t want it around anymore and are going to donate the exhibits to different locations.” 

“What a shame,” I said with an eyebrow raised. Smith always did have a flair for the super weird. “So what are we spray painting tonight?” 

“The billboard prototype, of course,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. We had reached the double doors to the gymnasium at that point, and Smith dug his hand into the large pocket of his track pants and pulled out the key ring we had used to get into the building and picked out the right key. He shimmied it into the lock, turned it to the right, and opened the door. 

“You know,” I said, stifling a yawn, “It’s a really good thing our school hasn’t opted to put up security cameras around campus yet, or this whole thing could’ve been screwed from the start.” 

Smith made a noise that sounded almost like an angry sheep bleating and said “I hope that day never comes. It’d be like paying to go to prison! Why do I need to pay to be seen going everywhere?” We both knew that wasn’t the point, but I didn’t feel like arguing him on it. 

The gymnasium was a large room, a lot like you’d expect, with rows of bleachers, though all on left side of the really long room and the opposite side had a couple of doors where the storage closets were. Smith walked towards the doors, producing a second key from his pockets and I wondered to myself how he always managed to make these things work out. Honestly, it’s as if it weren’t a problem for him at all to just ask the janitor for his keys. Inside the storage rooms, just as Smith said there would be, was a large, long poster stuck to a canvas. Perfect for spray painting. 

Two hours went by as I watched him, then three. Around 4:30 AM (according to my watch) Smith stepped back to look at his handiwork. Even I had to admit it was impressive looking. In spray painted letters that were more… ornate (?) than I would have thought possible,  the sign said “Respecting the Dead Means Respecting the History of Our Dead” with a side profile of Abraham Lincoln in space. I stumbled over next to him—I was probably about five minutes away from falling asleep on my feet. That was when something odd happened, though. 

As we stood together, admiring his poster (I’m not sure what I would have thought about it had I been more awake, thinking about it now) an odd glow filled the room. It was bright, but neither of us could identify the source. Clearly, it wasn’t coming from the door or the lights above us, that had been on the whole time. As we looked around, I remember I heard a voice. It sounded like it had come from everywhere—I couldn’t pin it to the left or the right of me, it was just there, and it said, very clearly, “Thank you.” 

Smith and I turned around then to see two men floating in the air. One looked straight out of an American history book—one of the early settlers in complete costume—and the other had a pallid look to his tan skin that made him look gray and was wearing a mostly plain white robe with a colorful collar. I don’t think either Smith or I had ever run faster in our lives. If anyone else had seen us that night, I’m sure we probably looked ready to wet ourselves. All I really know is that Smith never brought up another “activity” having to do with the dead, and I never asked (not that I would have anyway, but you get the point). 

[miracloud]

April Fools’

fluff, bit angst

ong seongwoo x reader

“Ow!”

You exclaimed when you felt a hand hitting your head. You knew exactly who it is and you glared at him.

“Oops! Your head is just too perfect for hitting”, he nonchalantly replied. You kicked him back. 

You and Seongwoo had been in this game for years. It started when you were still in high school and it continued on to college. He gave you one last glance before disappearing. What’s with him?

You fixed your hair then you touched.. something. You quickly looked for a mirror and you raced after him.

“Yaaaah! Ong Seongwoo!!!!”

He heard your voice and run fast while laughing. That guy just placed a gum on your hair. The bell sounded and he went to his class immediately. Of course, you can’t follow him inside since the professor is already in.

I’ll get him in the next class.

You share two classes with Seongwoo and it always give a headache to your professor. Before you went to your class, you went ahead and cut your hair to remove the gum. Thanks to him, you now got a short-hair which definitely doesn’t suit your circle-shaped face.

Before entering the class you shared with him, you made sure that you have an extra bottle of juice. It would be perfect with the white blouse he worn today.

When you opened the door, everyone’s eyes was on your hair you. You walked towards him. He had this smug look on his face that you absolutely want to remove.

“You’re looking good”, he teased.

“Really? Well, let me thank you for that.” You poured the juice on his head and stains were left on his blouse.

“Now, you got the wet look. Pretty sure, girls will like you more now”, you said with a fake smile. He glared at you. He stood up to get revenge but the professor just arrived. The professor looked at the scene and sighed.

“It’s you two again. Seongwoo, clean up then come back.”

You stifled a laugh as you looked at his angry face. At first, the professor scolded you for doing such pranks but he later gave up. Seems like it will not end even with a scolding so he just dealt with it calmly.

When you went home, you marked the calendar with an X. Tomorrow, huh?

Tomorrow’s April 1 aka April Fool’s Day. Yours and his friends refrain from approaching you two on that day. The worst pranks are done on that day. Let’s just not mention those pranks ‘cause they were really embarrassing. You prepared a dress that he can wear. You’re planning to pour juice again on him and he’ll probably think that’s it. But you’ll follow him to the toilet and as soon as he removes those clothes, you’ll grabbed them and leave that dress, leaving him with no choice. It’s the perfect plan.

 After the preparation, you lied on your bed. When will this end? You wanted to end this for a long time but you were afraid that the only connection you have with him will vanish. The truth is, you like him from the start but your stubborn self refused to believe your feelings. Instead of confessing, you did jokes and pranks on him and because he is quite playful, he went along with your games.

The next day, you were walking along the corridor and you saw Seongwoo walking towards you. You observed him with scrutinizing eyes. You’re not letting your guard down.

“Good morning!”, and he left. What was that? Is this his new scheme? 

When you entered class, you worn a raincoat. You remembered that last year, he prepared a bucket of water and flour to pour on you. It was hard to remove all that mess from your body. This time, when you entered, nothing happened. You heard his giggles.

“I ain’t doing that.... In fact, I won’t do anything today.”

Huh? But it’s April 1???

Now, you are hesitating to do a prank. What if he really meant it? You thought that this is the opportunity you were waiting for to end all of these. What if he’s lying? You hated the feeling. You don’t know what to do.

You postponed your plan and waited for him to do something first. But it’s already 4 in the afternoon and still, nothing happened. Was he telling the truth? After your classes, you decided to go home immediately. You were almost at the school gates when someone pulled you.

“Seongwoo?”

“Hey. Do you have time? Let’s talk.”

Suddenly, your guard is up. This day is not yet done. He led you to the back of the Engineering building. At this time, no one passes in this area. 

“So, why are we here?”, you asked.

“Well, the truth is... Wait. Give me some time. I’m a bit nervous.”

He really did seem nervous. He touched the nape of his neck and continued talking.

“This is a bad time to say this since it’s April 1 but I’m not joking. I like you, y/n.”

Wait.. What?

You did not reply and he noticed it.

“I’m not lying, y/n. I really like you. I actually did all of these to get your attention”, he added.

Really? Then we actually felt the same way?

You were happy. You can finally stop these pranks and can move on to the next level at the same day.

“Me too. I also - - -”

“April Fool’s! Hahaha!”, one of his friends was secretly filming everything behind the bushes. Then, your heart dropped. His friend run away, thinking that you might grab the camera from him. You were left with Seongwoo. It was quiet. 

He heard your last words and he got the gist of it. To escape from this awkwardness, you faked a laugh. You kept your head down. You approached him and lightly hit him.

“You got me.” It was perfect until your voice cracked. You’ve never felt this embarrassment before.

“y/n...”

“I should go. You won today.”

You walked away but the tears started to fall on your cheeks so you soon run away.

The next day, you desperately wanted to miss class but you can’t. Exam week is near and you can’t miss any lessons. Fortunately, your eyes are not puffy. You look.. okay.

You attended all your classes. Some of your friends were bewildered that no pranks happened. Unlike before, you don’t even look at Seongwoo if he ever pass by.

One afternoon, Sungwoon, the one who took a video of you approached you.

“y/n, do you have time?”

“Uh.. sure. What’s the matter?”

“Don’t worry. I did not show that video to anyone. Only the three of us knows about it.”

You haven’t even told him anything. Why is he approaching you?

“Umm.. okay. Thanks”, you replied shortly.

“Now, can you please talk to Seongwoo? That guy is becoming weird”, he added.

“He jokes less and he’s quiet. You know that’s not the normal Seongwoo, right? So can you talk to him? He’s afraid to approach you first”, he explained.

Later on, you saw him alone at his classroom after class.

You threw a rolled paper to his head. Usually, he would over exaggerate but not this time. He simply rubbed his head.

“There’s really something wrong with you, huh?”

Upon hearing your voice, he stood up and looked at your direction.

“So is this all because of what happened on April Fools?”, you asked. He didn’t reply and just stared at you. You lightly hit him and that woke him up from his daydream.

“Oh come on~ It’s not a big deal”, you lightly laughed.

“I’m sorry”, he said.

You can tell the sincerity from his eyes. You gave him a smile.

“It’s fine. You are forgiven”, you replied.

After that, he finally had a smile on his lips. He picked up his things and went out of school with you.

“Okay, so just don’t post that video anywhere. Or else I’ll be mad at you. That video is an embarrassment”, you chuckled.

“So you really....--

Before he can finish, you ran towards the bus station and as if it was timed, the bus arrived. You waved him goodbye and entered the bus.

“See you tomorrow!”, you shouted.

Whew! Good thing, the bus came in time.

The next morning, you were on the hallway, going to your room when you felt an arm on your shoulders. It’s Seongwoo, with a smirk on his face.

This guy... Just because I forgave him yesterday, he’s starting already.

You pushed his arm away and did some karate stance.

“Are you starting again?!”

You laughed and grabbed your arm. He again rested his arm on your shoulders.

“I’m not but I’m definitely starting something today.”

You looked puzzled.

 “Let’s meet at Mistea Cafe later”, he told you.

“Huh? Why?”

“Let’s go on a date.”

You looked at him with a blush on your face. You pushed him away and ran. Of course, typical Seongwoo ran after you and asked you plenty of times to agree.

You agreed. ;)

Note: I’m so sorry for posting this sooo late. I should have post it on April 1st but I got too busy at work and failed to finish it on time. I have plenty of drafts so hopefully, I can finish all of them and I can share them to you. Enjoy reading!

[iwritefanficsometimes]

Hurt Me

Getting the demons out. Please be safe. Mentions of self-harm by antagonizing someone into a fight, Tony going non-verbal because of emotional distress, and just a lot of OOCness, but like... I needed to write this.

I’m not tagging this and please don’t reblog it. This is raw and unedited and the only reason I’m posting it is because if I let it sit in my drafts it will haunt me. I’ll post some fluff later tonight. 

I will not be putting this on AO3.

—————

Tony wasn’t thinking, not really, when he picked the fight with Stephen. They were alone in one of too many conference rooms at the Avengers compound, the rest of the Avengers having left to let them settle their differences a long time ago.

The fact that they left is how he knows they don’t know him. Even Natasha, who prided herself on being a profiler, didn’t know how well enough if she thought leaving him alone with his sometimes enemy was a good idea.

Pepper, Rhodey or Happy would never have left.

They weren’t there though, and Tony was having an easier and easier time riling Stephen Strange up as time went on. He didn’t know all of Stephen’s buttons, and he didn’t pretend to, but he knew enough of them to get under the man’s skin, irritate him just enough to keep him engaged without him running off. He could see Stephen’s finger’s twitching in a way that couldn’t all be owed to the nerve damage and he felt a sudden wave of adrenaline crash over him, fogging out his eyes and ears for the briefest second before the world came alive, he came alive, angling for a fight.

He needed a fight. Now.

Strange was about to lose it, Tony could tell. If he just pushed a little harder, just weedled him a little longer, he’d get what he wanted and he’d wake up bruised and possibly bloody tomorrow and it would be worth it. So worth it. Yes. Finally.

Stephen raised an hand and Tony reached to engage the nanotech, but he found his hand restrained by a gold rope. For a second it was all that he could focus on, light, literally, it glowed, but also soft, bracing without causing harm. It didn’t feel like cloth or any other rope Tony had ever felt. It was magic, he knew, but “magic” had never been a very good explanation for him.

Once the wonder wore off he was just angry at having been restrained. He reached up with the other hand, even though he was more than capable of engaging the armor without using his hands, but Stephen caught that one too.

“Why do you want to fight with me?” Stephen said calmly, all the anger having drained away from his face from one second to the next. That only increased Tony’s frustration and he tried to wrench his hands away from Strange’s magic, but Strange just stepped closer, holding the ropes tighter.

“Tony.” Stephen said looking directly into Tony’s eyes with the kind of intensity that Tony usually only saw in people on the battle field, but without any of the confrontation. “Why are you trying to make me fight you.” He repeated the question slowly, but it didn’t seem to be because he thought Tony was stupid, or hadn’t heard him. He was annunciating, being careful with his words.

He was giving Tony time to think.

Well, fuck that, he didn’t want to think.

His armor started to form around him and Stephen released him, and then he did some of his mumbo jumbo and the commotion he could hear coming from the down the hall stopped.

The compound was silent in a way that it never was. The buzzing of energy and people didn’t feel present in the same way.

“I’ve put us in the mirror dimension. No one is going to see. I’m going to ask one more time, and I would like it if you answered me honestly. Why are you trying to fight with me? This goes beyond our usual verbal sparring. You’re trying to get me to physically fight you.”

Tony can’t deny it, and even though he’s usually full of words, to the point of near word vomit, no words come. Tony’s heart is still racing and he can hear the blood in his ears more clearly than he can hear Stephen.

Maybe it’s Stephen’s magic, or something he learned from being a doctor, but his gaze softens and he takes a step back, putting them at a less confrontation distance. Tony realizes that his breathing was shallower than normal and made a physical effort to slow it down, but he couldn’t.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t.

“Tony.” Stephen said, closer again, but this time not using his height against him and managing to be close without towering. “Breathe. You’re okay. Breathe.”

It irritates Tony that Stephen thinks that’s easy. It’s not easy. Nothing is easy. He just wanted- He just-

“Tony.” Stephen said again, and made Tony look at him, getting so close that Tony didn’t have a choice but to look at him. “Breathe. You’re alright. In one two three four, hold one two three four, out one two three four.”

Tony hates breathing exercises, but he also knows that they help.

“Again.” And Tony does as he’s told.

One two three four

One two three four

One two three four

He hates that it works, and he hates that it makes him feel better.

“Alright. Do you want to stay here a while longer, or should I take you back and let you go see someone you trust?”

Tony can’t answer. Words just won’t come. It’s frustrating and he wants to scream, but he can’t.

“Hey, it’s okay. Let’s not undo all our progress. One two three four.”

One two three four

One two three four

Tony can feel himself relaxing unwittingly and even though he knows that it’s a good thing, it annoys him. He doesn’t want to calm down. He wants-

“I don’t want to hurt you, Tony. I never have.” There’s too much sincerity in Stephen’s voice, and a tear slips down Tony’s face.

He wants Stephen to hurt him.

He won’t.

The trailing edge of a red cape comes up to wipe the tear away and Tony swats it away. He doesn’t expect it to swat him back and then gentle dry the single tear, but somehow it makes him laugh.

It’s the first sound he’s been able to make since Stephen turned the tables on him.

“The Cloak has a bit of a mind of it’s own.” Stephen explains and Tony nods.

“I can see that.” He finally says, and it’s too difficult considering how less than five minutes ago he’d been yelling at Stephen.

Stephen gives Tony a second to recooperate himself, letting him swipe at the not-yet existant tears under his other eye and stand straighter.

“Ready to go back?”

Tony takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”