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austarus · 3 years ago

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HR Wells x Reader - Reversal of Denouement

*A/N: The picture/edit/gif does not belong to me. It belongs to its rightful owner.

**Please don’t forget to comment, like, and reblog. It means a lot to content creators of all kinds!

***I’d also like to thank @grimtamlain-writes for being my beta reader.

Word Count: 8251

MASTERLIST

A low groan left HR's lips. His body felt numb, his chest ached - tingled as his heart beats steadily. Is it beating? The darkness of his eyelids eased the stinging coming from his mind – it wasn’t so bright. The headache formed there. His body screamed at him as the novelist made the slightest of movement. His left shoulder in particular had protested in desperate agony. He couldn’t move it very much, the area succumbed to restraints of some sort. HR’s throat felt raw as his body throbbed, the blood coursing meticulously through his blood vessels. The sound of a soft voice greeted his ears, but his eyes refused to open.

"I... you, HR... even if... see it." The voice was so familiar, so gentle. So sweet. "Should... better." A drop of water hit his numbed hand, static still prominent there from the little movement his body had done. “I wish…” The dark-haired doppelganger could only understand fragments of what the speaker was saying. He felt a pressure on his hand, tender skin holding onto his before something tickled his forehead. Feather-light. What was it? Who was it? A few moments passed and he heard nothing, the novelist only assumed that the voice’s owner had left. He didn’t want to be alone right now though, not with the darkness.

It had become unbearable.

Since... Since when did…? How...? Oh. Right. Savitar... Am I dead? Is this where spirits wait for their turn to pass into their designated afterlife? Have I really...? Events from earlier resurfaced to his mind, his senses coming together. Right, had to protect Iris. For Barry – it was my fault Savitar had gotten to her. My big mouth. Even if Barry didn't really see me as a helpful friend. At least... At least I proved Savitar wrong, who ironically is a version of Barry. That's hella twisted. He huffed out a breath before venturing back into the calmness of sleep. Maybe a little more rest will help?

***

HR cracked an eye open: this time, harsh filtered light had greeted him. The novelist grunted in pain, adjusting himself slightly to assess where he was. What day was it? What was the time? How long have I been here? A yawn left his lips this time, his throat and mouth as dry as a desert.

“Well look who finally decided to wake up?” HR’s eyes met Cisco’s, who stood with a tablet in hand. “How’s sleeping beauty feeling?”

The Wells doppelganger cleared his throat. “Like I’ve gotten assaulted by an Amtrack bus, and not the good kinds.” HR’s baby blue eyes scanned the room, landing on the flower vase that was set on a table near him. Blue forget-me-knots and pink hydrangeas stood proudly in their vases, nurtured well. HR felt his heart swell, his eyes not daring to leave the delicate petals that accented the med bay in better tones. Cisco handed him a cup of water to which HR downed it immediately.

“Amtrack does trains.”

“Not on my Earth, Francisco.” The author couldn’t help but ask, his eyes lingering on the flowers once more. “Did Tracy bring those?”

Cisco pursed his lips, an odd look present on his face. He wanted to tell HR, but… “No. Um, she didn’t.” Tracy had been visiting, though it had become some sort of a nuisance to all her complaining at this point. She hadn’t even known HR for that long, anyway.

“Oh?” His shoulders dropped subtly in disappointment. “They’re beautiful, I was just wondering and…”

“Let’s just say, a special someone’s been… dropping by and bringing a new flower each day. That’s all you’re getting from me, Aurora.” Cisco reasoned with the Wells doppelganger. The mechanical genius knew, but it wasn’t his place to say. It killed him, but… “I wouldn’t move around too much, if I were you. You’ve got a fractured shoulder and that chest wound. I’ve been told to relay the message that you’re to be on strict bed rest until that shoulder further heals.” HR lowered his gaze to see the cross-body sling. He clenched his slinged hand and unclenched it to bring some feeling into the limb.

“What about my chest?”

“Miraculously, that’s been healing really well since day one.” Cisco kept the talk real, showing the injured doppelganger the schematics and pictures. “You got lucky that it missed your heart by a centimeter.” A stab wound like that should have… I wonder if she knows that I know.

HR blinked at the seriousness in his injury, the looming idea of death from his decision. “How long was I out?”

“A week and a half.”

“What?” HR’s eyes widened in disbelief. “I-”

“HR!” Tracy’s sudden voice pierced the room, stunning Cisco and triggering an ache in HR’s head. The grad scientists shuffled over to him, both forgetting that Cisco was in the room. “HR, my love, how are you? Are you feeling okay? Is there any pain?” He continued checking his friend’s vitals and adjusting dosages to the IV and morphine administered – as per your request. The room was growing ever louder with HR and Tracy. Tracy embraced him, minding his injuries as she continued to fuss over him. It made the Wells writer smile, yet… his heart didn’t swell as much as it used to.

Odd.

Cisco sent you a quick text while the two were preoccupied, but you were already at the Labs. You stopped just outside the entrance, the wall and dimly light hallway obscuring you from who remained in the med bay. They wouldn’t be able to see you from where you stood. A shaky breath left you as you clutched the Freesia flower in hand. Your heart shriveled in your chest as you backtracked. Hearing his voice is enough. After all, with Tracy around you couldn’t be near him – those dirty and hateful looks she’d send you. Best to keep my distance, I guess. You couldn’t help but sneak a peek at him though, the man who had unknowingly captured your heart and would never reciprocate your love. You pushed down the lump in your throat. Hastily, you sent Cisco a text to check on the flowers. Silently, you trailed away from the med bay and to the upper levels of STAR Labs. I wonder if he liked the flowers. Standing at such altitude with the wind blowing lightly had calmed you a bit. Looking down at the flower, you gripped it tightly before you began to pick off the petals one by one. The little moments you had with the goofy novelist surfaced to the forefront of your mind with each petal you held. Your little curious escapades. The little talks. The nights you’d visit him when Tracy wasn’t around.

“He loves me, he loves me not,” You murmured, a stray tear trickled down your cheek. The freesia symbolizes unconditional love and honor. “He loves me, he loves me not,” Your voice cracked as more tears fell. “He loves me, he loves me not…”

***

A frown presented itself on HR’s lips as he tilted his head to crack his neck. The crack relieved him tremendously. It didn’t make sense. The novelist mused to himself, setting aside the current chapter draft he was working on. The voice I heard was… different. It didn’t sound like Tracy’s. HR couldn’t get that voice out of his mind – the tenderness that was laced in the tone of that voice. Nothing like the slight shrill in Tracy’s. He eyed the flowers once more that day, their presence was prominent. If Tracy hadn’t brought those, then who had?

The team had helped situate HR in his room in order to vacate the med bay should another imminent event occur. He had overheard Cisco tell Wally that you were preoccupied with something in Star City – a bit of disappointment twinged inside him. HR had taken up doing bits of physical therapy for the rest of his body without moving his shoulder as much. His shoulder and arm remained in a crossbody sling. The flowers sat on his bedside counter; he tended to them as best as he could with the limited movement he had. Tracy protested that they don’t need to be around, but the novelist was vehement on keeping the plants. HR won’t deny the fact that he had gotten annoyed several times with her around when he needed thinking space for his writing. He couldn’t write with noise and nonsensical chatter, especially if it’s mainly coming from someone who doesn’t want to really listen to his input. She’d go on and on about her scientific research and such, but wouldn’t hear a word from HR regarding his writing. The longer the novelist was confined to his room for rest, the more he had time to think – to contemplate. Yes, he liked Tracy, but… it just seemed that she didn’t really see HR. She does all the talking; she doesn’t really ask about how I feel about things or ask me about my life, even things about Earth-19… It’s like she doesn’t see me for anything other than a pretty face. It’s not even my face that Tracy sees, just Randolph’s. Was I too quick to jump at the first person who showed interest in me? Had I rushed into ‘forever’ with her?

He tabled those thoughts for now. HR reached for his laptop; one hand opened it to start it up. While the device loaded, he grabbed his black-clear glasses and set them on his face. If anyone saw him as such, they wouldn’t be able to tell the physical difference between him and his handsome, yet grumpy doppelganger. Except for the eyebrow scar, but that was obscured by the glasses. HR did a couple of searches with a concentrated look. Surely, it was the person with that… angel-like voice.

“Hydrangeas,” HR whispered as his eyes skimmed over the text that had popped up. “The hydrangea represents gratitude, grace and beauty. It also radiates abundance because of the lavish number of flowers and the generous round shape. Its colors symbolize love, harmony and peace.” The Wells doppelganger scrolled further. “Pink hydrangeas symbolize heartfelt emotions.” Interesting. HR continued his research, glancing at the other flower type that resting in the vase. “Forget-me-nots symbolize true love and respect. When you give someone these tiny blooms, it represents a promise that you will always remember them and will keep them in your thoughts. They are also considered a symbol of fidelity and faithfulness.” A particular link caught his eye, he clicked on it. The novelist read to himself the text once more, “Based on Christian lore, the story about forget-me-nots is that God was walking in the Garden of Eden. He saw a blue flower and asked it its name. The flower was a shy flower and whispered that he had forgotten his name. God renamed the flower as forget-me-not saying that He will not forget the flower.”

HR swallowed thickly; contrary to popular belief around here, he wasn’t stupid. Sure, he wasn’t a science-based genius, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t an expert on other aspects of life and had basic common sense. The author was emotionally intelligent and intact with the world around him. These flowers weren’t picked out on accident. But who would do that? Who doesn’t want me to forget about them? The dark-haired man shook his head slightly as he shut his laptop. A surge of sadness welled inside him at the notion of ‘being forgotten’. Who had he done that to? He’d get to the bottom of this mystery in due time. Right now, I need to jog my memory on what I was writing. A hand found a rough draft paper, his eyes scanned over the words he had typed out. His brows creased as the written notes he’d made on the paper as well. (Y/N) … I had… What had I been writing about again? The novelist read each line, each note he had made no drafts and scratch paper.

The hairs at the back of his neck stood up as realization hit him the more he had read on. The drafts, the notes, all of it – the little novel he had been writing regarding his adventures. But this particular part of his story – the ‘angel’ in his story. The one who stuck by him since coming here, the one who had given him a safe space… And the one he hadn’t seen since waking up. How could he forget? HR lowered the paper; his eyes became half-lidded as guilt shot through him. Before Barry had gone to the future and gotten hints of Tracy with her Speed Bazooka, HR had been working on his book. A book that he had pushed off to stick with Tracy and help in any way that he can to make the speed weapon possible. He had gotten distracted from doing the things he loves. A few conjectures arose in his mind as he slipped his glasses off, one arm end pressed to his lips. His heart hammered into his chest; you were among the last faces he had seen before passing out that night.

The irony. How could I forget that (Y/N) was the ‘angel’ in my story?

***

“Look at you, up and at ‘em.” Cisco strolled into the lounge with a cheeky grin. The mechanical genius didn’t take HR for granted anymore, not with the stunt he pulled. No, Cisco willingly checked up on him – not just for you, but for himself. HR had truly become one of his close friends in the end, especially with all the advice about Gypsy. “What are you cooking up this time?”

“Just an omelet with a side of bacon and toast, Francisco,” HR turned to the mechanical engineer who continued to tinker away at the schematics to get Barry out of the Speedforce. He offered Cisco some with a gesture only for the scientist to politely decline. “I haven’t seen (Y/N) anywhere. Um, is she also…?”

“Oh, you know how she’s like. Either up in the vents or chilling in her birds’ nest on the roof. And on that note, our resident hummingbird has become quite the firecracker.”

HR raised an eyebrow at his friend. “How so?”

“She punched Savitar square in the face then decked him multiple times over when Barry brought him in. Harry had to be the one to pull her away – well, more like carry her away kicking and screaming bloody murder at him. It sounded badass; wish I had been there to see it.”

The Wells doppelganger gritted his teeth at the mental image of Harry carrying you – touching you. The thought ruffled his feathers for some reason. HR expertly masked his irritation, turning the stove off and assembling the food on his plate. “Why?”

“Because he hurt you, HR.”

“…”

“He almost killed you.” And that was unforgivable, especially to her. “We almost lost you. She almost lost you.”

A rough sigh escaped HR as Cisco had sent him a knowing look before exiting the STAR Labs lounge. The Earth-19 man chewed on the inside of his cheek. Only a fool would misunderstand Cisco’s subtle intentions. HR knew what he had to do – he’d been reflecting on his time here, thinking about the people around him, about the relationships he’s formed. The novelist glanced outside – the sun shined, the birds chirped, and the trees rustled with the wind.

And the world continues to move on.

***

“When are you going to tell him?”

“…” You tensed at the abrupt voice. You snapped your head up, eyes darting to find Cisco approaching you with pocketed hands in his gray-black jacket. He wore a Bulbasaur shirt. The clouds surged by with the intensity of the breeze. Your hair blew over your shoulders slightly. Tilting your head, you turned back to watch the city. Days had passed and you refused to see HR, content on what Cisco had been telling you. He’d been recovering tremendously well, but… you didn’t really want to hear about what he and Tracy were up to. It wounded you. “Tell who, what?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about, Ms. I’m-going-to-put-my-feelings-in-a-box.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ohohohoho, no. I am tired of the love eyes, the lingering gazes, the pining. It ends.” Your best friend came to sit down next to you with that frustrated look on his face. “I know you have powers.” Your heart stopped in your chest at his accusation. “I know you used your powers to heal HR.” You bit down on your lip, not wanting to validate his statement. Cisco saw “I analyzed the wounds, looked at his healing at a microscopic level. I’m not Caitlin, but even I can pick up a few things. His cells were excelled to heal, but there were residues of your genetic markers at the wound point. You stitched his wounds together, cell-by-cell. My point is: why didn’t you say anything? Your powers are a-”

“-A curse.”

“What?”

“They’re a curse.” You threw a hard look at Cisco, making sure your hands wouldn’t touch him. “I can’t be playing God, Cisco. And… it’s unpredictable, volatile. I could either heal the life in my hands or take it away. I could rip someone ‘cell-by-cell’, Cisco. There’s no ‘in between’, not this time. He got lucky with my powers. He got lucky I didn’t make things 100% irreversible.”

“But why didn’t you say anything?” Cisco eyed the gloves you wore; it wasn’t the season for leather gloves.

“Because I didn’t want to give anyone false hope.”

“You don’t want to give yourself false hope, you mean.”

“…I can’t even heal a plant, Cisco. No matter how hard I tried, it wilted further. It’s a curse.”

“That’s not guaranteed every time, you know. It takes practice – discipline to get your powers to work with you instead of for you.” He nudged your shoulder with his, turning his gaze to the flock of birds drifting through the wind. “You know, he broke up with Tracy.”

“Ok?”

“Happened a week ago. She didn’t take it well and let me tell you. Tracy Brand was livid – the rage and yelling were off the charts. I think she has Harry beat. I knew it wasn’t going to last anyway, it was too superficial to begin with.”

“Uh huh.” You tried to sound uninterested, but deep down you were relieved. You heard a little ring in your ear. You wondered…

“She’s gone, won’t be coming here anymore.

“Ok.”

“So, go make your move.”

You turned abruptly to face him. “Cisco, have you thought that maybe HR doesn’t want to dive into a relationship right away? That… maybe he needs space to focus on himself?” All were things you had contemplated for yourself before.

“And what better way to do that than with a new roommate.”

“Excuse me?”

“Surprise, you’re getting a temporary roommate while we fully fix up things around the labs. I volunteered you since you have the space and the patience to deal with HR.” Your blood froze in your veins.

“Francisco Ramon, I am going to-”

“-Thank me, you’re going to thank me.” He had already breached away before you had the chance to strangle him. Heat rushed to your cheeks at the idea of HR living with you, even if it was a temporary living arrangement. You scolded your heart for beating loudly in your chest. One hand gripped tightly to your other. An audible sigh escaped you as your mind played with the idea.

Shit, what am I going to do?

***Day 1***

Cisco blew out an exhausted breath, setting down another box on top of a box in the guest room. You and the mechanical genius had been breaching back and forth with HR’s things as said novelist was crippled. His arm would take about another four weeks to heal. About 20 percent of shoulder fractures are displaced and may require some type of manipulation to restore normal anatomy. Occasionally the rotator cuff muscles are injured or torn at the same time as the fracture. Fortunately for HR, his rotator cuff muscles weren’t as damaged. This can further complicate the treatment. Therefore, in that time, HR would just be handling the lighter stuff, bless his heart. The novelist entered the room with his black backpack slung over his functioning shoulder – it was the last thing that he could carry.

“I think there’s one more box left,” HR pointed with his thumb towards his back direction, the breach closing behind him.

“I’ll go get it, not a problem. Why don’t you two get started on unpacking, huh?” HR shrugged with one shoulder and stepped away to set his bag down by the bed. Cisco threw a cheeky look your way when HR had his back turned, his eyebrows wiggling. ‘Have fun love birds,’ the scientist had mouthed at you. You flicked him off with a deadpanned look. Instantly you dropped it when the Wells doppelganger turned as Cisco snickered before he breached away. He gave you a confused look, but you waved it off.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For allowing me to stay obviously. And for all the help since I’m, well, a bit tangled up at the moment.”

He was referring to the cross-body sling that clung onto him like a spider. HR rubbed the back of his neck, and you didn’t miss the way his bicep flexed at the motion in that gray short-sleeve shirt. Calm the fuck down, it’s just a toned muscle. You’ve seen things like that before. The puppy-like smile HR sent you had your cheeks warming up. The gentle smile that made your heart melt all over again. You cleared your throat as you reached for a box. “It’s no big deal, HR.” Undoing the tape seal with scissors, you opened the box- and the first thing you see are a pair of handcuffs accompanied by a silky black blindfold.

“What’s in the box?”

A little noise left you as you shut the flaps of the box, trying to seal it again. The flaps remained downward in the box. “Nope, nothing. Just some clothes here. I’m going to get that one box from the living room.” You had backtracked right into the door, your nose throbbed in response at the collision. “Ow,” you muttered to yourself, rubbing the skin.

“You ok?”

“I’m fine,” your response was quick, but not rude. A deep chuckle made its way to your ears as you scrambled out the room, your heart hammering in your chest. Your thoughts scolded you for being so awkward and flustered around him. Be cool, just chill out… The man you’re hopelessly in love with is just living with you temporarily, it’s not like anything will amount from this. You picked up the last box in the living room, hoping that just clothes would be in here and not anymore kink toys. I mean… I have toys, too. AW SHIT, I HAVE TO HIDE THEM!

HR’s eyes never left you as you made your panicked exit. He let out a little breath before shuffling over to the box you had been attending to. Immediately, he face-palmed hard when he had opened it with one hand. His face felt impossibly hot at what you had seen. She must think I’m an idiot or something. His mind thought back to when you helped him shop for some new clothes then it had gotten ruined from a meta. His hand fell away from his face, the image of your kind grin imprinted in his mind. I am an idiot, though. A fool.

Once Cisco returned, you three continued unpacking HR’s things for the time he’d spend here. The labs were still in ‘piss-poor’ shape according to Cisco and that he’ll need to consult with Harry and Wally regarding repairs.

“HR, how are you showering?”

“Um, like a normal person?” A dumbfounded look crossed HR’s features as he set the plate of sandwiches down. The novelist had knitted his eyebrows at Cisco. He had taken up to experimenting in the kitchen when he wasn’t writing. The tea and coffee were still brewing in your kitchen.

“No, I mean with how your shoulder is injured,” Cisco snuck an evil look at you, you returned it with a glare, “must be hard handling it alone.” You knew exactly where this dumbass wanted to take this conversation, so you stayed silent as to not get caught in the crossfire.

HR thought to himself for a moment. “Just a bit, but I’ve gotten used to the mild discomforts and pain. I can mostly reach everything thanks to my long limbs. But I think the nice thing is that it’s an internal issue, not an external one. An external injury or wound would require me to really have help with showering that way the area doesn’t get infected or irritated with the contents of soaps.” A laugh fell from his lips, but his mind wondered what his friend was playing at while you were around.

“I’m just saying, if you ever need a hand well,” Cisco trailed off with a smirk, chomping on his third sandwich.

Oh, I see. Devious, but a futile effort. “I’ll make sure you’re the first one I ask for help,” HR teased with a smirk of his own for Cisco to drop his in disgust. A cough escaped you, which had HR’s eyes land on you. Your eyes met for a moment before you deviated your gaze. HR felt hypnotized for a moment. Hm… The engineer quickly recovered from HR’s snide remark.

“Alright kids, I’ll be going now. The labs require some diligent work that I, a capable and distinguished engineer, could only do.”

“Yet, we still have the occasional security issues,” You sipped your tea once the snarky comment was out. HR stifled a chuckle, but you heard it. The corners of your mouth lifted slightly at the notion.

“Hey, that’s not fair. They always come up with something new to invade our space by.” Cisco pointed a finger at you, mocking a hurtful expression on his face. It dropped into a sneaky smile. “Make good choices and always use protection, you two!” He breached away before you could throw your cup at him.

***Multiple Days Pass***

Through his time here, you noticed HR fueled to write what’s on his mind in the guest room. You could only assume that he continued his adventure story. Sometimes he would venture out for some coffee or take a walk to give his creativity a break. Keeping that in mind, you gave HR the space he needed as well as all noises to a minimum. You knew he liked the quiet atmosphere to pour his heart and soul into words as he did research for a scene. Pulling your jacket on, you compiled a list of groceries before you stepped out of your apartment. Locking the door, you headed out to the store picking up a few necessities as well as some snacks for HR. Like Harry, the novelist can easily lose himself in his task – which meant that he tended to forget about eating and such. You found a bag of Jitters coffee beans, adding it to your cart of items. Buying some snacks and fruit, you’d leave a note in the kitchen of the snacks when he emerged from his writing cave.

On the way back, you stopped by at Iris’ studio to check up on her. A few groceries for her as well were in hand. Cecile and you did your best to visit Iris. But you can’t deny that you blamed her to a certain extent. Had she spoken up once she had left Savitar’s place disguised as HR, HR wouldn’t have been hurt that night on Infantino Street. Surely, she could have contacted her father or Cisco or something. The transition could have been smoother. HR wouldn’t have been… The journalist was faring; she pushed through the pain and as Barry had told her ‘to keep living’. So, Iris did. She hadn’t been herself since Barry went into the Speedforce – she pushed too much, the smile wouldn’t reach her eyes sometimes. You sympathized; she lost the love of her life. But you almost had too.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine, just… taking it one day at a time.” You nodded at her response, a small smile on your face. “How are things with you and HR? I heard of the temporary living conditions.”

“It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m in my bubble and he’s in his doing his writing.”

“Right. Nothing going on whatsoever?”

“Iris.”

Iris set her cup of hot chocolate down and raised both hands in mock defeat. “We all saw it. We all see it.”

“See what?”

“How smitten you are for him.”

“I’m not-”

“-Don’t say you’re not. If you weren’t you, Harry wouldn’t have to pry you off Savitar before you clawed his eyes out.”

“…” You just looked into your tea, the honey that settled at the bottom. Iris placed a sympathetic hand on your shoulder, but you didn’t look at her.

“The heart will want what it wants, (Y/N). Pushing your feelings into a box and denying it out loud won’t change things.”

“I know.”

And my heart wants him, over and over again. Even if he can’t see me.

***

HR tapped his pencil against the desk at a steady pace. His mind wouldn’t focus on the words in front of him, on the scene he wanted to set. Instead, it kept drifting further from it. Further towards you: your eyes, your smile, the kindness that you held; the serenity that your existence held as the world continued to turn and chaos had unfolded at each turn. HR didn’t see much of you while he was here, the novelist missed your company. You were here, but you weren’t really here. You were either in your room or at the balcony with a book or on the couch with your Switch. He didn’t want to bother you, but… sometimes HR just wanted to sit beside you and pull you close to talk. To hold you in his arms and ask you about your day, to understand what you were thinking. HR cracked his back in a stretch from where he sat on his bed, being mindful of his injured shoulder. It didn’t hurt as it had originally done a few weeks back. The Wells doppelganger noticed that you were careful to avoid touching him or him touching you. Not even a hug that you used to graciously give him. You were especially guarded with your hands. A rough sigh left him as he threw his pencil down. The frustration was setting in, he was getting nowhere. You consumed his thoughts. HR wondered if you were revolted by him but doesn’t verbalize his thoughts to you. He didn’t think you’d give him your truthful answer. Maybe she is revolted by me. She did find the cuffs and the blindfold… No, she knew about the cuff stage thing well before that.

The sound of the front door greeted his ears followed by the soft tune of music. A frown made its way onto his face. Might as well take a break. HR stretched once more when he fully stood up, a little noise of relief left his lips. He cracked his back once more before smelling himself. For safe measure, the novelist sprayed a bit of cologne on himself and turned off the candle he had on. He mentally noted to take a shower after dinner since his last was yesterday. He liked the feeling of being clean, to be honest. HR carded a hand through his hair. I need a haircut soon, too. Yeesh, I feel like I’m letting myself go. Once I’m all healed it’s back to proper cuts and the labs’ recreation room. He wanted to go back to lifting weights and doing yoga for body stability purposes – especially now because of his shoulder. HR rested a hand on his chest, the wound had healed completely, but a scar remained. Upon entering the kitchen, he saw the groceries on the table and heard you whisper along with the lyrics. The music was set to a low level that your whispers were audible enough. He watched you sway a bit with the tune.

So please don't break my heart

Don't tear me apart

I know how it starts

Trust me I've been broken before

Don't break me again

I am delicate

Please don't break my heart

Trust me I've been broken before

The guitar tune pulled at his heart, feeling the raw emotion behind the lyrics. He eyed you for a moment. HR cleared his throat to make his presence known, he knew you didn’t like to be snuck up on. However, a little gasp left you from where you were. “You went out shopping?”

You looked up from where you crouched to put away the cereal. “Uh yeah, we were running low on some stuff.” You shut the cabinet and went to the other items you had bought. The music continued to delicately play.

“Need any help?”

“Um, sure. Uh, just set these into the cabinet on the left.” Normal, be normal. He’s not going to eat you or anything. Distance is good. Distance keeps you safe. You didn’t meet his eyes, the eyes that’d pull you in and never let you out – your heart shook with him here and the song that played. You were hoping HR wouldn’t come out while you prepped dinner to have a sort of peace of mind. The next song played before you could stop it-

My last made me feel like I would never try again

But when I saw you, I felt something I never felt

Come closer, I'll give you all my love

If you treat me right, baby, I'll give you everything

“I like this song,” HR started as he was finishing up with putting his side of the groceries away. Another guitar-like song that brought out the soft feelings of love and rejection. HR mused to himself if fate had planned this out. If this was some sort of sign or a cruel joke… You had stopped yourself from clicking the button to skip the song at his comment. You don’t know what possessed you to let him indulge in another song that you’ve cried to late at night. “Hey, I can cook dinner tonight. I have something I’ve been wanting to try. I’m not that crippled so I can manage with a few cookware.” HR chuckled to himself, a goofy grin on his face. Your heart leapt in your chest; his grin caused a small smile to pull at your lips. “You can wash up first?”

You swallowed thickly, your eyes meeting his icy blues. You felt your cheeks warm up slightly as the nerves crawled up your spine. “Oh, ok. Cool, yeah. Can’t wait to see what you cook up.” You nodded, ducking your head away and shuffling out of the kitchen with that shy smile on your face. You missed the longing look he had sent you as you fastened your steps to head to your room.

God I love that smile. What goes on in that little head of yours? We used to be so close… before Tracy came into the picture. HR pulled out the spices and the chicken breast. He shook his head and proceeded to prep the food with his one useful hand. I need to consult Francisco.

***

“We need to talk,” HR’s voice broke the silence in the side lab of the Cortex. He had breached to the labs using the Breach Extrapolator after he had showered and such. His damp hair was pushed back in HR’s normal style.

“About what?” Cisco raised a concerned eyebrow at the writer, stopping what he had been doing.

“(Y/N).”

A nervous laugh left Cisco as he went back to attempting to make the necessary modifications to the Speed Bazooka. Tracy was reluctant to help the mechanical engineer after the breakup. “What about (Y/N)?” Cisco put down his screwdriver. “Did you do something weird to her?”

“What? No! I- we used to be closer. We always talked, we’d hang out after a long day here at the labs.”

“Uh huh.”

“And, maybe it’s just me, but things have changed.”

“How so?” Cisco was wondering what conclusion HR was leading himself to.

“Things changed when Tracy came into the picture.”

Cisco made a little ‘o’ with his mouth with a little nod before closing it. He pushed a rough sigh past his lips, he was getting really tired of this puppy love game. “Why do you think that?”

“Francisco, she flinches when I get close – almost when I touch her… Does she hate me?”

“I think you and I know the answer to that one. But I think the real question should be: Why do you care so much? Why does it bother you? Do you love her, HR?”

The novelist tensed a bit. “…” HR pursed his lips as Cisco walked around the table that the speed weapon was mounted on. Blueprints were scattered on one table while the glass board held variables and equations he could not decipher. “What?”

“I said what I said,” the mechanical genius smoothly responded. One look at HR and Cisco knew that he was baffled by his forward words. But they needed to be said. “Now run along and use that head of yours to think about what your heart wants. Barry isn’t going to get himself out of the Speedforce.”

***

Cisco’s words mulled through HR’s mind as he breached back to your apartment’s living room. Only the lamp light on the side table was on. HR’s eyes landed on you, who laid on the couch with the book you had been reading on the back ledge of the couch. The novelist took off his shoes and set down his bag. He had detoured to the bookstore, looking for the next installment of your current book. The Wells doppelganger had assumed you didn’t buy it yet as it was vacant from your bookshelf. The gentle giant stepped silently closer to you; the dim light cast over you like a glow. There were slight bags under your eyes. She hasn’t been sleeping well lately. Spotting a large and fluffy blanket near, HR grabs it and lays it on top of you. He remembered you mentioned to him prior that you easily get cold, especially at night. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, HR contemplated something before his body moved impulsively. The novelist placed a gentle kiss on your forehead; his lips lingered for a few more seconds. Pulling back, HR watched your chest rise and fall. He turned the light off and stumbled over to his room with his phone light guiding him. He knew what he was going to write. Cisco’s question pestered him enough though.

Do you love her, HR?

HR took one look out his door before shutting it, his heart squeezed tightly in his chest as he whispered, “Goodnight, my angel.” Only the shadows that lingered were a witness to the fondness laced in those simple words.

***

You woke up with a start, you hand instantly smacking right into your chest. Heavy breaths left you as your nerves were in overdrive. Cold sweat beaded your skin as you gasp for air. It was another night terror – the same one for a few weeks now; a new way in which you caused HR’s death. Swallowing thickly, you screw your eyes tightly shut and whisper the mantra that calmed you down. After a few minutes, you started to regain control of your breathing – the thoughts that ravaged your mind finally ceased like the tides subsiding after a tsunami. You blinked languidly, hating nights like these. They weren’t rare, but they weren’t an uncommon occurrence. Deciding that you needed to step out for some air, you did so with the intent of getting a glass of water from the kitchen. Your fingers found the lights for the dimmers in your room, setting it to its lowest setting for you to see yourself out.

Cracking the door open, you were instantly met with the scene of HR passed out on the couch again. He’s been doing that for around two weeks now, the couch his new base of operations. His mouth was slightly open as little snores escaped him. A lovestruck smile crossed your features at the sight. Papers were littered around him, on the ground, and on the tables. Must be the manuscript he’s working on for his final draft. I hope I can read it at some point. Coming back from the kitchen with the water in hand you couldn’t help but stop to admire the sight. You noticed the glasses still perched on his face. Moving as silent as a ninja, you inched closer to pull off the glasses from his face. They’ll break if he keeps them on while he sleeps. Then he won’t see for shit when reading things. You nibbled on your bottom lip as your eyes drifted to the papers. One peek won’t hurt anyone. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Seating yourself on the ground, you leaned your back against the foundation of the couch. You were opposite to where HR’s upper body was. If there were any telltale signs of him waking, you’d hightail out before he could fully wake up and process what you were doing. Picking up a small stack, you started sifting through them. Your mind became engrossed with the words – the beginnings of the story he had spun about his adventures as to how he came to Earth-1. Then… mentions of an angel eluded you. It couldn’t be Tracy, could it? I know they broke up, but… on the other hand, it doesn’t mean that he can’t say that she was his angel at the time. Like a character development thing leading to their break up?? Well fuck, I don’t even think he’d mention such a personal thing in his book. I know I wouldn’t… would I? I don’t know. A little smile danced at your lips while you read on about the synonymous things regarding Team Flash that you failed to notice HR rouse from sleep.

“Do you like it?” Lethargy intertwined his words. A stunned noise left you as you clutched the papers. You turned to see HR rubbing his eyes before gazing at you.

I could get lost in those eyes if I stared too long.

“Uh, yeah, its- it’s really good,” you stuttered, setting the papers down in your lap. Embarrassment of getting caught gripped you. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind you taking a peek. I don’t have anything to be ashamed of in it.” HR shifted his lithe body to sit next to you on the ground.

“Oh.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“No.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“It’s not that important, I’ll be ok.”

“If you say so,” HR’s shoulders sagged slightly. “I’m here if you want to talk.” You nodded at him, whispering a little thank you. HR ran a hand over his knee, he took a glimpse at you who stared at the papers. He noticed what chapter you hand been reading – the angel was making an appearance in the story. The hair at the back of his neck stood while you thumbed the words on the paper back in forth, just lost in your mind. Your hair was messy from sleep, the bags under your eyes were still there. It killed him how you wouldn’t confide in him anymore. But he didn’t push you. You would open up to him if you wanted to or not, even if he wanted you to do so as so his mind can be at ease with knowing what’s going on with you. Cisco’s question sprang up in his mind once more before he licked his lips, his eyes watching you. “I do.”

You gave HR a strange look. I do, what?

“Tracy wasn’t her.” Realization struck HR the more you whispered with him.

“Huh??”

“I heard this voice before I woke up.” The novelist fully turned to you with intense eyes, the enlightenment in them – the fire that burned brightly. “The tenderness in it could rival any tasteful delight in the multiverse.”

“A voice?”

“Mm, it made me think that only a heavenly deity would have such a voice.” You remained silent as he spoke. “I never got to hear that voice since my coma… until now?”

You tensed at what he was insinuating. “Now?”

“How could I forget?”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“How could I forget about you?” The baritone huskiness in his voice made you melt with the way he said those words. You swallowed, trying to calm the butterflies that raged in the pit of your stomach. “The flowers that were left – beautiful, delicate, yet meaningful. You left those after visiting me.”

“…”

She didn’t deny it. “But you never visited when I was awake because of Tracy.”

“She hates me.”

“And I was too blind to see that until I broke up with her, she threw quite a fit.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because you must have loved her so much that it would be hard to let go.” She was your angel, after all.

“She didn’t even know me. Truly know me.”

“… Did she hurt you?”

“Slightly, but the bruise is gone.” You and he were silent for a moment. Only the sound of a distant car horn was heard from the streets. “You didn’t deny it.”

“Deny what?”

“The flowers, the visit…” HR licked his lips as a rough breath left him. His nerves were climbing, but he needed to do this. “Cisco told me what you did to Savitar when you saw him. How angry you were that Harry had to pry you off him – I was so angry.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know then… but I know now.”

“And?”

“Tracy was never the one written in my story – she didn’t care. She didn’t see me for anything other than a pretty face obsessed with coffee. You did.” HR tucked your hair behind your ear, carefully gauging your reaction. He saw how you tried not to flinch away from him. “Do you hate me?” He asked as he retracted a hand from you, happy that he was at least getting through to you.

“Never could I feel such a way towards you.” You hesitated for a moment before testing the waters. You started to explain, “I- the night you were stabbed by Savitar I… I just broke. I pushed Tracy away, I had Barry rush you back to the labs. You were dying, unconscious on the gurney and… I got to work trying to resuscitate you. I had Cisco take care of Tracy while I worked, I needed space to think clearly, but I couldn’t. When- when the others were preoccupied with Iris’ appearance, I used these powers.” It was now or never. “I was desperate. Your life was hanging by a thread- I didn’t think it was going to work, but nothing else was working. You were bleeding so much. But I had to try. I…” Your glassy eyes locked back on his, your hands pulled close to your body. HR understood now why you never tried touching him. Why you are avoiding getting too close. “Cisco found out, he confronted me. But these powers, life isn’t guaranteed. They’re volatile, unprecedented – regardless of how I feel in the moment the balance can tip between giving a life and taking one.” There was a tightness in your chest as your voice cracked, “I’m cursed, I could hurt you.” I’m dangerous.

“I don’t think you will.”

“You don’t know that!”

“But I do,” HR reached a hand out to hold yours. Tension filled your heart as panic started to settle. “You wouldn’t let yourself hurt me. It would pain you too much.” HR squeezed your slightly shaky hand, his other hand still bound by the cross-sling. “My life is in your hands.”

“How can you trust me so much?”

“Because love cannot be built without a foundation of trust.” He placed a sweet kiss on the knuckles of your hand. “And understanding.” He took the other and kissed it, baby blue eyes shifted back to yours with such intense emotion. The adoration that filled the author to the brim for you. Just for you. Only you. The one who saw him for everything and anything that he is. His safe space – the one other thing he wanted to be for you as well. He wanted to eliminate any fears that resided in your heart, the pain and doubt that remained.

“Do you hate me?”

HR cupped your cheek tenderly as he leaned close, your heart wanted to stop as blood rushed to your cheeks and ears. Your half-lidded eyes shut slowly as his lips skimmed over your own. “Never in my life, angel,” the novelist whispered as he captured your lips in a tender and sentimental kiss.

Never in my life could I hate the one who my heart has yearned for.

#harrison wells x reader #harrison wells #hr wells x reader #hr wells #hr wells imagine #the flash cw #the flash #harrison wells imagines #earth 19 harrison wells #cw #cisco ramon #tracy brand #iris west #Iris West-Allen

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mittensmorgul · 4 years ago

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So for the most part, I outright reject the finale. But I do think, in light of the whole "Jimmy was supposed to be in the bar, and Dean was disappointed by that because his perfect heaven would have Cas in it" just makes me all the more convinced that the final episode was some kind of djinn dream. Like.... There's no other explanation in my opinion. If Dean's perfect heaven was supposed to have Cas, and he tragically gets faked out by Jimmy (????? Why tf would jimmy be there anyway), it just proves that it's not ACTUALLY heaven. That, along with he El Sol beer he's drinking is all the evidence I need. I think after 15x19, Dean and Sam got whammied by some monster, and are stuck in a hallucination, and that's what we're seeing. (My headcanon is that it's actually The Empty doing it, because it knows if it doesn't keep Dean and Sam occupied and spinning in circles, they'll invade the Empty to save Cas. So its trying to prevent that) :)

Hello, anon friendo! I am gonna start by offering the socially distanced version of a high five, because yeah... There is just so much to unpack here, and you provided such a succinct and all-encompassing series of statements to start from. Thank you!

*flings open array of questionable suitcases*

First off, Congrats on having rejected the finale. I know a lot of folks are still struggling with that one, for many reasons. But you have hit upon so many of the points I’ve been trying to make about the finale since it aired. I’d just like to start with some of the assumptions I’ve heard from folks about the finale that make it impossible for me to consider it fully honestly canon. Because so much about it just makes no goshdang sense... like... not at all...

One of the biggest issues I have surrounding the reception of the finale in parts of fandom is that it portrayed a “happy ending.” The show itself spent the entire final season telling us that a gravestone marked Winchester was not and never would be a happy ending (thank you Becky Rosen-- words I never thought I’d say, but honestly and most sincerely meant). Let’s break this down a bit.

Starting from the assumption that “heaven was fixed” so that characters could have true free will there, making it satisfying in any way that Dean died so young and never got to truly experience happiness during life, I would like anyone who has adopted this attitude to then explain Kansas the band. I mean... explain that in any satisfactory canon-compliant way. (hint: you can’t. it makes zero sense in canon, if heaven is truly reformed and “happy” with everyone in possession of free will.)

Which brings me to Misha’s comments about Jimmy being in the Roadhouse. Why, if heaven were truly fixed, would Jimmy ever in a bazillion years attend a party for Dean Winchester? If Heaven were truly a “happy” ending for Dean, why introduce this element of eternal tragedy and heartbreak to his heaven experience? Why taunt him with the eternal loss of Cas-- even if you don’t think he reciprocated Cas’s romantic feelings, he was canonically the best friend Dean ever had, and being forced to exist forever in a place where he had everyone else he ever cared for except for Cas? Is frankly horrific.

How the actual fuck is that a happy ending, in any sense of the word?

How is this the sort of heaven that Dean would’ve made for himself before it was “fixed?” At least in the memorex heaven, he could’ve lived in oblivious peace with Cas, even if it was always just his own memories and not ~actually Cas~. I honestly think that would’ve been happier than the abject tragedy of what we did get, and what we would’ve gotten had the original script played out.

All of this kind of makes me wonder if they ever even actually defeated Chuck. Like... it feels more like Dean got pulled into the Empty at that moment with Cas and Billie, and everything else after that point was the Empty’s endless experience of sorrow and despair we knew it subject its charges to. So that’s one potential for what could’ve actually happened. I mean, everything about the finale was sorrow and despair, you know? Dean didn’t even get to enjoy his pie at a pie festival because Sam smashed in in his face. How is any of it happy, in any way?

Because if that was actually heaven, there wasn’t actually any free will (because why tf would Kansas the band have chosen to put on that concert? why tf would Jimmy have been there, just to torment Dean with the taunt of Cas returning to him only to have that hope snatched away again? It’s cruel. It’s, in fact, a source of intense despair).

The djinn theory could also work, and I’ve read some excellent fix-it fic using that as a premise. But that doesn’t really explain what happened to Jack (and Amara, since she was in there with them) after hoovering up Chuck’s power, you know? I think the simplest explanations in canon are that Chuck actually won via the unified power of Light and Dark being transferred into Jack and effectively using him as a vessel. With Sam and Dean convinced they’d won, they effectively stopped resisting Chuck’s story for them, and using Jack’s understanding of humanity and the Winchesters specifically, Chuck finally was able to implement a version of his story that the Winchesters would just waltz into without thinking it was supernaturally influenced at all. Going bigger and bigger with monsters and cosmic troubles hadn’t worked, but going so small Sam and Dean would barely even notice the influence-- even with the incongruous reappearance of a vampire that appeared in their lives once, for like two whole minutes 15 years ago, and an unsolved case from the journal from more than 30 years ago that John had never even linked to vampires at all.

At this point, I need to mention that I’m watching 10.23 as I type this up. An episode in which we confront the Mark, along with Death, and Dean’s despair, where he learns a version of the truth (but by no means the full truth, or even accurate truth in some respects) about Chuck’s Story, Amara/The Darkness, etc. That would unfold more fully over the next five seasons. And what was the case Dean took in this episode? Vampires. LOLOL omg this show is nothing if not horrifically consistent, yes?

So because of this, I went haring off through my own blog looking for a post I made a long time ago about the symbolism of how various monsters are used on this show (because again, consistency). I got sidetracked by other posts in my monsters tag, including this from after 15.09 aired, which feels particularly awfully relevant. This was my reaction to Chuck’s Story he showed Sam in that episode, about what the future would look like should he successfully trap Chuck with a Mark, and which... yeah is basically exactly thematically consistent with what we saw in the finale, right down to a cheesy twist on vampires. Read the whole post right here, but this is the part that reached up and punched me in the face:

this is how Dean personally reacts when he loses Cas. We know how he reacts when he loses anyone else– think about what he did when Charlie died. He went on a murder rampage against the Stynes for killing her. When Mary died he broke some furniture and went full bore toward both resurrecting her and stopping Jack. But without Cas, Dean loses the will to fight. Sam has… always been different. He referenced Jess in 15.04 to remind us of how he was after she died in the pilot episode. Just like John, he picked up the revenge mission and ran with it. But for Dean, Cas is different. Without Cas… Dean gives up.

Because... Dean gave up. Sure, he and Sam weren’t overrun by vampires in the end. Chuck knew they’d never stop fighting the monsters, one way or another. The only way to get Dean to give up is something Chuck hadn’t quite figured out yet... maybe not until after 15.17, after confronting Cas in the hallway of the bunker, after absorbing Amara’s power, knowledge, and perspective on Dean.

Chuck needed Dean to give up, and honestly? Pushing Billie to clear him off the table and send him (and Cas, that pesky angel who never did what he was told) to the Empty would’ve been a direct way to deal with that... pretty much akin to having one sibling locked in a cage forever, yes?

Also, still looking through my monsters tag, I’m reminded of 14.15, and still cannot differentiate the version of Heaven in 15.20 from what was done to the people of that town. This... is not... paradise. This is actively what Dean has been insisting is the OPPOSITE of paradise since like… 4.22… No ending where Dean was a “Stepford bitch in paradise” ever had the possibility of being “happy,” at the core of things, and this “fixed” version of Heaven just doesn’t hold up to any degree of inspection. Something is seriously wrong here. https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/183465650390/so-can-we-talk-about-this-monster-of-the-week-for

And since I was unable to find the post I wrote who knows how long ago about Monsters and how they’re symbolically used on Supernatural to represent larger themes in the episode, I’ll just attempt to sum up what Vampires have been used for. Revenge. Vampires are always, in some way connected to themes of revenge.

(and hooray, I found at least a post adjacent to the one I’ve spent the last four hours trying to find... https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/187207052080/i-obviously-did-not-think-this-through, where I mention that shapeshifters are about revealing hidden truths (mostly about Dean since most shapeshifters are connected to Dean), zombies are about grief and the inability to move past it.)

So why... why at the end of their road is the monster that comes after them-- literally FOR REVENGE for something that had never been blamed on Sam or Dean to begin with, from season 1, directly connected to John’s revenge mission and the first time they learned about the Colt AND the first time they learned in canon that Vampires were even real... like... this feels very specifically like some kind of layers-of-meta levels of shade on them, you know? Vampires are for revenge, so what vengeance exactly is being visited upon Sam and Dean in this episode? If not Chuck’s entire story for them itself?

So yeah, 100% agree, something is incredibly rotten in the finale. And I am sick to effing death of people trying to convince us that anything about this was “good” or “happy” or “satisfying” in any way. Or even “how it was always supposed to end” with Dean dead bloody, as if the entire back half of the series hadn’t been suggesting that a true win was the subversion of all of Chuck’s story for them, and Dean finally being able to have his chosen family all alive, happy, and chilling on a beach somewhere watching the sunset. Nothing will ever convince me that the ending portrayed in 15.20 wasn’t exactly how Chuck thought he “won,” rendering it entirely irrelevant to the rest of canon, unless all of canon was ultimately the tragedy we’d been encouraged to believe would be firmly defeated in the end.

Folks, you can’t have it both ways.

#spn 15.20 #chuck's process #if this was the 'happy' ending for dean they sure did fail big time to make it actually happy!#it makes me feel sick thinking that dean's happy heaven ending was more like an eternal pit of torment #like actively tormenting him and taunting him with the fact that cas was truly gone forever #like wow they went all the fuck out to make it clear that even in heaven #dean would never be allowed to respond to cas's declaration of love #like... it's the most hurtful and hateful thing the show could possibly have done to us #and it still fucks me up knowing there's people who think this heaven was a 'good' ending for dean #like... fuck that entirely and with extreme prejudice #i feel like i have not been emphatic enough about my absolute hatred for this episode in these tags #but sadly there are limitations to expressing the actual feelings i'm feeling in the english language #sometimes the only effective word for these feelings involves velociraptor screeching #Anonymous

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snowbellewells · 3 years ago

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Self-Promo Sunday: “Into the Unknown With You”

Another one shot from my assorted collection “Of Swans and Swords and Hopeful Hearts” - this one playing with some of the ideas I would rather have seen in 6x10 and 6x11, it certainly diverges from canon at that point...

Summary: As Emma searches for a way back home from the Wish Realm, help comes from a surprisingly welcome source...

{One more Author’s Note: The “awfully big adventure” bit is a tiny nod to J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan.}

Can also be found on AO3 or ff.net

“Into the Unknown with You”

by: @snowbellewells

‘No, no, no!’ Emma’s mind reeled horrifically as she stared at the spot where only moments ago the portal had been whirling, her way home to her son and her pirate wide open. She wanted to scream; it couldn’t just be gone, and yet, a second too much hesitation, and the chance was lost. She looked to Regina anxiously, her fists clenched so tightly she felt the impressions her nails cut into her palms. It was all she could do not to rail at Regina, this whole twisted world, and her own bad luck.

‘What now?!?’ she wanted to demand, wanted to shake her former nemesis turned tentative friend, but one glimpse at the other woman’s stunned, disbelieving face staring across the shoreline at her presumed dead True Love, and Emma knew it would be a lost cause. Having stood beside a grave in grateful stupefaction at her own love’s miraculous return to life not so long ago, Emma couldn’t find the heart to remind Regina just yet that she had spent the last day preaching that none of their surroundings or those they encountered in the Wish Realm were real, and hurry her along. She too found herself blinking dazedly at this other – very convincing – version of Robin Hood for a few moments.

Even if her heart was still crying out for her home and her family, for Henry’s soft hair tickling her nose when she placed a kiss to the top of his head, and Killian’s arms enfolding her, she didn’t know where to go in this topsy-turvy version of the homeland she had never actually lived in, and so she had to wait – more impatiently by the minute – until one of these two, either queen or thief, snapped out of their spell and led the way…

As it turned out, Robin Hood was not the sort of outlaw who would truly do harm to two ladies passing through his territory. He wouldn’t have even made to steal their jewels and furs once the same trance that had overcome Regina seemed to strike him mute as well, but Regina offered him a pouch of coins that had been strapped to her waist and a ruby ring, pressing it into his calloused palm with a quirked smile and the assurance that “she insisted, she was much more partial to his cause than he knew”.

Emma wanted to snort at the ridiculous understatement those words were, and she only barely managed to hold back a roll of her eyes, which she sensed the thief saw but let slide with a conspiratorial wink.

Before she could make an argument for trying to catch up to Gold – or Rumplestiltskin here, she supposed – or ask where they were going to find another bean, it was evening, they were entering a forest in the gathering dark, and soon they had been welcomed to sit around a roaring fire with Robin’s motley crew, and even been offered the ale and venison passed around the circle as if they were part of the merry band.

“Now,” the archer began, seated beside Regina, his boy nodding drowsily on his lap. He looked around her to meet Emma’s gaze head on. “You must be thinking that I owe you an apology. Clearly you were about to leave this place, and because of me, you missed your ride.”

She tried to shrug it off nonchalantly, not wanting to get them kicked out in the cold, or to lay blame on him for something he couldn’t have known, but instead, to her own mortification, she felt hot tears stinging in the corners of her eyes. Though her sight grew glassy, Emma refused to let them fall. “So,” she tried for flippant, even if it fell horribly flat, “does that mean you know where we could get a replacement bean and want to help us get it?”

“Actually, Princess Emma,” Robin winked, a knowing sort of mischief in his eye, “I just might.”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

The following morning dawned misty and cool, but fair, and Robin greeted Emma at the simmering coals of the previous night’s campfire with a welcoming grin, Regina at his side on the stump they used for a seat, looking as soft and at ease as Emma had ever seen her, her head resting on his strong shoulder seemingly still half asleep. She and Regina had talked at length the night before, and at long last Emma had accepted that Henry’s adoptive mother wasn’t returning with her yet. “I know he isn’t the same Robin, that this whole place is built on a whim, but I’m not losing him again,” she had whispered vehemently. “There has to be another way to get back…one that he could take as well…if he wanted to…” The emotion welling in Regina’s dark eyes had been raw enough that Emma finally consented to go on without further fighting to change her mind, only giving a nod in affirmation when Regina had asked, “You’ll explain to Henry? Tell him I mean to return as soon as we both can?”

“Ready, your Highness?” the sandy-haired outlaw asked, breaking into Emma’s recent memories once more and looking down at her from where he now stood at the ready. “We should make the harbor by noon, if we set out now.”

“The harbor?” Emma asked breathlessly, dazed for a moment by what this could mean. Her heartbeat kicked up in both anticipation and dread. Surely he wasn’t here too…was he?

“Yes,” Robin answered her spoken question with an amiable nod as he kissed the back of Regina’s hand in farewell and turned to head off with Emma on his heels. “I happen to know a pirate with whom I sometimes trade my less than lawfully acquired goods. He might have just the sort of thing you need to return home…”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

The sound of gulls crying and wheeling overhead and the creak and groan of the wooden docks as they reached the edge of the shore town and neared the sparkling blue harbor was enough to take Emma’s breath away. Robin took a step forward to lead her down the docks, already offering to make introductions, but Emma stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

There before them, as recognizable as always, was the Jolly Roger, bobbing proudly at anchor. Though most might be intimidated by the sight, Emma drew in the first full breath she’d had since remembering herself in this strange realm – as if she had gotten her first real glimpse of home at last. He might still be the vengeful Captain Hook in this reality, but somehow she wasn’t afraid. He would never truly hurt her – and she only wanted to be at his side again without further delay.

Reassuring Robin that she could take it from there, Emma bid him goodbye. Though he looked uncertain, the archer took her at her word and left her with his best wishes. If she clutched his hand a moment longer and a bit tighter than would be normal and bid him be safe a little too fervently – well, she didn’t have to explain herself to anyone here…

At her first step onto the gangplank, a shudder of recognition ran through her, as if the vessel itself was welcoming her back aboard, shivers skittering along her spine. At first glance, the ship seemed deserted, her crew perhaps gathering supplies or unwinding at the nearest tavern, but the air around her wavered, charged suddenly, letting her know she was not alone. Emma felt even before she heard heavy footfalls on the planks or that deep, commanding voice at her back, asking who went there, that she had not gone undetected by the ship’s captain.

Turning, her eyes found him, hungrily drinking in the details; altered, but still without doubt the man she loved. The dark hair was windblown and unruly, practically begging for her fingers to delve into its soft abundance and brush the fringe back off his forehead. Though the strands might be shaggier and generously shot through with grey, it made him no less attractive to her starving eyes. In fact, she only wanted to stare at him all the more, to catalogue every difference, trace the deeper crow’s feet around his eyes and the added lines on his forehead. Those fathomless blue eyes were lined so liberally with the kohl she hadn’t seen him use for some time in their modern Storybrooke life that she almost wanted to chuckle at the effect until she registered the way the blue of his gaze also looked paler – as if washed out by too many tears shed alone and without comfort, or dulled by pain held back because he couldn’t afford to let it show.

Brandishing his moniker, and that dastardly, flirtatious mask he had long since let drop around her, to full effect, Captain Hook stepped well into her personal space. “And who might you be?” he questioned, breath warm on the shell of her ear as he leaned in, hook lifting the heavy rope of her golden braid and tucking it back over her shoulder. It was an achingly familiar gesture and he stood much too close for calm comfort, sending her pulse fluttering again, and yet no recognition lit his gaze as he studied her; the fond devotion she had come to rely on more than she could say was utterly absent, making her heart ache and crack in her chest.

“Princess Emma of Misthaven,” she answered as sturdily as she could, raising her chin and meeting his eye with as much confidence as she could muster. “I had hoped to speak to you on a delicate matter of some importance.”

“A delicate matter, is it?” he asked, his enunciation and the way his tongue caressed his words seductively had not been altered or diminished in the slightest, whatever else had changed. He stood back to his full height, fingers in his waistband, hips thrust forward and looking every bit as sinfully irresistible as he ever did, complete with that wide-open, chest-exposing red vest she had witnessed once in their trip to the past through Zelena’s portal. If she hadn’t known him so well, she might have been fooled by the bravado, but knowing his heart as only a True Love could, she saw the emptiness behind the lascivious look, the pain within the façade – the proper, honorable lieutenant he had been, hating the persona his course had forced him to adopt. Even as he ran his tongue across his lower lip, letting his eyes trace her curves from head to toe almost lewdly, she could see the regret clouding the pupils and the wistful longing – as if he could sense what might have been.

Unable to stop herself, Emma reached forward impulsively, grasping both his hook and hand tightly as she spoke, “Yes, very…but just maybe…I was meant to find you. Maybe you’re the only one who would believe me.”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

Another hour found them below deck in his cabin, seated at the scratched, weathered wooden table which had served him in his lonely meals for ages, Emma’s hand still clinging to his hook where it rested on his thigh, but the other reaching up tentatively to trace that faded scar she knew so well beneath his eye. Hook – though more and more her Killian with every passing moment – had scooted closer to her on the roughhewn bench, blinking in awe as she saw hope returning to his face. He appeared both afraid to believe her words, but also desperate for them to be true.

“So you’re telling me that all of this around us – this whole life – is an illusion?” he asked haltingly, not daring to move his eyes from her face, as though he thought she might disappear as quickly as she had come to him.

“Well, yeah, basically,” she tried to explain. “Or more like…it’s a possibility that didn’t actually come true. There’s this v-villain in my home, in the real timeline that I come from, who made a wish that reset things, and I was sucked into it. I have a son, family and friends, a-and another version of you…who’s my True Love…there missing me. And I have to get back to them.”

“There’s another me?” he breathed, and where anyone else would have been skeptical, he looked merely stunned, wanting. “And…we’re…together?”

“Yeah, we are,” she whispered, laying a hand over his rapidly beating heart and drawing comfort from its rhythm. She already felt stronger, more certain, even with this iteration of her pirate. Her watery smile quirked up into a bit of a smirk at one corner, “And don’t worry, he’s still devilishly handsome.”

Her captain’s eyes fell to their joined hand and hook in his lap, huffing out a laugh at her words. “More so than I, I’d wager,” he murmured.

Emma hummed under her breath, reaching out to run her fingers along a grey streak in his longer hair. “I don’t know about that,” she offered. “There’s something pretty appealing about this model, grey hair and all.”

“You flatter me, Milady,” he teased, that voice still a sinful purr rumbling from his chest as he lifted her hand to press a kiss to its back. Still, emotion welled up beneath the flirtation, making his magnetic gaze all the harder for her to escape. She was blinking, nonplussed and floundering for some audible response, when he straightened and pulled her to her feet with him. “Enough lollygagging then! I’ll prepare the old girl to set sail. It’s time we got you back where you belong!”

For a moment, Emma was stunned anew. This full-on piratical version of her True Love, who didn’t really even know her and had no reason to do anything she said, had not only chosen to believe her story, but was going out of his way to help her – just as he had ever since he turned his ship around to take her to Neverland. The lump in her throat was almost too much to speak around, but Emma managed to croak out, “You really would give anything to help me, wouldn’t you?” even as she shook her head in disbelief.

“Aye,” he affirmed, looking a bit like he was marveling at that fact himself. “I am not sure I fully understand, nor can I explain it to you, but I sense that I would – that I am almost compelled – to help you in any world or time you would appear to me.”

“Thank you,” was all she could really say in response, her wondering smile nearly blinding him with its brilliance.

“Come then,” he offered her his arm, his speech all business again, even while the pointed tips of his ear flushed, clearly uncomfortable with the gratitude and praise. “Above deck, and we’ll be off. I know someone who deals in nigh impossible to procure objects.”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

Standing beside him at the helm just a few short hours later, wind in her hair and the salt spray on her face, it struck Emma that though she was desperate to get home, to make sure her son, her family, and her Killian were alright, she didn’t want to simply abandon this pirate captain beside her. She didn’t know what would happen to him, if he would find something to live for, something to be part of, or if she was dooming him to his quiet desperation…even if he might simply vanish into nothingness with the rest of this ill-fated wish. She didn’t know what happened next, to be completely honest. Laying a hand on his forearm, she gazed up into his face, swallowing hard. “I don’t know what becomes of you, or this realm, when I leave here and go home,” she admitted. “I’m not sure if you all just go on like it never happened, if you cease to exist, if you wander here aimless forever…I just…I don’t know…”

Covering her hand with his, he guided the ship with no more than his hook rested capably on the wheel. “Worry not, Princess,” was his confident response, fervent resolve painted over his strong, careworn features. “We shall still set things right, as they should be. Whatever comes after this – infinity or oblivion – will be an awfully big adventure.”

Tagging: @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @thislassishooked @winterbaby89 @darkcolinodonorgasm @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @stahlop @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @wefoundloveunderthelight @apiratewhopines @lfh1226-linda @xsajx @ineffablecolors @drowned-dreamer @thisonesatellite @kday426 @ultraluckycatnd @xhookswenchx @hookedonapirate @blowmiakisscolin

#self promo sunday #cs canon divergent ff #season 6 divergent one shot #into the unknown with you #wish realm fix-it fic #of a sort?

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speakofgrace · 4 years ago

Text

in any universe || deancas || 2.6k || ao3

For all that Castiel loves humanity, he’s still stiff and awkward around actual humans. He’s not sure the bunker has ever been this full; it certainly hasn’t in the time Sam and Dean have lived there, since they carved themselves a real home.

But now it’s almost overflowing, and Castiel is off-guard. He doesn’t know these people, and he’s sure some of them must have encountered the… other version of him, judging from the way they flinch.

He’s amazed this new Charlie can even look at him.

He perches alone on the stairs, a beer in one hand, and watches Dean, almost scared to take his eyes off him.

He’d told that other version of him that they were the same, and in some ways, that was true; they’d had identical existences for billions of years, as soldiers, as agents of Heaven’s plan. It’s only a handful of decades that separate them.

Maybe even less; that other him had been blind in one eye, and that had unnerved Castiel in a way he’d never experienced before. He’d never, ever seen an angel with a scar on their vessel, and he wonders how many times Naomi drilled into that other angel’s head. He pictures the way not-him’s mouth had twitched and trembled, and he trembles, too.

Maybe Apocalypse world did have a righteous man, and maybe that other him had rebelled, or had tried. He wonders at what exact point it had become too much; when the desire to do what was right had finally broken, when Naomi’s trespassing became too much to bear.

But then Dean laughs at something Charlie says, and it stops mattering, because Castiel does know.

Dean Winchester is saved.

The fight through Hell had been so gruelling, and Castiel almost thought they were going to lose, even as the light of Dean’s soul had come into view, shining brighter even than hell fire. And Castiel had surged forward, sliced through three demons in one hit in his sudden desperation, and reached out to grab.

He remembers the way Dean’s soul had recoiled, the shock of an angel’s touch burning away the muck and leaving a scar on the very essence of him, an explosion of light as Dean’s soul had realised that Castiel was safety, was escape, and had clung on as Castiel flew up, up, up, soaring victorious to bring the Righteous Man home.

When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost!

And it was true; he was lost to Heaven’s control, permanently. No matter how hard they tried to claw him back, he would choose Dean. He had fallen for a human in every way it was possible to fall, and he would do it over and over and over again.

Dean smiles again, and Castiel gets to his feet, drifts over to Dean like a satellite in orbit, a moth caught in the light of his happiness.

Dean grins at him when Cas brushes against his shoulder, waiting for Charlie to finish speaking.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says, and it’s almost true. He respects Charlie deeply, but everything that isn’t Dean has almost taken on a haze of insignificance.

“No big,” she says, taking a sip of her drink.

Dean raises his eyebrows a little then, face shifting into that open, vulnerable expression that Castiel so treasures.

“Can we talk?” Cas asks, voice soft even in the hubbub of the room.

“Of course,” Dean says, gesturing between himself and Charlie.

“No,” Castiel says, “can we talk alone?”

“Oh. Sure.�� Dean nods to Charlie, and she nods back, giving him a little cheers with her drink. “Come on,” he says, turning to head down the corridor.

Castiel follows him to his room, eyes trained on Dean’s shoulders as they walk. He knows he’s standing a little too close, but he doesn’t care, he’s never cared. Something in him will always want to be by Dean’s side, no matter what tries to get in his way.

Dean closes his bedroom door once they’re inside, and Castiel makes no move to step away from Dean, just follows him when Dean sits down on his bed. They’re so close that their thighs brush every time Dean inhales.

“Cas?” He says, and Castiel realises that he’s worried.

“I uh. I met someone interesting.”

“Oh?” Dean says, eyebrows raised and face open, and something in Castiel gives a little lurch.

Dean looks so unburdened when he wears that face. Castiel wants Dean to look like that all the time.

“I met me,” Castiel says, and Dean’s eyes widen even further. The green of them is tinged a dark gold by the lamplight.

“When we went to save Charlie… I was there.”

Dean frowns, apparently more confused than anything else.

“As another rebel?” He asks, and Castiel has to pause, floored by the faith Dean still has in him, even after all his failures.

“No,” Castiel says, and Dean frowns deeper. “As an… interrogator.”

Dean knows what it really means.

“You – he – was working for Michael?”

“Yes.”

“But how?”

Castiel stops, just looks at Dean’s face, the scattering of freckles on his nose.

“There was another me, but there was no you,” Castiel says, and watches Dean’s mouth drop open.

“What do you-”

“That world had no you, no Sam. That other me never rescued you from Hell.”

Dean rolls his eyes then, and Castiel’s heart gives a little lurch.

“Cas, come on, I’m not that important.”

Castiel grabs at his shoulder then, pushes at Dean so they’re face to face.

“Dean, listen to me,” he says. How does Dean still not understand?

“That other me probably had doubts, just like I did. He was blind in one eye, because Naomi had been in his head so many times. And Naomi would have done that to me, if she could.”

Dean looks almost angry, now, like he always does when he thinks about losing people.

“But I broke out of her control, because of you.”

“You said you didn’t know what did it.” Dean says, almost irritated.

“I lied,” Cas says, and he smiles, just with his eyes. “I wanted to thank you.”

“Cas, that was years ago, why-”

“Not just for that. For everything. For saving me.”

Dean looks up then, that wide open look on his face, and Castiel leans forward, almost without thinking.

“I know you don’t feel the same way, but to me, you are the most important thing in the universe. In any universe.”

They’re so close, Dean’s eyes glowing so warm in the lamplight.

“Fuck it,” Dean whispers, and Castiel doesn’t have time to figure out what that means before there are lips on his. They’re soft, hesitant, like Dean’s not sure if Castiel wants this.

(He would laugh, if his mouth wasn’t busy)

Castiel reaches up, cradles Dean’s face in his hands, brushes his thumbs along the curve of Dean’s cheeks, and Dean kisses him gentle, twists his hands in the lapels of Castiel’s coat.

They’re still side by side on the bed, bodies twisting into each other at an awkward angle, even as they both curve towards each other like brackets, and Castiel sighs.

Dean pulls back, so their breaths are touching instead of their lips.

“Wow,” he says, and Castiel agrees, leans forward again to recapture his mouth.

“Hold on,” Dean says, and lets go of Castiel’s coat, ever so gently shrugging his hands away. He leans forward, and Castiel frowns, tilting his head while Dean unlaces and kicks off his boots, and then reaches over to tug off Castiel’s shoes.

Castiel lets him, lets Dean slip his hands under his suit jacket and push, until Castiel is in nothing but his shirt and tie, and Dean smiles, drapes his coats over the end of the bed.

Dean arranges his pillow so he is propped up against it, half-sitting half-lying in front of him.

“Alright,” Dean says, and spreads his arms, “come here.”

And Castiel goes, braces himself over Dean’s body and dips his head down, because it’s been a couple of minutes since they were kissing, and that’s too long.

Dean winds his arms around Castiel’s waist, spreads his hands against Castiel’s back and pulls him down, until Castiel is sitting in Dean’s lap, his hands draped across Dean’s shoulders and his legs braced either side of Dean’s hips.

They kiss slow, and Castiel’s grace is humming and sparking. It’s different to when he held Dean’s bare soul, but it’s no less intense, his grace and his vessel both demanding to be closer closer closer. He kisses Dean deep, tracks every hitch and pause in his breathing, every shift of his fingertips against his back.

He wants to touch Dean everywhere, wants to run his hands and his lips over every inch of him, wants hours or days or forever with Dean like this, warm and pliant and inviting. He slips his fingers beneath the collar of Dean’s shirt, presses against the muscles of Dean’s shoulders and feels the way they shift under his skin.

They don’t have that long, Castiel knows; the bunker is still teeming with people, and someone will come looking for them soon, wonder where they’ve vanished to in the middle of what almost counts as a party. So Castiel contents himself with kisses, with the way Dean’s lips fit against his own, the way Dean’s hands are hitching up his shirt to slide against the skin of his back.

“God, Cas,” Dean says, finally pulling away.

“I hope he’s not here,” Castiel says, still tracing his fingers along the curve of Dean’s neck.

“Alright, smart-ass,” Dean says, but his lips are curved into a smile, and Castiel can’t help himself, so he leans forward again and kisses it.

When Castiel pulls back, Dean bites his bottom lip, and Castiel’s immediate instinct is to bite it for him.

“I,” Dean says, and Castiel pauses; Dean’s always needed time to think about his words, when emotions are concerned. Castiel will give him all the time in the world.

“I can’t say you’re the most important thing. But you’re tied for first place.”

And Castiel kisses him hard, kisses him long and deep and desperate, because he knows exactly what that means, knows how deeply and fiercely Dean loves, and he basks in it, collects up Dean’s breaths and tucks them away inside himself to be treasured.

“Been a while since I’ve kissed someone this long without clothes coming off,” Dean says, smiling again.

“Are you propositioning me?” Castiel smiles back.

“I was gonna say it was kinda nice, but I can work with that.”

“When all this is over,” Castiel breathes into Dean’s mouth, “I’m not letting you out of this bed.”

And Dean blushes, his whole face turning pink and lovely, his eyelids fluttering down as he looks away.

“Cas, we’re gonna have to go back out there in a minute, you can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?” Castiel doubts Dean will fall for it, but it’s worth a shot.

“You know why,” Dean says, and trails his hands down to Castiel’s thighs, tugging him forward and looking at him smugly when Castiel hisses against the friction.

“Fine,” Castiel says, and leans down to kiss one more time. He drags it out as long as he can, and Dean is willing, both of them losing themselves for a good few minutes before Castiel finally pulls himself away and gets to his feet.

Dean stays sprawled on the bed, watching as Cas moves to put his suit and coat back on.

“Don’t,” he says, biting his lip. Castiel tilts his head.

“You look good like that.”

Castiel grabs Dean’s hand and pulls him upright, tugging at him so that Dean collapses against his chest, kissing him for good measure.

“Cas,” Dean almost groans, winding his arms around Castiel’s waist and holding him tight.

“Can you blame me?” Castiel asks, grazing his fingertips over the back of Dean’s head.

“No,” Dean breathes out between kisses. “We’ve got some lost time to make up for.”

“How long?” Castiel asks.

“I don’t know. Years. Since Purgatory, at least.”

Castiel remembers Dean’s prayers, remembers the ache of them, and Dean’s lips are the only thing that take the edge off.

“What about you?” Dean mumbles against his mouth.

“Always. Since Hell.”

Dean pulls back properly then, stares at him with wide eyes.

“Seriously?” He asks, awed.

“It took me a while to figure out,” Castiel says, brushing his thumb over Dean’s cheek, the smile lines near his eyes. “But I remember watching Anna kiss you. It felt… wrong.”

And Dean just keeps staring at him, his jaw gone slack.

“You…” He says, voice barely above a whisper. “Holy shit.”

Castiel trails a hand down, rests it against Dean’s shoulder in the spot where there was once a perfect replica of his handprint. The spark of silver running through his soul remains, a different kind of scar. One that can’t be healed along with Dean’s body.

“I’ve seen a lot of souls, Dean,” Castiel says, “but never one as beautiful as yours.”

“Cheesy bastard,” Dean whispers, laughing against Castiel’s lips. Castiel smiles along with him, but it’s true; Dean is art, Dean is poetry, Dean is every good thing about humanity poured into a golden statue and come to life. Castiel knows every language known to man and then some, and even still, there aren’t the words to describe Dean Winchester.

He tries anyway, traces the shape of those words in English and Enochian and Hebrew against the curve of Dean’s lips, draws fragments of sentences with his fingertips along Dean’s back.

And then there’s a knock at the door. Dean pulls away, eyes dazed.

“Dean, honey, are you in here?”

Dean’s eyes snap into focus, his hands tightening in the back of Castiel’s shirt.

“Yeah, just a sec,” Dean calls. He sounds calm, but Castiel can see the panic.

“It’s alright, Dean. You don’t have to tell her if you don’t want to,” Castiel whispers.

“No, I… I want her to know.”

And Castiel smiles, body flushing warm as Dean smiles back, wide and shining.

“Okay,” Castiel says, and leans forward to peck him on the lips one last time, before he finally pulls away. He reaches down to tuck in his shirt, and Dean straightens his tie as much as he can.

“Ready?” Dean says, eyebrows raised.

“Of course,” Castiel nods. Nudges at Dean’s shoulder with his own.

Dean opens the door, and Mary perks up where she’s waiting in the corridor.

“You okay? Charlie said you-”

And then she notices Castiel, notices his lack of coat and messy hair and the flush on Dean’s face.

She smiles.

“I’m good, Mom,” Dean says, looking her in the eye. He reaches out, tangles his fingers against Castiel’s. “I’m really good.”

Castiel looks down, fascinated by the floor, the doorframe, anything that isn’t Mary’s gaze.

“Good,” Mary says, like it’s simple. Castiel looks up, and she’s still smiling, looking at their joined hands.

Dean grips a little tighter, traces his thumb across the back of Castiel’s hand.

Mary is right; loving Dean is all encompassing and overwhelming, but it’s simple, too.

“Shall we?” Castiel says, gesturing out into the corridor.

“Yeah,” Dean nods.

Mary turns to leave, and Dean follows. He doesn’t let go of Castiel’s hand.

#supernatural #destiel #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #dean #otp: making it up as we go #yes i am still thinking about apocalypseverse thanks for asking #mine: fic

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chipper9906 · 4 years ago

Text

Bound To You - Chapter 13: Reunions

< - - - Previous Chapter

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 15

NOTE: Pairings and Ratings Will Change As Story Is Updated

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 11,456

Overall Word Count: 105,524

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (13/15)

Chapter Preview:

To his right is a building. It’s an old building, but not in that desolate, crumbling way an abandoned building would be. It’s well-loved, with many pairs of feet having walked through its front doors. Its aged wooden exterior has stood the test of time, the weathered appearance only adding to its charm. However, the strange thing about this building is… that it shouldn’t exist. It had burned down, years ago now, taking a beloved friend of the Winchesters with it. And yet, the switched-off neon sign situated above the bar’s awning proudly displayed ‘Harvelle’s Roadhouse’ as if that horrid event had never happened.

Castiel doesn’t have too much time to ponder on that, however, as the third thing he takes in is… himself. Sat upon a less than stable looking wooden chair under the Roadhouse’s awning is the spitting image of himself, although this version of him has forgone his usual trench coat attire, instead opting for a simple pair of well-worn jeans and a button-up shirt. The man waves him over and, without really knowing why, Castiel finds himself walking over.

Link To Fic

Click Below To Keep Reading

Character Key For Telepathic Conversations

'Italic Text' - Castiel

'Bold Text' - Dean

* * *

Castiel opens his eyes.

Which, in itself, is unexpected. His last experience in the Empty was one of… nothingness. He had only awoken once he had heard Dean calling to him, but before that… he was lost in a deep, deep sleep. He had assumed that meant the Empty had decided it was better to just throw him as far into the Empty as possible to sleep through his worst nightmares, allowing the Empty to finally go back to sleep itself.

Perhaps this time was different. Perhaps he had escaped the Empty’s clutches one time too many, woken it up from its slumber for the last time, and will now be subjected to the worst torture imaginable by this very ancient, and very pissed off being.

Either way, the sight that greets him when his eyes open is not of the Empty’s infinite stretches of darkness. He is also not greeted to the sight of the bunker’s ceiling, with the worried faces of the Winchester brothers and Eileen leaning over his freshly made body.

The first sight he sees is the sky; Rich blue in color that he’s sure no type of man-made paint would ever be able to match in even the most magnificent of paintings, dotted with beautifully crafted pillow-like clouds which floated lazily over his head. The gentle warmth of the sun above kissed his skin; not that searing heat that has your skin feeling raw and tight, but that perfectly comfortable temperature that can only be made better by – oh, and there it was: a gentle warm breeze that was cool enough to take off the edge of the sun’s rays, but also warm enough that it doesn’t leave him shivering under his trench-coat.

All of this information comes together in one big conclusion: wherever he had ended up…

He was no longer an Angel.

The surface under his back is hard enough that his shoulder blades have begun to ache, a consistent and uncomfortable pressure that forces him up to his feet. Once his body listens to his commands and has him taking in his surroundings, he’s able to take in the sight of the smooth, tarred road he had been laid out on, stretching out in front of him before bending around a corner and out of sight. Most of the road was surrounded by dense forest on either side, the few rays of light breaking through the tangled branches of the treetops shining down on the sun-bleached grass.

“Hello, Castiel,” The man greets him with a welcoming smile as he stands from the chair. His voice is similar to his own, though not of the same grumbly, rough pitch.

“Is this supposed to be some sort of trick?” Castiel asks the thing wearing his skin, unsure whether to keep his eyes focused on his double, or the strange world he had woken up in.

The man’s smile turns almost sad in nature, seeing the expression on his own face rather… jarring to see. “Ah… you think I’m the Empty, don’t you?”

“I’m dead, am I not?” Castiel answers his question with another question. “Where else would I go?”

“Well, I doubt I could convince you you’re not in that place,” The man places a hand on his own chest as he speaks. “But there is someone waiting to talk you in there that might. A few, actually. We’ve been keeping a close eye on you guys; it’s been both stressful and amusing to watch everything unfold, I can tell you that.”

Castiel’s eyes briefly flicker to the closed door of the Roadhouse at the man’s jab of a thumb behind himself, his new ears picking up the sound of soft music, chatter, and laughter emitting from within. “This… this isn’t the Empty?”

“Nope.”

“And… you’re not the Empty?”

“Also no.”

“Then… who are you?”

The man laughs kindly at that – not a mocking laugh, almost more… that he had been expecting for that question. “I was chosen to be the guy that welcomes you up here. Thought it would be nice for you to see a familiar face when you woke up - even if it’s only familiar because you’re borrowing it from me.”

It took an embarrassingly long time for Castiel to connect the dots. To be fair, he had just died, so everything was a little disorienting right now. “…James?”

James’s face twisted in discomfort at the name. “I prefer Jimmy, to be honest with you. ‘James’ feels weird…”

Castiel could only gawp at his vessel; both because of how friendly he was being towards him (especially considering they hadn’t left each other on the best of terms), and because, if he was talking to Jimmy right now, in front of the Roadhouse, basking in the most perfect weather he’s ever experienced, then…

“This… is Heaven?” Castiel finally gets out. “I’m in Heaven?”

“You are,” Jimmy confirms.

“I don’t understand…” Castiel mumbles, placing a hand on his chest as if he would be able to feel the one thing he shouldn’t have. “I… I don’t have a soul?”

“You didn’t have a soul. You do now.” Jimmy corrects him. “One of the few perks to being human.”

Before Castiel could say anything in response to this revelation, Jimmy was patting him on the back with a sympathetic smile. “Look, I know this is all… a lot. First time I woke up here was weird, too. One second I’m watching you throw a Molotov at Lucifer himself, the next I’m being ripped into atoms, and… here I am.”

“Ah…yes…” Castiel ducks his head in shame. “I'm sorry for-,”

“Sorry?” Jimmy cuts him off with a laugh. “Castiel… I had accepted to being chained to you for eternity, remember? Trust me, coming up here was the best thing that could have happened to me.”

“But…” Castiel begins with a frown. “What about Claire? I took you away from her. I made you miss watching her grow up, I-,”

“You did what you had to do to save the world. Which you and those guys down there did. Many times. Because of you, my girl gets to keep on living. I'm proud to have been the one that helped you to do that, Castiel. Even if it’s only by lending you my body.”

“That doesn’t excuse me of depriving her of a father.”

Jimmy sighs deeply at Castiel's insistence on kicking himself while he’s down. “She still had a father, Castiel. Sure, it took you a while, but you got there eventually. Buying her embarrassing birthday presents that she secretly loves? That's what a dad does. But most of all? You protected her, Castiel. You made sure to look out for her. Now, she has a home. And I know that Sheriff will be as protective over my girl as Amelia was, along with all those other girls shacked up in that house. She's safe. She has a chance to live her life. And one day… I'll get to see her again. I can’t ask for much more, Cas.”

Castiel smiled gratefully at his former vessel, diverting his gaze to the ground. “And… how are you, Jimmy? You and Amelia?”

“Never better,” Jimmy assured him, placing a hand on his back and diverting him towards the Roadhouse’s entrance. “Felt like a blink an eye before Amelia was up here with me. Things are even better with the change-,”

“The what?” Castiel planted his feet firmly, coming to a stop in front of the door. “What change?”

“Heaven, Castiel. Recently, there’s been some uh… well, let’s just say it’s not the Heaven you remember. Trust me - you’ll see what I mean when you get inside.”

Castiel’s gaze was drawn towards Jimmy’s hand gesturing towards the door in front of them, watching Castiel expectantly with a raised eyebrow. Castiel cast Jimmy one last look, praying quietly to himself that this wasn’t some sort of trick as he pushed open the door to the Roadhouse.

The interior of the Roadhouse is bathed with warm light, and filled with people milling about the bar, chatting happily to one another with drinks in hands. Who exactly these people are, Castiel does not know, for he only has a few seconds to take everything in before-

“There he is!” The excited yell comes from somewhere to his left, and he’s only just about able to turn his head towards the person yelling before his vision is overtaken by a small red-headed woman wrapping herself around him, nearly sending him stumbling back out of the Roadhouse.

“Charlie?” Castiel is just about able to get out, having all the air squeezed out of his new lungs by the arms locked around his ribs.

Charlie is beaming up at him just as brightly as the first time they had met, giving Cas an enthusiastic punch to the shoulder that was, honestly, borderline painful. “It’s good to see you, dude! Well, not good in the way that you’re dead, but, uh… you know, it’s just good to see you!”

“It’s good to see you too,” Castiel said, able to hear Jimmy’s amused chuckles at their reunion as he squeezes past the two.

“Told Charlie I had a feeling I’d be seeing one of you guys here, soon,” Another familiar voice appears at Cas’s side, glancing over to see the amused smile of Kevin Tran. “Perhaps not a few minutes after I got up here, but… should I ever be surprised?”

“Kevin…” Castiel breaths out in disbelief. “You… you made it into Heaven?”

Kevin shoots him a strained smile. “Third time’s the charm, right?”

“But… you were sent to Hell…” Castiel recalls, wincing at the reminder of what Chuck had cruelly done. “Damned souls aren’t permitted into Heaven.”

“Yeah… but that was Chuck’s rules,” Kevin said. “New boss in town has made some changes to the rules. No more worrying about going back to Hell, or potentially going crazy wandering around Earth in ghost form… Feels like it’s the first time I’ve been able to relax in… forever.”

“It’s… it’s been some time,” Castiel says awkwardly.

“Yeah, for you,” Charlie jumps in. “Time is funky up here, feels like it’s been… a few hours? For me, at first, I was just at my old home, back when I was a kid. Just me, my mom, and my dad, like the good old times. But something felt… weird.”

“Weird how?”

“I don’t know, it was like… it was like I wasn’t myself, not completely. Heaven felt like… like someone telling me what my Heaven should be. I don’t know if that really makes sense, but it wasn’t exactly bad, you know? But it also didn’t feel real. Like I was in some sort of play. And then, it felt like the walls came down. We were free to go where we want, see who we want. It feels like we’re back on Earth, but… if Earth was paradise, you know? No monsters, no worry about money. You have everything you want, the people you love, it’s just… it’s everything we were missing, and we didn’t even know we were missing it.”

Castiel huffs out a breathy laugh of realization. “Paradise on Earth… I thought I had been shown Earth, but it’s not…”

“We’ve been playing catch up, finding out what you guys have been up to down there,” Charlie tells him, giving him a sly grin. “I can’t believe Dean finally told you! It had been killing me to see you guys in person, pretty much a couple already but never crossing over the line. I mean it was bad enough reading about the eye-fucking in the Carver Edland books, but to see it in person-,”

“Chuck’s books?” Castiel interrupted her in horror. “God wrote about me and Dean… like that?”

“I mean… he was just writing what he saw,” Charlie’s knowing look made Castiel want to run away and hide. “Dean might just be the biggest disaster of a closeted Bi I had ever met…”

“Good to know I wasn’t the only one being subjected to that,” Kevin interjects with a shake of his head.

Castiel continues to look on in horror. “You knew that…?”

“One of Dean and mine’s first interactions was of Dean guiding me through step by step on how to flirt with a guy,” Charlie told him with a snort of laughter. “Kinda had an inkling that something was up after that. And then when I saw you guys together during that pizza night… I’ve never found something so adorable and yet so infuriating at the same time.”

“I’m… sorry?” Castiel offered.

Charlie grinned at his unsure-sounding apology, shaking her head at him. “You got nothing to be sorry for, Cas; Wouldn’t exactly expect an angel to be the most skilled in the art of seduction – and Dean was as blind as a bat to miss all the obvious signal you were sending his way. But seems like he got there eventually, right?”

“Yes, he did. Not that I ever expected it, but…” Castiel’s sentence hangs in the air, his warm smile at the memories of the past few weeks fading. “I… I left him again. I’m… I’m dead, and Dean-,”

“Hey,” Charlie stops him from going too far into such thoughts. “You can’t get caught up on that kind of stuff, okay? Trust me, it does you no good. Just… go around, say ‘Hi’ to everyone, catch up with all these guys and… try to enjoy your ticket into Heaven, huh?”

Castiel tried to smile at Charlie’s attempt at comforting him, but it comes out a bit more strained than he intended. “I never even thought I’d be returning to Heaven, but…”

Charlie’s able to read the expression on his face, almost able to feel the pain radiating off of Castiel herself. “It’s not Heaven without Dean.”

“No,” Castiel agreed quietly. “Dean was so desperate not to lose me again… he didn’t want to… to live without me, and I – it’s… that’s not a love I’ve ever known.”

“You’ll see him again one day,” Kevin assured him. “He’ll be up here. All of them will be.”

Charlie’s eyes drifted off to somewhere behind him. The frown that twists across her features helps to distract Castiel momentarily, his head tilting to the side as he asks, “What is it?”

“Surprised you couldn’t feel the eyes burning into your back,” Charlie answers, gesturing with a flick of her chin behind him. “Think he might be sizing you up…”

Castiel turns around, eyes scanning across the room in the direction Charlie had gestured to. There, sat upon a table, was where Castiel’s eyes met the searching stare of John Winchester. He didn’t exactly look upset to see Castiel – but he didn’t look particularly happy, either. This was quite the contrast to the smiling figure of Mary Winchester sat opposite him, whose smile held the same warmth she would direct towards her sons.

Castiel barely feels Charlie’s encouraging pat on his back as he strides over to the Winchester’s table, his gaze fixed on John as he stood from his chair, placing the brown-bottled beer in his hands atop the table, holding his head high as Castiel gets closer.

“So, you must be the guy who-,” Is as far as John gets before Castiel’s fist connects with John’s jaw, sending the older man sprawling back onto the ground. Mary seemed to have been expecting this at least somewhat, jumping up from her chair and racing around to her husband’s side, ready to get involved in case things get too out of hand.

“That was on behalf of Dean – seeing as he could never bring himself to do it,” Castiel spits coldly, glowering down at John.

John spends a few moments on the ground with a hand held against his split and already bruising lip (though that would heal away in mere minutes), looking up at Castiel in genuine shock before the rage kicks in. The fury seems to burn through the hazel ring of his eyes, circles of fire shining around the pitch black of his pupils as he glares up at him from the ground. Despite the fact that John had a good few inches of height over him, he still seemed to show some wariness alongside his obvious desire to jump up and sock Castiel in return. After all, Castiel was a solider of God that has millennia’s worth of battles under his belt; it's not too unlikely that Castiel would lay out this human flat in a fight.

“Who the hell do you-,” John is interrupted once more as, to his surprise, Castiel’s hand appears in his field of vision, held out in offering. It perplexes him enough that his anger subsides momentarily, gaze flicking between the hand in front of him, and the unreadable expression of blankness on Castiel’s face.

“The only reason I have a smidgen of respect for you is because of your son's love for you, and for your sacrifice for him,” Castiel hisses down at him. John nearly has enough pride to shove away the hand in front of his face and stand up on his own two feet, but the warning look his wife is sending his way is enough for him to reluctantly grab hold of the former angel's hand.

Castiel drags him up to his feet, keeping a firm grip on John’s hand as he speaks. “But for the years of abuse to your sons? Of the neglect, of the nights leaving your son to raise his brother whilst you lost yourself to drink? Of sending your children off to hunt monsters when they should have been studying for their SATs, and trying to mold your son into the man you think he should be, forcing your ideals onto him until he became the good soldier you could order around…”

Castiel shakes his head in disgust at John, who looks torn between keeping up his mask of rage or cowering away from the centuries-old being so fervently defending his own son. “For all of that? You deserve much worse than a single punch, John Winchester.”

“Castiel, it’s okay,” Mary assures him, placing a calming hand on his arm - that of which was still wound up tight with his fist clenched. “We had a long talk when I got back up here. Trust me.”

Castiel’s eyes dart between John and Mary, taking a single step back from John – only if to soothe Mary’s nerves somewhat.

“I know what I did to my sons was a crappy thing,” John’s confession takes Castiel by surprise. “I didn’t see it back then. Refused to see it the way it was. In my mind, I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing. That I had to raise my boys as tough as I could because that was the only way they could handle the real, shitty world out there. I was raising them with survival in mind, but I… I never once stopped to consider if they were actually living.”

“It was… a messy situation,” Mary adds in. “It’s not like all is suddenly forgiven. When our boys get up here, it’ll…” Mary paused, casting John a look that had him averting his gaze – probably the one person in his life that could get him to do that. “Some wounds will take time to heal. And some of those scars will always remain.”

“But I’m gonna try,” John insisted. “I’m gonna try and be the father they never had.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at John, wishing there was still enough grace left inside him to track John’s pulse and see if he was lying or not. “Good…” Castiel finally breaks the silence the three were in. “Because I intend to be by Dean’s side every second he’s here to make sure you do, indeed, try.”

“I fully expect you to,” John replied. “As I was saying - you must be the guy who’s been looking after my boys?”

“We look after each other,” Castiel corrected him. “That’s what family does.”

John cleared his throat awkwardly, looking desperate to return to his seat and continue drinking to get away from the situation he was in. “Uh, yeah… and, from what I hear, you and Dean are… uh… good friends?”

Castiel’s narrow-eyed glare returns in full force, straightening his spine as he leveled his gaze on John’s apprehensive one. “Yes. Dean and I are ‘friends’-,”

“Alright, look, it’s just… it’s weird for me. Back then-,”

“We’re not ‘back then’ anymore,” Castiel cuts him off. “And such discrimination was wrong ‘back then’ too, but you all followed poisoned words and ideals to force people into hiding, and into living unhappy lives where they were unable to be their true selves.”

“I’m just telling you how it was, okay?” John tried defending himself. “We were taught that there were cures for such things and-,”

“-And I’m telling you you’re wrong,” Castiel stepped forward once more, somehow appearing more intimidating when John was the one who stood taller than him. “There is no cure because there’s nothing to cure.”

“John, drop it,” Mary snapped at her husband. “Our son is happy with Castiel. You know that, you saw that. I don’t even want to think about what Dean must be going through right now, and you should know full well what that’s like seeing as you had to go through it with me.”

The fight seemed to drain out of John at that. He looked to Castiel like he was truly seeing him for the first time; seeing in him a different light, Mary’s comparison helping to see something in the former angel that he wouldn’t let himself see.

“You love my son?”

Castiel shouldn’t have to grace such a stupid question with an answer, but he does. “More than you could ever know. And I’ll never stop loving him. Dean Winchester is my soul.”

John’s gaze searched over him one more time before he finally nodded his head in what Castiel could only assume was the best form of acceptance that he would ever get from John – not that he cares for it either way. “Can’t say you’re what I envisioned my son ending up with, but… he found someone who makes him happy, so…”

Castiel chose to ignore the ‘what’ part of John’s sentence, accepting Mary’s apologetic frown with an understanding smile as John plops back down onto his seat. It’s only as Castiel turns away from the table that he hears them enter a heated, whispered argument that Castiel only feels slightly guilty about – and that’s only on Mary’s behalf.

There are six people huddled around the wooden bar that Castiel heads for - two of them with drinks in their hands and engaged in light conversation with the other three behind the bar. Castiel’s tense posture relaxes as he’s met with the motherly smile of the Roadhouse’s owners, taking a seat on the stool she gestures him for him to sit on

“Good to see you, son,” Is how Bobby Singer greets him for the first time in five years, along with a single solid pat to the back that has Castiel jolting forward in his seat. “At least you got to walk into heaven this time instead of sliding in on your back.”

Castiel ducked his head with quiet laughter, glancing back up when a bottle of cold beer is plonked down on the bar in front of him.

“Oh, that’s okay-,”

“Don’t make me force it down you, Castiel,” Ellen warned him, “You’re in Heaven – you can have one drink at least.”

Castiel listened to the warning tone Ellen was sending his way, picking up the bottle of beer from the bartop and taking a swig of the bitter liquid, savoring the way the carbonated bubbles tickled his mouth.

“What happened to the guy who could down five shots of whiskey like it was nothing?” Jo slid up to her mother’s side behind the bar, tempted to go and grab a bottle behind her to see if Castiel could still pull such a feat.

“Really?” Comes a sultry voice from beside Bobby. “Shame I never got to saw that – then again, I didn’t get to see much of anything after I got a glimpse of you.”

Castiel practically shrinks into his seat at Pamela’s words, wincing at the memories that flooded back. “Ah, yes, that… um…”

Pamela’s pearls of laughter broke through Castiel’s embarrassed stammers. “Relax, angel. You gave me fair warning, but I kept poking.” Pamela leaned past Bobby, sticking out a hand for Castiel to shake. “Nice to finally get a good look at ‘ya without seeing nothing but burning white light. Gotta say… I get why Dean wants to tap that.”

“Oh, um… thank you?”

“Technically, that compliment is for me!” Jimmy calls over from his own table, getting a disappointed smack to the arm from his wife next to him.

“Still can’t believe Dean finally made a move,” Jo brings Cas’s attention back to the patrons at the bar. “You guys were the big gossip circulating around the angel radio that Ash hooked us up to,” Jo jabs a thumb towards the mullet-wearing man sat at the end of the bar, tapping away at the keyboard on his laptop with one hand whilst giving Castiel a wave in greeting with the other.

“Sup, man,” Ash looks up from his laptop long enough to take in the sight of Castiel for the first time.

“You… managed to access Heaven’s radio?” Castiel asked.

“Yep,” Ash answered proudly. “Didn’t take me long to tap into Heaven’s systems. At first, it was only radio and then… I had eyes on footage of you guys. Picture ain't great, but… better than just a bunch of angels blabbering away. And, uh… let's just say there aren’t too many angels that can talk nowadays, you get me?”

“But… how did you get any information from angel radio? My siblings would only transfer in Enochian to one another.”

“Balit qaa ol om Enochian,” Ash replies simply with a knowing smile before his attention is diverted back to the computer in front of him. “Oh, and the stuff you were saying to Dean in that beach dream? Raunchy stuff, dude.”

His embarrassment at being heard aside, that was something that Castiel didn’t understand; how exactly was it that they had managed to get access to Dean’s dreams? Multiple people had now told him they had seen his and Dean’s… change in relationship, but he wasn’t exactly sure how.

“How did you see that?” Castiel doesn’t just direct the question at Ash, eyes flickering between those at the bar. “-All of you, in fact.”

“We saw everything go down through your eyes, dude,” Ash answered for them. “Your grace sort of acts like a, uh… an Enochian broadcast. I just had to find the right channel to tune into and bam; angel vision up on display.”

“We weren’t watching all the time if that makes your privacy feel any less violated,” Jo adds.

“It was mostly to check up and see what ya idjits were getting up to,” Bobby said, accepting the fresh beer that Ellen passed over to him. “Make sure you weren’t getting involved in another apocalypse.”

“Nice surprise to see the only big news was you and Dean deciding to pull your heads out of your assess,” Jo tells him with a grin, receiving a smack to the back of her head from the towel in her mother’s hand.

“Joanna Beth!” Ellen pulled out the full name. “There was a million different ways you could have said that.”

“I know – I went the direct route,” Jo replied, rubbing at the sore spot on the back of her head.

“What my daughter means to say…” Ellen says with a side glance at the woman in question. “Is that the last time we met, you were…”

“A dick?” Castiel offers. “I’ve been called that in the past.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Ellen said. “You were… starting to come into yourself a little more. Dean was starting to bring you out of whatever shell angel life had forced you into, and we were only just starting to get to know you. Then… well, the Hell Hounds happened, and then ten years later I can barely recognize the angel I once met.”

“I’m not sure if you mean that a compliment, or an insult,” Castiel admits.

“Oh, it’s a compliment,” Ellen assures him. “You’ve changed for the better, Castiel. It’s not that we’re surprised Dean fell for you - we’re surprised how long it took.”

Ellen’s eyes glance over to someone behind him, and Castiel glances over his shoulder to see Jimmy approaching the bar from his table. Although, instead of sitting down on an empty stool, he stands next to Castiel, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt the reunion, but… it’s time.”

“Damn, time really does fly by in Heaven,” Bobby curses, sliding the half-drunken beer out of Castiel’s hand and giving him another encouraging pat on the back. “It was good seeing you again, Castiel.”

Castiel was… still rather unsure what exactly was going on. Everyone else at the bar seemed to know, which was frustrating in of itself, and Castiel could only switch his confused frown from the hand on his shoulder to the arm’s owner. “It’s time for what?”

“You’ll see,” Jimmy answers unhelpfully, gesturing with a flick of his head for Castiel to stand and follow.

Seeing as there’s not much else for him to do but follow the instructions given to him, Castiel finds himself standing up from the bar, casting one last look to past friends. They all give him reassuring smiles as he follows Jimmy – even getting an encouraging nod from John, much to Cas’s bewilderment. Jimmy leads him towards the kitchen of the Roadhouse, leading him through past the well-loved ovens, stoves, and cooking utensils before arriving at the back door to the Roadhouse, leading to an outside Castiel has never seen.

“I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again,” Are Jimmy’s final parting words, gesturing with an open hand towards the door before he’s heading back towards the warm-sounding conversation within the bar. Castiel glances over his back to watch him go, a part of him drawn back to the bar, back to the people he knows.

But there’s something else on the other side of that door. Something else that’s calling to him, its pull much stronger than the Roadhouse. Without much of a second thought, Castiel pushes down on the bar across the heavy metal door, swinging it open and stepping out into the comfortably cool afternoon’s air.

* * *

It felt like a bomb had gone off.

It might as well have. The explosion of Cas’s grace – or… Cas himself, Sam supposed – had left them in this state of… numbness. For the first ten minutes or so, ten agonizing minutes, Sam could only stand shocked still where he was, watching as his brother cradles Cas in his laps, calling for him to come back.

After the bargaining came the screams.

That’s the only word he had for them, really. These gut-wrenching, pain-filled cries as the reality of the situation begun to sink in for his older brother. Sam had tried to step around the table in front of him, walk over to his brother, and…

And do what? What could he possibly do to make this situation any better? Cas was gone, and nothing he could say or do would help to ease his brother’s grief. He had only made it around the table when he caught sight of Castiel’s face resting on Dean’s lap, and that was as far as he could go. He slid down onto the floor, resting his head against the table leg behind him, and just… stared. Even when Eileen came around to his side; when she had dropped down next to him, rest her head on his shoulder, and held his hand tightly in her own… he couldn’t tear his eyes away from his brother and his once best friend.

Sam didn’t think there would be anything worst than the screams. The non-stop sobs that had his older brother gasping for air. But, as it turns out, the silence was the worst. When the tears stopped flowing and ran dry, his brother's back no longer shaking with his ragged breaths, there was nothing but silence and stillness. Dean still had Cas in his lap – and Sam didn’t dare try to move Cas from him.

He knew they would have to, eventually. Dean couldn’t stay like this forever… neither of them could. Eventually, Sam would have to pry Dean off of Cas. He would have to drag him, kicking and screaming away from Cas’s body whilst Eileen wrapped him up – because if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t think he could do this all over again.

Wrap up Cas, again. Build a pyre for him, again. Say their goodbyes as they watch his body go up in flames, again.

He was tired of losing friends. He thought it would be over by now, that this time would be different.

Wherever the hell Chuck ended up, Sam knows he’s laughing at them right now.

Somehow, from beyond the grave…

The bastard still won.

* * *

The sight that greets Castiel as he steps out from the Roadhouse is confusing, to say the least. The back of the Roadhouse should have been nothing more than an empty field and a wall of trees. Instead, Castiel takes in the beauty of the Washington mountains, sat pretty in the distance and reflected in the calm surface of the lake stretched out in front of him. Just off the shore of the lake is a cabin that Castiel is very familiar with, having once rented it not too many years ago.

It’s only then that Castiel realizes how strangely quiet it had become; gone was the quiet laughter and muted conversations of the Roadhouse, replaced by the water’s edge gently lapping at the shore and the birds singing as they flew overhead. When Castiel turns around, he’s met with empty space where the Roadhouse had once been.

“It was a beautiful spot, wasn’t it?”

Castiel freezes in place at the voice he hears behind him.

“Tainted by death, but still… beautiful.”

He’s not too sure how he manages to spin around on such shaky legs, but he does. And when he does, he’s met with the calming, grateful smiles of Kelly, sat on a wooden bench that seemed to have been created out of thin air.

“Hello, Castiel,” Kelly greets him, the tears shining in her eyes as she looks up to her son’s father-figure the same as the ones in Castiel’s. There’s nothing he can even say before Kelly has her arms wrapped around him, holding him tight. “You did it, Cas… You really did it. Jack, he’s-,”

“I know,” Castiel tells her – and he really does know. Pride didn’t even fit the description of what Cas felt for how far Jack had come.

Kelly untangles her arms from around his neck, quickly wiping the tears off her face as she does. “You’ve given so much for him, I… I don’t even know what to say.”

“There’s nothing to say,” Castiel assured her.

“That’s not true,” Kelly said with a shake of her head. “You stuck by him through everything. Even in the times you thought you would lose your friends, your family…”

“Because I knew it would all work out in the end. No matter what Chuck threw our way… I believed in the vision Jack showed me.”

The puff of wings behind him is a sound he hasn’t heard in quite some time. And, judging by the loving smile that instantly graced Kelly's face, he knew exactly who it was that was stood behind him.

Castiel gave himself a few seconds to take in the beaming smile that always seemed to be plastered on Jacks face before he's wrapping the boy up tight in his arms, letting out a breath of relief as Jacks's arms squeeze him just as tight; part of him having wondered if the acquisition of God’s powers may have altered him somewhat.

It seemed he had nothing to worry about.

Kelly smiled sweetly at the two’s reunion, looking over to Jack as she asks, “It’s time, huh?”

“Time for what?” Castiel asked the two of them, the question eerily similar to Jimmy’s cryptic wording back in the Roadhouse.

“I wanted to talk to you for a bit, if you don’t mind. Just me and you,” Jack answered. Kelly stepped forward, giving Castiel’s hand one big squeeze of goodbye before she was heading back towards the cabin, disappearing through its door and out of sight.

Jack began walking towards the shoreline of the lake, keeping his pace slow as he waits for Cas to begin following him. The two walk side by side along the edge of the lake, moving under the cover of the dense forest that surrounded the cabin. It really was a beautiful place – more beautiful than the other places he’s died in, anyway.

“Does your mother live here now? In Heaven?” Castiel asks Jack as they walk, enjoying the leisurely pace they were set in.

“She does,” Jack confirms. “I come and visit her here when I can, which… isn’t often.”

“…Why isn’t it often?”

The smile Jack gives him in return looks much too old for the boy wearing it. “Being God has its responsibilities. I’ve been trying, but… it's been hard work.”

“I can imagine,” Castiel glances around the world they were in – not really a world, yet also more real than Heaven ever was. “Jack, what you've done here…”

“Do you like it?” Jack asked brightly, still searching for the approval of those he looks up to despite now being God. “I always thought the old Heaven seemed… lonely. When I was in my heaven, I had you, and Sam, and Dean, but… I could always tell something was off. It wasn’t the real you.”

“So you decided to break down Heaven's walls?”

“It was a bit more complicated than that, but…” Jack seems almost frustrated for a moment – not at Castiel, no, but at Chuck's design of Heaven. “Heaven is filled with people; it didn’t seem right that people were left only with their soul mates - if they're lucky enough to have them – and only illusions of the people they loved just as much when they were alive.”

“I… I suppose I didn’t consider it in that way,” Castiel confessed. “The souls in Heaven seemed happy. Content.”

“I think they were. But… that doesn’t mean Heaven couldn’t be made better.”

“So this is what you’ve been working on this whole time?” Castiel asks, gesturing to the beautiful scenery they were walking in. “Opening up Heaven?”

“Partly, yes,” Jack leads Castiel over to a small clearing in the forest where the lake is practically lapping at the trees that sit by the shore’s edge, giving them a beautiful view of the mountains in the distance. “I’ve been doing other work too, though.”

Castiel reaches Jack's side, staring out at the view in front of him. “On Earth?”

“Not our Earth,” Jack answers. “I will, eventually. But, for now, this Earth is at least intact. Sustainable. But… there’s all those other Earth’s out there. The other universes that Chuck destroyed.”

“You’re… rebuilding them?”

“It’s… kind of draining,” Jack admits, although the captivating smile on his face does not give away the tiredness he must be feeling. “Amara’s been helping me.”

That was news to Castiel. “She has?”

“She was quiet at first. Despite everything Chuck had done, I think she still loved him. Still does love him. She started opening up once I got to work on the other Universes, giving what recommendations she can, what she thinks Chuck would have done; I’m trying to recreate them as best as I could in his image.”

“What for?”

“So that the people of those Earth’s come back to the world they remember,” Jack turns away from the mountain view, facing Cas. “Don’t they deserve the same as the people on this Earth? Shouldn’t they be able to return to the homes they know, the families they know?”

Jack’s brow furrows when, for a while after the end of his sentence, Cas is just looking down at him with this small, subtle smile that only begins to display the warmth his eyes are holding towards the boy – this God – he still considers to be his own.

“What?” Jack asks, voice rising in pitch in what was a mix of both amusement and wonder.

“Nothing, just…” Castiel trails off, placing a heavy hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I’m so proud of you… All of us are. I hope you know that.”

“I know,” Jack said. His face shifted then, the gentle smile on his face sliding away, his eyes dripping down to his feet as he takes in a deep breath of fresh mountain air. “Cas, there’s… there’s a reason I needed to talk to you.”

Castiel tries to catch Jack’s gaze, but the Nephilim’s eyes were firmly fixed on the ground, his sneakers kicking up small twigs as he gouges a small hole into the dirt. “Jack?”

“I need you to know that I wasn’t ignoring you,” Jack says, bending down to pick up one of the tiny pieces of wood he had kicked up. “Any of you. I knew what was happening. With you, and with Dean. His accident and then… what’s been happening to you.”

Castiel didn’t know what to say to that. It was something he already knew – well, maybe not knew, but… assumed, he supposed.

“I wanted to step in,” Jack continues, twirling around the twig that he had pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “Every day, I wanted to leave my work and just… fix everything. I wanted to pull you out when you were in the Empty. I wanted to heal the hole in Dean’s back when he saw dying on that pole. I wanted to heal his severed spine after, re-create your vessel and place you back inside.”

Even though he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to hear the answer, Castiel had to ask. “Why didn’t you?”

Jack releases the twig from between his fingers, finally lifting his gaze back up to meet Castiel’s. “The Empty is… not happy. I tried to get you back, Cas. When Chuck brought back my father, the Empty… It… It made threats.”

“What kind of threats?”

“The world-ending kind of ones,” Jack answers somberly. “It told Chuck that, if he tried to take a creature from the Empty… it would storm across Earth and destroy all those in its wake so that it could finally sleep. No one left to wake it up. Chuck, he… he just laughed. Told the Empty to ‘go ahead’, grabbed my father, and was just… gone.”

“That seems risky for Chuck… I would have thought he’d worry about the Empty interfering with his script?”

“I think it was too late for him to care at that point,” Jack replied. “All that was left was to kill you, me, Sam, and Dean. You were… you were already gone at that point, and after Chuck killed the rest of us…”

“Chuck would have wiped out Earth anyway…”

Jack nodded. “Chuck had already killed everyone on Earth. He just… didn’t care anymore. When the Empty made the same threat to me, I just…”

Jack looked away then, tears of frustration brimming in his eyes. “It tore me apart, Cas. I wanted you back, I just… I wanted to be selfish. But I couldn’t doom the world like that… doom Dean and Sam like that, and… I had to leave you… I left you…”

“It’s okay…” Cas stepped forward, placing both hands on Jack’s shoulders and giving them a comforting squeeze. “You did exactly what you were supposed to. If that would have been the price of bringing me back, then it wouldn’t have been worth it,”

Jack shook his head fervently. “It would have been worth it. You would have been worth it, Cas. But it wouldn’t have been right… I wouldn’t be a very good God if I wiped out Earth my first day.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t,” Cas agreed with a breathy chuckle.

“It wasn’t until I saw what happened to Dean, saw you rip yourself out of the Empty that I realized… I didn’t need to do anything. I didn’t intervene because… I needed you to see.”

“See… what?”

“What you’ve always refused to accept,” Jack answered. “Dean and Sam – they tried so hard to bring you back, didn’t they?”

Castiel could only frown at that, trying to figure out what Jack was trying to get across. “Yes, they did.”

“And when they found out your grace was diminishing, that you would eventually lose your powers and become human; when they found out that you could no longer heal, no longer provide your powers to then… they still tried everything they could to bring you back. Everything they did … was for you, Cas. Not for what you can do for them, but because they love you. That’s what I needed you to see, Cas. We don’t love you for your powers. Me, Sam, Dean, Eileen, and everyone that knows you loves you because you’re you.”

It was only once the breeze blew through the trees and into their little clearing that Cas could feel the wetness on his face, a few stray tears having escaped his eyes and slipped down his cheeks without him even noticing.

“I tried to help where I could,” Jack continued, his admission sounding almost guilty, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I… I wasn’t sure whether to bring back Eileen, at first. She had already been dead before, and I… I wasn’t sure whether she would have wanted to rest in Heaven or be returned, but then… then I saw how sad Sam was and… I couldn’t take them away from each other.”

“I think you made the right choice,” Cas tells him, still wiping away the tears that were clung to his face. “And my trench-coat? Was that you as well?”

“And the spell,” Jack said with a slight smile. “I was getting worried you guys weren’t going to find it by yourselves so I, um… I kind of ‘placed’ it where Eileen would take notice.”

Cas let out another breathy laugh at that. Staring out to the mountains, he stepped forward towards the lake, crouching down by the shore and running his fingers through the shore’s sand. It was clumpy, sticking to his hand in a mixture of lake-bed soil and grains wettened by the murky water. It was nothing like the soft sands of Dean’s…

The pain’s too much. He can’t think about him. Can’t think about the suffering he knows Dean is going through.

“So… what now?” Castiel asks Jack, glancing over his shoulder to where Jack was stood, watching him.

“That’s up to you.”

Castiel blinked up at Jack in surprise, slowly standing back up from his crouch as he takes in Jack’s pleased smile. “What do you mean?”

“I wanted to give you the option to choose,” Jack continues. “I know that, for most of your life… all you’ve ever done is follow orders, Cas. Then, once you broke free and chose to live a life of free will… the choices you made still weren’t entirely your own. Every single choice you’ve made… none of them were ever truly for yourself, were they? They were always for the greater good. For someone’s else behalf. Making a deal to save my life… sacrificing yourself to keep Dean safe…”

“They were still choices I wanted to make, Jack.”

“Choices that cost you too much,” Jack argues back. “Now, for once… I want you to choose for you, Cas. Not because you think it’s best for me, or for Dean, or for anyone else. For you.”

Castiel could hear his own blood rushing through his ears, his heart up in his throat as it pounded relentlessly. These weren’t nerves. They were… anticipation. Hope.

“If you want to… you can finally rest. You can stay here, in Heaven. Live in peace, with no pain and no worries, surrounded by those you love. And… if you wanted to, you could help me.”

“Help you? With… rebuilding Heaven?”

“And everything else,” Jack confirmed. “You would have your grace back, of course. It would be nice to have you with me as I rebuild all that Chuck has destroyed.”

Castiel nodded slowly, letting Jack’s offer mill about in his mind. If there was one thing life on Earth had taught him… it was that he liked to help in any way he could. If there was a way for him to make life better for the less unfortunate, to correct the damage his father had inflicted upon billions upon billions of innocents…

It felt like what he was made for.

“And… what’s the other option?”

Jack answered Cas’s question by raising a hand up and tapping his fingers to Cas’s forehead. Castiel felt that familiar rush of the Universe rushing past him as the two moved at immeasurable speeds in the blink of an eye.

The sight that greets him upon landing is one he never wants to see.

“…Dean?” Castiel knows Dean won’t be able to hear him, but he can’t stop himself from uttering his name at the sight of Dean collapsed on the floor of the bunker, cradling him in his lap as his body shakes with silent sobs that had long since dried out. Though they no longer exist, Cas can feel his back muscles twitch as if his wings were still there, instinctively trying to wrap themselves around the grieving body of the man he loves.

“He’ll be okay,” Jack’s words almost escape Cas’s notice, so focused on the heart-broken figure of Dean Winchester. “He won’t be at first, and it won’t be easy, but he’ll heal. Your death will always leave a part of him empty, but… he will carry on, Cas. Dean will live out the rest of his life, and he will one day pass and reunite with you in Heaven.”

Cas barely registers as Jack steps up to his side, barely feels the steady weight of Jack’s palm pressed soothingly into his back. “I’ll be okay too, Cas. Okay? Don’t choose to come up to Heaven and help me if you feel like it’s what’s right, or that you’re worried I’ll need you. I can do this, okay? I can. All of us will be okay. You choose for you, Cas.”

Castiel dragged his tear-filled eyes away from Dean’s form, meeting Jack’s understanding ones. There was no judgment behind Jack’s eyes, no secret hope that he would choose to return to Heaven and continue his work for Heaven.

The truth was that, the second he laid eyes on Dean, he knew what his choice was going to be.

Jack knew, too.

“Dean,” Castiel answered in a hoarse whisper, and the knowing look on Jack’s face grew all the more stronger. “What I want… it’s always been Dean.”

It was a relief to see the beaming smile that spread across Jack's face at his answer. There was no hint of disappointment on his face, only genuine happiness that Castiel has chosen his own happiness. For once, Castiel had gone for what he wants.

“Live a long, happy life Cas,” Jack said what he intended to be his parting words, raising his hand once more to tap his fingers against Castiel's head.

Before he could so, Cas caught Jack’s hand midair and pulled him into what he hoped wouldn’t be one last hug between father and son, holding him tight as he buried his head into Jack’s shoulder. “Will… Will I see you again?”

Jack pulled away from Castiel's embrace, keeping a hand on his shoulder. “I'll be around, Cas.”

Castiel shifted his gaze over to Dean, still collapsed on the floor staring numbly at his body, when an idea struck him. “Wait… what about Dean?”

“What about him?”

“His spine…” Castiel answered, turning on the begging eyes that Dean once told him he's sure he learned from Sam. “You've already done so much for us, but… do you think you could heal him?”

Jack only smiled at that, an odd reaction to Castiel's request, and then his last words were left to echo around Cas's head as his fingers once again brushed against his forehead and plunged the world into darkness.

“There's nothing for me to heal, Cas. You’ve already taken care of that.”

* * *

Dean wasn’t sure how long he'd been sat on the floor now. Did it even matter how long? And why should he care?

Cas was gone.

That's all his mind could produce. The only thoughts his treacherous brain graced him with. Cas is dead. Cas is dead. Cas is dead. Cas is dead.

Over and over again, on a loop. He doesn’t even feel the deep aching pain of his loss anymore. There’s nothing. His body has just… shut off. No more emotions. No more caring about anything.

Cas was dead. That's all there was.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice is hesitant, unsure. Dean can barely hear it. Sam had, eventually, managed to get his feet under him. He had walked over to Dean, but wasn’t stood by his side. There was a few awkward meters of space between them, an invisible line that Sam couldn’t bring himself to cross.

Dean knew what Sam's next words were going to be before Sam said them. “Dean, we need to…”

It was as far as Sam could get. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought Dean was dead, too. His face was just… blank. Unmoving as be stared down at Cas's still form. Sam braves one look at Castiel's face cradled on Dean's lap, sees the pale color of skin without a supply of blood, sees the closed eyes of his best friend he'll never get to see again and-

“Sam?” Eileen's voice is like an anchor, bringing him back to reality.

Sam clears his throat, looking away and up to the ceiling to try and blink away the tears that were burning in the corner of his eyes. “I can't, I-,”

“Yes, we can.”

Sam looks down at Dean in surprise. He was still just as frozen in place, face still just as empty, and for a moment Sam wondered if he had actually heard Dean speak at all.

“We'll do it for him,” Dean croaked out, raising a hand that wouldn’t stop trembling and placing it down on Cas's chest. “We can’t give him much, but… the least we can do is give him a proper fucking goodbye this time.”

Sam miraculously managed to crouch down next to his brother without his legs giving away, placing his hand atop his brother’s back. “Yeah… yeah, we can uh… I'll go and see what we have to wrap him up in. Maybe… maybe the sheets from his bed? Or we could-"

Dean was listening to Sam anymore. Because there, underneath his hand, he could feel Cas's heart beating steadily in his chest. It had started out of nowhere, one big ‘thump’ that he put down to his grief-riddled mind. The second one he thought that perhaps the injury to his spine had worsened when he fell from his chair, and was starting to get false sensations in his hands.

But then the third pump of Cas's heart came. Then the fourth, the fifth, the sixth, and the back of Dean's head nearly collided with Sam’s face hovering over his shoulder as his head reared back.

“Sam, there's a pulse.”

“He…what?!” Sam exclaimed. He desperately wanted to believe his brother, but… “Are you sure?”

“Am I-,” Dean huffed in irritation, reaching around to grab his brothers’ hand and place it against Cas's neck.

Sam’s furrowed brow straightened out to an expression of slack-jawed dumbfounded as he felt the rapid flutter of Cas's pulse against his fingertips. “Oh my God… Oh my God, he's alive!”

Eileen dropped down on her knees next to them, picking up on their sudden fanatic movements but unable to hear or read the brother's panicked words. “What?! What is it?!”

“Cas is alive,” Sam told her breathlessly as Dean bent over to place an ear against Cas's chest, able to hear the rapid thuds of his heartbeat. Except… Cas's chest didn’t move under his head.

“Sam, he’s not breathing,” Dean got out in a panic, framing the sides of Cas's face with his hands. “Cas? Cas, can you hear me? C'mon man, I need you to say something.”

Dean whipped his head back around to face Sam and Eileen. “What the hell do we do? Do we give him CPR?”

“I-I- I don’t know,” Sam blurted out. “His heart is beating fine, right? Is there something blocking his airway or-,”

Then it happened. Cas's chest inflated with one big inhale of air, catching all three of their attention just in time to see his eyes snap open, greeted by crystal blue eyes that never seemed quite so human in their dazed and panicked blown-out appearance.

As it turns out, having your lungs inflate for the first time as you take your first breath is quite uncomfortable. Cas's lungs were racked with harsh-sounding coughs as they tried to adjust to the sudden change. Dean jumped into action and helped pull him up into a sitting position, Dean's hand tight around his arm like he might drop back to the floor in a lifeless heap if he let go.

“Cas?” Dean leans his head down as Cas folds over himself, trying to catch his breath after his coughing fit. “You okay?”

Castiel pulled himself back up, placing a hand on his chest as he took another deep breath in, this one – thankfully – not sending him into another round of coughs. “I… I think so.”

Castiel’s eyes swiveled around to meet Dean’s, then over to Sam and Eileen’s bewildered faces, then settled back on Dean again. Dean's eyes were about as wide as they can go, watching Cas warily both in fear that Cas might drop down dead again and second, and that this could all be one cruel trick… Another lazy laugh from Chuck perhaps, some asshole demon jumping into the free body like Belphagor did with Jack, hiding its true identity until the moment it-

“Hello, Dean.”

Nope, never mind. That was his angel, alright.

“Hello-?” Dean cuts himself off with a huff of laughter that sounded more like a sob of relief than anything, pulling Cas into him and grabbing hold of the trench-coat wrapped around him so tightly that it seemed moments away from ripping.

“You're alive… Oh, you’re alive, you're okay… You're here…”

“I’m okay,” Castiel speaks softly into the crook of Dean’s neck.

“You've gotta stop dying on me, Cas,” Dean tried to joke, but the tears brimming his eyes gave away the illusion of a care-free attitude. “I don’t know how much more of you dying I can handle.”

“I'll promise if you promise,” Cas replies, and that at the very least gets a laugh out of Dean.

“Hey-,” Is all Sam says before he’s moving towards Cas, wrapping him up in one of his signature bear-hugs at a very awkward angle, considering Castiel was still mostly seated on Dean’s lap. “You have no idea how good it is to see you, man.”

“I can assure you, the feeling is mutual,” Castiel replies, releasing his grip on Sam only to have his arms filled seconds later by Eileen, who squeezed up beside Sam to get her own hug in.

“Please don’t do that again,” Eileen said, pushing away from the hug to give Castiel a stern look. “I don’t know how you guys handle this…”

“We don’t,” Dean answers. “We make stupid deals that get us or the world into trouble.”

“Speaking of…” Sam mumbled, the change on his face from relief to an analyzing and calculating look aimed at Castiel making Dean’s stomach drop. “Cas… how is it that you’re here? You were dead. For a while. Then… you were alive again. Did you… did you make another deal with the Empty?”

“I didn’t even go to the Empty,” Castiel answered, one of those rare gummy smiles breaking out across his face. “It was Jack.”

“Jack?” Dean said. “Jack saved you?”

“He gave me a choice,” Cas replied. “I didn’t go to the Empty, because… Jack had permitted me entry into Heaven, instead. When my grace was destroyed during the spell, there was a short time that I was human. And in that time… Jack had gifted me a soul.”

“Huh… well I’ll be damned,” Dean mumbled under his breath. “All this time, huh? He was helping us the whole time?”

“Where he could, yes,” Castiel said. “Dean, Sam… I wish you could have seen him. He’s… he’s everything Chuck should have been. He’s still him, he’s still the boy we knew, and… he cares so much. All he wants is to make the world a better place. The world, the other worlds, Heaven… he’s already done so much work.”

“Way to go, kid,” Dean spoke up towards the ceiling, voice beaming with pride. He turned his proud smile back down to Cas, glancing down from the tender smile Cas was giving him in return to Cas’s current choice of wardrobe – or, more accurately, the lack thereof. “C’mon, Cas. Let’s, uh… let’s go get you some clothes.”

“Oh,” Cas said in surprise, looking down at himself as if he hadn’t realized he had been sat here stark naked for the past few minutes. “Yes, that would probably be for the best…”

“I think I got some spare sweats you could borrow,” Dean mumbles as he pushes himself up to his feet, bending down to offer a hand to Cas.

Cas doesn’t take his hand. He remains seated on the floor, eyes wide as they can go and mouth dropped open nearly to the floor. Dean frowns at the astonished look Cas was giving him, glancing over to Sam and Eileen only to find they two were staring bug-eyed at him.

“What?” Dean asked. “Why are you all-,”

He was standing.

Holy Fuck, he was standing!

How the hell had it taken him this long to realize? How the hell had he not realized that he was able to feel the warm weight of Castiel on his lap? He had gotten back up to his feet without a second thought, so focused on helping Cas up that it just… hadn’t occurred to him that it was something he shouldn’t be able to do anymore.

“Dean, you’re arm-,” Sam manages to get out through his mask of shock, pointing to Dean’s arm. “It’s… it’s glowing.”

Dean looks down to his left shoulder where Sam was pointing, already able to see the faint blue glow under the sleeve of his shirt. Dean makes quick work of pushing the sleeve up, seeing the last few glowing pulses of Cas’s handprint on his arm before it reverted back to its usual faint red color.

“You’ve already taken care of it…” Castiel mumbles to himself, the realization hitting him like a bag of bricks. “My grace…”

Castiel’s eyes snap to the mark on Dean’s arm, jumping up to his wobbly feet and very nearly falling straight back down again. Dean shoots out an arm to catch Cas before he can fall, wrapping his hands around Cas’s biceps to steady him in place.

“Cas… how am I standing?” Dean asks.

“My grace,” Castiel repeats himself. “I asked Jack if he could heal you, Dean. But he told me there was nothing for him to heal, and that… that I had already healed you. I just… I hadn’t even realized I had done it.”

“But… how?” Sam asks. “I thought you used the last of your grace in the transfer over to your body?”

“I did,” Castiel confirms. “You have to remember that Grace is nothing but pure energy. Volatile energy. When the spell failed, the last of my grace, myself, I… there was a release of power. An explosion of my grace. I think that when this occurred…”

Castiel trailed off, tearing his gaze away from the expectant faces around him back to the scar of his handprint on Dean’s shoulder. “The sudden surge of my grace caused a reaction within the ebb of grace inside the mark. It would have momentarily powered up the last of my grace, and…”

“And it healed me…” Dean finished what Cas was leading to. He looked from the mark on his shoulder over to Cas, a sharp burst of delirious laughter escaping him as he pulled Cas into what felt like the hundredth hug of that evening -not that he was complaining. “Remind me to tell you how amazing you are, Cas. Every day if you have to. I don’t say it enough, you magnificent bastard.”

Cas’s light chuckles next to his ear only made Dean’s smile grow wider. Cas pulled away from their embrace, and then right there, his soft eyes looking to Dean like everything had fallen into place was when it sunk in for Dean.

Cas was alive. Right here in front of him, alive and warm under his hands. His future was back, looking right at him, and for once in his damned life it felt like everything was going to be okay.

He didn’t care that Eileen and Sammy were right there next to them, didn’t care if they knew or not. He was done with the hiding, the pretending, the worry over what others would think of him. All that mattered was he had Cas back, the had another chance to do this right.

So, right in front of his brother, he kisses Cas for all he's worth. He kisses him like it might be the last time he’d ever get the privilege, like one of them were going to die at any second – which, with them, is a very real possibility.

“That was real…” Dean whispers against Castiel’s lips. “Not a dream… not in my head… you’re real.”

“I’m real,” Castiel mimicked Dean’s words. “And you kissed me.”

“And I kissed you,” Dean agrees, his breathy laughter brushing across Castiel’s face. “Uh… I think we might have an audience.”

Dean peeled himself away from Cas, glancing anxiously over to his brother. Not that he had anything to worry about, of course. Sam didn’t even blink at the two of them, too wrapped up in the euphoria and relief of getting his best friend back that he could only stand back with Eileen, watching their well-earned reunion with a smile of pure relief.

Eileen nudges Sam’s arm, gesturing to the two in front of them. “How about a new bet?”

Sam grins down at her, making sure Dean and Cas were otherwise distracted; not that it took long -the two always seemed to have their attention drawn to one another – before signing, “Is that even a question? What you got?”

“I’d give it six months before we’re stood at their wedding.”

Sam takes the bet.

He gives it three months.

Next Chapter - - - >

#destiel #destiel fanfiction #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #destiel fix it #destiel fix it fic #fix it fic #castiel/dean #castiel/dean winchester #casdean #supernatural spoilers #season 15 spoilers

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scarlet-it-was · 4 years ago

Text

Aftershocks

Tags up top: #world of warcraft #sylvanduin #sylvanas x anduin #older woman younger man

Set immediately post-Kingsmourne cinematic. Hastily written because it has been gnawing on my brain like Tred’ova. No betas, we die like warriors. The explicit version of this can be found here on AO3, just skip to chapter 2.

She watches his face; she can see the slightest twitch at the corner of his eye as he fights exhaustively to surface, but it’s of no use. The Jailer extracts the key from the Kingsmourne and Sylvanas is tasked with “putting away” the vessel until it is ready to be used again. Her head nods once, curtly, and her face remains unchanged as she takes over Anduin’s mind with her own banshee magic. Electric blue fades and shifts to a neon violet before she walks him from the balcony. He’s steered along several of the twisting corridors, bypassing his own prison and is taken to another.

The lair of the Dark Lady, inasmuch as she has laid claim to in this unearthly realm, is modestly sized. Unsurprisingly, many of her personal effects are twisted and gruesome. Skulls from every race known to Azeroth and the outer realms hang on the wall in a morbid gallery. Of the items that aren’t nightmare inducing, none of them look particularly sentimental or personal, likely left on Azeroth for safe keeping. The aesthetic here is carefully and intentionally curated.

She locks the door and proceeds to remove the sword and then unclamp the heavy armor while he wobbles in place and she whispers the necessary magic to keep him under her spell. Beneath the heavily spiked pauldrons and chest plate, Anduin is still a large man, larger than she would have expected from the man she’d goaded as the ‘boy king’ for the last several years, but his presence feels far smaller. Deft hands remove the final pieces of his armor as she lets the echo of her voice trail off, allowing him to come back to himself when he is clad only in tight black pants designed to keep the leather from chafing, and a loose black shirt that served the same purpose.

As the ocean blue of his eyes returns, he gasps in a panic, and the first thing he sees is her. Anger, white hot, burning righteous fury. If he’d had enough strength to call down the light, he would have smote her where she stood. Instead, he lunges at her, and it becomes apparent why she’s taken the time to relieve him of his weapons and armaments. It’s the exact reaction she expects, and while she is confident he’ll never catch up to her to land a punch, she’s not interested in taking chances after pride had won her a new scar at the hands of Saurfang. Sylvanas dodges his strikes, and sidesteps his advances for a few tense moments before his anger turns to something he can catch.

Her face remains passive as he smashes each of the skulls that hung on the wall, demanding answers after each is splintered in a thousand shards, practically reciting everything she’d done in his memory. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have answers to give him that will satisfy the depth of the ache he feels. Sylvanas begins the process of removing her own armor while he rants and destroys her room. “You know, I will just get more to replace them, and if they aren’t available readily, I can create them myself,” she warns, but doesn’t expect it to stop the destruction.

“STOP. UNDRESSING,” he booms at her, in equal parts anger and exasperation. He’s never seen her so...undergeared. It feels too private, and entirely too intimate for the emotions swirling through him. He wins only a narrowing of her eyes as she unfastens the heavy leather strap that holds the guards for her hips and thighs. He’s nearly hysterical; it’s hard the first time, and he doesn’t have the boon of being dead to numb his emotions. No, the Jailer needs him as a living mortal within the Shadowlands.

“Why?” he demands, as if he’s going to get a better answer than he has up until now.

Anduin rounds on her again and his face is flushed and streaked with tears. Careful, they’ll burn themselves onto your face, she can feel the chiding remark on her tongue, but for once she swallows it. She has no defense against his litany of her crimes. “Answer me, Sylvanas!”

His gaze is at once accusatory and pleading and it cuts her like the mourneblade all over again. Her memory hasn’t faded--she can feel his hurt and betrayal because she owns the same ones. Time hasn’t healed those wounds, it has only grown them into the anger and hatred she wears like armor around herself. It unpleasantly occurs to her that while he has been but a brief annoyance in her own long life, she has been a constant source of misery in his own. From the time he was young, so much has been taken. His peace, his father, his home, and now his free will; and she’s played a part in so many of those moments. Suddenly she’s finding it uncomfortable to maintain eye contact, and she lets her gaze drop.

She’s already got one foot braced and turns around in time to catch the charging Anduin solidly against her front. Sylvanas grunts when her back hits the wall, fangs bared, but she doesn’t strike back. This isn’t a man who wants more violence. She wraps her arms around him instead. “Shhh,” she hisses against his ear, holding him tightly against her while he flails to get free. He pushes at her, tries to pull away, but the attempts are half-hearted at best.

Eventually, he stops fighting and his arms go limp at his sides. Sylvanas feels him surrender, and her hold becomes less severe. She thinks back to the days her Little Moon would fling herself into Sylvanas’s arms and cry over whatever latest injustice had besieged her heart. Her memory marked them as petty endeavors compared to the broken boy she held now, but the muscle memory, at least, was helpful. His weight pressed against her made it easy to balance herself as she slid down the wall, pulling him down as well. He gave no fight, just crumbled to the ground with her, and his arms went around her waist. For a moment, she freezes and looks down at the mess of blonde hair. His head rests against her chest, which does not rise or fall, nor offer the comfort of a steady breath or heartbeat. She settles in once again, this time keeping an arm around his back while the other tugs loose the tie from his hair so she can thread her fingers through it. No words are offered--any she could say felt hollow, and certainly untrue.

Until the Maw, Sylvanas was the coldest place he’d ever known, but here, she feels like a respite--the smallest and most fragile of fires in a night that promised death from the howling wind. There isn’t much hope in it, but he clings to it nonetheless. He doesn’t expect to find himself on the floor of her room, wrapped up in the mysterious and infuriating elf, but the moment she offered him shelter instead of slaughter, he fell apart. Her fingers twine through his hair and it’s a small comfort. His eyes still burn, and so does his throat, but eventually he is able to pull himself together, in no small part due to the solid presence he rested against. He scrubs his eyes with the heel of his hand and she pauses her ministrations to allow him to do such. Her hand hovers for a moment before falling to the side when she realizes he won’t be putting his head back down.

He looks at her in earnest then. He’s never seen her out of her martial attire; she remains only in leather pants and a soft black under shirt. Sylvanas’s hair spills over her shoulders, flat from hiding beneath a hood. He’s always found her hauntingly beautiful, but nothing compared to her stripped of her war vestments and staring at him like...It wasn’t exactly compassion he saw in her eyes so much as understanding. Anduin had gained a new perspective as well--hers.

The fact that she chose to bring him here and comfort him rather than locking him back inside his circular prison speaks volumes, but that was never enough for him, because Sylvanas is never what she seems. “Why have you brought me here?” he asks, since it certainly isn’t to apologize. She hasn’t expressed remorse, or regret.

Sylvanas lets her head drop to the side so that she’s looking at him without her head leaving the support of the wall. “Because I can not give you peace, Young Wrynn, but I can at least make sure you sleep comfortably, and dreamlessly, if you so desire,” she drawls. Afterall, she has no use for her bed, she doesn’t require sleep and when she does sleep, it’s more out of habit or boredom. As she speaks, he feels her brace her feet and she lifts both of them, though this time with his help. She leads him to the bed and eases him down as though he is a broken thing.*

She sees him start to speak again, and she knows the question before it comes out. She stops it by pressing two cold fingers against his lips. “Shh, there is nothing to be done about it,” she tells him matter of factly. “Not yet. Be patient, little lion. The threads of fate are frayed and unravelling. Soon we will weave our own.” Sylvanas doesn’t remove her fingers from his lips, but rests her forehead against his with her eyes closed. “And no one will ever control us again,” she says, trying to convince him as much as she is trying to convince herself. Her fingertips and head lift at the same time and she leans forward to press a kiss on his brow, imbuing him with an irresistible urge to sleep. “Rest now,” she murmurs, settling him in the throng of pillows as he slowly blinks, trying and failing to stay awake. Her hand smooths over his forehead once more, pushing slightly faded gold locks out of his face in a tender gesture he won’t remember by the time he wakes. “It won’t get any easier from here.”

#sylvanduin #sylvanas x anduin #world of warcraft #fanfiction #my fic #aftershocks

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your-lady-star · 5 years ago

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Fallen M!Corrin is Better Than Fallen F!Corrin

Bit of a hot take here for me to do, but I’ve honestly have had complications with Fallen F!Corrin for a while, and now that my baby boy has his own, I figured now is a better time than any to get into my issues with her fallen alt and why M!Corrin does it significantly better.

Now I’m not going to talk about their skills and usefulness in battle, mainly cause I don’t care about that at all, I’m going to be focusing solely on design and how well it connects to the thematic surrounding the story of Fallen Corrin. And that’s a good starting point.

I remember back when last years fallen banner was revealed and I saw a lot of people wondering why Corrin was on the banner since they never turn evil in game. I think people forget what the purpose of the fallen banner is; it’s not to show inherently evil characters, it’s to show, well, fallen heroes. Characters who’s mindsets, goals, an ethics were once just, but have been corrupted by a dark force, whether it’d be psychological or external. And, while it’s easy to forget, Corrin is fighting a psychological battle for his sanity every minute of every day.

Corrin’s dragon blood is very potent and very powerful, more so than any of the other royals, hence why he’s able to fully transform into a dragon. One downside of this is that dragons within the world of Fire Emblem are described as being inherently destructive and blood thirsty, something we clearly see with Corrin as his first transformation into a dragon had him go on a destructive rampage and attack Azura. He’s given the dragonstone for the express purpose of maintaining control of these urges and keeping his sanity in check.

The fallen version is meant to showcase what would happen if they couldn’t maintain control, whether it’d be from not getting the dragonstone in time or the dragonstone not being of much help or maybe a completely different reason; it’s designed to show what would happen if Corrin surrendered to their draconic urges and became the monstrous killing machine they dread becoming, especially with the implications that Corrin may have possibly killed Aura during the initial attack. A Corrin who is lost to destructive urges and has become a monster that cannot be stopped, that is the theme to their fallen counterparts.

And while M!Corrin does that job fantastic, F!Corrin not so much.

Now we can finally get into discussing the art for these two and how well they do at showcasing this theme.

Let’s start with their default stance.

M!Corrin has a wide stance and is slightly hunched over, akin to that of an animal, and his tail being out further plays into that. The way its wrapped out to the front of his body with the spikes facing outward not only gives his stance a bit of a defensive feel, but also threatening, as though to let other know what they’re getting themselves into by challenging him. The way his hands are tensed up to look like claws makes it very intimidating and the way his left hand is positioned in that almost “come here” gesture gives a sense that he’s daring you to try to stop his, furthered with the way his right hand is placed in that cocky arrogance fashion that FE has used before. But the most telling feature is his eyes and face. That sense of cockiness is present with the way his eyebrows are raised and the slight curve of his mouth as well as that feel of lunacy with the ways his eyes seem to be different sizes, which anyone who has ever watched anime knows is clue number one that a character is a f*cking psychopath. But the most interesting thing is the dead emptiness is his expression. As though he isn’t truly there mentally, that he’s completely surrendered to the madness and is just a vessel for his cursed bloods madness. It’s downright terrifying and incredibly intriguing all at once.

Overall, this default art is fantastic and does a great job at giving a memorable first impression and teases for whats to come. It’s one of the best artworks to come out of Heroes for not only how well it does at displaying the theme of the character, but for being able to say so much with a single image.

On the other hand...

Alright, so on an objective standpoint there isn’t anything wrong with the default art for fallen F!Corrin. It looks great, it’s nicely detailed and it’s clear that a lot of time went into it. My issue with it is how poorly it does at representing a corrupted Corrin.

I get that the idea behind her design is that she’s slowly wearing herself down trying to fight back against her dark urges, but the art doesn’t do a good job at portraying that. The only real indication of her supposed exhaustion is a single bead of sweat running down her thigh and (maybe) one on her cheek, and everything from her facial expression to the way her arms are placed to her general stance comes off looking “embarrassed” rather than “tired”. She looks less like a woman desperately battling a losing battle to maintain control over her humanity and more like a typical anime girl who was walked in on by her crush while changing. The over-beautification of F!Corrin’s design already doesn’t do much to help with that (but that’s a discussion I’ll save for another day). Even the tail, one of the most striking features on fallen M!Corrin’s design, doesn’t have the same presence. It being mostly behind her not only loses that sense of defense and intimidation, but it causes the tail to blend into her and become less noticeable. I’m not even joking when I say that I didn’t even notice that she had a tail until the third time I saw this art.

Like I said, the art isn’t bad, it just doesn’t do the core theme justice. Rather than looking worn down, she looks slightly perturbed at best. Rather than looking menacing, she looks meek. And rather than fitting into a banner themed around great heroes falling into darkness, this feels like something that would fit in more in a summer or Easter banner (which is extremely ironic considering what I’ll get into later). It’s a build up for a set of art that’s supposed to make me feel sorry for her, but only accomplishes in making me think of how much she looks like me when I’m waiting for my brothers to hurry up in the bathroom.

Once more the dynamic weight and posing in the artwork shines brilliantly in his neutral attack pose. Lunging forward keeps in with the animalistic nature along with his hands once more tensed like claws, one reeling back to get ready to strike. With the way his cape and tail, curled almost like a snake or scorpion, flow behind him create a real feeling of movement and his expression dark but subdued, it makes for this real intense energy coming from his as he lunges for his prey. My favorite aspect being how the shadows form on his face, hiding it just enough to conceal his murderous intent while still allowing the harsh red of his eyes to shine prominently. And while there isn’t any discernible difference in his hair, the way it’s wrapped around his face and flowing to his movement give that much needed edge to his glare. And with the dark purple miasma flowing and highlighting points of interest, it makes for a truly great piece.

This isn’t really a problem that’s singular to fallen F!Corrin, as IS does struggle to give dragon units unique attack art that doesn’t just have the character either standing still or slightly curved with their arms either out at their sides or holding whatever stone they use to transform. So I can appreciate that they tried to do something different with her attack art. But, again, the problem is how it doesn’t fit with what they’re trying to represent.

Her expression is that of either mild annoyance or boredom, giving no indication that she’s in pain from having to fight. There’s no real tensity in any part of her body, having more of a grace and fluidity that is commonly used on dancer units. Her tail is more visible, but nothing is really being done with it. It’s not extenuating anything or highlighting a part of her body, it’s just curled on her legs. And any sense of intimidation is lost because the most threatening part of the tail, the spikes, are no longer in the foreground. Sense of movement is also an issue here. The way her cape and hair are framed makes it feel like she just jumped off of something and is having a rough landing and there’s no feeling for how she moved to attack, no ferocity in her actions. Again, it’s akin to more of a dancer than a feral dragon.

And this is small nitpick I have, but it really bugs me. I don’t like how the purple miasma for F!Corrin is lighter than M!Corrin’s. It might seem like a minuscule thing to be worried about, but the darker tone on his gives a real feel of dread and despair. The lighter tones are hers don’t stand out as much and don’t give any real negative emotion to her state. Yeah, she’s supposed to be fighting to maintain control, but having them be darker would help to represent that desperation and hopelessness. You can still have lighter hues, but they need to work in tandem to the darker colors.

Because when you do, you get beauty like this.

Just look at this masterpiece. The lighter purple flames mixing well with the darker flames, coming together in the center like a twisted mockery of where the dragonstone would be in any other art, curling around his body like a charging beast quickly closing in on you. His eyes glowing an ethereal mix of his natural red and the miasma around him, giving them a horrific shine that stand out a mile away and full of pure demented blood lust. And his mouth; wide open, fangs bearing in a horrific grimace, ready to sink into whatever stands in his way.

I don’t usually throw this term around, but I don’t hesitate to use it here: this art is flawless.

This art, however, I can’t attach flawless to. The mix of purple and dark pink and the lighting it casts does look really good, but it’s an intense mix to a subdued reaction. Her eyes don’t look anymore ferocious than they do on any of her other alts and there’s no glow to them to make her look like her darker urges are beginning to influence her. The clawed hand could be a cool feature, but it’s hard to see since it’s being blocked out by all the pink! I actually didn’t even notice that her hand was clawed until I looked up her artwork for this post! Such a distinguished feature shouldn’t be this hard to notice. Not to mention, even if the claw was more visible, it doesn’t hold the same level of intimidation as her male counterpart due to how thin and spindly her arms and hand are. This feels like a slight upgrade to her original forms special art and is extremely disappointing.

After the Adrift banner, I am pleased to see a M!Corrin alt where his damaged art doesn’t tear his clothes off. But even with the minimal physical damage, you can’t deny how good this looks.

The rips on his left hand give it a jagged look that nicely compliments how tense his hand is.His right is clawed and raised, poised to attack and surrounded by the miasma in a way that highlights it without overshadowing it. His tail raised and thrashing about in a fit of rage, further complimented by his crouched over stance and, of course, his face. Corrin’s facial expressions across each form of his fallen counterpart has been his best feature, and this is easily the best of the four. That look of pure, unadulterated, unrelenting rage is so disturbing and amazing at the same time. Damage art in Heroes typically has the character looking shocked, sad, perturbed, or not phased by it. This is the only damage art I can think of where the character is f*cking pissed. That is a look that screams “I”m going to f*cking annihilate you for doing that” and it’s utterly glorious.

Oh boy, this art.

Nearly everything I praised about M!Corrin’s damage art is the exact opposite for the female.

The stance is very generic and holds no emotion other than “Ow, I’m hurt”. Her facial expression doesn’t register pain at all, looking more like she’s inconvenienced because someone splashed water on her. Her tail, despite being very dominant, is just sitting there with no fluidity. Physical damage is far greater here, but all it does is distract the viewer who is too busy getting off to her exposed legs and thighs! And whether it'd be because of shaky perspective or shoddy work, but her hands and arms are distractedly small and thin. It looks like her arms would shatter if she pushed someone too hard.

This is my lease favorite of her arts entirely because it exemplifies the main problem with fallen F!Corrin’s design and why M!Corrin did it better.

It focuses more on making Corrin look cute rather than having her actually represent the theme she’s supposed to be.

The titles for the two Corrin’s are Bloodbound Beast and Wailing Soul. M!Corrin perfectly embodies his title while F!Corrin struggles to just barely hint at. Both of them are meant to show a pure hearted and noble individual being corrupted by the very blood coursing through their veins, yet only one of them is really putting in any effort to properly represent this. And while I can’t give any concrete evidence of this, I feel like the main thing that kept the female variant from properly doing the job was because they got the wrong person to draw her.

And look, I don’t have anything against Sencha, fallen F!Corrin’s artist; they’re extremely talented. But looking at their record for art in Heroes can tell you that they weren’t the right one for this. This is the same person who did the summer and adrift art for F!Corrin (they also did bridal Tharja, but that’s not related here), and both of them have a distinctive style to them. They’re graceful, beautiful, serene, cheerful. Sencha is very good at drawing Corrin very pleasant and lovely. However, Sencha clearly isn’t that good at drawing Corrin miserable and withered. And that’s understandable. Making someone completely shift the genre they’re used to is a serous challenge and it’d be no surprise if they can’t handle it. So, despite my claim that they got the wrong artist for her, I don’t blame Sencha for not doing as well.

Then again, I doubt that this wasn’t a challenge for Argon, fallen M!Corrin’s artist. Their Heroes portfolio consists of mostly seasonal alts for various male characters, though they also did Cormag, which shows that they do more dynamic posing and harsher color saturation. If anything, the fact that they did such a phenomenal job on Corrin shows they got some serious skill at drawing more demented characters. Hopefully they get to do this more often, I need to see more of their work like this.

So, at the end of this long diatribe, I’ll once again reiterate that I don’t dislike fallen F!Corrin for any personal bias towards the male version or because the art is objectively bad. It’s a nicely done art, but one that doesn't suit what the character is to represent. And the fact that fallen M!Corrin utterly blew it out the water in his artwork really made it worse for her.

... Was this all just on big excuse for me to gush about fallen M!Corrin’s artwork?

Maybe.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got orbs to hoard.

#fire emblem heroes #fire emblem fates #corrin #fe corrin #m!corrin #f!corrin #character design #design critic #this banner sold me in the first two seconds #i think you can see why

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ajoy3fanfics · 5 years ago

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Captive

Prologue Here

Chapter 1

Bridal processions were known to be a spectacle- extravagant, ornate affairs that took months of preparation, each detail planned, purposeful; at least, that had been Kagome’s experience. She had witnessed the marriage of several high ranking officials as a young princess, and even a few of her grandfathers new wives being welcomed into his harem, though it had been some years since he sought after a new bedmate. The greater the status, the grander the affair; yet even those who could not afford such luxuries conducted their own versions with what they could spare. She had enjoyed watching the carriage stroll through the streets, decorated in gold, surrounded by well wishers, those in the streets hoping to catch a glimpse of the beauty behind the screen.

It was different this time.

A political marriage did not usually include a love match, was not typically formed for romance or lust. No consideration is given to the looks of the soon to be husband, of his personality or manners. It was quite common for a man old enough to have sired his bride take her to bed, many husbands going bald or grey while the beauty beneath him radiated youth. It would be an unfair match, to be sure. There would be no common ground, no similar interests. If the gods blessed them, their coupling may produce a child; and if the gods truly smiled, a son and heir. Maybe then the couple would find something to talk about. The marriage would be cold and lonely, but that is the price of such a match, or so Kagome had been told. Having been schooled in more than just manners, she was aware of the duties of royal lineage, although her grandfather had often eased her fears. She would marry for love, he prophecies, she carried the aura of one lucky in love.

Instead, she carried with her responsibilities, the groom treaties, and together they would mend a politically torn hole. That was the idea, at least. Thus, bridal processions left the city more in mourning than celebration, few knowing that the counties prize rose was to be planted in foreign soil. None left their homes to watch the carriage proceed, the meager guard surrounding each side, ready to tackle the long journey ahead.

It was a bland vessel, not craved and painted with the Higurashi flowers that decorated every corner of their homes. There was purpose in doing so; the guard itself would attract attention, but beautifying the carriage would be shouting to the world of its finery inside- a risk, a call to every beggar and thief, tempting their fate with each turn of the wheels.

Her outfit, elegant silk, a light pink that reminded her of the delicate petals of the cherry blossoms clung to her bosom like a second skin, shoulders exposed and flaring at the waist. It was a finer fabric than she had worn in a long time- far too precious for daily palace life- but still, not the outfit of a bride.

The dress should be white, pristine. The train should be long and heavy, requiring several ladies to carry it so as not to let it drag on the ground. Such a dress would be impractical for the long journey ahead, and advisor Naraku had urged his attendants to find her a garment that accentuated her natural curves. Should trouble come her way, it would be an easier fate to be a common woman rather than a hostage princess. If the captors did not try and sell her for ransom, their men would take turns having their way, sating their carnal desires and hatred of royalty.

Kagome leaned her head against the velvet pillow of the carriage, trying to find a moment of peace. How long would it be until they reached the kingdom? The uncertainty was one thing, but the journey itself was long and arduous. From the back, she could hear the laughter of the men, hearty and joyful, going forward without a care. They seemed at ease on the road, and next to their brethren. The ones who marched by her side were quiet, having no one to talk to, and the general up ahead, proudly seated atop his fine horse, the only one in the troop. She had seen a few of them trying to catch glimpses of the maiden behind the screen. She couldn’t blame them; the beauty of the first princess was legendary, often commented on in the city, but rarely seen in person. It was unbefitting for someone of her station to mingle with commoners, so the princesses only had each other as company, and the few attendants close to their ages.

She turned away from the small window, trying instead to focus on the scenery as it passed by. She wished she knew what the soldiers were joking about; it was quiet lonely to sit by oneself for so long. Having had her sisters companionship the whole of her life, she was nervous to be in a strange land without her. She wondered if her sister was nervous, if she had the same hesitations. It was a foolish thought. Her sister was headstrong, brave; the sort that would never put up with this treatment.

The laughter ceased suddenly, the carriage stopped to a holt. Kagome was jostled in the process, hair falling out of its pins into a lopsided mess she was unsure how to fix. Nervously, she peaked out of the window, trying to determine the cause of such chaos. She called out to the men, eager to hear reassurance that all was well. They shouted, urging her to stay inside, not to worry, all would be handled, though their tones were not to be trusted. She could hear the panic, the confidence fleeting as their swords were met with the sound of growls. She did as she was told, gripping the handle for whatever attack may come. Kagome was fighting her own battle, wanting to leap out and assist, yet knowing full well she would be a hinderance. She was taught to attack if necessary, but only if there was no man left to defend her. Should a princess put herself in the line of danger, a soldiers natural instinct would be to protect his ruler, putting all parties in danger. Even knowing this, her conscience cried! She could help, she must defend her people! To hell with her grandfathers rules, with Narakus wise words; real people were in trouble and if she could help-

It was silent, no familiar sound, no rallying cry.

In her indecisiveness, the last of her guard had fallen, his cries overshadowed by the growing number of growls, hungry and dark, nearing her at an alarming pace. There was a voice among them, almost human to her ears, and she dainty heard him give an order before pulling the door wide open.

He looked wild, his brown fur pelts strapped across his chest in mock armor, hair knotted and twisted, leaves clinging to the strands as if he had emerged from the trees itself. Wolves surrounded him in either side- a pack larger than those she heard in tales- their eyes yellow, hungry. He grinned at her, lewd, unnerving, and reached inside to grasp at Kagome. Fearfully, she scuttled to the back, not wanting to be this mans conquest nor his clans dinner.

“Don’t be shy, missy. We were lookin’ for you.” His teeth were yellow, pointed in an inhuman way. He was a demon, and she was trapped. So hard was Her heart pounding in her ears, she did not notice the murmurs of the wolves down. It was only when one howled, chilling to the bone that caught her attention.

The beast turned, drawing away from Kagome and looking back towards his pack. He cursed at an invisible figure, soundless, skilled. Having abandoned the princess for a fight, Kagome knew that though her options were limited, she now had them. She could jump out of the carriage, fleeing for safety, taking her chances that the culprit would not hunt her down. On the other hand, she could barricade herself inside, hoping that whoever laid in wait would simply pass by.

In the end, the choice was not hers; Kagome realized in that moment how few choices she had had in the last 24 hours, how she had taken for granted the plethora of options she had before her only a day ago.

She heard the footsteps before she saw them, heavy black boots that came into view of her tiny window. They stopped, just in front, as if examining the carriage. There was nothing discerning- it was a simple cart that would fetch a small sum, but hardly worth the lives that had clearly been taken. In one swift movement, the door flung open, revealing an armored man, beautiful, frightening.

His silver hair, long and thick, was tied into a bun, red speckles of blood marring it’s fine color. Kagome fell backwards into the carriage, stumbling at the sight of such a being. He narrowed his eyes, golden, blazing against the light of the day, causing the trapped princess to shiver. He was no ordinary man; then again, she was no ordinary woman. She was a princess, and had a duty to uphold. She would not tremble as she had done with the wolf; She was raised with dignity, and if these were to be her final moments, she would go with pride. Kagome set her jaw, doing her best to stare him down. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw him smirk.

The man reached in, grasping her arm and pulling her forward. He held her, considering her as if she were a piece of merchandise. He sniffed once, as if testing the air for her scent.

“Well, you ain’t a whore.” He rasped, tone flirting with the trace of amusement. His eyes took notice of her body, resting on the swell of her chest. His lips turned up in a teasing manner. “Then again, this look isn’t too bad”

With her free hand, Kagome readied herself you slap him, but his reflexes were too fast, the hit blocked with minimal effort. Kagome realized his claws, razor sharp, were not digging into her skin, but easily could.

“Do you always hit people who save your life?” He barked.

“Only the ones with vile mouths.” She spat.

The man cocked his head, considering her. “Feisty, eh?” The man seemed genuinely amused at the situation, although princess Kagome could not figure out why for the life of her. “So, what are you?” He sized her up, eyes raking over her state of dress. “A mistress? Lady to a small lord?”

“I am none of your concern.” Kagome met his eyes, steeled, refusing to break contact. She pulled, attempting to free herself. “Let. Me. Go.”

He smiled this time, his grin toothy, revealing a sharp, dangerous fang. “No, you’re none of that.” He leaned in closer, making Kagome realize how much larger his body was than hers. He was muscled, his armor heavy, but he wore it as if weightless. “You’ve got a defiant look in your eyes. Not used to answering to anyone, are you?” She twisted, the silk fabric falling off her shoulder, revealing more than intended; in a normal situation, she would have the good grace to blush, and he the manners to let her adjust her state of dress; but that was not now, and he was not that type of man. He wrinkled his nose, the smirk still plastered, lazy. “Feh, you reek of Higurashi roses.”

Kagome pulled once more, demanding he set her free. “I can pay you.” She promised. “Return me, and I can give you ransom.” It was a bargain, one she hoped he would take.

“And why would I want that?” He smirked again, a knot growing In Kagome’s stomach. “It’s not every day princess Kikyo makes an appearance in these woods.”

She froze, eyes wide at his realization.

He didn’t know.

This man- the wolves- all of them- thought she was Kikyo.

It was not a huge leap, anyone would assume that the carriage would belong to the first princess, on her way to be wed.

Except it was the second princess on the road. The second princess who was sent out as a place holder, buying time until Kikyo was located. She escaped in the night, always one step ahead of the court, refusing to wed a foreign man and forgo her future.

It should have been an easy trip. It should have been Kikyo, not her, staring down a solider with burning amber eyes.

“Word travels fast, princess. You’re not so secret engagement has been the worst kept secret I’ve ever heard, and because of that, those bastard wolves snuck through our land, slaughtering an entire village along the way, just trying to get to you.” He rubbed his chin with his free hand, a slight trace of stubble growing in as the daylight grew dim. “Lucky for you, I hunted them down before any real damage was done.”

Any real damage? Countless men laid on the cold ground, never to rise again, yet he talked of ‘real’ damage and casualties. Kagome knew this was a time to bite her tongue, not wanting to upset him further. When she said nothing in response, he sighed, as if unamused with her display of dissatisfaction.

“Can I trust you to walk, or do I have to tie you up? Your choice, princess.”

#ajoy3 #inuyasha #inukag #kagome #inufanfic

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courtorderedcake · 4 years ago

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Hallow : ch xx - CSSNS 2019

“The Goblin King was prepared to host the Darkness, stealing Fae women away to their corrupted lands underneath the ground as concubines. The Darkness chose another in his stead, but not before this selected vessel enacted a devastating attack in its vengeance, revealing its hatred & rage. The battle was a lesson the old kings had forgotten; never underestimate an opponent.

Many more lives were lost as they razed over any who dared defy The Goblin King’s will. Only the pure love of our rulers united in matrimony, breaking the Vorpal Dagger, sealed the darkness and the Goblin menace away. The light flourished under their fair rule, and the queen bore a child as pure as moon beams, swan feathers, and starlight. They lived happily ever after, and shall be written in history as Heroes for All Time.”

This is the history Princess Emma memorizes from the day she is born, paraded about and presented only with the highest protection. The palace is a cage she wishes to escape, desperately. Not careful what wishes she made, Emma discovers history is written by the victors - The Dark One has an entirely different version of the events that took place.

Read on AO3 here.

Rated E for explicit themes, Mature situations, and Fae fuckery.

Written for @cssns

Ch xx / ?? - In which truths are finally revealed.

Twisting the strange heaviness that was Arthur's engagement ring around her finger, Emma walked slowly down the corridors with a line of attendants behind her. The walk was stop and go, breathing as troubled as her mind as she tried to contemplate Killian's transgressions.

How long had he been plotting if he managed to do this to her? The illness was something worthy of her hatred, but she could not bring herself to feel any anger when she remembered the way he had looked at her. His eyes had been so clear, the plea in them bright, sun catching ocean waves through fog. He had begged her to listen, and why would he stay if he had the dagger shard in hand? Surely he wouldn't take her life after everything they had gone through together. His revenge on her parents and her had fallen away… hadn't it?

The tea she had earlier on Arthur's insistence twisted in her stomach painfully, her breath catching. Her lungs constricted, burning with effort, heart deafening in her ears until she was spinning, twirling round.

"Mmm. Well," Killian smirked, pulling her close, bodies pressed together far more intimately than was required of a proper waltz. "Not that I don't love to hear the sad stories of the poor princess -"

"Oh, come on -" Emma hissed, rolling her eyes and trying to pull away.

" - but I would never deny you a chance to actually be kept on your toes." He dipped her low, humming something she could not discern, something older and much more jaunty. Spinning her with expertise across the small space, Emma fell into his lead if you could call it that. He didn't follow one style of step, and any stiffness was met with a complicated step she had to focus on, until she was laughing at the ridiculous over exaggerated styles he forced her to partner with.

Both Killian and her were out of breath when he threw her into a wild spin, bringing her in close to intertwine her fingers with his. Emma breathlessly giggled, closing her eyes to clear the dizziness away, her eyes shooting open in surprise when she leaned forward and their foreheads met.

Emma woke, sitting up and finding herself alone in a part of the castle she didn't recognize, standing with shaky confusion.

"Hello?" she called out, almost slipping on a strange blue sparkling residue that surrounded the area where she had woken. "What in the -"

"Princess, I'm sorry, I had no choice," Ali rounded a corner checking behind himself as her brows furrowed. "You need to hide; they're coming, Hades convinced them not to wait, and I can't control it very well - the call, the pull is too strong."

Ali doubled over, hissing lowly, and Emma stepped toward him with hesitation. "Ali? What is wrong? Are you alright?"

"Emma, Arthur's not who you think he is." Ali pulled her aside, checking the space for any signs of life. He lowered his voice further. "Ask him about his heartache, and strife. He - Emma, no matter what he tries to charm you with, do not listen."

"But he's -"

"I can't right now. They're coming, I have to -" He groaned, glowing a faint blue.

"Ali, what is going on?" Emma reached for him, his sharp turn causing her to fall back. His eyes glowed a bright burning blue. "What are you!?"

"I don't have time for this!" Ali yelled before disappearing in a puff of blue smoke.

Emma stood up carefully, confused as she looked around. Entering the garden, hands grabbed her from behind, sweeping her off her feet.

"Put me down!"

"Princess, what happened? Are you alright?" Arthur said, as she flailed in his grasp. "It's okay. I'm sorry for startling you, I -"

"I don't know what is happening, I don't know what is going on!" Emma pulled free, standing shakily. "He turned blue, and he said, he said -"

Holding her arm to steady her, Arthur tried soothing her, cooing softly. "Emma, you're not making sense, what are you talking about? Who said -"

"You - He said you have heartache and strife?" Arthur stiffened, gripping her arm tightly. She winced, whimpering slightly until it turned into a cough. He let her go and she fell back, leaning against the wall. "What does that mean, Arthur? I know you were married, I know your wife is gone, but…"

"It's nothing, darling. Really." He smiled, but even if she was without the gift of the Sphinx to know truths, Emma could feel the lie in his voice. "Come and lay down in your quarters. I've made you some more tea, and I'll help you get comfortable -"

"I need to get to Jasmine; there's something wrong here. You're - You're not telling me the truth." Arthur's eyes went cold, before he softly smiled and approached.

"My sweet flower, I have been avoiding the topic for fear of bruising your delicate petals. It's not a pleasant story." He swallowed hard, with a sigh. "Let me walk you back through the corridor. I'll tell you as we go, sound good?"

"I don't think I -" Emma tried, but he was gripping her elbow tightly, pulling her through the halls.

"I was very much in love with the woman I married. My Guinevere." He sighed, Emma trying to keep herself from falling at the pace he set. His grip was tight as he dragged her, weak noises of protest going unheard. "She didn't believe in me, or my dreams of what our kingdom could be. She wanted me to be proud of what we had, to live in the past relying on the strength of our people, not the strength of our steel. I tried to change her mind, but I know now that it was fruitless."

Emma pulled away, falling to the floor as she gasped for air. She stared hard at him, trying to will away the prickling fear that gripped her as his words rang with half truths.

"Come on now, up you get blossom," he coaxed lightly, his sharp yank of her wrist fiercely violent in comparison. She yelped and his eyes darkened, narrowing dangerously. "This would have been much easier if you had drank more of the poppy flower I brewed, I didn't want to be this rough you know -"

"Stop! Please -"

"You women are so frustrating! You don't know what is good for you, come along." Emma attempted to scoot away again, trying to understand what he was saying. The tea in her stomach churned, the minimal amount still filling her with nausea at his strange comment. Poppy flower rang a bell in her mind, the red or orange blooms pulled apart by Regina in one of her lessons. What had they been making? "You're just like Guinevere, pushing me to correct your mistakes."

His fingers tightened painfully around her wrist, the leer he gave as he looked down at her not befitting the Arthur she had been courting. The memory hit her like a punch to the gut. Poppies were used in sleeping potions, or to make someone drowsy and complicit. Arthur had drugged her.

"You're mad! You've forgotten yourself Arthur, it's no wonder she left you if this is how you corrected her! How dare you drug me!" Emma snapped, his mouth twisting and eyes narrowing at her words. He chuckled darkly.

"She didn't just leave me, she betrayed me, Emma. I don't take kindly to betrayal, and it was not my fault. They should have known. You should know now as well, so you," He pulled her up roughly to her feet, dragging her around a corner, "Know to listen ."

He hissed the last words, and Emma felt sweat bead on her brow, the patterned floor below their feet unfamiliar. They were nowhere near her apartments in the palace, the corridor empty of any servants.

"What -" The words caught in her throat, the question making Arthur grin as he caressed the ring on her finger with his thumb.

"What happened to her? I killed her lover - one of my best knights too, which was a shame - then I killed our daughter, which was more accident than intentional. But Guinevere, I made her watch until she had a final choice to make."

Emma wrenched away, backing up as he advanced on her.

"She could die by starvation, or fling herself from her room in the tower I locked her in." He laughed, as if he wasn't speaking madness, and Emma tried to keep upright. "By the third day she made her decision, and made the leap. It wasn't as clean as I'd hoped, but Guin always had a penchant for mess. I would hope you are cleaner, but our time together looks brief."

He seemed to frown slightly at this, but his eyes showed nothing but amusement. Emma threw the ring at him, unable to utter any words between her wheezing breaths.

"Shhh, it's okay my sweet bud. Soon enough you'll be dead, we'll blame the Dark One for it, I'll gain your kingdom in your passing along with Agrabah, and the Dark One will be our one man army as we bind him to Excalibur." Arthur grabbed her face, pressing a kiss to her temple as she tried to push him away. Killian, they were going to hurt Killian and her people, what had she done ? He chuckled lowly at her panic, her squirms to get away doing nothing. "You truly were such a prize. It's just too bad that no one could ever love you more than your station. So much power in that title, truly far too much for a desperate naive girl like you. Now, come along. We are needed elsewhere."

He tugged hard as Emma fought, touch going from rough to brutally so in an instant. She cried in desperation, his fingers threading through her hair to yank her neck back, hope becoming a distant memory as she weakened.

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The cell holding Killian was damp, the floor made of packed clay and damp sand that gave way to thick limestone blocks where manacle chains hung. Compared to the cell at the Royal Palace that had held him for what might as well have been eons, this was as flimsy as wet paper. The Darkness seemed to remind him of this on loop, but he couldn't hear it over the roar in his ears, the way Emma had looked at him from her bed like a stranger.

She looked - Gods , she had looked -

Arthur wanting to marry her so she could simply die had been so repulsively absurd until he had seen her. In the few days that had turned into a week's time, Emma had lost her coloring, her frame was skeletal, eyes sunken and chest almost concave. Wires and wards covered her, and he should have known, he should have been there by her side instead of ducking down hallways to prevent her from following. He had tried to lose her, and now he was to be successful, his heart breaking.

He couldn't break out of his cell without proving his criminality, but if he stayed, she might -

A blinding flash of blue startled and dazed him, his blinking unable to clear it from his vision at first. A man glowed before him, skin cracked like a bird shell, a bright azure light pouring from underneath. He wore a mask of twisted gray cloth and a thief's coarse linen tunic with breeches, but the eyes were unmistakable. Aladdin.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner, I had thought you would -" He approached Killian, and Killian was out of the manacles within seconds, his fist hitting hard against Aladdin's stomach.

"You piece of shit," Killian hissed lowly, Aladdin letting out a wheeze. "You triple timing, absolute piece of -"

"They're… Bandits!" Aladdin gasped out, the blue breaking through his skin more. Killian stepped back, circling him slowly, watching his movements. Arcane energy prickled in the air, small pebbles rising from the floor. "They're coming to… Kill… Arthur engaged, so Hades pushed the attack to today… They want… Kill Jasmine and take -"

"Bloody buggering hell - why would you ally with them? Was everything with Jasmine and Emma a ruse?" Killian asked, surprised how the accusation was filled with concern. "I swear to you, I won't let Emma die because you -"

"You have to hurry… I warned her, I tried… I'm being pulled, compelled, I can't - Emma's with Arthur. I can't hold on - gah -" He groaned, the glow becoming brighter, more skin sizzling away as he burned from within. "Save Emma from Arthur."

Aladdin looked up, their eyes meeting, before disappearing in a puff of blue smoke. As soon as he was gone, Killian was in movement, nothing but Emma's safety on his mind.

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The fist that came from seemingly nowhere broke Arthur's hold on her, sending her sprawling to the ground with a ringing in her ears. She could hear the sound of blows hitting flesh, but could barely lift herself to see her would be savior, if that was what they were. Then they spoke, and her heart beat in a strange uneven quick step.

"Fuck," Killian ground out, his voice rough as Arthur grunted between blows, "You, 'Mate'."

Pulling herself to her knees, Emma attempted to crawl from where the two fought. Managing to turn into a courtyard, her dress caught on a raised stepping stone, her body collapsing. Fatigue and sheer emotional exhaustion pushed her into tears, fingers digging into the dirt to pull herself forward even slightly.

Strong hands helped her up, Killian looking at her with concern she hadn't seen from him in weeks.

"Are you - he didn't hurt you did he?" he asked, and she laughed herself into a coughing fit at the ridiculous question. He seemed mollified at this, swallowing hard. "I left him in a heap. He'll never hurt you again, alright love? At least you didn't marry that monster."

Emma snorted, her raw throat burning through coughs. Finally she felt it unclench, anger flowing through her to yell at his stupid face, with his stupid consternation that was far too little, too late.

“Why do you care? Of all the times you have hurt me, belittled me, or made it clear that you despise me, why now do you care? Is he not better than Nil or leaving my family with no contingency?" Pushing him away with what little force she could, he looked surprised at her anger. Emma felt her chest constrict, but continued. "You have wasted no time making it clear that you don't want to know my plans should I die. Why now do you have the gall to say that you want a say?" Wobbling in the new space between them, she raised her chin in defiance. Killian tried to close the gap again, and she took a step back.

"I'm sorry Emma. You're right, I shouldn't - "

"Damn right you shouldn't. Damn right that you even being here still makes me feel…" She hesitated, arms wrapping around her frame. "You told me that you were leaving on Selune, and again once on your ship. What possible reason do you have to stay if but to hurt me at every turn, Killian? Why come back? You should have just gone when you were freed, and left me alone. You shouldn't be here. You caused all of this!"

He carded a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "It's not - That's not -"

"Why can't you let me go? What am I to you? Was I wrong to believe that you had any hope of redemption?" Emma tried to ignore the rasp of her voice as it broke, tears streaking hot trails down her cheeks. "Do you have any idea how much pain you have caused me?"

"You can't marry him, Emma. You can't." He reached for her, but she flinched away, his expression turning from worry to a pained hurt she wanted to slap off his face. "You couldn't do that to yourself. You know that he would have never been a good king."

"He was better than Nil!" Emma spat. "You have no right to have any say in this, Killian. I will do what I see fit, for my kingdom and my family -"

"Please, just listen -" This time when he reached out for her, she looked at him in disgust, shoving his hands away. He was a liar, playing her for a fool, his pleading and his unsettling worried stare be damned. Even if it was true, it was him - he had no right to lecture her on who was 'good'.

"I have heard enough. You have nothing of substance to say to me, and no answers to my questions!" Emma shouted.

"He's not the one from your dreams, he's working along with Aladdin, the fake prince Ali. I'm -"

Cutting him off, she spun on her heel, jabbing a finger at him in rage. "Why should I believe anything you have to say? Why should I trust you when all you have done is hurt me?"

"I never meant for this, I never wanted to harm you. Please, please love, you have to listen. I beg you, please -" A loud noise that sounded like stone against metal shook the fountain that burbled happily in the corner, smoke drifting out from somewhere deeper in the palace.

"I refuse, I refuse to listen to any more of your lies. You are the last person I would ever trust. You disgust me. How can you even stand here knowing that you haven't changed at all, and that you are the same monster?" Killian's eyes widened at her sudden proximity, his posture going rigid. His hands that had been reaching for her pulled to his sides, his breath coming out in a sharp exhale. He seemed almost nervous, the air around them suddenly stifling. Emma took another step putting them toe to toe. Shoving him proved fruitless when he barely moved from the weak push, but was satisfying as she continued yelling. "How dare you say anything to me about Arthur, how dare you try and trick me again! We were never friends, you never gave one moment or kindness without thought of yourself, we were never -"

His hands shook as he touched her shoulders, one immediately pushing back his hair in frustration as he leveled his gaze with hers. His stare was hard, intensely fixed as he seemed to fight himself. Emma raised her chin and he moved a hand to hold her face, her shiver as he cupped her cheek involuntary. His touch felt right, her heart skipping in a strange hiccup that felt so familiar and yet still foreign. "You bloody stubborn, obstinate, maddening woman. I'm not sorry for this. I won't be."

She gasped into his kiss, forgetting her anger in the way he moved his mouth against her own. It was practiced between both of them which stunned her and made her heat past feverish in seconds, anger dissolving completely as his tongue pressed further. Emma knew this touch, knew the longing that she could feel in the way they tasted each other, barely able to pull away when all common sense said to push him back. There was no doubt:

Killian was who she had been dreaming of.

"It's you, it's always been you -" A resounding crash came from the other side of the courtyard, smoke growing thicker.

"Go hide. Don't answer to anyone, and stay silent. I… I will tell you everything when you are safe."

"But -" Emma protested, still slightly dazed.

Killian grazed his lips on her knuckles, then pressed a kiss there before pulling away reluctantly. "Go."

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Emma stumbled away deeper into the courtyard, and he stood prepared to fight even without a weapon. The Darkness had succeeded in destroying his feelings for her, but destruction was not enough. Like a flower with unseen and deep roots, his feelings bloomed again simply by being around her. The Darkness howled, and he let himself howl with it, filled with anticipation of the brawl to come. The first attacker turned the corner to the hallway, then barreled headlong towards Killian with sword raised. More turned the corner as he dodged the blade, his attempts to disarm the man for his weapons futile as the sword arced in the air to land in the courtyard while the bandit battalion continued to grow around him. He managed to steal a pole staff, disabling several of them until it was hacked to bits by an axe.

He scrambled for another weapon until he froze, looking at a familiar face.

Brennan Jones stood looking at him with contempt, his club raised again as he glared. Killian stared back as his father's sneer changed to the wicked grin he had reserved for beating both he and Liam; on days when he'd fallen into the bottle. He was skinnier, unkempt and underfed, wrong in his phantom form. It didn't matter when he brought down the club again, and Killian heard his own skull shatter. A bag was placed over his head as he was dragged, his father grunting with strain.

Something shattered nearby and Killian was hit again and again, before he was pushed into a roll with a sharp kick.

"We need him alive, bosses said so. Should still be weak from all that ink crap they made."

"You can't kill him, don't worry. He was supposed to be in the dungeon, wasn't he?"

"Where's the other piece? We need -"

"It doesn't matter, they both attract the other. It's easy, and even if we don't get it, Hades doesn't care and Arthur has that sword thing."

There was a deafening crash, his captors and father yelling as Killian was pulled away. His hood was removed, light and dust hurting his unbroken eye as he looked up into Emma's face. She held a sword that she let drag in the mess of carnage she had wrought. The phantom of his father approached as she looked up, heaving with effort to take a stance. Killian watched her block the aggressive attacks in awe as she stood in his defense, wavering with every blow.

His father was going to kill her, he was going to run her through, adrenaline surging through him as he watched helplessly. Then in attack, his father lunged suddenly, fiercely growling in rage. Emma shifted her weight to let him use his power to her advantage, sending him through a thick clay urn in a clattering heap. Her knees buckled but she caught herself by leaning on the hilt of the sword, turning to smile. Killian felt a bark of laughter bubble up in his throat at her refusal to listen to anything he said, every bit of him trying to force out how he felt. Instead of listening to his gurgling whisper, Emma whistled, footfalls approaching from nearby, as servants joined her or ran past to safety.

"Emma -"

She clapped a hand over his mouth as he let out a groan, his ribs shooting pain up his nerves. Soon, Iago and Abu were helping to drag him behind a thick hedge as chaos enfolded around them from more bandits coming from every direction. Servants screamed and fought, Emma looking worse for wear with every step as she defended them with weak blocks and parries until she could no longer, collapsing into sitting. With her finally among them, Iago finished drawing something in chalk on the ground. Silence fell over them along with a thick shadow, the murky bubble of safety swallowing the assorted Fae that hid with them in its thick mass. Emma leaned against Killian, looking down at his bleeding face with remorse.

"You're going to be alright?" she asked, a hand shakily tracing where his eye socket was most certainly broken. He nodded, wincing and Emma smiled, looking as if she might cry. "I can't heal you. I'm so sorry, I wish I could. You're going to have to wait for the healers or…"

Or rely on the Darkness. The words she couldn't bring herself to say.

He swallowed hard, nodding again.

"Princess, you need to rest, you are safe in this shadow for the time being unless someone can undo Goblin runes. You were running a high fever before and -"

"Yes, Iago. I know," Emma sighed. Glancing down at him again, he could see the dark circles under her eyes clearly, and the deep hollows in her face that caught shadow themselves. "I'll rest in just a moment, I just… I have questions I need answered. I know you're hurting Killian, but try, please?"

He nodded with a grunt of pain.

"Did you mean to return the shard to me? Did you over power the Darkness?"

"Yes," he managed to grit out.

"Ali is… Whatever Ali is, he's a traitor?"

"Aye. Thief." There was blood in his brain, he could feel it, the swelling making sparks behind his eyes. "Aladdin."

Swallowing, he tried to gather his thoughts, a question burning on his tongue. "Am I… You think I'm a monster? Irredeemable?"

Emma smiled softly, her eyes wet. She looked terribly sad, all because of him, his mind falling away to the obvious answer that would come. Yes. She was sad because of his cowardice, his misdeeds. Yes, he was a monster, him and the Darkness together.

"No, Killian. You're not irredeemable when you keep saving my life. You are just…" She paused, searching for a word.

"A bloody fool?" He suggested, and her small laugh through the watery smile she directed at him made his own lips twitch upward. She stroked his hair, gently pushing strands aside.

"Did you… did you cause this?" Her voice was so small, but still so loud in his ears. Emma's hand pressed his to her chest, indicating her illness. His thumb ran along the jutting shelf of her exposed clavicle as she shuddered slightly.

The words dragged out in a slur as he tried to make them intelligible. "Don't know, but… Maybe… yes? M'sorry, love."

"I forgive you. I have this feeling, I know it wasn't you. It couldn't be you." It was raining, drops falling on his broken face. No, they were tears, Emma was crying again, openly now. He reached his hand up further with difficulty to touch her cheek, finding it was hot to the touch, her fever in full force. Gently, she pressed the wet apple of her cheek against his palm, and he wanted nothing more than to stop her from hurting because of him. "Please Killian, forgive me for everything. I'm so sorry I got sick, I'm sorry you had to be alone with the Darkness, I'm sorry I keep dreaming of you like I do. I'm sorry for all of it, I -" she choked on a sob.

"No," he groaned, and her coughing became worse. He tried to catch his thoughts, or put them coherently in a way she could understand, but thought was becoming more and more difficult. "Not accepted."

"Please -"

"Not accepted," he mumbled again. How could he accept an apology when she had done nothing wrong?

"Killian, please…" she sighed out in a strangled breath. Her coughing began anew, a servant catching her as she fell where Killian could not lift his head to see, the world spinning into nothingness.

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It was never pleasant to fall into the Darkness when issues of mortality arose, and the sinewy bits of his body had to knit themselves back together, but it was increasingly unpleasant when the Darkness was furious inside him. It seethed, caustic as it boiled over his flesh and forced his bones back into place. It tore at muscle and dug into nerve endings just to stretch the pain out, watching the squirming of its vessel.

However, Killian healed, and that was more than could be said of the princess. He had woken to healers bustling over her, a few pulling him onto a cot nearby while Jasmine barked directions hoarsely, but days had passed since the bandits had tried to stage their strange assault.

They were all in a new area of the palace, walled off from potential further attacks and better guarded. Jasmine and her team were non stop motion and action as she made sure her people were safe. The truth was evident though, that Jasmine was beside herself, even as an investigation found that the bandits hadn't taken anything of value. Killian had heard whispers from servants that 'Prince Ali' had attacked the Sultana in cold blood, but he was not willing to press his luck at broaching that subject when his worries lay elsewhere.

Foremost, his thoughts were preoccupied with Emma. He had not left her room even after her recovery, but he could not bring himself to follow through on his desires. The new space allowed for him to watch from a distance, to observe her from enough space where the temptation could be held at bay. He wanted to sit next to her bedside, to stroke her cheek, to gently push hair from her temple when it stuck as her temperature rose, to lay by her and hold her tightly. It was cowardice that held him back, however. He knew it, but the chance that she might hear him and ask what their dreams or that wonderful bloody kiss had meant during the siege caused immediate paralysis.

Emma hadn't been lucid since the attack, her fever spiking multiple times while the illness raged on, unforgiving. Mostly she called for her mother, begged for relief from flames, and occasionally he thought he heard her call for him but it was ignored. She had a close call the last evening Killian had stayed, startling him when a loud noise began to ring through the room. Healers and medical attendants had run in, throwing aside everything as they worked to fix whatever was wrong, which Killian had only found out later was her body attempting to give out. After that, he struggled to stay near her when she clearly didn't recognize anyone close to her, let alone him. The temptation to hold her was overwhelming, the Darkness rapidly switching between unbearably loud or eclipsed by the need to be there.

"Killian, a word," Jasmine said, crooking a finger towards him as she dismissed a crowd of servants. An Elven man and woman stayed behind, both wearing spectacles. Killian approached cautiously.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

Jasmine eyed him with the same wariness. "My doctors are puzzled by the princess and her illness. She's taken a turn for the worse I'm afraid. Worse still, with the bandit camp raiding our supplies, we don't have the means to keep up her treatment. We thought she might have weeks, but..."

"She's been unable to eat very much, her sleep is riddled with nightmares or waking hallucinations, her coughing seems to be caused by some sort of constricting force, but it is not anything we have experienced." The female doctor read notes off a leather-bound notebook, her voice trembling slightly. "Her magic is weak, growing weaker each time she seems to recover. It's as if there's poison in her veins."

"I'm afraid I don't know anything of importance," he managed to interject, though his mouth felt dry. He wondered why the Sultana and her small team seemed so on edge. "I've told everyone as much as I can, so I'm unsure of what more detailed information I can give -"

"They are asking you to bring up to her what her plans would be if she were to expire in my kingdom, Killian. She's spoken to me about them, but not to you. She said before that you managed to avoid the subject. With Arthur gone and possibly able to create false statements about a proposal - " Jasmine touched his shoulder and he yanked away, staring at her as if she was mad.

"She - there has to be more you can do? She's only a bit worse, not - I thought Arthur was misinformed or… But she was better, she was-" It hit him like a crushing blow, a wave that pulled you deep while simultaneously pushing the air from your lungs. "She can't be, we just - she just beat a creature Dragons could not slay, survived an attempted assassination by bandits! She was doing better, she said so! No, absolutely not. I demand to know what you are doing. She is sick and you are not doing enough! She can't be close to death, it's not possible -"

"Yes," the female doctor said simply, her dark brown eyes looking at him with sadness. "She is. I'm sorry."

"We are trying our best m'lord, but she isn't responding to anything we do any longer. We had warned her that this day was coming, and she seems to be aware, but as her second you need to finalize her wishes. If she declines at this rate for another week, three at most -"

"No." He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to breathe. "No, do something different, try something -"

"We - we have m'lord. Her Majesty has given us every bit of her power to do so -"

"Jasmine, can't you see what caused this?" Killian began to pace slightly, before turning to gesture in the direction of Emma's room. "Help her!"

"I am, Killian. I cannot see what the cause is, that is in the past. I am as desperate as you are for another vision regarding the princess. Do you believe me an unkind host with all I have granted you?"

He couldn't breathe, his fists balling as fingernails cut into his palms. "No, no, she can't die. I -"

"You should spend what time she has left with her then," the male scientist grumbled.

"What are you trying to imply mate?" Killian growled, "Because I'll -"

"I don't mean to imply, m'lord. It’s just that she begs for you when we are present, and the kitchen maids say the only time that they have seen her calm is when you are visiting. An attendant said you shared an intimate moment in the attack, that several others corroborate." The man adjusted his glasses nervously, unable to make eye contact. "Sultana, I don't want to invoke his wrath, but…"

Jasmine sighed deeply. "You asked about the black handprint Killian, you made a point of it. You delayed treatment that could have kept her alive. You carry the title of Dark One, and the power of the Darkness. My doctor does not feel that your question is coincidental, and I… We need to know that you are on our team. Arthur, Hades and Ali - Aladdin - were traitors that I - we trusted. Their accusations of you are still concerning no matter their own actions against us. I need to know you're willing to help her."

Killian swallowed hard, carefully mulling over his words. He paused, and then let out a hiss of air. "They would be right. I don't know how I would have caused this though, unless it happened in the dreams we shared. I would never hurt her."

"But, you did."

"I'm aware of that!" he snapped, rounding on the doctor with a snarl. "I - I won't hurt her. It wasn't me who - I wasn't in control of my actions, and I have no recourse for that. If you can't help her, I'll find someone who will."

Killian fled, the one place he wanted to be forbidden to him if he valued his sanity. But still, she suffered. Why couldn't they heal her? Her light was there, it could not be his fault; her light would crush any sort of stain like it was nothing.

He needed to see her and see this illness for himself without worry. Under the cover of starlight, he moved into her room where she lay sleeping. She looked worse still, black creeping up her chest and different pads pressed against the dark blotches that seemed to be the worst. The Darkness had no understanding of his upset, or how much he wanted her, its insistence that he could not care deafening.

It wasn't true though.

"I don't know if you can hear me, or if you are even aware of me, but I… It's been so hard to ignore you. I hate myself for what I've done to you, and how terribly you’ve been hurt by the way I treated you. I was trying to push you away, I was trying to let you go, but I was so wrong. I've been so close to giving in and laying here with you, only to force myself to refuse your requests. You are my constant desire, I long to simply touch you, to feel your hand in my own. I miss you, I am so ashamed of my need for you... If I would have known, I would have never stopped anything at all. I'm so tired of hurting you, of not being able to make any decisions that keep you safe. So please, if you can hear me, please make the decision to live so I can keep trying."

Her voice startled him, Emma's eyes staying closed. "Am I going to die then?" she whispered in a cracked voice.

He squeezed her hand, the slight smile she attempted pained. "Not if I can help it, love."

"I thought you must hate me, but you're here." The awe in her voice was like a blade. How could he let things go this wrong? "You're always such a hero when it comes to me. It suits you. It suits you more than the Darkness, even."

"A hero? No, you have it wro -"

"You… You and I shared memories… I want to remember, but…" She opened her eyes, staring at him with adoration. His immediate reaction was to swallow the urge to scream, not at her, but at the unfairness of her looking at him in such a way. She was supposed to forget everything that had transpired. She had to forget. That wasn't him, it could never be him. Not with the Darkness staining his life.

"What are you talking about?"

"You kept coming back for me, saving me. I wanted you to kiss me, and you tasted like sweet wine when you did. We danced again and again." She lifted herself, trying to stand and he pushed her back down onto the mattress. Tucking the thin sheets around her body, he tried to keep his emotion contained. Unable to look at her, he trained his sight on his sandals.

"Emma - you shouldn't be getting up like that. You're very ill and need to rest."

Emma didn't seem to hear him, suddenly crying out in pain as she wheezed, coughing in a harsh fit. When she managed to end it and gulped down air, she shivered as a sheen of sweat began to cover her skin. A small smile fell on her lips, her gaze shifting to dizzily fixate on his seat. She tried to reach for him again without grace, knocking over various bottles and untouched bowls of food. "Dancing with you made me happy… We should do that again sometime. Maybe later tonight at the Harvest Festival?"

"You need to -" Killian stood to push her back onto the bed again, but she fell back on her own, her elbow buckling under her weight. The whimper she let out broke his heart, her muscles straining.

"I'm burning. Killian, please make it stop. I want my Mom."

"Shh, darling." Soothing her with a few hummed notes, she relaxed into dozing while he held her clammy hand in his.

"Am I dreaming again? Or are you real? I miss you so much from what we were there. I miss how easily you -" Her voice ended in a gasp, coughing taking the rest of the thought. Killian tried to give her a bit of water in a small stone ladle laid out, but she struggled to swallow the liquid. He was struck by how small and how tired she looked.

"Yes, love. You're dreaming."

"I like the dreams like this. I miss you caring about me," Emma murmured in a forlorn voice. Killian let his lips rest against her knuckles.

Speaking into her curled fingers, he let them muffle his words. "I do too."

"Why am I so tired? I miss the dreams that I could… "

"Because you need your rest, darling. Please, just rest. I'll be back soon."

"Do you promise?"

"Emma - yes. Yes, I promise."

"Please don't break it, okay? I don't want to lose you."

"I -"

"I told you that I loved you, remember?" Emma whispered with a soft hum of a sigh. Killian felt frozen, the way she looked up at him, gingerly intertwining his fingers into her own. Her skin felt papery, but so warm against his. "If I'm going to die, you should know that I meant it. I meant it here too, all of you. I chose to see the best in you, and I see it so clearly sometimes - "

"You don't know what you're saying. You need to sleep, Princess. Go to sleep." She coughed again, but settled as he asked.

Emma’s condition had worsened more than he could have dared to imagine. Her whimper of pain was raspier, her hand squeezing his. The urge to scream was back, the Darkness wondering why its vessel's eyes burned. If she died, he would never forgive himself. He’d raze Selune Isle to ashes; anything to forget about her.

"You don't have to say it back. You don't have to feel it, either. Nothing unsaid between us. Nothing, now. I love you. I… " Her breathing evened out into hard exhales, sleep hard to ignore with how little oxygen she seemed to be keeping in her lungs.

"I never stopped." He couldn't bring himself to say any more than that, to whisper a truth she should know, or to even think it, lest the Darkness hear his murmured admission.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

In the early morning light, Emma lay still even as the sun tried to warm her sweaty forehead and the wind attempted to pull at her damp hair. She hadn't woken since the last time they had spoken, the night full of close calls and terror he hadn't known he could still feel. Killian sat by her side dutifully through it all, gently stroking her hand. The Darkness protested his urge to cry with venom, its screeching voice unable to break through his desire for her to come back to him.

"Come back to me, love," he whispered. "I should have known when we fell from the sky into this world and I had to pull you from the water, that I would never have enough of you. I should have told you when you defeated Pan, or when you kissed me. I should have made it clear how I felt when we were reunited in Ursula's grotto, and how wrong I was. I should have whispered it like I wanted to so desperately when we danced on Selune, or I woke to you curled next to me. I should have told you that you were like an angel, when you in turn pulled me from my own hell, and I will forever regret not saying anything," Swallowing hard, he tucked a golden tendril of her hair behind her ear. "So, come back Emma. Please."

"Killian," Jasmine said from behind him. He looked up, and she crooked a finger, beckoning him to follow her into the courtyard area. He pressed a soft kiss to Emma's cheek before pulling himself reluctantly from her bedside.

They sat in silence, a servant serving juices and a platter of various fresh fruit. Jasmine finally spoke after several minutes of both of them staring at the food but making no moves to taste it.

"Killian, she's not going to last much longer," Jasmine said shakily. "Even if we could keep her alive, it would be cruel at this point."

Anguish and panic coursed through his veins. No. Not Emma. "What about the envoy you sent to Selune Isle, to seek out the Dragons?"

Jasmine shook her head. "They have not let the ship into the barrier, even with our flags raised. My captain keeps circling and hoping someone greets him so he may request aid."

"Bloody hell, they were in the process of making posts for this type of patrol but had not started." He laid his head in his hands, before standing abruptly and flipping the table in front of him. Jasmine watched, impassive, as he crushed grapes and figs among the shards of broken serving platters.

The silence that came after, as he knelt in the shards of colored bowls and fragrant fruit, was interrupted by Jasmine's whisper.

"Killian, Did you really hurt her?"

"I -" He began, surprised when the word escaped him like a sob.

"Don't lie to me," Jasmine whispered again, her voice grave.

"Yes," Killian admitted. "I crushed her heart in a nightmare. I am the cause of her illness, and I'll do anything to help her get better. I didn't - I never meant for -"

"It might not have been you, Killian, we don't know." Jasmine attempted to soothe, but he only barked out a cold, mirthless laugh. "It's not dark magic that is causing the strange blackness on her skin like you thought; this could be something else. Just because that happened -"

"Tell me something, Sultana," Killian interrupted, scrubbing his face with his hand. "Is there a future you've seen, even a chance, that rids me of this curse?" The Darkness bit at him, protesting his question. He found he didn't care.

"I don't - I am still unable to see as much as I should," Jasmine said quickly before hesitating. "But… There is a future where you free yourself, yes. A few paths, almost all clouded by failure. The path I saw had you and the princess closely tied by the fates, her life in the balance."

"Because of course it bloody is. She’s going to die because of me -"

"No - well, maybe, but not yet - there's still a chance. The path is longer, it does not end here. I am not able to see clearly with Aladdin's magic in my way. I am trying, but there's so much darkness…"

"Answer without sodding riddles, you are not a Sphinx!"

"You said you would do anything to help her. Would you swear it instead on her name? The name of the woman I think we both know you lo -"

"I swear on Emma, on my Swan, I swear it."

"Swear on yourself, Killian Jones, the man who is the Dark One. You must believe fully in your heart that you will save her."

"I…" Killian hesitated, swallowing hard. Taking a deep breath, he set his jaw. "I swear on myself."

Liar! You cowardly and pathetic shell of a man. LIAR.

"Remember that, remember when you are fighting your worst enemy -"

"Sultana!" A servant slammed the door wide open, looking at both of them in surprise. "Oh, I - uh -"

"How dare you interrupt this!" Jasmine hissed, her eyes burning bright. "What was so important that ---"

"It could not wait, my Sultana. I beg forgiveness, but it could not be delayed!" The servant threw himself at her feet, groveling. "Please, have mercy my Sultana! It is in regards to the sick woman, the princess."

Both Killian and Jasmine glanced at each other. Killian stood, the servant beginning to quake with further fear as he stood next to Jasmine.

"Who told you the princess was here?" Killian asked, his voice betraying his rising anger. "No one should know that, not a damned bloody soul -"

"They named her by her first name! I swear! They say that they have a cure for the princess, and are friends of hers. They named you specifically Dark One, or Killian Jones."

Killian’s eyes narrowed, and he ground his teeth in thought, although his jaw protested.

"Will you go? I can send sentries or an accompanying party," Jasmine said lowly. "If it's a threat we can -"

"No. I'll go, and if I don't return, I don't return. If they have medicine for her, I'll find a way to get it. I swear it."

Jasmine nodded, the servant handing an envelope to Killian before fleeing with a series of bows.

"Let us hope that they are friends and not foes, with an actual cure for Princess Emma." Jasmine made a religious symbol with her hands, kissing the center.

"I don't pray, and I don't hope." Killian brushed past Jasmine, without looking back. "If they don't have a bloody cure for my Swan, they won't have any prayers or any hope either."

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Killian moved through the docks, and to their ship with practiced ease in the quiet alleyways he had discovered during his avoidance of Emma. The sandstone homes and terracotta steps that weaved to the sea were a fitting distraction for him to lose himself in, and a perfect metaphor for his jumbled thoughts.

Who was it that wanted to speak to Emma through him? How did they know that from the thousands of ships moored in the docks of Agrabah, Emma had made a safe passage through the portals on the Jolly Roger? Who else knew?

The thought of Nil sent a shudder down his spine, Emma's nightmare once again fresh in his mind.

You can keep her safe, but only if you fight for her.

Only if you fight for your happiness, and yourself.

The quiet voice that was once blocked by the Darkness was growing bolder.

The Darkness strained against his constant pressure, snarling at his reinvigorated conscience.

You can't save anyone, let alone your damned soul. I own you. I am you. You can't hold me back forever, and I will never go away.

When you least expect it, I will destroy everything you love - all you have to do is let yourself relax.

Holding his forehead in one hand, Killian pressed on, jumping on the deck of the ship with his sword drawn. Two Fae eyed him warily as he moved his feet into a fighting stance. He could not identify what sort of Fae or who they were, but they seemed to be close, the woman pushed behind the man with shaggy brown hair in a protective gesture Killian recognized as something he had done for Emma.

The male counterpart rested his deep brown eyes on Killian, before smiling slightly. He bowed carefully, Killian grimacing and following the stranger with his sword's point.

"You're him then? The Dark One? Killian Jones of the Blackwater?" the stranger asked.

"Yes, and who are you?" Killian raised his sword higher, jabbing it as the man jumped back in surprise. "How did you come to know what -"

The woman was heavy with child, which gave him pause until the man was throwing himself in front of her. He put his hands up, cowering slightly. "Is Emma alright? Did she remember to not use her magic? And you, did you take care of her? We warned her when she was under the rites, but it took longer than we thought to get here."

"You - how - " Killian faltered, but shook it off to straighten again, gripping his cutlass tighter. "I ask again: What business do you have with the princess?"

"I'm Henry. I'm a friend I swear, and I serve fealty to her and the crown family. Emma is ill, yes? The Kitsune witch put some sort of parasitic creature in her; we told her this before we left to find you both. We sent her here to get help. We knew the Sultana could keep her alive and protected long enough for us to make our way here." Killian let his arm drop, the man relaxing without the blade in his face. "I have a spark of light magic I hold as a Hol guardian and protector of the realms. Time is completely out of control, and the Goblins are attacking pocket realms just like this one. Emma needs this to survive, and to fight back."

Henry produced a glowing ball of light that was iridescent in the sunshine. It sparkled like a faceted diamond as Henry held it.

"I didn't know. Emma… she doesn't remember everything that happened, and she is barely holding on." Killian set his jaw, furious with himself. "I have to go, I need to save her."

The woman spoke, her accented voice drenched in exhaustion. "Thank you. We will seek passage again -"

"Take this ship. It's stocked and ready to go, as I was…" Shame rose on his throat as he thought about almost leaving before. "Just take it. I'll save her."

"You must know, this magic is akin to yours, Dark One." Henry approached cautiously, holding out the orb. The Darkness screeched, burrowing further into him, desperate to escape the strange ethereal glow the globe emitted. "The other side of the coin, the flicker of light that casts your shadow. Both have their extremes, and both can be addictive. Do not let her become blinded by the brightness as you cannot let yourself become lost in your abyss."

Killian let the spark fall in his palm, where it dimmed. He frowned and Henry clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Hurry, Dark One. Not only does Emma not have much time, but the longer you hold that spark, the more it will fade."

Killian gave no reply, sheathing his sword and turning in a single motion. The jump to the pier after launching himself off the deck was with as much grace as he could muster, his feet moving as soon as he had purchase, running as fast as his feet would carry him towards the palace. There was hope. He was absolved of one misdeed on his long list, and Emma would not suffer soon enough. Cruella had caused this, not him, and Emma had begged him to stay with faith that he was good, that he could be redeemed. She could be saved now, and he had faith she would be alright with the magic thrumming in his palm.

It was a blur to her quarters, the sound of breaking glass chilling him. Someone was yelling, a strange blue smoke swirling around her quarters. People were on the ground coughing profusely as the shadow of a man pulled Emma into his arms. No, not just a man, his face visible as he turned. A thief Killian recognized at once.

"Emma! No, wait -"

Emma's face was flushed against the thief's shoulder, her arms hanging weakly at her sides. She limply tried to reach out to Killian, but neither was fast enough when the thief jumped from the window. Killian ran to the window, terrified of how and where they had landed when there was a sheer drop outside, but could see no evidence of a fall from the balcony. A carpet whooshed past him as Jasmine ran into the room, Aladdin addressing them as Emma lolled in his hold barely conscious.

"We'll be at the Cave of Wonders, so don't dawdle. Especially since she doesn't have much time left."

"No! Please, she's -" Killian lunged, almost falling the sheer drop from the balcony as Jasmine wrenched him back.

"Aladdin, don't do this! Please!" Jasmine shouted, and Aladdin stared at her with a pained look crossing his face. The blue cracks on his skin had reached his chin and cheeks, tearing the flesh there. Emma had been right, the thief harbored magic that he clearly could not control.

"You, Sultana, should know better than anyone that I have no choice." he said flatly. "Dark One, my Masters offer you a trade. Your life for hers. Make your choice."

"I - please don't -" Jasmine began, but Aladdin simply shook his head sadly, the carpet speeding into the sky.

Killian roared with anger, his body full of a rage he could feel in every cell. Jasmine was barking orders hoarsely, people scurrying around behind him as he whirled to look at the Sultana.

"Where did he -"

"The Cave of Wonders. I'm responsible for this, and I'll do everything in my power to make sure you get Emma back." She touched his shoulder, looking surprised when he took another menacing step forward.

"I said, where -"

"I'll take you." Jasmine looked out across the desert, then turned to a few lingering servants. "We leave at once."

Trying to pull away from him, he held her wrist firmly. "What is going on here? What happened with your thief, and why did he take Emma?" The growl of impatience and anger in his voice made Jasmine flinch, but she didn't answer as her brows pinched together. "Sultana!"

Jasmine broke from her thoughts, carefully pulling away at the cage of his fingers to loosen his grip. "He was rambling the last time I saw him, and sick. He's a Djinn. Obviously fighting against his master's control on him, by the looks of it, which…" She paused, looking intently at his fingers. "He kept saying that he didn't want to hurt me, he didn't want to kill me, for me to run from him because the pull was too strong. He wanted me to end his life, and I didn't. I didn't believe him, and now, Emma…"

Killian dropped her wrist, fighting the emotions that came to the surface, the situation eerily reminiscent. A master that demanded absolute obedience, and those caught in the crossfire being hurt despite every attempt. Aladdin had seen through him and the Darkness so quickly, catching him so off guard he hadn't seen the clear understanding the man held of his predicament.

"The Carpets are ready, Sultana." A servant announced with a slight bow. "We will have to cross bandit blockades to get through to the cave, which Iago has located."

Jasmine nodded, turning to walk briskly toward another attendant that carried a hooded cloak as well as a knapsack. "The Cave of Wonders is the resting place of the Djinn All Father, or the Lord of Djinn. He can make people Genies, which is why he has been sealed away in a magical dungeon since my mother's death."

"So, this dungeon presumably is in all likelihood highly fortified by Jafar, Hades, and Arthur's men who have not one, but two Djinn?" Killian ran a hand through his hair, his jaw working. "We need a bloody army -"

"One Genie. Aladdin. Who is down to his final wishes from the look of his degradation. The Djinn All Father does not leave his chambers or use his magic outside of creation for any reason, not since his daughter died resulting in his self imposed banishment." Swallowing hard, Jasmine stepped onto a carpet as it floated, Killian sitting by her side. "My mother. He is my Grandfather, and never stopped blaming himself for her fate, and my own."

The carpet rushed through the air, Killian's stomach immediately in his throat as their small group wove through the clouds. They were met with brief attacks here and there as they crossed what seemed like an empty expanse of cooked earth, none requiring a full scale assault. Unease prickled at the back of his mind when more than half of their original force had fallen behind to end small fights. This was clearly an ambush, but one that there was no choice but to fall into. The Sultana knew as well based on her terse expression when they drew near a a huge sand hill in the shape of a tiger. It's maw was opened wide, light beckoning from its throat where steps led down into the ground. They landed low as men swarmed from within, swords raised, yelling wild cries.

"Do not touch anything inside, Killian!" Jasmine shouted over the sounds of steel. "It's all enchanted to try and entice you - go straight to Emma."

Killian gave her a nod, running to weave through the sparring crowd. The Sultana barked orders to cover him while he slashed through the first trickle of men defending the place, through halls filled with mountains of gold, through a banquet room of overflowing delicacies, all while curving deeper and deeper into the earth.

Large, columned, doors that dwarfed him in size eight fold opened to a huge chamber lined with more columns. The floor was cracked in places, sand drifting from the ceiling to the floor making small hills or rocky platforms. On one flattened ledge, lay Emma.

Her night dress clung to her skin, teeth visibly chattering while her eyes were screwed firmly shut. Warmth flooded Killian's chest, the strangeness of his heart both jumping out of and freezing in synchrony not stopping his feet from moving on their own accord to get to her. The shard rested on her bruised chest, his presence not acknowledged even as he touched her burning cheeks. Her breathing hitched when his thumb swept over a smudge on the apple of her cheek, the sliver of foggy green under her lashes the most precious thing he had seen in the stone halls varied treasures.

"Kil -" Emma tried to whisper, but could not do so without coughing, her breath coming out in a rattling heave. Without grace, she tried to move closer to his body, instead falling back with a resounding thump.

"Love, oh Emma, I'm so sorry." She moaned softly at the sound of his voice, clinging to him, the concave of her bosom barely moving from her shallow breaths. "Stop, stop trying to move, please -"

"You… You can't… Must… Go." Emma coughed again, before panting heavily. "Don't…"

Smiling softly at her he kissed her temple, her surprised face making his own heart skip a beat. "You are too important to not fight for. For others to fight for. Henry found you a cure, love. You're going to be alright, you'll be just fine."

"You… You don't… Even… Like… Me…" she gritted out. Closing her eyes, Killian held her close. "Couldn't stand... to... stay... even a… a… few minutes…"

"You're wrong. I should have stayed, and I wanted to more than anything. I didn't want you to get hurt - You weren't supposed to remember everything that happened when you were under the Kitsune's power, but you against all odds are. You're remembering, and I acted… I am a coward. I tried to avoid you because if you remember what happened, what transpired between us - "

"It's…?"

"The dreams about us, the ones that you feel like you lived, like they're memories - they are real. They're what happened when you went through the Harvest ritual."

Emma tried to get out of his grip, pulling and pushing against his hands. She thrashed, her voice ringing in the space. "Why! How could you -"

"Stop it, you're going to kill yourself. This is why, right here. Between everything happening, I'm going to hurt you, or you will get hurt because of the Darkness. Why don't you understand? Why don't you value your life like you should!"

"I… I… don't want…" She hesitated, before looking up at him, her eyes wet and full of a deep sadness. "To lose you."

"It's too strong, Emma. It's threatening your existence, and I am not strong enough to keep it at bay. I need to go, I need to stay away from you, if you and I are to ever be able to speak candidly about what happened. You deserve that much, and more."

Weakly, Emma whispered a rough plea. "Stay."

Killian chuckled lowly, trying to memorize her features. "I'll be happy knowing that you had a future, darling. Even if I'm not in it."

Pressing the spark against her sternum as he gave her forehead a peck, his arms wrapped around her to support her as she coughed. Emma doubled over, silk like threads escaping her mouth. She let out a muffled moan, gagging until she vomited a translucent, glittering, mother of pearl colored cocoon on the cave floor. Out of it, a black slug-like creature crawled with a familiar looking red nail stinger on its end, Killian crushing it immediately with his boot. The Kitsune had put one last creeping parasite into Emma, it's manifestation draining her to death to avenge its host. Repugnant, and very on brand of Cruella.

Emma took a steady breath, the rattle gone. She glowed slightly, her power making his skin tingle.

"Don't go with them, they aren't -" Emma tried to say something but was drowned out by the sounds of shouting from all around them.

"What?"

Arthur's voice was suddenly echoing around the cave. "Bind him with the ink."

"Killian, listen to me," Emma begged. Something burst over him, showering them with a spray of dark smoke. Killian tried to shield her, but to his great surprise found he was frozen in place. Emma touched his face in fear, her attempts to get her magic to work proving fruitless. "No, they're going to take you, that's what they wanted all along is you and the shard together -"

She was wrenched away by several men, laughter echoing through the caves. Jasmine was thrown next to her, Aladdin stepping in front of them. His body was in pieces, skin melting away to sparking electric blue underneath.

"Don't hurt them -" Killian bit out, Jafar sliding past him with a smirk. "I'll go willingly, just don't hurt them."

Jafar laughed, a fist connecting to his face from the other side of his head. Arthur's voice oozed into his ringing ear. "Thought you might deserve that one, mate. "

Hades appeared in his peripheral, leaning down to hold up Emma's chin as her arms were held back.

"This does put a damper on our timeline. Her being alive does not provide the Dark One the emotional turmoil we had initially planned on," Hades stated, his eyes flicking back to Killian. "We'll need to kill her here. Genie, please - "

Jafar scoffed. "The Genie is worthless for killing. He can't make anyone fall in love, bring back the dead, or kill anyone according to his code of honor. That's the only reason the Sultana still breathes."

Aladdin looked down at the ground, Jasmine staring at him in surprise.

"So, what's the plan then?" Hades asked, rolling his eyes. "We could take them to the compound which is a waste of time and resources, kill them here which wastes some time, or leave them behind to die here. There's no way out for the two of them."

Killian felt his voice loose before he could hold himself back. "No! No, please. I'll go with you willingly if you let them live, I swear it. I want to be rid of this scourge, and I will happily let you do whatever you want with me as long as you let them go."

Emma's head snapped up, her eyes wide. "No, Killian, what are you even saying? You can't be rid of it, they'll kill you -"

A hand clapped over her mouth, her muffled words shrill.

"We truly should keep the girl if she has this much hold over him. Imagine what torture on her would do for his compliance," Arthur mused, rubbing his scruff. Killian could see the bruising on his face from their last encounter, his eye still slightly purple. "I could also use her for the takeover of the United Realms -"

"No. It's not worth keeping her alive." Hades shook his head, tone still methodical and cold. "My plan hinges on her death as a means of cooperation between the Goblins, United Realms, and the manipulation of the Dark One."

"If you kill her, or harm her at all, I will never serve you. The dagger piece will never hold me, no matter how much magic you pour on me," Killian hissed, seething. He moved forward, striking towards Hades who had to lunge away. More of the black smoky substance was thrown at him, but he managed the best he could to fight it. "If you let them go, I won't fight. Only if you let them go."

There was a yelped curse from one of the men holding her, then Emma's voice pained and pleading. "Killian, no!" Emma cried, their eyes meeting.

He smiled gently, as well as he could manage. "Let me die, or release myself from this torment, darling. Let that be the man you remember: The man who died the hero he wanted to be, for you. For us."

"Please, no. I can't -" Emma whimpered, the hand clapped back over her lips roughly as she struggled.

"Fine. Deal taken." Hades nodded. Jafar scowled coldly.

"Well, if we're discarding them here to be let go, Aladdin should also be left behind," Jafar drawled.

Hades snapped his head to look at his partner. "What are you -"

"Aladdin, for my second wish, I wish to be the sorcerer Sultan of Agrabah."

"No! You can't -" Jasmine cried out.

A burst of magic surrounded her, her jeweled crown evaporating into dust, her clothes replaced by brown muslin. In a flash of light Jafar changed as well, his clothing embroidered in golden thread, the vest he wore covered in jewels. Upon his head sat a turban with a deep set ruby, the facets glittering like a crimson eye. "And as for our deal, for my third wish, I wish you were free of your binds as a Genie, living without your phenomenal cosmic powers. Be a Djinn no more."

Hades groaned, his face full of obvious fury.

Aladdin shimmered, the blue that had been eating away at him exploding outward as he fell to his knees. When he wobbled to his feet again, the fine clothes he wore dissolved to rags, blue dust shimmering over his skin. Jasmine blinked, her mouth opening in surprise.

"You!" Jasmine pointed at Aladdin, a hand covering her mouth in shock. "But you're that peasant -"

"I wanted to tell you Jasmine, but -" Aladdin started, sand beginning to pour from more gaps in the ceiling.

"So you see, Prince Ali is merely a street rat. Just a bore, no longer so worldly, a weakling once more, brought down to size. As for me? " With his long, gnarled fingers he pointed to Jasmine. "I don't have to waste my time thinking of ways to kill you any longer. This will be a fitting grave for you, Sultana."

"No, you're not to hurt them, not to kill them as I said!" Killian grunted as he was dragged backwards, more of what he thought might be the same ink they had used before on the shard thrown in his face. It became hard to speak, his lungs burning from their inability to give him oxygen.

"We aren't hurting them, and certainly not killing them, just as you desire Dark One." Jafar's smile was wide, crazed. "Leaving them here fits your requirements. If they starve in these caves, or fall prey to the many traps, it was not us."

Killian tried to struggle, but more of the substance kept being pushed on him, hands gripping him tightly as he was dragged back. He almost lost sight of Emma, but a captor dropped him without grace, and he could finally see her again. She was no longer looking at him, but instead stared at Arthur.

Arthur approached Emma, his smile wide, lifting her chin. She pulled away in disgust at his touch, still unsteady as her hands shook.

"You're just like Guinevere. Neither of you deserve me. You don't see my greatness; you're selfish just as she was. You could never have helped me wield Excalibur, or control the Darkness." He tugged on Emma's chain necklace, the protective enchantment giving way around his own force. It slipped from her neck even as she struggled, hanging from Arthur's palm. "At least I have this as a consolation prize. It makes it much easier not having to pretend to have feelings for you. All kingdoms for the price of the Dark One."

With a wave of Hades' hand, a golden elevator cage appeared around Killian and his captors. Emma shook her head, Killian frozen by the black concoction they'd thrown at him, the Darkness roaring with glee. She reached for the rising bars, reaching for him, her fingers wrapped tightly in his instead of caring about the shard like she should have - why him, what could he -

"No, I can't say goodbye to you again!" Emma yelled, her face set in stubbornness. His limbs loosened, her magic weak but her determination strong, Jafar letting out a frustrated noise of disgust at her outburst.

Killian came back into his body, clutching her hand tightly as her fingers scrabbled desperately trying to hold him. They parted, her scream of fury and sadness tearing at him.

"I will find you, I will always find you! Please Killian, know that I will not ever stop until we are together again."

The words gave him courage, his heart filled with pride and adoration. Emma would find him, he had no doubt. He would not let this place be her tomb. When he was able to move fully he rushed forward, smashing his forehead into the sorcerer's nose as hard as he could, grabbing the shard as they passed upwards into light of day. Pushing it into the abyss below as sand swallowed what was the entrance of the Cave of Wonders, Jafar bellowed out a noise, kicking him down and face first into the scorching sand.

It didn't matter how many times the livid sorcerer kicked him or shouted to the skies, Emma would get her magic back. She would heal, they had the shard, and if he had any chance to peel the Darkness currently howling inside him away, he would take it. She would find him, free of his curse, and they would finally be together.

I can feel your doubt, boy.

You know that you can't be free of me. Even in death, I remain. I am the constant in this body, you are just an echo. When Emma finds you again, I will have so much fun tearing her limbs off as the Dark One, without a trace of you left.

Nothing can save you now.

"No," Killian moaned, as they dragged him through the sand, their camels forcing him to stumble blindly behind them. "No, never. Not Emma. No."

In the end, Killian hoped Emma would forgive him, and by some miracle he could be free.

#Courtorderedcake #16th #August #2020 #August 16th 2020 #hallow #cs au #Captain swan #captain swan au #CS FF #cssns #cs fic rec #cs fic #cs fanart #my writing

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ashen-crest · 4 years ago

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a valentine’s day scene from The Stray Spirit!

I couldn’t help it, I wanted to post something cute for Valentine’s Day, and it just so happens that this is also one of my favorite scenes from my current draft of The Stray Spirit. It’s a little on the long side, but I think it’s worth it.

Summary: On their journey to learn more about an impending natural disaster, Emry rows Cal and Aspen through an underground cave, and finds that Cal is a little less over him than he expected.

Word Count: 1,113

CW: very mild suggestive themes, water, caves

Taglist: @crystallized-ink, @little-boats-on-a-lake, @semblanche, @theramwrites, @wordsbycreed

They crossed the chasm and descended to a simple rowboat drawn up on a bank. Emry dropped the requisite coin in the lockbox, lit the provided lantern, and set to work inspecting the vessel. Finally, something both familiar and decently useful.

“Aspen, you’ll have to hold the lute for me,” he said as he finished his survey- overall, the boat was in good shape. “Cal, you can take my cape. Safe to assume it’ll be cold in the tunnel.”

Cal approached the boat slowly.

“And you’re sure this will be safe?”

“Ye of little faith!” Emry hummed as he affixed the lantern to the front of the boat and helped her in- right foot first, of course. “I’ll have you know that my route-running license is still good for another two years.”

“Hm,” was all she said. Aspen snuggled into the boat next to her, now wearing their own projected version of a traveling cape. Unsurprisingly, it was mostly made of leaves.

“Cal, can you teach me how to read along the way?” Aspen asked as Emry rolled up his sleeves. Cal didn’t answer right away, and he looked up to find her staring at his forearms. He worked very hard to stifle a delighted laugh.

“What did you say?” She shook her head and turned to Aspen. “Sorry, I think it’ll be too dark for any reading. Perhaps when we get back to campus.”

But it clearly wasn’t too dark to watch him every now and then as he rowed. Her eyes drifted to his arms, then darted quickly out to the black waters every time he returned her gaze. The pattern got so predictable that even Aspen caught on.

“I don’t get it,” they finally said. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” the humans answered quickly- Cal blushing, Emry hiding a foolish grin.

Halfway through the tunnel, his mind wandered away from the regular pattern of rowing and stumbled upon an idea. If she could look effortlessly beautiful in the sunlight and massage his hand without a second thought, surely he could have his own tiny bit of fun, couldn’t he?

“This boat doesn’t have a dry bag, does it?” he asked, already knowing it didn’t. His passengers looked about dutifully and shook their heads. “That’s too bad, I thought it might have some gloves it. Ah, well.”

Taking his time, he slowly slid off his cravat and held out the cloth to Aspen.

“Tear that in two for me, would you?”

Aspen took a finger, turned it into a claw, and ripped it clean down the middle.

“A little unsettling, but that works. Thank you.” He wrapped the two strips of cloth around his palms and resumed rowing, but not before making absolutely sure his shirt was open at the collar. On the other side of the boat, he heard Cal clear her throat.

“What’s that up ahead?” she asked, her voice sounding a little rough. Emry twisted to look ahead and beamed when he saw the green light. He couldn’t have planned this better if he had tried.

“Oh, I know what that is.”

“What is it?”

He just shook his head and kept rowing.

“I’m not going to ruin the surprise.”

“You know I hate surprises!”

Emry started laughing. Cal grabbed his knee- an excellent, if unintended, riposte on her part.

“Emry Karic, you tell me what it is right this instant-”

“But Cal, you’re going to love it!”

“Really?”

“Truly, I promise. Here,” he lifted the oar out of the water, “You’re going to want me to slow down.”

As the boat drifted around a bend in the tunnel, Cal looked up and gasped.

“Weir’s eyes…”

“Literally.” Emry leaned back. Up above them, the normal darkness of the cave ceiling shimmered with the glow of thousands of tiny green lights, as if someone had trapped the entire night sky in the tunnel. He dug the oar into the silt below them to slow down the boat, letting Cal admire the brilliant twinkling.

“They’re the not-flowers we saw before.” Aspen craned their neck to take it all in. “What did you call them?”

“Glow-worms. We’re very lucky to see them like this, at their full strength. A few days from now, and they might be too dim to see at all.” He watched their light bounce off Cal’s face. “You want to see what they can do?”

“Of course,” she breathed.

“Aspen, could you take out the lute for me?”

Aspen handed him the lute, then looked between them.

“You know, being in the lute is nice when you play,” they sped through their words. “I think I’ll go in there for a while.”

The spirit promptly disappeared, leaving just the two of them in the boat.

Emry plucked a single chord, and the glow of the little larvae above rippled out in a ring pattern. Cal gave a laugh.

“Want me to play a song?” he kept his voice low. She looked at him.

“Yes, please.”

Then, in a move that surprised himself, he took his satchel and placed it carefully behind her head.

“Lean back,” he said softly. She nodded and did so, eyes locked on his as she moved. Careful not to shift the boat too much, he returned to his seat, leaned back himself, and began to play Tree and the Stream.

A year ago, Cal had insisted to Emry that the piece required no words because it already painted the picture it needed to- one of the old willow tree by her family’s house, its long branches trailing in the stream next to it. Whenever he played it to accompany her studying, he liked to think he was taking her back there, to the trunk she’d lean against and the breeze she’d enjoy as she read the afternoon away. But he had never seen her smile quite like this in any of his earlier performances as she watched the glow-worms dance and sway along with him, their light rippling in mesmerizing patterns in response to each notes. Diamond shapes spread outward at the chorus, while the verses undulated in light circles. And when the chords clustered together, a kaleidoscope of glowing shapes above cast their swirling light on the waves below, until the visual duet made it feel like they were floating within the night sky itself.

Then as Cal pulled the second cloak- his cloak- up to her chin and gave a small, contented sigh, he realized this little plan of his had utterly backfired. When it came to the state of his feelings, he was going to end the boat ride in a much deeper hole than where he had started.

Thank you so much for reading! If you’d like to know what song inspired Tree and the Stream, click here. :)

#writeblr #the stray spirit #valentine's day #romantic drabble #I swear I didn't intend to make a tunnel of love pun okay #it just Happened #emry karic #calliope breslin

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snowbellewells · 4 years ago

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Self Promo Sunday: Into the Unknown with You

Good morning all! Here’s a little alternate take on what could have happened in 6x11 as Emma looked for another way home. I wrote all but some of the last scene before the midseason premiere of 6B, and when I didn’t get it finished before then, I debated even posting this, but I decided I wanted to anyway. I’ve come to be even fonder of it since then, so I hope that someone finds a bit of enjoyment in it! Clearly I don’t own them, as I would sometimes have had wildly different things happen (particularly in this stretch of episodes).

One more Author’s Note: The “awfully big adventure” bit is a tiny nod to J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan.

On AO3 On ff.net

“Into the Unknown with You”

by: @snowbellewells

‘No, no, no!’ Emma’s mind reeled horrifically as she stared at the spot where only moments ago the portal had been whirling, her way home to her son and her pirate wide open. She wanted to scream; it couldn’t just be gone, and yet, a second too much hesitation, and the chance was lost. She looked at Regina anxiously, her fists clenched so tightly she felt the impressions her nails cut into her palms. It was all she could do not to rail at the older woman, this whole twisted world, and her own bad luck.

‘What now?’ she wanted to demand, wanted to shake her former nemesis turned tentative friend. However, one glimpse at the other woman’s stunned, disbelieving face staring across the shoreline at her presumed dead True Love, and Emma knew it would be a lost cause. Having stood beside a grave in grateful stupefaction at her own love’s miraculous return to life not so long ago, Emma couldn’t find the heart just yet to hurry Regina along or to remind her that she had spent the last day preaching how none of their surroundings or those they encountered in the Wish Realm were real. She too found herself blinking dazedly at this other – very convincing – version of Robin Hood for a few moments.

She tried to shrug it off nonchalantly, not wanting to get them kicked out in the cold, or to lay blame on him for something he couldn’t have known, but instead, to her own mortification, she felt hot tears stinging in the corners of her eyes. Though her sight grew glassy, Emma refused to let them fall. “So,” she tried for flippant, even if it fell horribly flat, “does that mean you know where we could find a replacement bean and want to help us get it?”

“Actually, your Highness,” Robin winked, a knowing sort of mischief in his eye, “I just might.”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

“The harbor?” Emma asked breathlessly, dazed for a moment by what this could mean. Her heartbeat kicked up in both anticipation and dread. Surely he wasn’t here too…was he?

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

“There’s another me?” he breathed, and where anyone else would have been skeptical, he looked merely stunned, wanting. “And…we’re…together?”

Her captain’s eyes fell to their joined hand and hook in his lap, huffing out a laugh at her words. “More so than I, I’d wager,” he murmured.

“Thank you,” was all she could really say in response, her wondering smile nearly blinding him with its brilliance.

“Come then,” he offered her his arm, his speech all business again, even while the pointed tips of his ears flushed, clearly uncomfortable with the gratitude and praise. “Above deck, and we’ll be off. I know someone who deals in nigh impossible to procure objects.”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

Tagging a few who might enjoy this: @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @tiganasummertree @spartanguard @thislassishooked @therooksshiningknight @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @resident-of-storybrooke @let-it-raines @ineffablecolors @optomisticgirl @shireness-says @snidgetsafan @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @mayquita @ohmightydevviepuu @revanmeetra87 @teamhook @darkcolinodonorgasm @gingerchangeling @blackwidownat2814 @nikkiemms @kday426 @hollyethecurious @seriouslyhooked @ohmakemeahercules

#self promo sunday #cs one shot ff #cs 6x11 divergent ff #ouat 6x11 fix it fic #ouat 6b one shot #into the unknown with you

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