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petrichoravellichor · 4 years ago

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Title: A New Kind of Life

Wordcount: ~10k

Rating: T

Summary: What if, when Sam and Dean break into the Empty, Cas isn’t the only one they save? A post-15x19 fix-it fic in which Crowley gets a second shot at the redemption (and family) he deserves.

(Read on Ao3)

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Chapter 3 (of 5) (Ch. 1, Ch. 2., Chs. 4 & 5)

"When I suggested you take on the Mark of Cain, I didn't know this was going to happen. Not really. I mean, I might not have told you the entire truth. But I never lied. I never lied, Dean. That's important. It's fundamental. But...there is one story about Cain that I might have...forgotten to tell you. Apparently, he, too, was willing to accept death, rather than becoming the killer the Mark wanted him to be. So he took his own life with the blade. He died. Except, as rumor has it, the Mark never quite let go. You can understand why I never spoke of this. Why set hearts aflutter at mere speculation? It wasn't until you summoned me...no, it wasn't truly until you left that cheese burger uneaten...that I began to let myself believe. Maybe miracles do come true. Listen to me, Dean Winchester: what you're feeling right now—it's not death. It's life—a new kind of life. Open your eyes, Dean. See what I see. Feel what I feel. And let's go take a howl at that moon."

—Crowley to Dean, 09x23 "Do You Believe in Miracles?"

**********

The following evening, there’s a knock on his door. “Crowley? Hey, you in there?”

Crowley looks up from his book. He hasn’t spoken to Dean since that day in the war room, when they’d all returned from the Empty. From a tactical standpoint, it’s been very easy: all Crowley’s had to do is keep largely to his room during the day and save visits to any common spaces for the late night hours. This is the first time in a good long while Dean’s made it a point to seek him out alone, and it’s that more than anything that makes Crowley decide he actually wants to hear what Dean has to say.

Still, no point in making it easy on the bastard. “That depends,” Crowley calls back, aiming for nonchalance. “What have you brought me?”

“Ha ha. Open up, asshole,” says Dean, but the epithet contains about as much malice as the bitch he occasionally lobs at Sam. “We, uh. We need to talk.”

Crowley arches a brow; is it just him, or does Dean sound nervous? He sets his book aside and shifts to sit on the edge of his bed. “It’s open.”

Dean enters, and Crowley sees that he was right: Dean does indeed look nervous, perhaps even guilty. He nods sheepishly in Crowley’s direction as he closes the door behind him.

“Hey,” Dean says, smiling slightly, and the gesture stirs a painful kind of longing in Crowley’s gut. Looking at Dean has always felt to Crowley like reaching for something without knowing what it is he’s grasping at or why, the way a weed arches without thinking towards the sun. It’s maddening in a way Crowley doesn’t have words for, because he knows, in the way he supposes a weed does, that the light isn’t there for his benefit; experience has shown him that much.

And yet, for as much hurt and anger Crowley’s felt because of Dean, he’s also realized that he just...can’t find it in himself to hate Dean, not in any way that lasts. They’ve been through too much together, and maybe none of it mattered to Dean, but it matters to Crowley. He wishes it didn’t, but it does; it always has. And he can no more deny that than he can the sun.

But he can’t very well say all that to Dean, so he pushes his thoughts aside and schools his features into a neutral expression. “Hello, Dean,” he says evenly, rising to stand with his hands in his pockets. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Dean reaches up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. “You, uh. You settling in okay?”

Crowley snorts. “Surely you can do better than that. Go on, let’s have it.” He takes a step towards Dean and flashes a smirk. “I promise I won’t bite unless you ask me to.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well...That’s kinda what I came to talk to you about.” He gestures at the desk next to the bed. “Mind if I have a seat?”

Crowley shrugs. “Make yourself at home.”

“Thanks.” Dean walks over to the desk and turns to lean against it, not quite sitting but also not quite standing. Crowley stands next to the bed, waiting.

Eventually, Dean clears his throat. “So, uh. Cas said the two of you talked—”

He expects his words to get a rise out of Dean, to throw him off kilter so their conversation is easier to manage.

“Oh for the love of—Is that what this is about?” Crowley grumbles; just how much of their conversation had Castiel felt the need to share? “Allow me to save you some time, then. You and your long-suffering Angel of Thursday have my blessings, for what they’re worth. Slow clap, mazel tov, etcetera, etcetera. If you like, I could even pull a few strings, see if I can get you Hell as a venue for the wedding.” He smiles darkly, adding, “Although based on recent events, your influence there probably exceeds my own.”

Instead, Dean just raises a brow and says mildly, “So you and Rowena still aren’t talkin’, huh?”

Dean chuckles. “Nah, just figured I’d let you finish first.”

Still aren’t—?! “Really?” Crowley sputters angrily. “That’s all you have to say?”

“Ever the gentleman,” Crowley sneers.

“I try.”

“You really think I didn’t miss you when you were gone?”

“Well, try to get to the bloody point!”

And whatever barb Crowley was about to hurl dies on his tongue. He opens his mouth, then closes it, shifting awkwardly under Dean’s level stare. Eventually Dean sighs; he pushes up off the desk and moves to sit on the edge of the bed, patting the mattress next to him. Crowley sits down without a word.

“Listen,” Dean says, once Crowley is settled, “I don’t know how much Sam told you, but you weren’t the only one we lost that night. Cas died, Lucifer made off with our mom, Kelly didn’t survive the birth, and Jack bolted after I took a shot at him. Which...yeah, in hindsight, I’m not proud of, but that’s where I was at the time.” Dean looks down at his hands. “It wasn’t good. If Sam hadn’t stepped up and been a dad, things with Jack woulda turned out different, and not in a good way. If it’d been up to me, if I’d known how...I probably woulda killed the kid.”

Dean snorts softly. “Yeah, maybe, only you were too busy offing yourself to keep Lucifer locked over in Apocalypse World. Man, you don’t even know how huge that was, do you?” Dean looks up at him then, earnest. “You think everything would be the way it is now if Lucifer had gotten his hands on the kid before we’d figured things out?”

Crowley swallows. He tries to think what he would have done if his and Dean’s places had been reversed, if Dean had died that day instead of him, and comes to only one possible conclusion. “To be perfectly honest,” he says, quietly, “I’d have done the same.”

Crowley can only stare back, stunned. He’d sacrificed himself to thwart Lucifer; that his death had also made it possible for Jack to grow up in the Winchesters’ charge, free of Lucifer’s poisonous early influence, and thereby helped shape who Jack was, who God was...It’s honestly never occurred to him until now.

A protective sort of rage boils up in Crowley on Dean’s behalf. Sam hadn’t gone into all the gory details during his explanation, but Crowley knows enough. “Michael.”

“Anyway,” Dean continues, when Crowley says nothing, “then Jack brought Cas back, which we didn’t even know was possible. Thought maybe it was just a fluke, but we didn’t have time to really think about it because we had to go get our mom back, and then there was all the crap with Lucifer, so we had to deal with that, and then...” Dean trails off, his jaw tight.

Dean inhales steadily, nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that. And then...after…” He sighs. “Jack lost his soul and killed Mom, and I damn near killed him, and then everything with Chuck...Man, it was just non-stop. Then we finally beat Chuck, and with Jack all souped up, we had a way into the Empty, and hell yeah, we were gonna get Cas out, but the plan was always to look for you, too. Oh come on, don’t look at me like that,” Dean says, frowning at Crowley’s shell-shocked expression. “You’re a royal pain in the ass, and there’ve been plenty of times I wanted to stab you in the face, but you think that means I don’t give a damn what happens to you? Like it or not, man, you’re family, and we don’t leave family behind, not when we can help it.”

Crowley studies Dean carefully, looking for the lie...and not finding it. Then, that means...Is he really...?

“Family,” murmurs Crowley, experimentally. “You know, I’ve never had much luck with that word.”

Dean gives him a sad sort of smile. “Yeah, me neither. Not the one I was born to, anyway, 'cept for Sam. The one me and him made, though…” His smile turns genuine. “That one’s pretty damn awesome.”

They sit in silence, neither speaking for several moments; then—

Crowley clears his throat. “Can I ask you something, Dean?”

“Shoot.”

“That first day, after you brought me back, Sam said I should talk to Mother, said she has...regrets.”

Dean regards him thoughtfully. “You thinkin’ about giving her another chance?”

“I honestly don't know what I’m thinking,” Crowley admits. “There’s a lot of bad blood there: hers, mine, both of ours. When I saw her here, in this room, she said she’d missed me, that she loved me, and...”

Crowley feels his throat tighten, and he doesn’t know how to say the rest: that for all he hates himself for it, for all the times it’s blown up in his face, for all the horrible things Rowena has done to him—

“You don’t know if you should believe her,” Dean finishes quietly, “but you want to.”

Crowley sighs. “It’s stupid, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not,” Dean says firmly. “It’s not stupid to want to be loved, not by family: that’s kinda how it’s supposed to be. The stupid part is that it doesn’t always go that way, and then we gotta deal with the fallout.” Dean hesitates, then adds, “And...and sometimes that means we think we don’t deserve love when we do, and other times, it’s people sayin’ they deserve our love when they don’t.”

Crowley mulls that over. “Does she deserve it, do you think?”

“From you?” Dean shakes his head. “Man, that ain’t for me to say.”

Bollocks, thinks Crowley, barely managing to suppress a groan of frustration; if only there were a way to know which decision was the right one ahead of time...“How did you decide?" he asks after a moment. "With your father, I mean.”

Dean looks taken aback, and Crowley thinks perhaps he shouldn’t have asked; but before he can change the topic, Dean sucks in a breath and says, “Look, my father was an obsessed bastard. He left me and Sam alone for weeks on end, and when he was around, he was more of a drill sergeant than a dad. Some of the shit he pulled...” One of Dean’s hands closes into a fist. “It’s not the kind of stuff you just...forgive.”

Then Dean lets out a slow breath, and the fist relaxes. “Thing is, though, a lot of the crap he put us through, raisin’ us the way he did...He was tryin’ to protect what was left of his family, and...and I get that, you know? I’ve done a lot of really messed up shit for the same reason, for family. Doesn’t mean I forgive him, it’s just...complicated.” Dean sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. “Like, really freaking complicated. Honestly, I’m still kinda trying to figure it out. But, yeah...all that to say, I don’t know if Rowena deserves your love or whatever else you wanna give her. She’s done a lot for me and Sam, helped us save our mom and Jack, and then her whole swan dive into Hell and all that, but when it comes to the two of you...That’s something you gotta decide for yourself.”

Crowley studies his hands. His left palm still bears thin scars from that day in the war room, when Sam had told him Rowena had changed and Crowley had gripped his fist tightly enough to draw blood. He still isn’t sure he believes his mother is actually capable of being anything other than what he's always known her as. Maybe she isn't, and if that’s the case, then she doesn’t deserve his love. Crowley can live with that; he has his entire life. If Sam was right, though, if his mother has changed...that’s something Crowley needs to see to believe.

And there it is, Crowley realizes: he needs to see her.

“I think,” he says, after a moment, “that I’ll meet with her and hear what she has to say, and if I don’t like it, I’ll tell her to bugger off, this time for good.”

Dean gives a hum of approval. “Sounds fair to me." He claps Crowley on the knee and stands. "Okay, then, I’m gonna go hit the hay. Lemme know if me or Sam can help with the Rowena thing, okay? You don’t gotta deal with her on your own.”

“I will,” Crowley says; then, as Dean’s about to leave, “and Dean?”

Dean looks back, hand on the doorknob. “Yeah?”

And Crowley once again feels something stirring in his gut, but this time, it isn’t longing, but gratitude, gratitude that he has Dean in his life and gratitude that, at the end of the day, everything they’ve been through together, the good and the bad, it matters to Dean, too, and that's important. It's fundamental.

“Thank you,” Crowley says, and means it. “For everything.”

For a moment, Dean regards him in silence; then he smiles. “Yeah. You too.”

He slips out of the room and leaves Crowley alone with his thoughts, which are...actually rather optimistic. For the first time in a long time, Crowley feels alive. It’s a new kind of life, one with family, one where he matters, and Crowley doesn’t know for certain what it’s going to bring, but he knows he wants to see it, experience it, eyes wide open.

#crowley #spn crowley #fergus macleod #crowley macleod #dean winchester #spn #supernatural #spn fic #spn fix-it fic #a new kind of life #my writing #i was going to wait till tomorrow to post this but i've realized that i lack self-control when it comes to multi-chapter fics #meh

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phantomphangphucker · 4 years ago

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Ectober Day 3: Mistake - How Sleeping Ghosts Lie

Danny had to get a little creative when it came to creature comforts, considering how hectic his half-life was. But that’s lead to him having some... less than human habits. Though really, when it’s common for your blankets and pillows to get set on fire, blown up, frozen, brought to life, or otherwise destroyed. It only made sense to just say ‘fuck it’ and use your own tail instead.

To say Danny was tired would be an understatement. An uhn-dr-steit-muhnt.

So he’d seriously like to sleep right now. But no. Instead he has class. With Mr. Lancer. The hardest of hard asses on him about the whole ‘pay attention’ thing. Which fine, okay, guys heart was in a superb place; but seriously, he needs sleep waaaaaaay more than Gregorian poetry and the Dadaism art movement he keeps going on tangents about for some reason.

Maybe he found a new interest to fixate on? Oh whatever.

Anyway, Danny needs sleep and he’d like to get it right now thank you very much. And he was exhausted enough to sleep right through Mr. Lancer snapping at him to wake up, kinda a nice bonus right now; bad sign for his health though. Regardless, sleepy time.

Over half the class sigh at the unmistakable sound of one Danny Fenton’s head hitting his desk. Including Mr. Lancer, who puts down the whiteboard marker and glances over his shoulder purely to make sure he was about to snap at the right student; Daniel had a pranking streak a mile long after all and had gotten other students to pretend to be asleep purely to embarrass whatever teacher blamed him without checking only to turn around and see a smug smirk across the boy’s face.

Lancer isn’t surprised in the slightest to see Daniel’s face smushed against the desk, arms positioned over his head awkwardly; boy’s going to get a kink like that, “Daniel, please try to pay attention and wake up”, tossing one of the markers near the floor by him; even the slightest sound or movement out of the unusual always woke him up with a snap. It was almost concerning actually.

Furrowing his brow when all that happens is one of Daniel’s arms flopping off his head and dangling off the edge of the desk. A couple of the teens also furrowing their brows or quirking them, some even snickering. Kwan actually kicks his feet, causing them to sick out sideways towards the window oddly; but still not waking the other teen. Star goes from giggling to actually looking genuinely concerned, sticking up her hand, “uh Mr. Lancer? Maybe we should let him sleep for once”.

Jesse leans back, snorting, “yeah, he’d say that he’s ‘dead to the world’”. Mr. Lancer just sighs in the slacker's direction, Jesse was a more genuine problem child; she just didn’t care at all, unlike Daniel. Though he guesses if Daniel is really that tired he can let this slip for once. This is still going on the test though.

Five minutes go by with the class going on effectively like normal; every one more than a little pleased by the fact that Danny doesn’t snore. Sure the desk was definitely covered in drool, but that was only annoying for the janitor.... or who ever poor freshman who doesn’t know any better and sits there. Everyone made a point to remember where that boy sat and promptly never sat in that desk. Considering the tendencies for questionable stains and the fact that it can to bloody well life before, everyone’s agreed that’s a wise decision. Last year one of the freshmen even got bit by meat, or something, stuck under it.

And combining that with the desk's occupant having a tendency to constantly disappear, most people paid at least some attention to him/the desk. Even if it was only out of curiosity or paranoia. Didn’t help that in classes where the teachers had totally given up any pretence of controlling the boy he had a free pass to just leave without any warning or asking. Which sure, lead to less disruptions and Danny not looking like a stressed-out chihuahua. But it also led to the boy seemingly literally disappearing. One minute he’s there, the next gone; everyone pretty sure no one actually saw him leave. Though someone did catch him crawling out the window once.

Kwan especially had a tendency of keeping a general eye on Danny’s desk in English class, considering he always seemed to be seated directly across from the strange teen. Which yes, had given him the ability to use the excuse ‘Danny’s desk ate it’ in all seriousness and actually be believed. It had also given him the unforgettable experience of being right next to a randomly exploding desk once though. So he thinks things might be evened out.

Regardless, he keeps an eye on that desk... and literally anything Danny laid next to it. Nothing today though, which was hopefully a positive sign.

Or did he bring stuff? Kwan honestly can’t remember. Eh might as well check. He’d rather not have another ‘ecto-pistol in the bag and accidentally pointed at his head but thankfully just blasted apart the ceiling when it accidentally went off’ incident. Waiting till Mr. Lancer looks back to the board yet again to write more shit no one cares about except the nerds, to glance to the side and back forwards.

Yup. No bag. Good. But then he pauses and squints at the whiteboard, because yeah no definitely no bag but was something not right? He thinks something was not right. Ah Zone, this better not be another ‘living desk’ moment. Risking another quick glance, which only makes him even more confused. Because the desk was fine. Danny was... not? He was still asleep that’s for sure, but Kwan’s pretty sure Danny has two legs and two feet, and neither were that thick.

Needless to say Kwan immediately snaps his head back towards Danny, no longer giving half a damn if Mr. Lancer notices or not. Looks down and proceeds to blatantly stare, eyes wide and mouth popping open a little. What.... what the.... what the fuck??? No seriously, what??? Kwan’s eyes move a little, following the motion of the tail? As it does a little lazy swish across the ground and slightly in the air. A bit of it is even curled under Danny’s head like a pillow, man it’s long.

Kwan shakes his head a little and slowly inches his shoe over and gives it -him?- a little poke. Attempting to confirm if this is real. Glancing at the sleeping teens face as Danny shifts slightly and the tail? -seriously, what the ever-loving fuck???- moves slightly out of the way.

Alright. Real it is.

Kwan blinks, just to make extra sure he hasn’t gone insane or started hallucinating out of extreme poetry-induced boredom. Opening his mouth more and blurting out, “Fenton... what the fuck man”.

Mr. Lancer sighs, speaking towards the whiteboard, “language, Mr. Ishiama”, turning to actually face one of the ‘prized’ -more like idolised- football stars, and seeing the teen paying absolutely zero attention; instead he’s staring dumbfounded at Daniel. Which... isn’t promising. Unsurprisingly, like whenever some kind of Daniel-related disturbance happened, the entire class turns to look to the teen at Kwan’s words. Mr. Lancer, of course, does the same, but he likes to think his reasons were more positive.

Lancer drops the marker he was holding to the ground, turning around fully to face the class with raised eyebrows, “Lord Of The Flies!”. It doesn’t take anything more than that to get the rest of the class going. Some even getting up or falling out of their chairs.

“Holy Shit Fenton”.

“Uh, should we wake him?”.

“Okay seriously, that can’t be normal? Right? RIGHT?”.

“His does have that weird ecto-contamination though?”.

“Oh my... it’s actually kinda... cute?”.

“Ecto-contamination my ass, he doesn’t have legs”.

“Hahaha hahah ha he looks like a Naga”.

“Shut up nerd”.

“I wonder if he even knows?”.

“I mean, this has to be a ghostly ecto thing?”.

“How the shit wouldn’t he?”.

“How do you think, moron. Maybe this just happens when he sleeps?”.

“I bet his freak parents are to blame. Probably some experiment gone wrong”.

“HA. That would track”.

“Maybe a ghost pranked him and stole his legs?”.

“That’s stupid”.

“Wonder of he could, like, hold stuff with it”.

“I’ll show you stupid”.

At that point Lancer has to step forward to stop the minor brawl that’s starting, “enough, Wuthering Heights, no fighting in class”, pushing Lily and Emily apart; who scowl at each other. Looking to Daniel, at this point basically everyone is standing up and around Daniel’s desk; unabashedly staring at or poking the occasionally swishing wiggling tail. Some was curled around his waist, some of it on the floor, some underneath his head, and the tip was just flicking in the air. There’s honestly no point in even trying to get class back on track. Reaching out to grab and shake the teen's shoulder, hopefully he’s not passed out enough to ignore that.

Half the class either gapes, jumps back, or laughs when, on the fourth slightly aggressive shake, Danny one arm judo flips or something Mr. Lancer over him and into the wall. The tail completely uncurling and waving lazily on the floor.

“HOLY SHIT!”.

“Damn Danny. Okay then”.

“Well, that just happened”.

“Oh man. Hahahaha. That was awesome”.

“Fenton? How the?”.

Mr. Lancer rights himself with little effort, slightly used to this after years in ‘the most haunted city in the world’. That, and Daniel’s chucked him across a room once before to get him out of the way of some debris. Daniel however, jerks to be sitting upright, the tail? lashes violently into one of the desk legs sending the entire desk flipping onto its side; with Daniel included.

Danny rubs the side of his head while yawning and pushing himself up with one arm, “what the Zone guys?”, and then looks around at all the teens just... staring at him. “Uhhhhh. I didn’t, like, blow something up again, did I?”.

Kwan blinks at him, “Fenton man, how can you not know why we’re all looking at you like you just walked off the set for the fucking Exorcist”.

Star seemingly takes a bit of pity on their strangest classmate, “Danny hon, your tail’s showing”, sounding weirdly unfazed by all this. But the entire class facepalms when the boy blushes and moves to cover his crotch of all things.

Though Mr. Lancer can understand the boy’s reasoning, considering he lost his pants so often as a freshman that Lancer literally bought Daniel a belt and kept a spare for him on hand at all times.

But Danny moving to do that gets him to finally, finally, notice shit is supremely not normal. He screws up his eyebrows, actually mutters, “well that don’t seem right, considering the circumstances”, and looks down.

No one says anything for a bit while Danny blinks down at the tail, everyone watching it swish around lazily. Danny looks back up to everyone, and only has this to say for himself, “uhhhhhh”.

Kwan flops back down into his desk and laughs, “man, is that seriously all you’re gonna give us? You sprouted a ghost tail in the middle of class!”.

“Yeah!”.

“You don’t even seem surprised. Figures”.

“So... your parents fucked you up.... again”.

“Language”.

“Oh come on! This has to be a prank”.

“You’ve got to say more than that”.

“You know what? Fuck this shit. I don’t even want to know”.

“Pussy”.

“Fuck off”.

“Language, Todd”.

“Can you even walk right now?”.

“How? No really. How?”.

“Of course can’t walk, he doesn’t have legs. You need those to walk, moron. It’s a basic requirement actually”.

Lancer sighs, pushing a few students away from Daniel before looking to the teen, “are you alright, Daniel? Do you... need to go to the nurse for... this”, and gestures at the tail; attempting not to seemed freaked out.

Danny immediately shakes his head and waves his hands back and forth; easily sitting up on the tail like this is nothing new, “no! No! I’m fine! All good!”.

Mr. Lancer just sighs as nearly the entire class shouts, “BULLSHIT!”, and do some variation of staring or pointing at the boy’s tail. Which, while being reasonable reactions, isn’t allowed on school grounds.

Danny laughs awkwardly, glancing back at the tail and back up, “heh”, the tail coiling up under and behind him some. That just encourages more questions though.

“Oh! So you can actually control it”.

“How’s it attached to your nerves and stuff though?”.

“Oh Zone, another nerd alert?”.

“It’s reasonable! This is illogical!”.

“Objection!”.

“What?”.

“Nothing. I just really wanted to say that”.

“Why’d you even form it?”.

“Oh! Oh! If you can do this then can we?!?! Is this just an contamination thing?”.

“Okay point. What’s the use of this thing and especially while sleeping?”.

“Oh mi god yas girl! I would look so cute with a ghost tail!”.

“Oh I know girl!”.

“Right!”.

“Oh someone gag me”.

“Sure”.

“Someone other than you”.

“What’s it feel like?”.

Daniel mutters to the side, “whelp. I fucked up. Nice going Fenton”. But Mr. Lancer’s pretty sure he’s the only one that even heard that as the students pretty well start bickering with each other or asking Daniel questions without actually paying him any mind or just staring at the tail. Which is frankly, rude. But it does give Lancer a chance to ask, in a much quieter tone, “are you sure you’re alright?”. Daniel nods at him immediately and gives a small, confident though shaky, smile. Lancer nods right back before standing up, if he didn’t have to question Daniel’s oddness then it was honestly better not to question it at all.

Mr. Lancer stands up and looks around at the other teens, “alright everyone, now I know there’s no point in picking back up where we left off, but everyone at the very least sit back down for the last few minutes”, sighing to himself when only the ‘good’ students do as asked, “if you give him some space he might, might, actually answer something”; that gets everyone sitting down real quick.

Mr. Lancer walks back to his own desk and practically collapses into his chair, watching Daniel very awkwardly right his desk and pull himself up back into his seat. Lancer wants to know why he hasn’t changed back to, you know, legs. Or if he even can. He should probably call the Fenton’s honestly. But, Catcher In The Rye, he so doesn’t want to. Really doesn’t want to. But if he can’t have legs, then he was going to have to. But if he asks then everyone will bombard the boy again. They were staring at him enough as it was and that... tail wasn’t exactly hiding his discomfort. Considering how it was all coiled up over itself in the boy’s seat.

Danny looks around, leans back, and then slams his head into his desk, grumbling, “y’all aren’t gonna leave me alone unless I explain this, are you?”.

“Are you kidding Fenton? No”.

“Hahaha, obviously”.

“Oh come on, why wouldn’t you want to brag about this?“.

“Maybe because this is freaky and he’s a freak?”.

“Rechenbache, that’s enough”.

Danny sighs into the desk top before sitting back up right and letting the tail uncoil. Grumbling, “ugh. Why couldn’t I just have stayed in bed?”, shaking his head and looking at the class, “okay this-”, sticking his hand out a bit, the class watching the tip of the tail move to lay in his open palm, “-is normal for me”, shrugging awkwardly, “kinda common thing while asleep”, grumbling almost aggressively, “which I’m now realising was a major mistake to get into the habit of”.

Star blinks at him before giggling, “so you just sleep with a ghost tail? Why? Is kinda cute though”, a couple less stuck up girls nod and glance at each other; nodding more. That just makes Danny blush and mutter incoherently.

Larry sticks his arms out to the side, “that still doesn’t answer the ‘how’?”.

“Yeah!”.

“Is that all you know how to say?”.

“Heck that doesn’t even answer the why!”.

“Uh, yeah? Yeah it does. Fenton was asleep”.

“That’s not what I mean, dumbass”.

“Language”.

“I second the ‘why’. Why sleep with that?”.

“And honestly dude? You constantly sleep in class. How did you not think this was gonna happen if it’s so routine”.

Danny scowls and rolls his eyes, “oh can it”, sighing, “and ‘cause it’s comfy alright? Geez. My sleeping routines are none of y’alls business”.

Kwan sticks up a finger, “uh, actually you kinda make it our business by sleeping in class”.

“Fuck off”.

“Daniel”.

Danny rolls his eyes at Mr. Lancer before addressing the class again, “and it’s just ‘cause of my ecto. You know my shit’s weird, stop being surprised when it proves it’s weird”.

Kwan sputters at that, “man, full-on ghost body parts and disappearing legs is beyond weird”.

Danny shrugs, not even attempting to deny that fact, “portable pillow and blankets that can’t be blown up. Plus, it helps me shed excess ecto. Y’all just shed your smaller amounts through your skin, lame”.

“Huh, that actually makes sense”.

“Still weird you even do that man”.

“Wow. Being ecto-absorbent seems like a real pain”.

“So breathing, but for ecto”. That one earns a couple laughs, including from Danny.

“Guess living in the ecto house that would make sense”.

“Honestly man? I would say you should just wear those hideous anti-ecto jumpsuits”, practically everyone cringes, “but, y’ know, hideous”.

“Capital ‘H’ Hideous”.

“Zone! I’d rather a freaking tail over those suits too”.

“Are we all still ignoring that this shouldn’t be possible and is still illogical?”.

“Shut up, Larry. Nobody loves you”.

“Thing looks long enough you really could, like, pull it up and use it as a pillow”.

“That’s literally what Fenton-dude was doing”.

“Shut up, I wasn’t the one staring at him while he sleeps”.

Brittney perks up, “do you sleep like a cat? You know, all curled up?”, tilting her head, “it was all curled under you just a bit ago”. That earns more blushing from Danny, making quite a few girls giggle and effectively confirming that yes, yes he did. Danny just mutters, “it’s comfy”, again. Which only results in even more giggles.

Danny looks up at the sound of the bell, flops his tail to the ground, and the entire class just watch in awe as the tail solidifies and splits into regular ol’ jean-covered legs and red/white sneakers. Half the class muttering ‘woah’, while he just gets up and very obviously makes a beeline for the door. Lancer’s just glad he can walk. Danny pointing at the class without actually looking at anyone or slowing down, “maybe don’t go telling everyone about this yeah?��.

Needless to say, everyone told everyone. Though Mr. Lancer told the other teachers that the strange new rumour surrounding Daniel was yet another practical joke. Which, with Daniel, was absolutely believable. And one thing no one does, is tell the Fenton’s. Which is all Danny had honestly hoped for.

End.

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amwritingmeta · 5 years ago

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21 Supernatural Questions

I was tagged by @deletingpoint - thanks for the kind words, girl!! Made my day! You rock the block! And yes don’t mind if I do join in, this looks fun. :P

1. When did you start watching Supernatural?

I’d seen stray episodes before - I’ve absolutely no clue which ones - but then I binged S1-6 in 2013 while being ill with the flu and I was hooked before it came up, because I loved S1-3 and the brother dynamic and thought it was a really awesomely well-written piece of television, but when they introduced the will-they-won’t-they-make-this-uber-masculine-guy-be-into-guys-and-specifically-the-guy-with-wings I was pretty much gone for. So I caught up on the show and watched it��until a few episodes into S9 (don’t judge me, I was surface watching and couldn’t get with the program at the time because why wasn’t Dean gay already??) and then I quit watching for a few years because I couldn’t stand the grey area and the uncertainty. I also wasn’t invested enough to stand it, tbh, and felt, naw, I’ll get back to this if it ever seems like they’re actually gonna do anything with this thing they’re hinting so strongly at. Picked it back up while S12 was airing and here we now are.

2. Who is your favorite in TFW?

But the other two might get jealous!

(okay, it’s Cas)

3. Who is your least favorite in TFW?

They’re the holy trinity and none of their character progression works without all of them taking up their allotted space in the narrative and how can you not love them all what is wrong with this question why am I hyperventilating why aren’t they beloved equally gaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh

(but Cas is my favourite)

4. Tag your top 5 Supernatural blogs!

I sincerely can’t, but I can tag a few people whom I very much appreciate and whose answers to this questionnaire I would be intrigued to see: @godshipsit @charlie-minion @mad-as-a-box-of-frogs @waywardliliana @natmoose @purgatory-jar @myed89 @inacatastrophicmind @rustling-pages @angelneedshunter @nerdylittleshit @obsessionisaperfume @assbuttboyfriends @misskittyspuffy @starsinursa @postmodernmulticoloredcloak @casismybestfriend @mittensmorgul @elizabethrobertajones - you’re all like bursts of colour and glitter glue and I’m happy you’re around! :) (btw I always find it awkward to tag specific peeps because there are so many of you lovelies that I would honestly tag so just know that this most likely includes you) (yeah that’s right) (YOU) <3

5. Who is your favorite character (not including TFW)?

Jack

6. Who is your favorite woman in Supernatural?

Rowena

7. John or Mary?

Mary

8. What were your first opinions of Sam, Dean, Cas, and Jack?

Sam: my first impression of him was very coloured by my impression of Jared as Dean on Gilmore Girls, so to hear someone call Jared Sam and then this Sam call someone else Dean was a bit jarring while watching the pilot. My earliest opinion of Sam was that he was kind, good with people, skilled, independent and, yes, haunted by past choices.

Dean: Immediate impression was oh, he’s one of those guys, and then almost straight away that first impression was blown to bits and everyone knows that he’s very, very easy to fall in love with quickly, so my love for him grew strong within a few episodes, for sure. First opinion formed holds until this day: someone who’s lost and who’s searching for a way home. In every sense of that sentence.

Cas: Holy shitballs, who’s this now?? was pretty much my first reaction to Cas’ entrance. It blew me away. It was an absolute game changer. It made me sit up. It made my brain go... are they... are they going to make Dean Winchester... is Dean Winchester into men?? And because on my first watch I’d not seen the little hints of this that now are so damn glaringly obvious, the chemistry between Dean and Cas literally made a lot of shit click into place for me regarding what I was potentially actually watching, and raised my emotional investment sky high considering the possible social commentary baked into the overall message of family and identity, and yeah, that still holds true to this day.

Jack: I was ready to fight tooth and nail for him after 12x19. That episode is still one of the best 42 or so minutes of television I’ve ever seen. The plant of Jack as a needed push for Cas’ progression hit me in the heart, and once it clicked that Jack represented the holy trinity of Heaven, Hell, Humanity, and how he might narratively prove a knitting point for TFW, something for them all to rally around, well, I was pretty much done for.

9. What’s your favorite season?

This is a really hard question because watching a season from start to finish means taking all of it in, and all of them - when start-to-finished - I feel are rather outstanding, but twist my arm and I’ll say: S1 or S4 or S5 or S8 or S9 or S11 or S13 (I can’t narrow it down to just one season alright?) and S14 and looking at what we have so far with this unfinished season I’d name S15, definitively.

10. What’s your least favorite season?

Oh, man. Make a girl sweat. So, here’s the thing, I genuinely see each season as adding something valuable to the whole, you know? I suppose S6 drags a bit, but I really like the tone and the noir sensibility of it, so I wouldn’t really call it my least favourite, but if I were to choose one season to binge over a weekend, S6 wouldn’t necessarily be first pick.

11. Opinions on Destiel?

Ah, yes, the obligatory essay question. Please see attachment. *points to blog*

12. Do you believe Supernatural queerbaits?

Look, to my mind, the reason Dean and Cas aren’t together yet is character related. They need to get their fucking ducks in a row. (and then those ducks will hopefully be fucking all over the place) (okay that’s graphic bird sex but you know what I mean) (not literally Dean and Cas dressed up as ducks and fucking) (but like... good stuff for the eyes will be happening that isn’t necessarily fucking feather related) (wait) (oh ffs brain!!) (you HAD to go there didn’t you??) (moving on) (or rather answering the question) --> I don’t believe they queerbait, no.

13. Seasons 1-7 or 8-14?

8-15x03

14. Favorite villain (plot wise)?

*chills are multiplying*

I love Chuck as the Big Bad, sincerely, but oh mannnn Michael.

15. Do you think they should end the Lucifer plot line?

Yeah, this questionnaire has been in drafts for a while now so um... I mean, the Lucifer plot line as it pertains to SAM should reach a satisfactory conclusion, but as it pertains to Lucifer’s play for Jack and breaking God’s toys etc. yeah, no, done.

16. Who do you think has gone through more trauma (Sam, Dean, or Cas)?

That’s too relative to their highly linked, and yet wholly individual relationship with their past and lingering sense of trauma. I think @deletingpoints reply was something along the lines of: Can you measure trauma? And I agree. They’ve all been deeply traumatised at different stages of their life and they’ve all dealt with their individual trauma in different ways.

17. What’s your favorite Supernatural episode?

I’m sorry, what? I thought you just asked me to pick one favourite episode out of 3678916236363487236783 times infinity. This is mathematically impossible and since I’m sadly not fluent in math and have absolutely no access to any type of calculator or abacus or, I don’t know, a neighbour who happens to make amazing fucking latte and dresses in knits and is attractive in a non-conventional way and also happens to be a math genius, I must reject the question outright and plead the 105th. (i.e. I cannot possibly)

18. Do you like case episodes?

Where’s that gif of Dean going Dude Yes?

^^^

19. Who do you relate most to in TFW?

Darling Cas. Socially awkward and lost but growing into his own skin Castiel. My God, I love him so dearly. There are not words for how much I relate to him, or for what he’s done for my personal self-reflection, or how much I’m now re-relating to his need to push himself out of his comfort zone and dare. I owe him. *hugs into oblivion*

20. Why do you like Supernatural?

Ohhhhh, goody, one of those multi-choice questions. Is it:

a) because of the absolutely stunning character journeys

b) because of the absolutely smashing world and all its mythology

c) because of the underlying social commentary and the intricate use of subtext to effectively, though subtly, bring ideas linked to the conscious/unconscious sides to us into not only the use of already mentioned mythology, influencing the world building, but also wholly guiding, impacting and giving momentum to the already mentioned stunning character journeys

d) all of the above

e) all of the above, and a little bit more that would take an actual book to relay

E. It’s E. All the way the answer is E.

21. If you could bring back one character and kill off another who would they be?

I’d bring back Eileen and holy moly Shoshanna is coming our way. And I don’t have a character to kill off tbh. Let them live, I say. :)

I genuinely tag EVERYONE. Go on, everyone, you know you wanna! :) xx

#tag me if you decide to #tag along #:D

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shastelly · 6 years ago

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Dance - March Klance Prompts from MonthlyKlance - Day 18

Day 18 – Dance

Lance straightened the bow tie on Keith's sort-of-tux.

"There." He smiled over at the other boy who was blushing like crazy and looked so uncomfortable in the get up that it wasn't even funny. "You look nice." Lance offered trying to help.

"Sure." Keith practically collapsed in on himself in discomfort. "I feel like an idiot. This is not me."

"Then pretend to be someone else." Lance offered back with a smile. "Someone suave and sophisticated and who looks awesome in a tux…oh hey, just pretend to be me." Lance did a quick spin turn and finished with finger guns. It had the desired effect as Keith choked on laughter, sputtering something about hell freezing over.

"It's like going to prom." Shiro declared from the other side of the room. He looked stunning in his solid black tux and black tie. But he was also wearing a frown.

"What you didn't like prom? I figured you would have been the Prom King?" Lance puzzled.

"I was." Shiro blushed.

Hunk chuckled, "I can totally get why, you were their golden boy."

"But then why didn't you like it? I would have loved to have been Prom King." Lance asked eyes full of stars.

"Well, I…it…um…so as the guy that was supposed to be the Prom King, I was pretty much expected to take the girl that was supposed to be the Prom Queen." Shiro managed.

"You took a girl to prom." Keith stared eyes wide.

"Yeah. I did. I thought we could go, as friends, and just have fun and get pictures and not worry about it." Shiro ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck. "She had, um…other expectations."

"How? I mean didn't she know?" Pidge had wandered in and joined the conversation. She was wearing a tux that Coran had altered for her. The pants legs were overly wide, and the jacket cropped at the waist. It was actually darling on her.

"I told her. I just guess she didn't believe me or thought she was going to turn me straight or something?" Shiro blushed even harder when Lance practically fell over laughing. "Yeah, that didn't work out so well. She really didn't like me after she caught me making out with someone else in the hall." Keith snorted.

"You were the Prom King, ditched your crazy Prom Queen and hooked up with someone else? Sounds like a great Prom!" Lance giggled.

"So, Keith, how was your Prom?" Hunk asked trying to give Shiro a break from blushing.

"I didn't go." Keith frowned. "I don't like dances or dancing or dressing up or that many people."

"Okay, antisocial Emo boy skips Prom. Not the most shocking headline ever." Lance teased, though he sounded almost sad.

"So, what was your Prom like, we know you weren't the King." Keith turned back to Lance.

"My Prom was awesome and awesome." Lance smiled easily. "Me and my good buddy Hunk here went together."

"You were his Prom date?" Keith raised an eyebrow at Hunk.

"Sort of." Hunk smiled fondly at Lance. "I didn't have a date."

"Their loss, my gain!" Lance chirped.

"And Lance couldn't pick a date." Hunk laughed elbowing his friend. "So, he suggested we go together, and I have to admit we had a great time. Lance is a pretty good date."

"I am a great date. I brought flowers." Lance corrected.

"Yes, a great date. He did bring a boutonniere and he made sure I had fun the entire night. We danced - he had me dancing with all kinds of girls and he was dancing with everyone. I'd been to that kind of thing before and just ended up being a wallflower, but not with Lance around."

"Shiro, you may have ditched your date, but Hunk and I, we stole so many hearts that night it was a felony." Lance joked complete with crazy eyebrow wiggles.

Pidge snorted.

"Sorry, Pidgie, you weren't there for Prom, were you?" Lance turned regretful eyes to the Green Paladin.

"She's been to Prom." Shiro looked over suddenly amused.

"Yes. I have been." She answered mysteriously.

"How and why do you know?" Lance looked confused.

"Matt took her." Shiro supplied. "He told me about it."

"Really? Why? I mean, you're great and all, but you're his sister." Lance looked dumbfounded, no doubt imaging taking one of his siblings.

"His date dumped him, literally the day before Prom." She supplied, her smile was sad but fond. "He'd already made reservations that couldn't be cancelled, had a limo and a tux and the whole nine yards and she dropped him for a football star." Pidge sniffed her distaste.

"That is cold." Hunk sighed.

"Yeah, but Matt, he's not the type to let someone get the best of him. So, he knocked on my door, and asked me to accompany him to the Prom. I was going through a phase, so I happened to have something to wear." Pidge blushed a little.

"Wait. What kind of phase?"

"I believe Matt called it the Disney Princess years." Shiro supplied slyly and Pidge chucked a comb at him. He dodged it easily laughing. "The dress was lovely Pidge, you looked nice in green then too."

Pidge smirked mollified for now, "Anyway, he was sweet, and I had a good time and that bi…"

"Language!"

"Not nice person,” Pidge correct with an eyeroll, "got drunk on spiked punch and spent most of the evening puking in the bushes outside."

"You spiked the punch didn't you." Keith stated looking over at her grin.

"There is no proof."

"Proof of what?" Allura asked as she breezed into the room. The pink ball gown she wore would put Cinderella to shame.

"Wow!" Lance jumped up. "You look beautiful!"

"Don't drool." Pidge elbowed him.

"Thank you, Lance." Allura smiled at him. "You all look wonderful as well. Are we ready?"

"Do I get to dance with you?" Lance asked with a wink.

"I'm afraid not. As the official negotiator of the alliance we propose, I am not permitted to enjoy the dancing, I must sit at the negotiation table. It is up to you all to mingle and dance and make friends with the people of Umbelan."

"So, we have to dance?" Keith asked.

And at the same time, "I'm sorry you'll miss the fun." from Lance

"Yes, you must dance. Thank you again Lance, but there will be other parties. The people of Umbelan are convinced that dances are the best way to get to know anyone. You will be observed by many and asked to dance many times. The dances are simple, and they are aware you are not from their planet and will not be familiar with them, so do not be worried about being judged for your dancing talents." Allura gave Keith a soft smile as he was clearly uncomfortable. "Use the dance time to talk and get to know whomever you dance with. It is expected that you will ask them questions as well as answer questions that they have for you."

"Great." Keith muttered.

"Keith, if you could at least do, two dances?" Allura offered. It was clear the situation was distressing for him, under his usual forceful nature was an undercurrent of uncertainty and genuine discomfort.

"Okay. I can do that." When he met her eyes there was gratitude there and she smiled back at him.

She did not miss the look of relief on Shiro's face or the way Lance's shoulders relaxed.

Lance's first dance was with an older Umbelan. She said she was an ambassador for a nearby planet. She asked him about the alliance and what planets he had visited and about earth and its culture. No military secrets, just diplomatic questions about languages and cheeseburgers. Lance smiled and laughed and when it was his turn, he asked about the dancing custom and manners and what was okay to ask and what wasn't. By the time they had finished the dance, Lance bowed gratefully, he felt like they had both learned a lot. He didn't have to look far for his next partner. A smiling young man was waiting to step up.

"Hi, I'm Rex." He bowed.

"Lance." Lance bowed back and moved to take his partner’s hands as the dance began. He found the steps easy enough and was soon able to focus on his dancing partner.

"You learn fast." He complimented.

"Thanks, I like dancing." Lance smiled easily.

"So, I'm Rex, like I said already. My mom is a general in our military. She's in charge of security tonight." He offered. "So um, you're the Blue paladin?"

"Yes. I pilot Blue. She is awesome, one of the legs."

"So, the lion is a she? Does she talk to you?" Rex asked eyes wide.

"Yeah, I feel like she's a she and she doesn't like talk out load, more like in my head." Lance tapped the side of his head with his finger.

"That must be weird." Rex frowned.

"Sure, but no weirder than finding out about this war and fighting Galra and 10,000-year-old evil guys." Lance shrugged.

"So, your planet did not have space travel?"

"Well, yes, but very limited. Nothing like what Blue or the Castle of Lions are capable of doing. We didn't really even know there were other inhabited planets. So, coming out here was a really shock." Lance laughed a little. The young man across from him was purple, as all the male Umbelans were. They were basically humanoid in shape, but about an average six inches taller and completely covered in fur. His fur was shaved short over his face and neck, but long at the top of his head which was plaited into a long braid that hung past his shoulders. The shaving of the furs seemed to vary a lot between individuals and offered a lot of variety in hair styles. He wore a plain black tunic that hung past his knees and was belted with a simple gold cord. Clothing seemed to be more uniform and functional.

"That would be a shock. I've grown up around space and wars. I think it might be nice to not have to focus on anything like that for once. Mom is always so worried about what might happen and planning for the worst." He rolled his deep blue eyes. "I love her, but I don't think she has any idea how to relax."

"What kind of things do you do to relax?" Lance asked.

"Oh well, I love painting and riding Herxbirds." Rex smiled.

"What's a herxbird?"

"Well, they are about half the size of your lion and covered in fur that is super long and soft. They come in all colors and have big leathery wings, two on each side and four legs. Their heads are long and narrow and the have big noses and tongues. We strap a seat onto their backs, and you can ride them. They are trained to follow commands, but really good riders learn to communicate with them with their minds." Rex explained excitedly. It was clear that he was really into this.

"I would love to see one, sounds like a giant horse with bat wings." Lance returned the excitement level. He was setting up a time to go flying with Rex when something caught his eye. Keith was dancing with a very large Umbelan male. The guy was a foot taller than Keith. This fur was shaved short in a stripe between his eyes and down to his chin. There were several small braids hanging from his chin. And Keith, well Keith just looked pissed. He wasn't talking, he was barely moving and everything about his body screamed he didn't want to be there.

"Who's that?" Lance asked Rex, not really an appropriate question, but his worry over rode any worry about decorum.

"Oh, that's General Wythop." Rex answered with a sneer.

"Don't like him?" Lance turned with concern.

"No. He's a pompous ass." Rex frowned. "He danced the first dance with your friend, he shouldn't still have him."

"Oh." Lance looked over even more concerned.

"I would get him out of there if you could. Wythop has a lot of power in the government. And…" Rex seemed to shrink back into himself.

"What? And what?" Lance pressed something dark circling in his gut.

"He's…um…forward?" Rex's face turned a shade of green. Lance wasn't sure if he was blushing or nauseous.

"Forward? Like pushy or mouthy or forward like he's capable of hurting my friend." Lance asked turning serious.

"I…we should get your friend away from him." Rex looked down. "No one's ever come forward to speak against him, but there are rumors."

"Okay, well Allura, told Keith he only had to do two dances, so after this one, he should be out of there. I'll keep an eye on him. Thanks for the dance, Rex, and I do hope to see one of those Herxbirds tomorrow."

The song ended and Rex bowed to Lance and Lance returned the gesture. He turned to watch Wythop bow to Keith and Keith glare back at him. The Ubelam had Keith's wrist grasped firmly in his hand and was not letting him go. Keith frowned and tugged and the Ubelam said something while frowning. Keith looked down at the floor with another glare and the next song started. Wythop grabbing Keith's other arm and starting the dance. Keith didn't even pretend to move. He just stood there and didn't speak.

Lance frowned and scanned the crowd. He saw Pidge over by the punch bowl and rushed over to his side, apologizing to the young woman that had started to walk up to him with a grin and a wave. He practically grabbed Pidge and pulled her out onto the dance floor.

"Lance!" She protested trying to pull away.

"Shush." He whispered, getting her attention. He watched the dancers around him and soon fell into the appropriate steps for the song. Pidge struggled but tried to match. "We have an issue."

"What?" Pidge narrowed her eyes and looked around.

"See that guy with Keith?" Lance asked quietly maneuvering so that she could see them over his shoulder.

"Why is he even still dancing?" Pidge asked frowning. She knew he didn't want to be out there, and he'd filled his quota.

"I don't think that guy let him go. He had ahold of his arm when the last song ended." Lance frowned. "The guy I was dancing with explained he's a real jerk and we ought to get Keith out of there, but he's also really high up in the government. So, we need to get Keith away without letting him know that's what we are doing and not piss him off."

Pidge nodded agreeing with the plan so far, "So, what do you have in mind?"

"Going to break in at the end of the next dance. Accuse Keith of hogging the General and say that he forgot he promised to dance with you. Then you use the next song to dance him out of here and figure out what exactly is going on." Lance plotted.

"Yeah, and what about you?" Pidge narrowed her eyes.

"I'll just dance with General Pushyface there and then when the song ends explain I have to go and that will be that." Lance nodded.

"Okay, but aren't we getting Keith away because the General might be dangerous? Why is the plan for you to put yourself in danger instead?" Pidge hissed.

"Well, I'm better with people. I'm sure I can talk my way out and if not, Shiro and Allura are like right here, I'm pretty sure a good yell for help and they'd be right on the guy."

Pidge nodded slowly. She didn't like it, but she didn't have a better plan. "Okay, I'll do it, but if Keith says anything wonky, we are going straight to Allura and if you don't get out of that dance at the end of the song, I'm sending Shiro over."

Lance smiled, "Okay Pidge."

Lance moved them across the floor until when the song ended, they were right next to Keith and the General. When the guy bowed and still held Keith's arm again, Lance went into action.

"Oh, hey Keith!" Lance moved to stand between them. "You have totally been hogging this big guy's time. That is not good manners, man." Lance winked at the general. "On top of that you promised Pidge a dance and she's pretty upset."

Pidge put on one of her angry faces and crossed her arms and tapped her foot.

Keith looked completely confused and when he got Pidge's glare, he sputtered an apology. The general's grip had loosened on Keith's arm in the confusion and Lance slipped his hand in between, pulling the general's hand into his.

"Go on, Keith. I've been waiting for my chance to dance with General Wythop here." Lance waved his other hand at him over his shoulder dismissing him. Keith frowned and glared back at the general while Pidge slipped in front of him and pulled him away.

Lance pretended not to notice the glare the general was now directing at him. He didn't however appreciate the near bruising grip the guy had on his hands.

"Hey, big guy, lighten up." Lance tried to wiggle his fingers to loosen the general's grip.

The general narrowed his eyes and tightened the grip, stopping Lance from moving his hands at all and smiling at the wince he saw in the young man's face.

"Why did you interrupt my dance?" He growled.

"Oh, well, I'm sorry. As I understood, it wasn't nice to keep the same partner dance after dance." Lance answered evenly.

"It's also not nice to interrupt or to not answer questions. Your friend was quite rude to me. He wouldn't talk or dance." The general growled, looking down at Lance.

"You are in luck because I love to talk and dance." Lance plastered the best fake smile he could. This guy was giving him some serious creeps.

"Perhaps." The general smiled then, and it was not pleasant. "Please tell me about the Castle of Lion's defensive capabilities."

"Oh, hey now, that's like top secret military stuff, man. If you are a spy you need to work on subtlety." Lance blanched.

"This is supposed to be an open discussion. I think I find you paladins to be closed and defensive. I'm not sure I can vote in favor of an alliance." The guy had the nerve to tighten his grip even further and Lance ground his teeth together feeling the bones in his wrist grind together unpleasantly.

"Now don't be that way. I'm sure there is something we can talk about. For instance, the Castle of Lions has some great medical technology that I know Coran will be happy to discuss with your people and very efficient food production. You must understand handing out a list of our defenses to just anyone isn't feasible. You wouldn't hand me the defensive playbook for your team either." Lance tried to reason out of the anger he could feel building in the other guy.

"I don't know what this playbook is that you speak about, but I assure you that I am not playing." The general growled and Lance realized he'd been moving him slowly to the edge of the crowd. "I want you to call your friend back. I was not done talking with him and he owes me a proper dance. I will not let him leave until he has satisfied my demands."

"That is just really not going to happen. If you keep this up, we are going to have a situation here. I mean, have you seen the Black Paladin. You do not want to mess with Space Dad." Lance pulled uncomfortably at his wrists, his hands were turning purple and tingling from lack of blood flow.

"I don't care about your father or the Black Paladin. I am not afraid. Get your friend now." The general growled. Lance started to respond when the jerk twisted his left wrist sharply and Lance was certain he actually heard the bone snap.

"Let me go! That's enough." Lance pulled away with his other wrist, his eyes flashed angrily.

"No." The general sneered squeezing his broken wrist so hard that Lance felt his knees go weak and struggled to stay standing.

"You have like two ticks and then I'm yelling, and you can explain." Lance spat, his eyes dancing with spots.

"Scream. No one will hear you in here." The general laughed and Lance realized they had entered a hall.

He looked around wondering if anyone could hear him. After all he could be pretty loud, and the guy might be bluffing. Talking a deep breath, he screamed at the top of his lungs.

"LET ME GO!"

The general growled and letting go of his broken wrist swung a fist into Lance's stomach knocking the air out of him. After a few ticks when no one came, the general laughed and hit Lance again.

"See. No one heard. Now take me to your friend." He pulled Lance up by his good wrist and lifted him off the ground.

Lance groaned, but he'd seen movement behind the general. Someone had heard him.

"No." Lance spat and the general shook him by his arm. The pop that sounded from his shoulder seemed really unfortunate to Lance. He saw movement again. His breath was coming in gasps from the pain and he was having trouble keeping track, but if someone was back there to help, then he needed to give them an opening and maybe get out of the line of fire. Gritting his teeth against the pain he knew it would cause he swung himself back and kicked forward with all his might, aiming for what he hoped was a sensitive spot on the Ubelam people. Apparently, it was. The general's face turned a shade of blue and he flung Lance away from him. Lance collided with a wall and slid to a stop at its base, not moving.

"Lance!" Pidge's voice echoed as she ran for him. The general turned to grab her and was surprised when his hand went straight through the hologram.

"Hey, asshole." Keith appeared from around a corner, bayard drawn.

"There you are." The general growled. "We could have been friends. Why do you insist on making this difficult? Perhaps you just enjoy pain."

"You aren't interested in being friends and I'm not interested in what you are offering." Keith spat.

"Well come on then, if you think you can take me." The general crouched into a defensive posture drawing a large knife.

"Oh, I'm not going to attack you. I'm the distraction." Keith grinned as the Green bayard connected with the general's back sending jolts of energy convulsing through his body. When he fell to the ground Pidge was standing behind him willing the bayard to shock him into unconsciousness.

"Nice, Pidge." Keith complimented as he passed the fallen general on his way to Lance.

Pidge kicked the guy in the knee for good measure as she went to join Keith.

Lance was groaning and moving when they got to his side.

"Oh hey." Lance winced. "This prom sucks, can we go home."

Keith smiled softy and Pidge smirked.

"Come, on." Keith managed to get under Lance's good shoulder and help him up. Pidge snaked an arm around his waist.

"Let's let Shiro know what is going on and get you back to the castle." Pidge spoke softly eyeing his obviously broken wrist and the bruises forming.

Lance nodded.

"Now you know why I don't like dances." Keith muttered.

"Seriously, this is why you don't like dances? This has happened before?" Lance asked eyes wide.

"No, I mean, sort of, she wasn't that big, but she had some seriously sharp nails and promised to ruin my reputation at school." Keith answered blushing.

"I." Lance blinked mouth opening and closing. "That sucks." He finally managed.

"Yeah it would, but I totally just made that up." Keith looked over at Lance face bland. "Seriously, I'm just a bad dancer and I don't like doing it."

Pidge snorted and burst out laughing.

Lance shook his head, "Okay, you got me. Thanks for confusing the guy with the concussion."

"Sorry." Keith smiled.

"No, you aren't." Lance huffed. "Just for that, you owe me a dance."

Keith's smile softened and he met his eyes, "I owe you more than that. Thank you."

"Yeah well, I'll be cashing in on this dance, don't forget." Lance leaned further against Keith as they entered the ballroom. He could hear Shiro yell over the crowd and Allura demanding answers. He caught Rex's wide eyes and the young man nodded to him. It was going to work out.

Keith leaned over to whisper into his ear, "I'd like dancing with you I think."

Lance smiled feeling a blush rise in his cheeks, yeah it was all going to work out just fine.

#monthlyklance #monthlyklance march 2019 #klance #voltron fanfic

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crashdevlin · 6 years ago

Text

Fine

Author’s Note: This is part three of the Happily Ever Eventually series.

Summary: Y/n is determined to go to the Vegas Convention, despite her OB/GYN’s warnings not to travel and Jensen’s protests.

Pairing(s): Jensen Ackles X Reader

Word Count: 5040

Warnings: Fluff, pregnancy, labor stuff, descriptions of a c-section, a small allusion to polyamory

“Okay, but you’re about to pop. You sure you wanna do this?” Jay asked, a slightly worried look in his eyes.

I rolled my eyes. “I’ve got two weeks ‘til I’m due, honey, and Nova was late, so we’re fine.” I smiled and pressed my lips to his cheek. “I promised Adam I’d do Vegas this year, I can’t bitch out because I’m kinda close to time to get this kid cut out of me, Jay.”

“And if you go into labor in Nevada when your doctor is in Florida?”

“I’m sure there are Obstetric Surgeons in Vegas. Stop worrying.”

“What’d Dr. Sexton say?”

I sighed, shaking my head. “She thinks it’s a bad idea to travel in my condition, but-”

“Then, why are you going?”

“Because I want to! Because I haven’t been to a convention in months and some of the fans actually really want me there and I hate sitting at home doing nothing and I miss you when you’re gone and I’m really fucking pregnant and if I do go into labor, I want it to be wherever you are.” I bit my lip, looking down at my protruding belly. “I want to be with you, Jay. Please, don’t make me cancel.”

He smiled, softly, and put both hands on my belly as he bent to catch my eyes. “I couldn’t make you do anything, baby girl. Wouldn’t. I want you with me, too. I just worry. Okay, guess you’re coming. But if Mav ends up with a Nevada birth certificate, I’m blaming you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I hate that they killed Tara off instead of writing the baby in. Dean would be such a good dad!”

I raised my eyebrows at the fan on the sidelines of the auditorium. “Did they kill Tara off? Did we actually see her die? I really don’t remember. My life has been super crazy over the last eight months. Did we really kill her?” The audience shouted out ‘yes’, but a few responded with, “No one ever stays dead!” “Ah, but she’s not a Winchester, or Castiel. She’s not one of Chuck’s faves. She’s just a witch and a love-interest. How many of those have ever come back, right?”

I shrugged. Of course, Tara was coming back but I wasn’t supposed to let them know that. “Anyway, Dean is a good dad! Look at Jack!” I chuckled. “Thank you for your kind words. I’ll tell the writers that they’re assholes for not writing the baby in.” I swiveled to the other side of the stage. “Hi!”

“Hi! I was wondering, how did Tom react to you getting with Jensen?”

I nodded. “Um, he… huh, he did not take it well. Um… he sent… sorry, let me rephrase for the legal team… A box full of vacuum-sealed rat carcasses was sent to my parents’ home addressed to me. There was no return address, but even the cops said it was probably sent by someone who was quote, ‘Unhappy about my new relationship’.” I smiled, brightly. “I responded by sending him copies of my ultrasound pictures and one of me giving him the finger.”

I cleared my throat. “I mean, really, I expected a lot more backlash from him. The man literally thought he owned me, so… it was an ordeal. There were some letters sent, anonymous of course, calling me all sorts of names, and someone dox’ed me in Tom’s name, but there were some very awesome feminist hackers that worked to get my information taken down, so… I will say that, uh, Tom’s fans were more pissed off about me getting with Jensen than some of you guys and that blows my mind. I guess they thought I broke his heart or cheated on him or something and they… didn’t take kindly.”

“So, have you come up with a name for the baby, yet?” the next fan asked.

“Yes. But it’s a surprise, so… You guys’ll find out in a few weeks, I promise.”

“When you got with Jensen the first time, was that before or after the scene in Sleeping Beauty in the library?”

I laughed. “It was before and therefore super awkward. Like, it was a huge deal to Richard that he was the one directing the ep where Dara became canon so his enthusiasm was a bit weird and I had just broken up with Tom that morning and the day before was the first time I'd spoken to Jay in months and kissing him was this huge scary thing that I guess I over prepared for. We did the first take and then Richard says ‘Well it looks like you've prepared for this, put a lot of thought into it, but I need you to be more surprised when he kisses you’. So I said, you know, that I had prepared and he said ‘It's called Acting, sweetheart’ and then he sent me of to prepare to look unprepared. Several minutes later, Jensen walks up, starts talking about Jare and him taking me to dinner to celebrate me coming to my senses about Tom and I started to respond and then he just grabs my head and kisses me. Well, they were trying to catch me off-guard and it fuckin’ worked. I'm not angry about it. The footage was perfect, but it's not exactly the first kiss story I wanna tell our kid about.”

“How did you guys even… get together? That sounds rude, but I'm just so curious. I mean, you guys were friends, then Tom came in and tore you away from him and then you came back and… what, when Danneel filed for divorce, you and Jensen fell into bed?”

“Um, no. Uh, there was always this sexual tension between us, which I genuinely thought was imagined for a very long time. I really thought it was wishful thinking or just that kinda funny sexual humor shit he does with Misha, but it was always there, and when I was with Tom, I realized how much I missed Jensen. Like, I was predisposed to fall in love with Jay. I was half in love with him from the get and… when he told me that Dee was divorcing him, I cried with him. After yelling at him to fix it, of course. I mean, I’d just broken up with Tom, so I didn't want another relationship to die when I was building my own a pyre. But we cried together and that's when I knew… that's when I knew I really loved him, because I knew that the two of us together, we could handle anything. Broken hearts, busted careers, terrible exes, nothing could touch me if I had Jay.”

A few loud ‘Awww's broke through the noise and I chuckled. “I expected it to be this unrequited thing and I was gonna be okay with that, but… but then Danneel filed for divorce and Jensen needed me to be there for him and… the two of us together, we handled it.”

“And then you got to handle him,” the fan said.

I laughed. “You’re right. And I’m sure y’all are fishing for some personal information on us gettin’ together, but… Jay’s pretty private so…” There were boos across the auditorium and I laughed again. “Okay… so… I’ll tell you that, uh, he’s...just as awesome as you assume.”

“What is your response to Tom saying that you were Jensen’s mistress way back in 2017?” another fan asked.

“The man sent me dead rats because he didn’t like me dating Jensen. I’m not responding to any ridiculous accusations he has.”

The next few questions were about the show. “If there were a way to bring Tara back, do you think you’d do it?” “When you were just friends with Jensen, was it hard to do the flirty scenes?” “Have the boys ever pranked you before?” “Misha said he made you a gift for the baby shower. What was it?”

I glowed at that question. I saw it in the videos and pictures later. My whole face lit up at that question, despite the cramping pain starting up in my abs. I ran my hand across my belly. “A fucking crib! He made a solid oak crib, with a changing station, a place for a laundry basket, and an alcove to put a diaper pail! The side also removes so that it can become a regular toddler bed when the kid gets old enough. It’s fuckin’ gorgeous, too! I can’t believe Misha didn’t post pics of it when he was making it!”

“Why don’t you?!” someone in the audience shouted.

“Uh, because he etched the kid’s name on it and I said that’s a fuckin’ surprise.” I hissed in pain and cleared my throat as Louden Swain took the stage behind me. “Oh, and I guess that’s gonna have to be the end, you guys! I will see you guys at SNS!”

“You okay?” Bri asked when I made it to the Green Room.

I nodded. “I’ve just got really bad heartburn again. I’ve got Tums in my bag.”

“You aren’t gonna go into labor, are you? Because I think Jensen would probably be pretty pissed off if you had that baby while he was on a plane,” Kim said, walking up to me with a bottle of water.

“I’m not in labor. I just have heartburn. Leave me alone.”

“Are you sure? You want someone to drive you to the hospital?” Misha asked, kneeling down in front of where I was sitting on the little loveseat sofa. Kim, Bri and Adam Fergus all muttered in agreement, offering to call a car and go with.

I shook my head at them. “I’m not missing my first Saturday Night Special in eight months just because I’ve got heartburn. It’s fine.” Their mutters turned to ones of disbelief and I rolled my eyes. “Seriously! My water has not broken, I’m not having contractions, I’ve got two weeks ‘til Maverick is supposed to come out, leave me alone.” I hissed again as a cramp rolled across my lower half.

“You sure you’re not having contractions, sweetie?” Bri asked with a small smile on her lips.

“They’re just Braxton-Hicks. They’re not regular, they don’t hurt anywhere near as bad as the real ones. Again, I’m fine. Go away.”

“Did you bring your hospital bag with you, just in case?” Misha asked.

I groaned. “Of course I did! Do you really think Jensen would let me travel two thousand miles without bringing my comfort bag? Now, come on. Go do something else. I’m gonna take a nap.”

“Are you gonna be able to sing tonight?” Rob asked, walking into the Green Room as I lied down on my side.

“I’m definitely going to sing tonight. I can’t promise it’ll be my best performance, but I’m gonna do it.”

“If she doesn’t give birth before then.” I threw my water bottle at Misha’s head, but I was lying down so it missed.

“Okay, okay. Leave her alone.” Misha retrieved the bottle and handed it back to me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, Bri and Kim text-” Jay said, walking in and dropping his bag on the floor next to the loveseat.

“I’M FINE!” I shouted. He raised his eyebrows at me. “I’m sorry, honey. They just… They’ve been so… I’m hormonal, that’s all. Hi, I missed you.” I sat up and moved to stand but he just leaned down and wrapped me in a hug.

“You sure you’re good to-”

“Yes! Yes, I’m good. I’m good to get on stage and sing, Jay. I’m not in labor. Calm down.”

“Okay. They had me worried.”

“I would have called you if I were in labor. I would be at the hospital telling the doctors not to cut me open until you showed up.”

He chuckled. “I can just imagine that, you screaming at the doctors not to touch you ‘til I get there.”

“Exactly. And at least I can trust you not to look behind the curtain when they tell you not to.”

“What curtain?” Misha asked, walking up.

“When they start the c-section, they’re gonna have a plastic curtain up so that I can be in the OR with her, sitting by her head and keeping her calm while they cut her open.” He chuckled. “Nate looked behind the curtain; got to see y/n’s intestines and insides. It, apparently, scarred him.”

“Deserved it.” I laughed. “He almost fainted!”

“Well, I will be looking at your gorgeous face, so you won’t have to worry about that.”

“You really think my face is gonna look gorgeous when I’m in labor? I’m gonna be all sweaty and red and-”

“Bullshit. They’re gonna give you an epidural and you’re not gonna be feeling a damn thing.”

“Oh, I hope it lasts the whole surgery this time.” Misha and Jay both raised their eyebrows at me. “I haven’t told you this? The epidural wore off halfway through Nova’s birth. They had to give me more anesthetic… after I finally convinced them that I wasn’t feeling pressure, I was feeling pain, which took about ten minutes. Nova’s birth was sucky for everybody, even her. She was purple when they pulled her out, wasn’t breathing. I’m sure Maverick’s gonna be a lot easier.”

“I hope so. I don’t know how I’d deal if Mav wasn’t breathing,” Jay said.

“You’d cry,” I answered.

“Yeah, probably,” he admitted. “Come on. Let’s go get dressed for the SNS.” He helped me up from the loveseat and picked up his bag.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The pain in my stomach got more persistent as the night progressed. Okay, so I was in labor, but I had important shit going on and I could power through pain. My water hadn’t broken and there were still six minutes between contractions, so I knew that going to the hospital wasn’t going to help anything.

I wore a cute purple maternity dress and the cutest ballet flats I owned. Jared insisted on helping me onto the stage, even though there was a handrail on both sides of the stairs. It was endearing, but also hilarious. Billy handed me a microphone as Jared bounced down the stairs. “You ever notice that men seem to think you’re an invalid once you get so pregnant you can’t see your feet? I mean, I worked a retail job until right before I popped with Nova.”

“You gonna be jumping around like you used to do, then?” Rob asked.

“You’re hilarious, Robbie. No, if I start jumping around, I might dislodge this kid and no one wants that… except me and Jay and both of our families and all of the kids… what was I talking about?”

“Pregnancy brain. You were gonna sing for us, y/n/n,” Rob responded.

“Oh, yeah! Mary Lambert. Duh.” I laughed, louder than normal to hide a whimper as another contraction tore through me. Adam Malin stood at the keyboard and started to play. “I’m a million miles away, from anywhere. Slide my hands across the sheets, pretend you’re there. But missin’ you is a slow burn, And every time the earth turns, I’m reminded the night is only half the time. Even though I’m hurtin’ I know that this is worth it. Tell me it’ll be all right. Gotta give me something to get me through the nothin’. One more night.” Stephen came in with heavy drums as the chorus started.

“Kiss me like the world is gonna disappear. I’m a better person when I have you here. Oh, I-I got you, And I-I can get through, anything as long as I can see your face. But right now, you’re so far away, so far away. You’re so far away, so far away.” There were not an overwhelming amount of people who were singing along, but that’s okay. I wasn’t really singing for them. I was singing for me and Jay, listening right behind the big black curtain. “I don’t need a map to tell me where you are. You and I, we come from the same star. Every day is a heartache. And every night I lie awake, I’m reminded the bed is only half mine. Even when I’m hurting I know that this is worth it. Tell me it’ll be all right. Gotta give me something to get me through the nothing, One more night. Kiss me like the world is gonna disappear. I’m a better person when I have you here. I-I got you. And I-I can get through, Anything as long as I can see your face. But right now, you’re so far away, so far away. You’re so far away, so far away.”

I bit my lip as another contraction hit me. Much quicker than the six minute interval from before. Maybe four minutes this time. I gripped the mic tighter and kept singing into the bridge. The show must go on and all that. As Freddie Mercury said, “I’ll fucking do it, darling.”

“Nobody’s got the time, nobody’s got the time, nobody’s got the for love. Nobody’s got the time, nobody’s got the time, nobody’s got the time for love.” I took a deep breath and poured my heart into the last chorus. “Kiss me like the world is gonna disappear. I’m a better person when I have you here. I-I got you, and I-I can get through, Anything as long as I can see your face. Kiss me like the world is gonna disappear. I’m a better person when I have you here. I-I got you, and I-I can get through, Anything as long as I can see your face. But right now you’re so far away, so far away. You’re so far away, so far away.”

The audience exploded as the song finished and tears started rolling down my cheeks, completely without asking me if I wanted to cry. “Oh, god you guys are so awesome! I missed this so much! Thank you for making this SNS worth it!”

Jared rushed the stage to help me down and Jay smiled at me. “How you doin’, Baby Girl?”

“I’m good, Jay. Rock the house for me.”

He winked at me and jumped up onto the stage. “Las Vegas!” Screaming from the audience as I took a seat on the stairs. I wanted to hear him, but the contractions were killing me at this point. “What’d you think of my girl’s song?!” More screaming, a little bit of blushing from me. “Her voice is so freakin’ awesome! Hate to have to follow that, man! But I will, with an equally sappy song that’s got the bonus of being about sex.” Stephen started to drums and I smiled. Matt Nathanson, ‘Come On Get Higher’. I love that song.

“I miss the sound of your voice. And I miss the rush of your skin. And I miss the still of the silence, As you breathe out and I breathe in. If I could walk on water, If I could tell you what’s next, I’d make you believe. I’d make you forget. So come on get higher, loosen my lips. Faith and desire and the swing of your hips. Just pull me down hard, And drown me in love. So come on get higher, loosen my lips. Faith and desire and the swing of your hips. Just pull me down hard, and drown me in love.” I turned to see if I could see him through the curtain, but he was on the other side of the stage. “I miss the sound of your voice, The loudest thing in my head. And I ache to remember, All the violent, sweet, perfect words that you said. If I could walk on water, If I could tell you what’s next, I’d make you believe. I’d make you forget. So come on get higher, loosen my lips. Faith and desire and the swing of your hips. Just pull me down hard, And drown me in love. So come on get higher, loosen my lips. Faith and desire and the swing of your hips. Just pull me down hard, and drown me in love.”

I smiled, knowing what part was coming next. My favorite part of the song. “I miss the pull of your heart. I taste the sparks on your tongue. I see angels and devils and God when you come… on. Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on!” He didn’t even try to hit that high note, but it sounded better without it. “Sing sha la la. Sing sha la la la.” He went to humming after that, obviously avoiding the high-pitched ‘ooh’s. “So come on get higher, loosen my lips. Faith and desire and the swing of your hips. Just pull me down hard, And drown me in love. So come on get higher, loosen my lips. Faith and desire and the swing of your hips. Just pull me down hard, and drown me in love.”

“You okay?” Jared asked over the sound of the fans screaming themselves hoarse.

“Yup,” I lied.

“Okay. You’re just holding off until Jensen gets done singing, aren’t you?”

“Yup.”

“How close are they?”

“Every four minutes or so. I’d say they aren’t very strong, but I have a pretty good pain tolerance, so… eye-dee-kay. I sang through one, so they can’t be that strong.”

“Uh-huh. I’m gonna tell him.”

I looked up at him. I couldn’t stop him from going up those stairs if I tried. “Please don’t. I wanna hear ‘Simple Man’. After. Please.” Jared sat next to me on the steps and ran his hand over my back. Unfortunately, halfway through the second chorus, my water broke all over the steps and the floor under them. Jared jumped up before I could ask him to stop and ran onto the stage. The music cut out and I could hear all kinds of whispering.

“We’re sorry to interrupt your regularly scheduled Saturday Night Special, but I’m going to have to steal Jensen away. His girlfriend’s water just broke so he has somewhere he’s gotta be,” Jared explained over the microphone as Jay ran through the curtain and helped me up.

“How long have you been in labor?” he demanded.

“Um… contractions started at 2, but they didn’t get regular until about forty-five minutes ago.”

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me? Before the show even started?! What the-”

“I wanted to hear you sing! I haven’t been to a con in forever!” I defended. “Besides, this kid isn’t coming out without a surgeon’s permission, so it’s not a big deal.”

“Clif!” Clif showed up with my delivery bag in hand, and he and Jensen drove me to the hospital. We went to the ER, where they were upset because I, you know, wasn’t supposed to be there. Jensen was loud and intimidating about it. “Of course we’re not registered with your Labor and Delivery! We’re here working and she wasn’t due for another two freakin’ weeks. We need an emergency c-section done!”

They argued about that. They didn’t understand why I need the cesarean, so I had to explain it to them. Eventually, after being in pain for hours, after Jay being on edge the entire time we were in the ER, they got me into an OR and gave me an epidural and set up that curtain. Jensen kept his eyes on my face. He kept my right hand clasped between his hands. He kissed my knuckles and told me that I was the most amazing and beautiful woman he’d ever seen, even with a cap on my head and a hospital gown on and half of my insides out. “You know what that probably looks like?” I asked, nodding at the curtain. He shook his head. “No Rest For The Wicked. When Dean got torn to shit by hellhounds. Probably looks like that.”

He shook his head. “Don’t make me wanna look on the other side of this curtain, Baby Girl. I gotta be smarter than Nate.”

“Already smarter than him.”

A small cry from the other side of the OR caught our attention. It was hoarse, crackly, the first time those vocal chords had ever been used. Jensen squeezed my hand as tears started to roll down into my hairline. “Hear that?” he whispered. I nodded. “He’s got some lungs on him.”

“Well, his parents are both singers so…” I took a deep breath. “They’re gonna make you leave in a minute. They gotta close me up and take me to Recovery before they give me a room. Take a bunch of pictures of him in the nursery, because I’m gonna be in Recovery for like two hours, mostly sleeping and Nate fucked up and didn’t get the pictures of Nova in the nursery and-”

Jensen kissed my knuckles again as the nurse told him he’d have to leave so that they could close. “I’m smarter than Nate, remember? I’ll get you a bunch of pictures, Baby Girl.”

I passed out in Recovery, woke up as I was being transferred to my room. The first words out of my mouth when I settled into the new bed were, “When can I see him?”

“You can see pictures right now. Maverick Maxwell Ackles. Seven pounds, ten ounces. 19 inches long. Forcibly removed from his mother at 1:24 am on December 29.” Jensen walked in with his phone in hand. “You wanna see?”

“What kinda question is that?” I groaned. “Of course I wanna see. Show me what our son looks like.”

“Tiny, wrinkly and adorable,” Jay said, leaning over to show me his phone screen.

I gasped and started crying as he flipped through the pictures he took of Mav. ‘Tiny, wrinkly and adorable’ was exactly right. “He’s so beautiful. Look at those tiny hands,” I squealed.

The nurse smiled as I grabbed the phone and flipped it to show her. “Oh, he’s perfect.”

“C-section babies don’t get the smooshed face. Oh, god, look at those eyes. You think he’s gonna have your eyes?”

“We can only hope,” Jensen said, smiling. “Hey, uh, you mind if I start bringing people in? I know we can’t have too many people in here at this time of night, but they’ve been sitting in the waiting room for hours. They all rushed over here as soon as they closed out the show.”

“You can bring in two at a time,” the nurse said.

“When do I get to hold Maverick?” I asked. It was more important than seeing our friends.

“Soon. Bring in a few of your friends. I’ll bring Maverick in as soon as the doctors allow it, all right?” the nurse said with a smile.

I nodded, turning to Jay. “Kim and Bri first. I want the mommas with me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I made Jay go to the convention the next day. I was sleeping most of the day away, anyway, because the pain meds made me so sleepy. The room was full of cards and vases of flowers from fans and friends by the time I got released. We couldn’t even take them all with us. We drove to Austin. I slept through most of it, really only waking up to feed Maverick every once in a while. When we got to Jay’s house in Lago Vista, I was ready to climb in bed and heal. I gasped in surprise when Jay opened the door to reveal our families. The kids rushed us. I had to stop Nova short with a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, baby! Well, you’re not the baby, anymore.”

“I got to fly in an airplane!” Nova said, excitedly.

“Your boyfriend bought us all tickets,” my mom said, smiling. She gestured at the baby carrier. “Can I?”

I nodded and she moved to unclip Mav as Jay picked up Birdie in one arm and Arrow in the other. I looked across the living room at Danneel, who was hiding a bit in her hair. We hadn’t spoken. Not since before the divorce, not since before Tom, not since the park. I stepped away from Jensen’s side and approached. “Thanks for bringing them. I mean, it’s important for Jay.”

Danneel took a deep breath, moved her hair out of her face and smiled. “It’s important for me, too, that they know him. He’s their little brother. I wouldn’t keep them away from him.”

“I thought… maybe, ‘cause…”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, y/n. I think…” She looked over my shoulder at my parents and the kids and Jensen, who were all fawning over the baby. “I think if I hadn’t gotten so jealous of the way Jensen fell for you, if I hadn’t tried to minimize it, we wouldn’t have fallen apart. Maybe we all could have been happy.”

I shook my head, disbelieving. “You don’t blame me?”

“No, sweetie. I tried real hard, but… you did everything right. You were content to be a good friend until I brought you into our craziness. You left when you thought you might be able to minimize the damage. I should have helped Jay through the hurt your leaving caused him, but instead I just got upset that he was in so much pain. In a perfect world, we could have been one big happy family. I wish I'd seen that back then.”

I sighed. “He still loves you, you know? I didn't understand it either, how he could love us both, but… he loves us both.”

She smiled, brightly. “I know.”

“Maybe it's not too late for a perfect world,” I suggested. Maybe it was a consequence of my residual guilt from their divorce that drove me to say it, maybe it was just me wanting Jensen to have everything his heart desires, but once the words had left my mouth I knew that I would have absolutely no problem sharing his heart. ‘One big happy family’ actually sounded amazing.

“Maybe not, sweetie. Maybe not. Now, can I see that little boy?” I nodded and turned, leading Dee to the couch where my mom was cooing over Mav.

“Everything okay?” Jay whispered, as Danneel sat next to Mom and took Maverick’s tiny hand in hers.

I looked up at him, smiling. “Yeah, honey. I think everything’s actually gonna be fine.”

OPEN/SOMETHING MORE

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#cassie writes stuff #spn rpf #jensen ackles #jensen x reader #jensen x you #fluffy

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itsclydebitches · 6 years ago

Note

Can we please have more of Uncle Oz? That prompt was beautiful and my little heart needs more. Specifically why Oz slept on the couch before as Yang mention it has happened in the past. *puppy eyes*

Okay, okay, I’m an IDIOT who doesn’t remember her own writing. Because my fool brain ended up writing about Qrow sleeping on the couch instead, for undetermined reasons. Will I ever successfully answer a prompt? Will Qrow and Oz ever end up in the same drabble together again? Stay tuned to find out!

(Prompt list is here)

Tai took two steps into Ozpin’s latest apartment, saw the quilt lying haphazardly over the couch, and had the distinct urge to walk back out again.

“What did he do this time?” he sighed.

Ozpin’s lips thinned. He cast his own look at the messy pile of pillow and blankets, seeming to project an unwarranted amount of disdain at the poor, innocent fabrics. They wouldn’t be the first inanimate objects to take the brunt of Ozpin’s emotions. In lieu of people—and very much to their benefit—Ozpin tended to take his rare anger out on the trees of Forever Fall Forest; the occasional dish that gave a satisfying shatter. Those moments truly were rare though. More often than not Tai simply found piles of methodically torn up paper on Ozpin’s desk.

Right now the sleeve of his sweater was slowly coming undone, the loose thread rolled, rolled, rolled between two fingers. Yep.

“Don’t even try it,” Tai said, gesturing at the weak smile Ozpin had just conjured out of will alone. “If you tell me not to worry, say it’s nothing, or worse, start going on about how I came here for a nice visit? I will take this umbrella and shove it straight up your ass.”

“Hardly the best way to start our evening together.” This time the twitch of his lips was genuine. Ozpin swept aside to let Tai through, arm falling in a graceful arc to indicate the umbrella stand and a small mat for his shoes. “Truly though, you didn’t come here to—”

“Finish that sentence, Oz. I dare you.” Tai shook the umbrella and a thousand water droplets scattered across the floor.

“Oh for dust’s sake. You’re as stubborn as he is,” and with a huff Ozpin turned on his heel and headed back towards the kitchen.

Hmm. That didn’t bode well.

A lack of reprimand for getting water all over his entryway? Check.

Insulting his guest—because yes, any comparison to Qrow was an automatic insult in this family—right when they’d arrived? Check.

Visible frustration, petulant attitude, further faux pas by abandoning Tai to his own devices? Check, check, check. Tai cast a longing look at the door and kicked off his shoes.

“Formal announcement,” he said, wandering into the kitchen to find Oz slamming milk onto the counter. “I would like to remind everyone here,” Tai gestured to an invisible audience, “that I am not even related to you. Not technically. Not since I dumped Raven’s fine ass. And yet here I am, the best of fake brother in laws, here to be your shoulder to cry on. Metaphorically. Because I just bought this shirt and I’m not prepared to find out what two-thousand year old tears might do to it.”

The look Ozpin cast him could have melted iron. “Are you going to be like this all night?”

“Until you tell me what happened? Absolutely.”

“Very well. That shirt is horrendous though. By the way.”

“Thank you. Wore it special for this visit. Oh, extra marshmallows in mine. Don’t be stingy, old man.”

Ozpin agreed with a roll of his eyes, plopping said marshmallows into two mugs as the milk began to steam. He’d said once that only fools put the marshmallows in last. Pouring cocoa over them ensured the perfect, almost-melted-but-not-quite consistency for scooping up with a spoon. Tai had said he was crazy and had said spoon chucked at his head.

The cocoa was very good though.

“I can hear it buzzing,” Tai said, taking a seat at the counter. With speed worthy of a huntsmen Oz had his scroll out and tucked away in a drawer. Neither he nor Qrow had much time to cook, so their kitchen had the sort of aesthetic perfection usually only found in domestic magazines. Tai ran his finger over the absurdly clean marble top, tracing a line from mug to salt shaker. “You ever going to answer him?”

Ozpin pulled up a stool directly beside Tai, their knees now pressed together. Need for physical contact? Check.

“My silence is answer enough.”

“Oz.”

“He—”

Ozpin cut himself off and all at once the wind went right out of Tai’s sails. Oh. No more jabs or check-lists then. That expression wasn’t something to trifle with. He…

Well. Let’s just say the last time Ozpin looked like that he’d had the name ‘Summer’ on his lips. Dejection of that sort—pulling at an intrinsically optimistic nature—only ever meant someone’s death.

The mug of cocoa slammed down on the counter. “Qrow’s dead?”

“Tai.”

“Right, right, sorry. Stupid, knee-jerk question. So he…?”

“Almost died, yes.” Ozpin delivered the news without a trace of emotion. Not to the casual observer, at least. “Of course, he’d never admit as much to himself. Let alone to me. Oh no, the man will go to his grave—literally!—insisting that he’s never made an impulsive decision in his life. Not on the battlefield, anyhow.” His own mug was snatched up and half the chocolate poured down his throat. “I married a fool.”

Been there, Tai almost said, but bit his lip at just the last moment. Right. Serious conversation now. It was just hard when he could so clearly see the picture spread out before him. He hadn’t visited last week because Qrow and Oz were out on a mission, the sort of thing that wasn’t secret exactly, but played close between them for Tai’s own peace of mind. They had to have encountered grimm because Ozpin would have been on a warpath if any humans or faunus had gotten between them. So maybe Qrow took on too many. Or, as Oz said, played the over confident fool. Maybe he was just careless.

…or maybe, based on how Oz was rubbing at his shoulder, Qrow had taken a hit meant for him.

“How bad is it?”

The question came out a whisper, but you’d have thought Tai shouted it with the way Ozpin jerked. Right. Pretty unused to having other people read him so easily—or at all. Tai would have liked to rib him on it. Only problem was, Oz was only transparent like this when something was well and truly bothering him.

Damn his own, kind nature. Tai was a freaking saint and everyone was going to realize it one of these days. He should really get some sort of medal.

Ozpin, meanwhile, had deliberately moved his hands back to his mug and carefully re-schooled his features. They might as well have been discussing budget reports.

“He dodged it,” Ozpin said, each word clipped and a little bit fragile. “Barely. After pushing me out of the way, of course. You’d think two thousand years of training would keep me from making an initiate’s mistake, hmm?”

“You’d think two thousand years of training would have taught you the lesson you’re always pushing on us.”

“Which is?”

“No one’s perfect, Oz.”

A curl of his lip and two taps against porcelain. It said, I should be.

“I don’t care about perfection.” Liar. “But I do care if my mistakes endanger others. More pressingly, given that it’s clear I will continue to make mistakes, I care greatly when others wish to take on my consequences when there is absolutely no need.”

Tai forced himself to swallow down another sigh. Oh, they all knew that speech well now. The problem with befriending an immortal was that he believed, with every fiber of his being, that he was meant to take the hit. Always.

Tai also knew damn well that he wouldn’t be the guy to talk Oz out of that. That particular honor went to the man currently banished to the couch.

Funny the irony there. And by ‘funny’ Tai meant ‘Not at all what the absolute fuck, Ozpin.’

“What I’m hearing,” he said slowly. “Is that you’re punishing Qrow for doing—wait for it—this absolutely horrible thing called loving you.”

Ozpin scowled. “You know very well it’s more complicated than—”

“Get over it.”

Ozpin blinked.

“Everything’s complicated for you. Everything is always going to be complicated. So for just this one thing get over it and accept that Qrow loves you. That loving you might include dying for you. I sure as hell hope not, but if you don’t allow him that then you’re gonna reach a point where he’s not even sleeping on the couch anymore.”

Impassioned speeches, thy name is not Tiayang Xiao-Long. He’d tried though. With good reason. Ozpin was staring at the countertop now, one foot lightly bobbing over the rung of his stool. A bit of his bottom lip pulled up between his teeth. That was something.

Oh, Tai was under no illusions that he’d change someone like Ozpin so easily. But for now? That lack of pushback was just enough.

Finally Ozpin raised his head. He moved it in what might have been Remnant’s smallest, most terrified nod.

Or maybe Tai was just finding what he wanted to see.

“You want to see Ruby’s latest drawing?” he asked, tapping the space above his heart. Pure coincidence that his girls’ artwork happened to be tucked in the pocket there. “She’s got some pretty awesome ideas about what the grimm must look like.”

Ozpin’s eyes shown. “But of course. Although… perhaps we should wait for Qrow?”

Just like that. Smooth it over. Tai was good at that, though he had no illusions that he’d never again walk in to see Qrow’s pillow stuffed onto one end of that couch. Dust only knew how Oz would react the next time he tried to play hero… or whether Tai would ever be allowed to die for him as he would any other friend. That might be too much to ask him for.

Remember he’s different, Tai thought. Every victory is so much larger when it’s with Oz. You’ve just gotta remember that.

Tai lifted his mug in a toast. “Sounds like a plan.”

The cocoa was cold now. Tai decided to focus on the sweetness instead.

#rwby #ozqrow #rwbyfic #Anonymous

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suckerfordeansfreckles · 7 years ago

Text

A Match Made in Heaven 5

(You can start reading from the beginning here, find part 4 here or read this fic on AO3.)

Dean can’t help but stare a little longer at the beautiful man in front of him, taking in his effortless beauty and rumpled hair, his casual appearance and this aura of relaxation he seems to emit.

Nobody can blame Dean for having a hard time believing that he’s actually standing in front of the guy he has seen about a week ago in a small, smelly gym. The one he has dubbed the most gorgeous guy he has ever seen, after looking at him for less than three seconds. The one he thought he’d probably never see again- and if he did, he wouldn’t have the courage to actually approach him.

And, seriously, how lucky can a guy be? Dean is actually standing right in front of this dude, in his house, and he’s about to have a conversation with him! He’s able to spend time with him! The universe must like him a little, after all.

Once his brain seems to switch back on, Dean jumps off the couch and immediately thrusts his hand out towards the guy, who must be the younger brother named Castiel. His hand hovers between them awkwardly for a few seconds, until he realizes that Castiel is still carrying the tray with both hands and has no way of returning his handshake. He quickly drops it again and starts blushing like crazy.

Way to seem smart and attentive, Winchester. Dammit…

Even though his face is probably the shade of a ripe strawberry by now and all he wants to do is hide, he can’t help but take another look at Castiel’s face before awkwardly sitting back down on the couch. Something like surprise seems to flit over his features, but it’s immediately replaced by a neutral smile.

“Uhm, hi! Hi, I’m Dean Winchester. Sammy’s big brother.” He smiles and watches as the younger brother puts the tray down on the table and takes a seat next to him on the couch.

When Castiel finally shifts towards Dean, it’s with a huge grin. “I’m Castiel.” Shit, that voice! “Claire’s brother, if you haven’t already figured that out,” he chuckles, and damn that sounds incredibly nice, as well.

Well, then… Maybe he doesn’t remember him? It’s probably a good thing, considering the unabashed way Dean had been staring at him back at he gym. Still, he can’t help but feel a weird twinge of disappointment at the fact that Castiel doesn’t remember him at all- but he tries to ignore it.

“Yeah, uhm… Sorry, I’m kinda nervous,” Dean mumbles, looking at the tangled hands in his lap.

Cas just pats his shoulder and sends him a warm smile. “I prepared some cherry tea and chocolate cookies, grab whatever you want! And if you want a different snack, you just need to tell me.”

“Oh, wow, thank you! I’m more than happy with cookies, though.” Dean snatches one immediately. “So, you guys are Claire’s caretakers?”

“Yeah. We try to split the responsibilities. See, I own a bakery and I have crazy hours. I usually have to be over there at 4 in the morning,” Gabriel answers, starting an easy conversation and babbling away. He treats Dean as if they’ve known each other for years and Dean immediately feels a lot more comfortable.

Dean learns that Gabriel is twenty-six and owns a bakery (he actually baked the cookies) and has horrible hours. Castiel, who is twenty years old, is in med school and works late shifts at a Gas ‘n’ Sip. The two actually plan their days and schedule when each of them spends time with Claire, so that she’s never alone. Their father Chuck, a paranormal fiction author, spent almost all of his time travelling ever since his wife died seven years ago. The last time he actually visited them was 14 months ago, and he didn’t even stay for a whole week.

Claire apparently doesn’t care much about the fact that her father abandoned them, at least that’s what she tells her brothers on a daily basis. It doesn’t take Dean more than ten minutes with them to know without a doubt, that Gabriel and Castiel love Claire with all of their hearts and that they would do absolutely anything for her. They are undoubtedly good caretakers, good brothers and good people.

When Castiel starts talking about his studies, Dean is mesmerized by how passionate he is about absolutely everything related to medicine and biology. Dean is so focused on listening to Cas that he doesn’t even realize when Gabe leaves the room somewhere along the way.

Talking to Castiel just makes him even more fascinating to Dean. He’s passionate, caring, intelligent, helpful, polite and witty. He wants to be a doctor, wants to specialize on paediatrics. He’s in med school to be able to actually help people one day. He’s… just amazing.

They talk about careers, about hobbies, about their siblings. They talk until Gabe enters the room and asks them to join him in the kitchen. Apparently, Dean completely missed that the kids came downstairs about an hour ago and Gabe left to cook some lunch for them. He’s been to absorbed in his conversation with Cas… Shit, he’s got it bad already.

When Dean gets up from the cozy leather to follow Castiel’s retreating form, he feels as if he had just been pulled out of an amazing dream.

He’s being pulled out of this haze as soon as he enters the kitchen with Cas. Claire and Sammy are already seated on a big, wooden table, swaying in their chairs and giggling as Gabriel places a deliciously smelling lasagna in front of them. Dean plops down next to Sammy and glances at the clock above the door, only to realize that it’s already early afternoon. How did time fly like that?

They eat and chat in the sun-flooded kitchen, and Dean realizes that he has never felt more at home in someone else’s house than he does right here, with the Novak’s. The food is excellent, and both Dean and Sam tell Gabe so several times.

After lunch, the two Winchester brothers get ready to leave. When the three oldest ones start saying their goodbyes, Claire and Sam immediately leap at the chance of having a few more minutes to play, get dressed and rush outside.

Dean watches them from the doorstep, smiling to himself.

“Dean, thank you so much for agreeing to this and visiting us,” Gabriel starts.

“Hey, guys, thank you! Today was very nice, thanks for feeding us and suffering through our company! Sammy is probably the luckiest he’s ever been,” Dean grins.

“We’re seriously thankful for this, Dean,” Cas chimes in. “Claire has had a hard time making real friends, and Sam is her first, genuine friend in a very long time. We’ve… we’ve been worried. But she talks about him constantly, and she’s so much happier ever since they became friends. You raised an amazing boy, I hope you know that.”

Dean blushes again, but is quick to respond, “Um, thanks! Sammy really is a great kid. But, same goes for Claire. Sam is ecstatic whenever he talks about her, I think they are really good for each other.” He casts another look outside, watching as two small figures pick daisies in the front yard.

“I think so, too,” they say in unison and grin.

Before Dean can turn to leave, Cas slips him a small piece of paper with his and Gabe’s name, and two phone numbers. “So we’re able to plan further ‘play dates’,” he says with a smile and dorky air quotes.

“Awesome! Well, then. We better get going.” Dean says and turns with a wave of his hand. “Bye, guys!”

He watches as Claire gives Sammy a tight hug and runs back inside to her brothers. Before the door falls shut behind them, however, Dean hears Castiel’s distinctive voice. “I’ll see you again at the next basketball game, Dean!”

Uhm, what??

Here’s Part 6

Tag list: @planetahmane @justyourordinaryfangirl @casgirlat221b @trxye-sxvxn @bslove17 @dellez @runtosleepdreamer @iamyouknow-yours @destielhoneybee @breathingdestiel @wellofwoes @xxgoldensnowflake @coffee-swimmer @dshelley @awesomeorange @amberstaren909 @originalobjecttheorist @mishapocalypse-must-return @unknownanonymousgirl @ancient-celestial-being-of-chaos

If you want to be added to, or removed from, the tag list- just let me know with a quick message or a comment!

#A Match made in Heaven #My writing #destiel fanfiction #Destiel #multi-chapter fic #deancas fic #deancas #supernatural fanfiction #fanfiction #fluff

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august-diehl · 7 years ago

Text

The Rag Doll - Part 16

Modern AU

Ivar x OC

Words: 2.013.

Tag: @float-autumn-leave, @iamwarrenspeace, @cazycurlyhairgirl, @readsalot73, @florenceivy, @vixsyncynco, @bulletbaybay, @irishhiggins, @pawallday, @wavesofjoyy, @awesome-as-i-wanna-be, @krmy2386, @sereniti9.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15.

Let me know if you wanna be tagged in this history, and please feedback means everything to me guys, tell me what you’re thinking about this history so far. ;)

“Fool that I am,” said he, “that I did not tear out my heart the day I resolved to revenge myself.”

-Alexandre Dumas.

“My apologies Mr. Bass, I didn’t know who you were. Where is your wife?” I scanned the room looking for a wife.

“She’s in New York.” He paused for a moment. “With the mayor of New York, whom was my best friend. Nathaniel Archibald.” I felt sorry for him, no one deserves that kind of betrayal.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Bass, my son told that both of you would come, that’s why I’ve sent you two invitations.”

“Call me Chuck, and you don’t have to apologize, my son doesn’t know it. Actually no one does, we had a quick divorce, the only thing that I demanded was full custody, which she happily gave it to me.” He seemed deeply hurt, and I felt sorry for him, his wife cheated on him, and now he has to raise his son alone.

“Chuck, I’m really sorry for you.” I looked at him with sympathy, but I think that he confused it with pity.

“That’s in the past now, and you didn’t answer my question. Did you like the flowers?” Chuck Bass could seduce any woman with that charm.

“Yes, very much, thank you so much, they’re gorgeous.” I looked down and blushed, he has that kind of effect on me.

My heart broke a little, by the fact that Ivar didn’t sent those flowers. But I couldn’t expect much, I didn’t gave him my name, he doesn’t know who I am.

“I’m really glad that you liked it, I personally picked them for you.” I smiled, he’s so busy, but he took the time to pick a bouquet for a woman he never met before.

“Chuck, we need to discuss something really important.” I remembered that his son invited Henry to the Hamptons.

“You’re talking my son’s invitation to the Hamptons.” He said serious.

“Yes, I believe it’s too early. I haven’t met your son yet, or his mother for that matter.” I tried to be gentle about this, I was happy that Henry has a friend, but I don’t know their family.

“Why won’t you come with us? We’re going there to spend the holidays, and I know that family is important to you, knowing that you’re a Francie Occidentale.” Everything about him screams confidence.

“Chuck, I don’t know. I spend the holidays with my son, just the two of us.”

“So am I, our sons are friends now, they even share the same name.” We chuckled. “It’s natural that they want to spend time together outside of school, and we will see a lot of each other, what do you say?” He smirked.

“Can I think about it?” He nodded.

“I need to get ready, I’ll speak with you after the show?”

“I will be waiting Antoinette.” He took my hand and kissed it, he made me blush again.

I was walking to the backstage, when I saw Ubbe, Margrethe, Lily and Ivar. I froze, he looked at me, he seemed angry.

“Antoinette, thank you very much for the invitations.” Margrethe came to me, and everybody followed her.

“You’re welcome, I hope that all of you enjoy the show.” I tried to leave.

“Why are you wearing a robe?” Lily said to me, she was genuinely curious.

“I’m closing the show.” I said to them, and I look at Ivar, he seemed even more angry.

“That’s so incredible, I can’t wait. I’ve always loved your mother clothing line.” I could see that Lily was just like Aslaug, she only cared about money and status.

I wonder if Ivar wanted this all along? A woman just like his mother?

“Thank you, now if you excuse me.” I hurried to the dressing room, I couldn’t handle Ivar’s intense stare.

I was with my hand at the door knob, when I felt a body, pressing me against the wall.

It was Ivar.

“Mr. Lothbrok, what you’re doing?” I tried to sound confident, but my voice came out as a whisper.

“Chuck Bass.” He was angry, I never saw him so angry before. “Are you sleeping with Chuck Bass?” His jaw was clenched, his body was radiating warm, how I missed his body next to mine.

“No, he’s the father of my son’s friend, we were talking about our sons.” I don’t know why I was explaining myself to him.

“You’re mine, you’re mine since the first day I laid my eyes on you.” He caress my cheek and I closed my eyes, how I missed him.

No, you can’t fall under his spell again, you have more at stake now, your family name and Henry, the one that Ivar wanted to get rid off, the reason inside me screamed at me.

“Mr. Lothbrok, this is highly inappropriate, you’re a married man. Your wife is here, let go of me.” I tried to leave, but he didn’t allow me.

“I don’t love her, my mother made me marry her.” He said bluntly, that warmed my heart, he doesn’t love her.

But that doesn’t mean that he loves you either, the reason inside was right, he doesn’t love me.

“That’s your concern Mr. Lothbrok, I have nothing to do with it.” I tried to leave again, but he didn’t let me.

“I told you already, call me Ivar, please.” He signed and he put his nose on my neck. Why am I allowing this?

“Mr. Lothbrok, please let me go.” I whispered.

“Your body is telling me that you don’t want to go.” He smirked and was leaning to kiss me, but I stopped him.

“Mr. Lothbrok, I suggest that you behave yourself. Or I will tell your wife about your advances.” I told him and he let me go.

“Call me Ivar, look I’m sorry for that, but I wanted to make sure that you’re not sleeping with Chuck Bass. I don’t love my wife, and she doesn’t love me. I want you, please.” He was begging me.

“Mr. Lothbrok, I’m not gonna be your mistress.” I said sternly, that was absurd.

“I don’t want that, I want to know you.” He signed and ran his hand through his hair, which was longer than I remembered.

“What do you mean, Mr. Lothbrok.” I asked curious.

“I’ve done my research, I know that you spend your holidays with your son. Let me take the two of you to a private island, I want to know you, please, let me know you better.”

That’s when I realized, I couldn’t do anything against Ivar, he’s the father of my son, the man I loved, the man that I never stopped loving.

“What do you say?” He seemed genuine.

Maybe we could be a family, maybe I could tell Ivar the truth about everything.

“Can I think about it?” I said honestly, I wanted to say yes, but I needed to speak with Gisla and Donna first, I need their advice.

“Of course, I’ll be waiting until the end of the show, I’m hoping for a yes.” He smiled and I blushed, he smirked.

“You’re so beautiful when you blush.” He leaned to kiss me, but he stopped when we heard a sound of a man, clearing his throat.

“Ivar Lothbrok.” Chuck smirked and came close to us.

“Chuck Bass.” Ivar seemed so angry, he doesn’t like Chuck at all.

“Your wife is looking for you.” Chuck put his hand on his pocket and Ivar glared at him.

Ivar looked at me and smiled.

“I’ll be waiting.” He winked and left.

“Are you okay?” Chuck seemed like a nice person.

“I’m fine Chuck, thanks.” I smiled to him.

“I’ll see you later.” He smiled and left me.

I entered the dressing room, I was finishing putting the lingerie when Gisla and Donna entered.

“You look gorgeous.” Gisla said excited.

“I must speak with the both you, I need your help.” I said to them.

“It’s about Ivar.” Donna said and Gisla nodded.

“How do you know?” I asked confused.

“We saw him talking to his brother, he had a huge smile on his face, I only assumed.” Donna sat on the couch with Gisla, I was passing around the room.

“Are you going to give up on our revenge on Aslaug?” Gisla asked concerned and I stopped.

“Never.” I said without a doubt in my mind.

“So, if you really love Ivar, go. Don’t look back, go be happy.” Donna said and I hugged them.

“I love you two so much, I’m gonna find him.” I put back my robe and I went find Ivar.

He was talking to Ubbe, they seemed happy. I can’t believe that I’m gonna travel with Ivar, that’s insane, but I’m really excited.

I heard Ubbe’s voice, so I decided to listen to them.

“You’re so whipped.” Ubbe made fun of Ivar, that made me smile.

“I’m not whipped, she’s just a quick fuck.” My jaw dropped.

“Ivar, admit it, you like this girl. I’m happy for you, since you didn’t wanted to be married in the first place.” Ubbe was using a soft tone, but Ivar only scoffed.

“I told you, she’s just a quick fuck. Single moms are desperate, it doesn’t matter how rich they are, you put their son on the plans, and they think that you want something serious with them.” He laughed, and I couldn’t hear this anymore.

I can’t believe that I almost fell for that again, Ivar is a bad person, he’s not capable of love, just like his mother.

I found Rachel, the show was about to start, I will make Ivar pay for those words.

The fashion show was amazing, everything was perfect. I was so proud of myself, too bad that Harvey, Rollo and my mother couldn’t make it, they were still handling a problem in New York.

I was changing, when I heard a knock on my door, I quickly went to the door to see who it was, Ivar, I wanted to punch him, but I just gave him my warmest smile.

“So, what’s your answer.” He smirked and tried to touch me, but I didn’t allow him.

“Mr. Lothbrok, I don’t know what you’re talking about, I already thanked you for saving my son’s life, we have nothing else to discuss.” I said calmly, he seemed that he was going to explode.

“What about our plans? Me taking you and your son away for the holidays?” He seemed angry and confused. Good.

“Mr. Lothbrok, I have no idea what you’re talking about, my son and I are going to the Hamptons, with Chuck, not that concerns you.” I smiled again, I tried to close the door, but he didn’t let me.

“Chuck? As in Chuck Bass?” He asked angrily.

“That’s right Ivar, we will spend the holidays together, our sons are great friends.” Chuck explained, before I could say anything else.

“You heard the gentleman Mr. Lothbrok, now if you’ll excuse me.” I went to Chuck, and he gave me his arm, and I gladly accept it and we went back where the fashion show took place.

“I’m so happy, that you’re coming with us to the Hamptons, you’re gonna love it.” Chuck said excited.

“I can’t wait.” I was truly excited, that conversation I heard, only made me realize that I needed forget about Ivar, forever.

“I need to pick up my son, can I call you for the details?” I asked once I realized the time.

“Of course, I’ll be waiting.” He smiled and I left.

I met Jay, he was waiting for me.

“You didn’t saw the fashion show?” I frowned.

“I did, but I remembered that you need to pick up Henry. And by the way, you looked absolutely gorgeous.” He smiled at me and I looked down.

“Thank you Joey.” We both laughed and we saw Ivar, he was with his wife, he tried to make me jealous, but I was taught to hide my emotions very well.

“Jay, before we pick up Henry, I need to do something.” I said looking at him.

“What’s that?” He asked curious.

“Start my revenge.” I entered the car and Jay smirked.

#ivar the boneless #ivar imagine #sister wives #ivar ragnarsson #ivar's heathen army #ivar x oc #vikings #vikings fanfic #modern au #ubbe imagine #ubbe lothbrok

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illuminating-dragons · 7 years ago

Text

In Name

Summary: With Chuck and Amara made up, Sam, Dean and Cas decide to take a vacation. But on their way back, they find a case, and it hits close to home.

Note: Sequel to In Vain (on AO3 only)

Word Count: 10, 810

Dean looked up in shock as the dark and light clouds intermingled. There was a rumble, and he was standing in another place, with Sam and Cas beside him.

“Dean?!”

Sam grabbed him first, hugging him tight as he could. Dean patted his back. “Okay, Sammy. Okay.”

And somehow it was, after all. Somehow Amara and Chuck…they’d decided not to fight. They’d decided to be family instead. And Dean had somehow convinced them to do that.

That was pretty awesome.

So was the next moment, when Sam let go of him and Cas dragged him into a kiss that sent his head spinning. He clutched at Cas’ coat to stay upright, but Cas pulled him closer.

Dean broke away at last. “Oxygen, babe, oxygen.”

“Irrelevant.”

It was almost as hard to breathe now, clutched against Cas’ chest. But that didn’t really matter. He was alive, he was with his family…amazing.

“Um, can we have a group hug?”

Cas let go of Dean just long enough to drag Sam in too. “Of course.”

“This is a lot of hugging,” Dean complained.

“You admitted it about the chick-flick moments, dude. You can’t go back from that.”

Dean could feel Cas’ laugh, and he could barely manage a muttered ‘shut up’. Barely wanted to, honestly.

Something in the air shifted, and Cas stopped laughing. “Father.”

Dean looked up. Chuck was there, Amara beside him. They were both smiling hugely.

“Wait, I thought you guys were going to like…bond and stuff,” Dean said, confused.

“We did. Three millennia.” Amara looked more relaxed than Dean had ever seen her. She was wearing a bright flowered dress now, her nails multicoloured and her hair up in a bun.

“It’s only been five minutes,” Dean replied.

“Well of course!” Chuck looked surprised. “We just went to another dimension. We’ve got a lot of work to do here. I didn’t want to leave you in the lurch here.”

“Wait.” Sam looked at Dean. “What did happen?”

Dean thought about how to explain it best. “They’re family.”

“Oh. Okay, great!” Sam smiled at Chuck, and nodded a bit nervously to Amara. “I’m happy for you.”

“Sorry about trying to kill you, Sam.” Amara looked genuinely regretful.

“Eh, it’s alright. It’s happened.”

Dean pressed his lips together. “Not funny, Sammy.”

“It’s hilarious.” Sam grinned at him.

“Children,” Chuck scolded.

Amara looked at Cas next. “And nephew…I didn’t want to damage you, did I—”

“No. You never touched me. Lucifer kept any reverberations from my Grace.”

“Assbutt wouldn’t have had to if he hadn’t worn you to prom.”

“Lucifer will be dealt with,” Chuck promised. His voice was softer than Amara’s. “I caused a great deal of his problems, and I let him run amuck. He will be punished, but when that is done, if he seeks forgiveness he will be granted it.”

“I don’t mind.” Dean was shocked to hear that from Sam.

“Wait, really?”

“Is he ever going to be able to hurt me or my family again?” Sam asked.

“No.” It was Amara who said that, and Chuck nodded.

“Then I don’t care. Just make sure of that.” Sam paused. “Please.”

“We can do you one better,” Chuck said. He reached towards Sam. Sam tensed, but allowed Chuck to touch his face. Dean saw the hurt bleeding out of his brother, saw him calm. Sam pressed a hand to his stomach, stared at Chuck in wonder.

“You needed to be healed, Sam. And I’m sorry it didn’t come sooner.”

“That’s okay,” Sam managed. He was trembling now, but smiling, and Dean’s heart ached. He hadn’t seen Sammy smile like that in years.

Amara reached out to Cas. “Here, nephew. Your wings are hurt.”

There was a flash of light—so bright Dean couldn’t look—and Cas stood tall, looking as surprised as Sam. “Thank you, Aunt.”

“It’s the least I could do, Castiel.”

“We’ll deal with Heaven too, Cas.” Chuck looked more relaxed now. “Your brothers and sisters will understand what you have done and why, and they will welcome you home. You won’t be living there, though.”

Cas looked stricken, but Dean’s heart was pounding. Did Chuck mean…

“You’re welcome to visit, but I have a very important mission for you. I believe two men need a guardian angel. Can you follow orders this time, Castiel?” Chuck’s eyes were dancing, and Sam laughed.

“I think Dean needs him more than I do.”

“Neither of you are good at taking care of yourselves,” Cas contradicted him. “I’m happy to guard you both. I will follow orders, Father.”

“It’ll be great to have you Cas.” Sam smirked. “And you can have Dean’s back. Or have him on his back.”

Dean blushed. “Damn it, Sammy, you can’t just—”

“Seven years. Seven years, Dean.”

“To be fair I was dead for some of that time,” Cas pointed out.

“And we were in Purgatory.”

“See I figured that would help. Just you, Cas, Benny and endless woods.”

“Not to mention endless monsters.”

“We have to go,” Amara interrupted. “Heaven is calling, as is Hell.”

“Right, sister, of course.” Chuck put his hand on Cas’ shoulder for a moment, and father and son shared a long look. Cas drew in a sharp breath.

“You should tell them.”

“No, you go ahead. You deserve to.” Chuck stepped back and took Amara’s hand. “Farewell, Team Free Will. We may see you again.” The two dissolved into clouds again, and this time Dean watched as they went into the sky once more.

Sam let out a huge breath. “That was…wow.”

“Awesome,” Dean agreed. “Cas, what did he tell you?”

He was struck by the light in his—boyfriend? Lover?—his Cas’ eyes.

“My Father has decided to return some people to Earth.”

Dean’s heart started pounding. “Some people?”

“Your family. Your friends. Several other innocents who have died.”

“R-really?” Sam’s smile grew bigger, somehow.

“Yes. It will take time, and some…negotiation with the Reapers. But they will return.”

“They’re coming back?” Mom was the first one who popped into Dean’s head. And Bobby, Charlie, Kevin, Ellen, Jo, Ash…

“Yes, dearest. All of them.”

Dean couldn’t speak. He pulled Cas and Sam into his arms, and let the relief of the Darkness’ presence being gone, of not having the Mark, of the world maybe, maybe being safe for the first time from powers beyond their pay grade.

“So you’re good with the group hugs now?” Sam asked, his voice muffled.

“Shut up, bitch.”

“Jerk.”

When they pulled apart at last, they looked around themselves properly for the first time. Dean recognized it—it was a road about forty-five minutes outside of Lebanon. Baby was there too, parked and gleaming in the sunshine.

“Let’s go home,” Dean said. “We’ve got work to do.”

“Sammy, we’re back!”

Sam looked up from the catalogue. “In the library!”

It was four weeks after the sun was saved, and Sam had made a decent amount of progress. Going through the Bunker’s catalogue and making sure that they still had all the books (and that they were where they were supposed to be) wasn’t so hard, but digitizing the books was taking longer. It wasn’t just that finding a good scanner and filling out enough fake credit card applications that he could buy one (and then drive two hours to pick it up) took time, but he kept getting distracted. There was so much new information here, and some of the books were so interesting that he ended up reading several chapters instead of scanning the pages.

Not that it really mattered. The others would be here soon, and Sam knew that Charlie for sure would be really into this part.

It still blew Sam away that people were really coming back. But it was happening; Cas had gone to visit Heaven once a week, and each time he reported on the progress with bringing their family back. To their surprise, Billie had agreed to let it happen. The real trick was balancing the energies of souls leaving Heaven. Cas had attempted to explain until Sam and Dean had begged him to stop.

In the end, the solution was just to have two people come back at a time. It wasn’t just their family; there were other people coming back (Sam wanted to know how they were going to explain that, but Cas asked, and the response to that hurt his head even more). So it would take time, but Chuck promised that by the end of six months, their entire family would be home. They had a list of names, and a letter signed by all of the returning saying they were happy to come home, yes they knew everything, and that they didn’t want to hear any damn apologies.

(That particular statement had been bolded, underlined, circled and initialed by all).

So the three of them had been a little bit at a loss the first few weeks. Sure, it was great to sleep in and watch crappy Netflix (and good Netflix) and finally get around to organizing the Bunker, but something stopped them from getting too deeply into any project.

For the first time, they could plan projects and know that people were going to be there to help contribute. And there were no major bad guys to deal with, either. In fact, the supernatural world had been very quiet lately (Crowley had called late one night and muttered something about Hell being back under control, and Rowena chimed in that the ‘Mega-Coven’ was finally getting off the ground).

Dean’s solution was to start setting up rooms. He’d cleaned Kevin and Charlie’s room and bought them some updated geek gear, and set aside rooms for the other people coming home who’d never seen the Bunker. Cas had been darting in and out with groceries, making sure they were fully stocked. He’d also disappeared into the store rooms a few times, and apart from a couple of crashes there’d been a lot of progress. There were now neat notecards for three shelves of artifacts. Only seventy-five to go, but they’d be there to take care of that.

And so were the others.

Dean and Cas came in, holding hands. Sam still wasn’t used to that; he was partly sure he was dreaming. But it was real, Dean and Cas were smiling and happy, very much in love, and there was so much less eyesex. And Cas had even soundproofed their room after that one time.

“What you reading?”

“Treatise on church use in hunting,” Sam said. “Looks like we weren’t the first to take advantage of sacred ground to kill a ghost.”

“Probably the first to kill a racist possessed truck though, right?”

“So far, yeah.” Sam put the book down. “So what did you two get up to?”

Dean opened his mouth and Sam inserted hastily “that I want to hear.”

“Child,” Dean sniffed. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Yes you do.”

Dean shrugged. “Whatever. We mostly just drove, and we had an idea.”

“We want to go for a road trip, Sam.” Cas said. “One without a hunt. Dean was telling me about the times you went as young adults, and they sound fun. I’m also eager to see more of the country than several thousand Biggersons.”

“Oh, that’s a great idea!” Sam ignored the disappointment in his chest. Some quiet might be nice, after all. “Where are you thinking?”

“Well, obviously we want to be home for—well, when everyone starts to come back. So not far. Maybe down to California? Go to the beach?”

“Yeah. I can give you a list of great places there.” He’d travelled a lot with Jess the summer before their fourth year.

“Cool. Go start packing, I’m making burgers.”

“Oh. What?”

“Do you not want to come?”

“I thought you meant you and Cas. Like a…a romantic trip or something.”

“And leave you alone? Sammy, you won’t get fresh air if we leave you.” Dean smiled fondly at Cas. “He’s like a puppy. He forgets how doors work.”

“Bite me.” Sam straightened the treatise. “I don’t know, I just thought…”

“We need a Team Free Will trip before we do anything else.” Dean’s face softened. “It’s been a rough few years for all three of us. It’d be nice to have a break.”

“Sounds good.” Sam stood. “So burgers?”

“Yup. And fries. I got some potatoes and I’m gonna make some from scratch. Now go get packed. We’re gonna leave early tomorrow morning.”

Cas smiled at the desk agent. “Two rooms, please.”

It was nearing sunset, and they’d finally found a hotel. Cas had rejected every motel they’d driven by. This was a vacation, not a hunt, and they weren’t staying anywhere that didn’t have at least three stars.

If Cas had his way, they’d never stay in a motel ever again, but Sam and Dean had their habits.

“That’s our last two,” the woman said cheerfully. As she was cutting the keycards, her eyes looked over to Sam and Dean. “Are you three reporters?”

“No,” Cas replied politely. “We’re just on vacation.”

“You didn’t look like reporters,” the woman admitted. She handed him the keys. “But that’s all that’s been in today.”

“Really? What about?”

The woman leaned forward. “Well, it’s kind of sad, actually. There’s been two deaths in Joshua. It’s not far from here, but it’s such a little town there’s nowhere to stay there.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Cas said. And he was, for more reason than one. “Why all of the media interest in this tragedy?”

“There hasn’t been a murder in Joshua. Like, ever. And two so close together?”

Cas swallowed. “Has this been on the news?”

The woman handed him a newspaper. “The first one happened last week, and the second was three days ago.”

“Thank you.” Cas took a glance at the first few paragraphs. He fought the urge to slam the paper down, to burn it.

This was supposed to be a vacation.

When he rejoined the brothers, he was tempted to say nothing. But of course, Dean could tell something was wrong.

“What is it Cas? Not enough rooms?”

“No, no. Come on, they’re next door to each other.”

“How next door?” Sam asked.

Dean glared at him. “We’re not that loud.”

“I didn’t say you were loud. I said I could hear you.”

Cas let his thoughts wander as they bickered. Perhaps it was only a serial killer—well, serial was three, so a double murderer. Perhaps there was nothing supernatural about it.

But as they’d been driving he’d felt a bit of a tug in his Grace, a warning. He’d prayed about it, and his Father had answered for once. It hadn’t been helpful.

Let it happen, Castiel.

Because that, of course, wasn’t mildly terrifying at all.

Threats to come up to Heaven and demand answers hadn’t provoked his Father, but there was no further information.

Cas knew he was being selfish. He just wanted to be able to relax with his mate and his best friend. To spend some time with them in peace after all of the forces that had tried to pull them apart. Apparently that was asking too much.

When Dean put a hand on his neck, he jumped.

“Babe,” Dean said seriously. “Can we go inside?”

Cas realized he was frowning at a hotel door. Sam looked concerned.

“Sorry.” He swiped the key and entered.

It was a nice room, clean with two queen beds. Cas put his bag down and Dean did the same.

“Can I have my room key, Cas?” Sam asked softly.

“In a second, Sammy. Cas, what’s wrong? Did the desk lady say something to upset you?”

Cas took Dean’s hand. “No, dearest. Well, she did, but not intentionally.”

“Cas…”

Cas handed Dean the newspaper. The article was splashed all over the front page, and Sam stood over Dean’s shoulder to read it.

“Well that sucks.” Then Dean read the article again. “Wait a minute.”

Cas groaned. He wasn’t a very good hunter, but even he’d noticed the pattern.

“That looks like a woman in white,” Sam said. “Look; both men’s bodies were found by the highway, leading out to an abandoned house.”

“It may not be,” Cas said. “The desk agent says there hadn’t been a murder in fifty years. Isn’t that odd for a woman in white?”

“Not necessarily.” Sam was now deep in thought. “They don’t have to kill all the time. Maybe there aren’t a lot of unfaithful dudes in this town.”

Dean noticed the trouble in Cas’ face. “Cas? What’s wrong? This is just a ghost, we’ve done this a lot.”

“I was hoping we would be taking a vacation.” Cas sighed. “I didn’t want the supernatural to intrude upon that.”

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to, honey.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Cas got himself under control. “We can’t allow people to suffer when we can help.” He touched Dean’s face. “Besides, I want to practice hunting more anyways.”

Sam laughed. “You did a pretty decent job last time, Cas.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with this, Cas? You look worried.”

He’d promised not to lie to Dean anymore. “I feel like something is going to happen. Something bad.”

“Has your—has Chu—has anyone said anything?”

“He told me to let it happen. Which means that it can’t be that bad, because he promised you two would be okay. Perhaps it’s just going to end up with one of you injured. Again.”

“Yeah, but my angel can heal us,” Dean said with a grin. “Remember? It won’t be like before.”

That made something in Cas’ heart unclench. All those years of sitting helpless as Sam and Dean suffered, unable to heal them fully, unable to shoulder their pain…those were over too.

Adjusting to good things was sometimes just as hard as adjusting to bad.

“You’re right. Joshua isn’t far from here, and we’ll have a couple of days before we have to drive home.”

Dean grinned. “Exactly. It’ll be good to get an old-fashioned one under our belts, anyways.”

Cas tried to be positive through the rest of the night, eating room service and watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine before Sam went to bed. Dean was tired, and they exchanged only a few kisses before he fell asleep.

Cas had no need to sleep, and as he held Dean against his chest he looked up at the ceiling. Father, please answer me. Please don’t make me lose them.

There was silence for a while, and then: let it happen, Castiel.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Grant.”

Dean was sitting on a porch in Joshua, feeling much more awkward than usual. He’d gotten used to dealing with grieving people over the years, though it was never easy. But this man’s grief was radiating from him with an intensity Dean had never seen before.

“I appreciate the condolences, Mr. Novak.” Eric Grant was in his early sixties, but Dean guessed that without grief weighing him down, he wouldn’t look a day over forty-five. Far too young to bury a child.

“So you were sent by which paper again?”

“It’s a blog, actually. My brother likes to write about California small towns, and he’s always hated the fact that crimes go cold in small towns because of lack of interest.”

Mr. Grant sighed. “My wife died when my boys were young. It’s always been the three of us. I thought it always would be.”

“And your son James was the first…the first man who died?”

“Yes. He was such a good kid. Always loved tinkering with things.” There was a momentary expression of pride on his face. “He got out of here, you know. Made it all the way to college. But he came back to visit me and his brother every chance he could.”

“Did he ever have a girlfriend?”

“No, but he’s had a few boyfriends.” Eric looked him in the eye. “Got a problem with that?”

“No sir,” Dean promised. “I’ve got a boyfriend of my own.”

Eric relaxed. “I never had a problem either. Some people in this town did, but they came around eventually, or I knew the reasons why.”

“Was he dating anyone…recently?”

“Nope. There’s not a lot of out people around here, and James was here all summer. He broke up with his last boyfriend a few months ago because he wanted to come home, and Buck didn’t want to follow.” Eric’s eyes filled with tears. “And he came home to…”

Dean winced. “His story will be told, sir. And I promise the answer will be found.”

“I appreciate that.” Eric rocked back in his chair for a minute. When he’d regained composure, he said, “may as well get it over with. What do you want to know about Tyler?”

“Tyler Thompson?” Dean asked in surprise. “Did you know him?”

Eric narrowed his eyes. “Of course I do. He is—was—my younger son.”

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

“So Tyler changed his name when you got married?” Sam asked. He and Cas exchanged a look.

Rita Thompson was wrapped in a too-big robe, holding a too-big mug in shaking fingers. She was still crying, she hadn’t stopped since they’d come in the house. Her daughter slept in a bassinet on the counter, arms around a purple dog.

“Yes,” Rita answered at last. “I didn’t want to change mine, and he respected that. But he said he wanted to—he wanted to show the world he was mine. So he was Tyler Thompson, and our daughter has my name.”

“Tyler sounds like a great guy.”

“He really was. He was the best man I’ve ever known. He was always so gentle, but strong too. He could lift me over his head, and that’s high.”

Sam had noticed the doors when they came in; he hadn’t had to duck. “Did he build this house?”

That brought a small smile. “He just adjusted all the doors. He was six-five. He said he was sorry when Jill was born—she was almost eleven pounds, and he was worried she’d inherited his height.” The tears were still flowing, slow and steady. Sam remembered crying like that after Jess died, endless tears for three days while Dean took care of him. After that, he lost the ability to cry that long.

“Rita?”

Sam looked up. Another man had just come in the back door, a little bit shorter than Cas. Cas tensed beside Sam as the stranger pressed a kiss to Rita’s cheek.

The newcomer looked at them coldly. “I swear to God, if you’re reporters—”

“Isaac, don’t. They’re…they’re nice.” Rita patted his arm. “I promise.”

Isaac still didn’t look friendly.

“We can leave, if you want,” Cas offered. “I understand you need time as a family to grieve.”

“Family?” Isaac’s stared at Rita. “Did you tell them?!”

“No,” Rita whispered. “I didn’t.”

Then Isaac seemed to deflate, sagging against the counter with his arm around Rita. “Guess I kind of did.” He glared at the two of them. “Don’t you fucking print this.”

“Print…what?” Sam asked.

Rita took Isaac’s hand. “We were all together. The three of us.”

“Oh.” Sam took a second. “Did you change your name too, Isaac?”

“No.” Isaac half-laughed. “Obviously we couldn’t all get married. And it was easier for Rita and Tyler; I have some…unpleasant family members. They wouldn’t like it if I suddenly married a man, and even Rita’s not right for them.”

“I offend their racist sensibilities,” Rita explained. “ ‘Indian’s only one step up from a black woman,’ apparently.”

Sam hadn’t even noticed, but now that she’d pointed it out he noticed the high cheekbones, the narrow brown eyes, the darker skin.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Isaac.”

Isaac just nodded. He laid his cheek against Rita’s hair and closed his eyes.

“Did anyone know about you three?”

“We’ve tried to keep it quiet for Isaac’s sake,” Rita answered. Jill started to fuss, and Rita reached over, resettled the dog. “But Tyler’s dad knew, and some of my friends.”

“Have you ever been publicly affectionate?” Cas asked.

“Not really. Hugs, and that, but like I said, we’ve been quiet about it. Why do you ask?”

To Sam’s surprise, Cas told the truth. Well, part of the truth.

“Sam’s brother is my lover. He’s here as well, and…it’s always a risk, you know?”

“Don’t worry about that around here,” Isaac said. “My family lives a ways away, and I don’t even think they’d be violent. The only reason I don’t tell them all to go to hell is that my dad would never let me see my mom again, and she’s sick. I don’t want to lose what time I have left with her. But you’ll be okay.”

“Thank you.” Cas shook hands with both of them. “Do either of you need anything right now? Other than to be left to grieve in private?”

Rita trembled and closed her eyes.

“We’re alright,” Isaac said hoarsely. “At least we will be.”

Sam took out one of his new cards. “Let us know if you need anything at all. We’ll probably be around a couple more days.”

When they got outside, Sam took a deep breath, but the weight of Rita and Isaac’s grief still lingered. He was about to ask Cas what he thought about this development, when he got a text from Dean.

They’re brothers.

I know.

Now what?

Cas laid on the bed, newspapers spread out around him. There were only four newspapers in a twenty-mile radius, but they carried plenty of local gossip. But apart from an interesting article about a local beekeeper association, there was nothing relevant to him.

Dean was sitting on the floor (he’d protested but Cas had really needed the full bed, if only for a moment), and he was on the phone with the morgue.

“Alright yes, I understand. Thank you for your time.” Dean hung up and sighed. “Tyler and James were both found with their shirts open, and the wounds are consistent with Woman in White victims.”

“But neither of them cheated?” Cas said.

“James didn’t have anyone to cheat on,” Dean confirmed. “I know dads don’t know everything about their sons, but they seemed really close. And Sam’s pretty damn sure about Tyler too. He had a wife and a guy.”

“Then perhaps these men were simply killed by some sort of serial killer. Rita and Isaac mentioned trouble with Isaac’s family.”

“Did some checking on Facebook for them. They were all miles away at a family reunion. Guess Isaac didn’t make the cut.” Dean’s jaw clenched. “Could be someone else, but…”

�� The hotel door opened to Sam, his laptop under his arm and holding a takeout bag. “I stopped by the diner,” he explained. “They actually had a Cobb salad.”

“Any luck at the library?”

Sam took out his salad and tossed the rest of the bag to Cas. “A weird kind of luck. But here’s the thing—I went to the scene too.”

“Sam!” Dean stopped unwrapping the burger. “That could have been—”

“I’m not with anyone, Dean.” Sam didn’t seem riled. “And I didn’t go to the scene of the bodies, just along the road. And EMF readings…it was going bonkers. There’s been ghost activity down there for sure.”

“So maybe it’s a vengeful spirit,” Cas theorized. “Perhaps it has something to do with their father?”

Sam shook his head. “I still think it was a Woman in White, but…kinda different. When I was at the library I went pretty deep into the weeds, and I think I found her.” He opened his laptop. On the screen was a picture of a woman in late 19th century clothes.

“Her name was Prudence Jennings. She lived a couple of towns over. In 1891, her children were reported dead, and her death day is the same date.”

“So you think it’s the classic Woman in White scenario?” Cas asked. “She killed her children because her husband was unfaithful?”

“Yeah, but get this. I went into the archives, and man, those people save everything. If I was actually running a blog I’d want access. But I found Temperance Morris’ diary. She was Prudence’s sister—”

“Those names are made up, right?”

Sam ignored Dean. “Temperance wrote that her sister’s husband wasn’t fond of women, even if he’d given her two children. She hinted that maybe Mr. Jennings was sleeping with…well, a man.”

“Ah. That’s more complicated.”

“Is it?” Sam asked. “I mean, it’s still murder-suicide because of infidelity. And there were cases back in the 30s and 40s in this area of Woman in White activity. At least there were murders of men, and some of them were…uh, ‘known homosexuals’”.

Cas winced. “So she’s going after unfaithful gay men.”

“Yeah. The last one was in Joshua in 1951, and it was a man who was out. Apparently it broke his partner’s heart when he went missing.”

“That’s still a long time between kills,” Dean said. “Maybe another hunter wasted her?”

“I don’t think so,” Sam said. He took out John’s journal.

Cas scowled.

“Dad—he wrote about this case. It’s just a small paragraph, but it mentioned Prudence’s sister, that’s how I got onto the journal. He marked it possible Woman in White, but he marked it cold too.”

Cas leaned back. They’d only had the one conversation about John, and he was still a touchy subject. “Is that possible? For Women in White to stop?” Your father cannot be trusted.

“She could have moved on, maybe? That would be really hard, but maybe she got up the courage to go home with her children.”

“So let’s say it is Prudence. Why did she go after Tyler and James? Neither of them have been unfaithful.”

“But they’re both men who have been in relationships with men,” Cas said. “And Tyler is married to a woman and carrying on a relationship with a man. Even if the three are in agreement…”

“That might be enough.”

“So there hasn’t been anyone gay or unfaithful in this town since the 40s? Is that even possible?”

“We’ve got to rule it out, I guess. There definitely haven’t been any murders.”

“This seems fake.”

“How cynical you two are,” Cas said.

“Are your angel senses telling you anything?” Dean asked.

Cas rolled his eyes, but he nodded. “I believe the records in this town are honest, and I don’t sense anything odd. But I’m still getting used to having my powers again, and some of what I sense isn’t making…sense.”

“What, exactly?”

Cas reached out again, like he’d been doing for the last two hours. “I believe there is a ghost, and they have…they have a grudge. But that’s all I know. I’m sorry. I can go fly out.”

“We might need you for something else,” Sam said. “If it is a Woman in White, we should do our best to lure her out. And that means someone queer needs to cheat on their partner.” He smiled at Cas and Dean.

“Do you think that’ll work?” Dean asked.

“I promise I won’t do anything to betray you, Dean,” Cas said gently. “I will only go as far as absolutely necessary. Do you know where Prudence’s house was, Sam?”

“Yup. It’s right along the road I drove earlier. There’s not much left of it, but that’s fine. It’ll work for what we need to do. If you’re going to be the bait, Cas, why don’t Dean and I run out there earlier? That way we can wait there for you.”

“Alright. Should we do this tonight?”

“May as well. We should start heading home soon. And it might give the families a little bit of closure.” Sam bit his lip, and Cas knew he was remembering the grief in the Thompson house. Closure wouldn’t help that family for a long, long time.

“I’m going to take a shower before we go,” Sam announced. He got up and headed to the bathroom. The minute the water started running, Dean grabbed Cas’ hands.

“Babe, are you sure this is going to work?”

“Well, it will not if this ghost is not a Woman in White. But we may still attract the ghost. Don’t worry, Dean, we’ll be home in time to greet your family.”

“That’s not really what I’m worried about. I mean…will it count as you being unfaithful to me?”

“I told you, only as far as necessary, Dean.”

Dean sighed. “Have we even been—have we been together long enough?”

By now, Cas was fluent in Winchester, particularly the Dean variety. “You mean more to me than anyone else living, Dean Winchester. I love you deeply. Any act against that would be a great betrayal. I’d deserve to be killed by a ghost were I unfaithful.”

Dean’s breathing was still a little bit shaky, but he nodded. “Sorry. I guess I…I guess I still need to hear that. I love you too.”

Cas pulled Dean into his arms, wishing away his anger. It was no good to Dean right now. “You know, if you’re worried that the Woman in White might need convincing…”

Dean smirked. He was out of his shirt in a minute, which conveniently was right when Sam came out of the bathroom.

“FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!”

“THIS IS OUR ROOM, ASSHAT.”

Sam just slammed the bathroom door shut.

Dean laughed, and the pressure in Cas’ chest loosened. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“Are we there yet?”

“Sammy, I swear to Chuck—”

“Shouldn’t you be swearing to Amara?”

Dean glared at his little brother. “I can swear to whatever cosmic sibling I want, bitch.”

“Jerk. Are we there yet?”

“No. This is what happens when you only take backroads.”

They hit another bump and Dean swore, apologizing to Mr. Grant’s car quietly. Women in White liked highways, so the only way they could drive to the Johnson house was along old backroads and used-to-be-backroads.

“Are we—”

“Sam. I will eat you.”

“Not that. Are we moving too quickly?”

Dean glanced at Sam. “You were the one who said go.”

“I was. But…but now I’m not so sure.”

Dean drove around a pot-ditch. “I know.” There was something off about this entire case, more so than the orientations of the victims. “But it’s supernatural, so it’s our gig. And if it isn’t a Woman in White, at least we’ve got it narrowed down. And if something goes wrong, we have my Cas.”

“Oh my Amara. My Cas, eh?”

The old Dean would have told Sam to shut up. The new Dean just blushed.

“I’m happy for you,” Sam said. “Just so you know.”

“Thanks.” Dean remembered just before they left, that look in Sam’s eyes when they talked about the trip. “You realize that Cas loves you too, right? Not the same way that he loves me, but he cares about you a lot.”

Sam was quiet for a second. “Thanks.”

“You know you’re still important to both of us. That hasn’t changed.”

“You sound like divorced parents.” Sam still wasn’t quite smiling. “I know, but it felt like…I don’t know. As much as I wanted you two to be together, before we were both his friend. And now I…I don’t want to be in the way.”

“The only time you’re in the way is when we’re having sex,” Dean said bluntly. “And we’ve got to be more careful about where we bang, but Sam, you’re family. To both of us. We don’t want you gone. We kinda just want you to start respecting socks on the door.”

“Gross.” But Sam was smiling now. “I can do that.”

“Good. End of conversation.” Dean rolled his eyes. “We don’t want you around, the idea.”

A few minutes later, Dean spotted the house. He stopped the car and got out. Sam followed him.

“We’re here, Sammy.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You’re such a—”

Sam grabbed his arm. “Quiet. Just in case.”

Dean nodded, forgetting Sam couldn’t see him. Then he tapped Sam’s arm in affirmative. There was a theory in the hunting community—when dealing with a Woman in White, don’t make too much noise at her house. It could lure her back, which kind of went against their plans with Cas.

Instead, Dean took out his phone and texted Cas.

We’re here, babe.

The response came a moment later.

I love you.

Dean froze. “She’s with him, Sam.”

Sam immediately quickened his pace. Dean followed, the shotgun bouncing against his back. It’s just a Woman in White. Cas will be fine.

The house was in much worse shape than Constance’s—it was barely held together. The only part that actually looked like a house was just off the sagging porch. The moon was coming out now, and Dean saw Sam motion towards it.

Carefully, the two of them eased their way onto the porch and through the gaping hole where a door must have been. The room was covered in dust, and there were sticks of old furniture, but other than that it was empty.

“I wonder why this place hasn’t been torn down yet,” Dean muttered.

“It was lived in until about fifty years ago,” Sam whispered.

In the distance, Dean heard a familiar rumble.

“There’s Cas.”

**********

Cas had thought it might be harder to find the Woman in White.

Sam and Dean had left a few hours before, and he’d spent those hours alone in the hotel room, waiting for darkness to fall. Finally, just after sunset, Cas got into the Impala and drove back to Joshua.

He could feel the grief of the little town as he approached, and he grimaced. That was one of the unpleasant parts of his powers—before he’d met Dean, the emotions of humans had moved him to pity, but had never assaulted him in this way. His time spent human had given him a chance to feel how horrible grief could be, and now it was compassion, not pity, that moved his prayer.

“Father, help these people find hope again. And let us give them justice tonight.”

He continued driving out to the highway, slow enough that he could see the empty fields passing by. His phone pinged twice, and he answered the texts quickly—‘see you later’. That would tell Dean that he hadn’t encountered the ghost yet.

And then, ten minutes after his last text, he spotted her. A woman wearing a thin white dress and an even thinner shawl stood by the side of the road.

Castiel pulled over. “May I help you?” he asked.

“Can you take me home?” the woman asked. Her form flickered, just a bit. Definitely a ghost.

“Of course. Can you give me directions?”

The woman approached the car slowly. As she got settled, Cas’ phone went off.

He texted I love you, and put the car in drive.

“Who were you talking to?”

“My boyfriend,” Cas replied. “Where am I taking you?”

The woman was quiet, only speaking to give directions. But as they drove her shawl came off and her skirt hitched up higher and higher. Cas shot her a couple of what he hoped were meaningful looks.

“Why were you alone?” he asked her.

The ghost looked at him. “Does it matter? I’m with you now.”

The words could have been seductive, a temptation to forget the past and concentrate on the present. Instead, the words were dull, dropping into the silence of the car.

Cas smiled encouragingly. “Are we nearly there?”

“Just the next bend.”

Something was wrong. This woman wasn’t trying to be seductive at all. Even the baring of her skin had been done with great reluctance. But she was a ghost; Cas could tell. Everything here pointed to a Woman in White, so what was the missing piece?

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

“Sam, get down,” Dean hissed. The Impala wasn’t that close, but Baby’s headlights were powerful, and the last thing he wanted was for the Woman to jump them early.

“How much further down do you want me, Dean?” Sam hissed back. He was crouching, his back to the window, frowning at the EMF reader. There was only faint beeping coming from it.

“Where are the children?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know. There’s no second floor here. And I’m not sensing anything…”

“Did they…maybe they only appear when their mother comes home?”

“No idea.”

Dean ground his teeth in frustration. The entire house felt strange, and it was starting to get to him. He wanted to call out for Cas, to warn him, but what was there to warn him about? ‘Oh, we’re ghost-hunting, and I have a bad feeling?’

Through the window, Dean saw the Impala in the moonlight, driving up the long path to the house. Dean let out a deep breath. Cas was here now, and he had the ghost lady with him. Now they just needed to waste her…

*********

Cas could see the house up ahead, and he knew Sam and Dean were there.

“This is your home, yes?” he asked the woman.

He turned to her, half-expecting her to try and kiss him, or something. Anything to assuage the worry in his mind. To his shock, he saw that the woman was crying.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. And her face was changing, her form shifting into a different woman, with black curly hair and a million freckles. Cas shrank away from her, suddenly afraid for the first time.

“I didn’t want to,” the woman sobbed. “He made me. I’m sorry!”

And she shoved at Cas.

The car went flying into the air. Cas struggled to hold on to the steering wheel as the Impala rolled three times. It landed right side up, but the doors were badly mangled. Cas could tell he was bleeding from several places, but nothing too serious.

The ghost was gone from the car. When Cas managed to look outside, he realized that he was in a wide field. Even with his keen eyesight, he could hardly see the house.

Sam. Dean.

And with that thought, the house burst into flames.

********

The crash sent them both to their feet. Dean cried out in horror as he saw the Impala flip in the air, soaring over to the next field.

“What the hell?”

“I’m sorry!”

Dean whipped around and saw a ghostly woman standing there. But she wasn’t wearing white; instead, she wore modern clothes and her hair hung past her elbows.

“You’re not Prudence,” Dean said stupidly.

“I’m sorry!” the ghost gasped again. “I’m sorry. You need to run! He’ll get you!”

“Who?” The woman started to wail. Dean watched in horror as the ghostly figure was dragged across the room, shrinking as she did. The last light of her went into a jar.

Someone picked up the jar.

Dean raised his gun; Sam was beside him.

The figure snapped their fingers, and a strange glow came into the room.

Dean nearly dropped his gun.

John Winchester stood in the room with them.

“Dad?”

Sam was still trying to catch his breath. Their father was standing there, not quite solid, still dead for sure. Sam had enough experiences with people coming back from the dead to tell by now; there was something about their shadows.

“How?” Dean asked.

John shrugged. “Well, you boys set me free, after all. Good job, opening a Gate to Hell.”

Sam almost wanted to say, wow, are you behind a few years, but John beat him to it.

“But that was you getting started, wasn’t it?” John’s eyes were cold, and when he stepped closer Sam couldn’t help but flinch.

“Dad, what’s going on?”

“I thought I’d bring you boys on a little trip down memory lane.” John held up the jar. “Woman in White, that was the first case I sent you on together, remember? Right before your pretty girlfriend burned, Sammy?”

Sam felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. “You killed—you killed those boys?” Don’t think about Jess, don’t think about Jess.

“Two brothers in a little town, both abominations of love.” John advanced on Dean. “Seemed about right.”

Dean shot, but John dodged the rock salt. “Dad, just fight it. Hell fucked you up, this isn’t you talking.”

John laughed. “You really believe that, Dean? I’m touched.”

Sam fired two shots into John’s head. The ghost dissipated with a snarl, and Sam ran to Dean’s side.

John reappeared a second later on the other side of the room. “Hell just removed my filter, sons, and now I’ve got a chance to do what I should’ve done myself.” The hate in his eyes when he looked at Sam pierced him like a knife. “You abomination, you killed your mother. Good thing your girlfriend died before she found out what you were.”

“Don’t you fucking dare say that to him!” Dean fired off a shot, but John reappeared by the windows. “He didn’t have a choice, and he’s a better man than anyone gave him credit to be.”

“You’re a great judge of character, aren’t you Dean?” John’s eyes glittered. “I gave you one job, one job. And you turned out to be just as much a monster-lover as your brother. Fucking an angel, really? Bad enough you’re a faggot.” He raised his hands. “You two disappoint me. Your mother would be ashamed of you both.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Shame you’ll never find out.”

John snapped his fingers, and the room burst into flames. “Hellfire,” he said conversationally. “Seems appropriate for you two.” He tossed the jar into the centre of the room, the trapped ghost glowing brightly. “Go on, try to get out.”

Sam looked around desperately. The smoke was already thick, and Sam coughed. His lungs remembered this feeling, heavier and darker than breathing normal smoke. We’re going to suffocate before we burn.

Dean was already on the ground, hacking. Sam raised his gun and shot at where John had been a moment before, but he heard the shell crack off the window.

“Pathetic.” That was his father’s voice. “Pathetic little freaks.”

Then the smoke and flames vanished, gone as if they were never there. The room was still bright, and it took Sam’s eyes a moment to adjust. It was the Impala’s headlights, the familiar beams lighting up the room.

A figure stood where the windows had been a second before.

“Ualolina Nolil.” Cas’ blade was out, his eyes glowing blue. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Dean was bewildered, still coughing as Sam pulled him to his feet. Cas stood deadly still, eyes locked with John’s.

“Get out of here, you—”

Cas waved his hand and John went crashing into the wall, hitting it solidly.

“I asked you a question,” Cas growled, and Dean shivered. Cas had never sounded quite so…vengeful. “How dare you harm them? You are not worthy to look upon them, let alone judge them!”

John struggled to his feet. For a second his face softened, and he looked scared. “Dean? Sam? I’m sorry boys. This vengeful thing—it’s fucked me up. You were right.”

“Oh, no.” Cas was across the room in one stride. He grabbed their father and slammed him against the wall again. “No, John. You don’t get to pretend with these men anymore.” He punched him across the face.

Dean couldn’t do anything except stare.

“Let me go you fucking freak!”

Cas punched him again. “You used your sons. You abused them. You left them to die, and you betrayed their trust. Your wife’s death is no excuse for you to become the biggest monster in their life.”

“I did my fucking best!” John swung at Cas, but he blocked it easily.

“Your best would have been to understand the wrongness in your own brain, your broken spirit. You could have loved them. Instead you let your loyalty to a dead woman blind you to the children you had living, who needed you, who needed guidance and safety and love! List all the excuses you want, but the moment you decided to bait a shtriga with your children, you forfeited any forgiveness.”

“What?” Dean croaked.

John looked scared now, and he struggled violently against Cas’ hold. Cas held him impossibly still. The angel looked over at Dean, a deep sadness in his eyes tempering the fierceness in his face. “You didn’t know, dearest?”

“Know what?”

“Tell them, John.” Cas ordered. “Tell them what you did.”

“Go to hell. I didn’t do anything wrong! If Dean had been where he should, it would have been—”

“You left your sons alone, late into the night, when you were hunting a shtriga. And Sam was asleep. What would have happened, John, if Dean had stayed in the room and fallen asleep?”

“He was on the job!”

Dean felt cold all over. “I was ten,” he whispered.

“You were old enough to do your job!”

Sam leapt forward and landed a blow on John. “You motherfucking asshole! You—”

But he got cut off when in a burst of strength John threw both Sam and Cas off. Sam fell hard, and even Cas was thrown back.

He’s not going away, Dean realized. Cas could keep hitting him, but something was tethering John to Earth.

I want him gone. We need him gone.

Then Dean figured it out.

He sprinted outside. Baby was badly dented but the trunk looked okay. Dean yanked it open and dug around until he found what he needed. He spared one last glance at the object before running back inside.

Sam was back on his feet, leaning against the wall as Cas grappled with John.

“Hey, John!” Dean shouted. He held up his father’s journal.

Everyone stopped moving. Dean clicked his lighter and held it up.

“Dean!” John’s face softened again. “I’m sorry, son. I am. I fucked up. But you’re still my boy. I love you. Give me a chance!”

“Sorry, Dad.” Dean lit the papers; they caught like kindling. “I couldn’t save you. It’s not my job.”

John started screaming, his ghostly figure coming apart.

Sam raised his gun, emptying it until John vanished. The journal’s cover was still smoldering.

“Dean?” Cas was beside him now. “I can finish it.”

“Do it,” Dean whispered.

A burst of fire came from Cas’ hand, and the journal turned into ash in an instant.

Dean took a deep breath. John was gone.

Cas caught Dean before he collapsed. Sam was across the room, sinking to his knees.

“I will take you both home,” Cas whispered. But he had one thing to do first. He summoned the jar, and examined the spirit inside.

“That’s not Prudence, is it?” It was Sam’s voice, but…but not really Sam.

“No.” Cas cursed himself for not realizing it sooner. “This is the spirit of a girl named Marie. She died a year ago in a car crash. I suppose he found her and forced her to work. He was a more experienced spirit.”

Cas unscrewed the cap. “Go to Heaven, Marie. You are free now, and forgiven for your crimes.” By him at least, but he had a feeling that his father would be understanding.

“Come here, Sam.” Once Sam had gotten close enough for Cas to touch his arm, he flew back to the Bunker.

“The Impala…” Dean mumbled. He was shaking against Cas now.

Cas snapped his fingers. “She’s in the garage, Dean. I will fix her completely tomorrow. Right now you and your brother need my care.” He hesitated for a moment—it wasn’t really finished, it was messy—but he got Sam to his feet. “Follow me.”

Cas led both brothers down the Bunker halls, past his and Dean’s room, past Sam’s room, past the library.

“Where’re we going?” Sam mumbled. The younger Winchester was pale, and his eyes were just…empty.

Cas opened the door at the end of the hall. “In here.”

The room was just as he’d left it; stuffed with pillows, blankets, and soft chairs. It still needed a few touches, but it would do for now.

Dean lifted his head from Cas’ shoulder. “This—this feels like you.”

“It’s my nest,” Cas explained. “Well, a nest. I thought it would be nice to have a place to relax for our family. For all our family. Sam, lie down please. I’ll take a look at your head.”

Sam obeyed silently, choosing the nearest pillow pile and sinking into it with a quiet sigh. Cas removed his trench coat and helped Dean lay down as well. He touched two fingers to Sam’s head, healing the brewing concussion and developing bruises.

“Are you injured, Dean?”

“Just bruises,” Dean mumbled. His skin was cool when Cas touched him, and he didn’t respond to Cas’ worried surge of Grace.

Cas stepped away and grabbed the two biggest, warmest blankets he could see, and spread them out over the brothers. “You’re both in shock,” he whispered. “Can I get you anything?”

“Come here?” Dean whispered.

Cas laid down between the two. He was expecting Dean’s embrace, but Sam’s arms winding around him and Dean together was a bit more of a surprise. The big man was clinging to them both, and he was shaking now too. Cas pressed his lips together.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I had no idea.”

Sam had started to cry, tears pouring down his face without a sound. Dean wasn’t crying, not yet, but he was nearly there.

“I promise, you are safe from him now.” Cas took Dean’s hand in his. “You’ll never have to see him again.”

Dean’s whole body went rigid. “Wait—what about—Impala—”

“In the garage, Dean,” Cas reminded him, rubbing his thumb over Dean’s knuckles. “She’s good as new.”

“No, that’s not—” Sam’s eyes were wild with horror. “Is that—is that a tether too?”

Then Cas understood, and his heart broke again. “No,” he said. “No, I promise it isn’t.”

“How d-do you know?”

“I couldn’t feel your father in the journal because it wasn’t a very strong tether,” Cas explained. He rubbed Sam’s shoulder, trying to warm him up. “Usually when a ghost remains, it’s through a stronger pull. I am not sure why he was able to hold on for so long; it might have something to do with his sojourn in Hell. But there is nothing of him in the Impala, or even that leather jacket. You’ve made those objects a part of your lives, not his. The last traces of him are gone now.”

Sam let out a huge, shuddering sigh, and Cas could hear the sobs building in Dean’s throat. He moved so he was laying on his back, the brothers on either side of him. “Let it go,” he said. “Let him go.”

Dean had his face in Cas’ shoulder, and Sam was still reaching over to Dean, so he was pressed against Cas. Cas wondered if he should move, let the brothers grieve alone, but when Cas tried to get up Sam clung to him.

“Stay?”

“Of course.” And Cas did, through the long hour of tears, murmuring reassurance as best he could, his heart aching as Sam admitted how broken he felt, as Dean screamed silently with rage and pain. And when the brothers fell asleep at last, Cas stayed awake, protecting their dreams from the nightmares that tried to crawl in. Not his boys. Not this time.

When Sam woke up he felt lighter, better than he had in ages. He stretched, and saw Cas looking at him in amusement.

“What’s so funny?”

“You snore.”

“I do not!”

“Yes you do.” Dean was standing at the door to the…nest, it was the nest. He had a tray of breakfast. “Only once in a while, but when you do it sounds like a chainsaw in heat.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Sam sat up and took his plate. As he dug in, he saw Cas glancing between him and Dean.

“What is it, babe?” Dean asked at last. “You’re freaking us out.”

“How do you feel?” Cas asked.

Sam looked at Dean. “We’re…I think it’s going to be okay. We’ll be okay. That wasn’t easy…” he could still feel his father’s hand slamming into his head, still hear the hurtful words…but there was distance now. “But it’s a bit easier to live with him hating us than trying to…”

“Than trying to figure out if he loved us,” Dean finished.

“You both deserved better.”

“We have plenty.” Sam said. “We have our home, and a family who loves us.” Then he sat bolt upright. “What about the families? We need to tell them why James and Tyler died.” He took out his phone. “I’ll call Rita.” He dialed the number, trying to figure out what to say. How could he explain that her husband had died because of Sam’s family?

“Hello?” It was a man’s voice. It should have been Isaac, but it didn’t sound quite right.

“Hi, this is Sam. We spoke yesterday.”

“We did? I was in a coma yesterday man, I don’t think it was me.”

Sam’s jaw dropped. “Tyler?”

“Hi. Oh, are you the blogger? Rita, baby, was the blogger dude’s name Sam?”

There was a quick shift. “Hi Sam.” That was Rita’s voice, breathless and happy. “Yes, he woke up, isn’t it wonderful?”

“Woke up?” Sam stared at Dean and Cas.

“Yeah. Looks like you and your partners weren’t necessary. The explosion was ruled to be accidental.”

“Rita...” Sam had no clue what to say. “I thought Tyler wasn’t…going to make it.”

“It sure looked like that. He and his brother were in bad shape; that old Jennings place was a death trap waiting to happen. They shouldn’t have been anywhere near there, right, honey?”

“Yes, honey.” Tyler’s voice had a laugh in it, and Sam blinked hard.

“Well that’s great to hear. I…well, you lose hope in this job sometimes. I’m glad to be proven wrong.”

“Me too.”

Sam heard a baby crying.

“Sorry, Sam, I’ve got to go. Baby’s demanding food. Mr. Grant will probably call your partner Dean later on.”

“He’ll be glad to talk to him,” Sam said. “Have a good day, okay? All of you.” He hung up and stared at Cas and Dean.

“They’re okay?” Dean asked.

“Rita said they’d recovered from being in an explosion at the Johnson place,” Sam replied. “Apparently they were both in comas yesterday, but they’ve woken up and they’re home.”

“But—” Cas stopped himself. “What a miracle.”

“You think?”

“Yes.” Cas looked overwhelmed. “I suppose my father answered my prayer.”

Sam remembered the grief-stricken house of the day before. “I’m glad.”

Dean nodded. “Hang on, what day is it again?”

“They’re coming tomorrow,” Cas replied.

Sam caught his breath. He’d almost forgotten. Tomorrow, their family was starting to come home tomorrow.

“Then we’ve got time for a drive.” Dean stood. “Sammy, want to go?”

“Sure.” Sam looked at Cas, but the angel shook his head.

“I have some business in Heaven. I will return when you’re finished.”

A few minutes later, Sam was in the passenger seat of the Impala, and Dean was gunning the engine and roaring down the highway. Sam looked at his brother, and was struck by the way he was sitting. His shoulders were looser, his eyes were bright, and when he smiled at Sam, there was no guilt in them. There was no sense of failure.

Sam rolled the window down. “How fast do you think we can go?”

Dean laughed. “Sammy, let’s find out.” He hit play on the cassette, and AC/DC started blaring.

********

Cas landed in Heaven’s throne room, and the first thing he saw was that the name should really be ‘thrones room’. Both his Father and Amara were sitting on elegantly carved chairs; Father’s looked mahogany, while Amara’s looked like marble. They weren’t, of course, they were carved pieces of pure energy, but Cas supposed they had to look like something.

Both deities looked worried. “How are Dean and Sam?” Amara asked.

“Mending.” Cas considered the two. “Which one of you brought James and Tyler back?”

“I did,” Father said. “Amara dealt with the details.”

“I thought so.”

“What do you mean, nephew?”

“People with comas aren’t sent home the morning they wake up.”

“Even when they’re perfectly healthy?” Amara exclaimed.

“They’re not supposed to be perfectly healthy.”

Amara shrugged. “Oh well. Food for thought. That was easier, and their families missed them.”

Cas smiled, but it faded quickly. “Where is John Winchester?”

A wave of anger poured from the thrones, and Cas shuddered.

“He is in Hell,” Father said. “Crowley has promised to continue what you started, Castiel.”

Cas thought of the demon—infuriating, treacherous, but fiercely loyal to Sam and Dean Winchester in his own way—and smiled. “Good enough.”

“Amara, would you give us a moment?” Father asked.

“No, Father. I am not angry with you.”

Father blinked. “Oh. I was sure you would be.”

“Did you kill James Grant and Tyler Thompson?”

“No. But I knew who did it, and I knew your path would lead you there. I warned you as best I could.”

“You were right to let it happen. I would not wish the pain of that encounter on Sam and Dean…but they needed to see for themselves. They needed to lay him to rest seeing what he truly was. They got their answers, and I hope that will help them move forward.”

“I suppose you’ve gotten your own answers, Castiel.”

Cas thought of that long year of desperate searching, all the painful years of seeing everything he trusted and believed in questioned, missing, broken…but in the end, someone who found their courage and came back.

“Not yet, Father. There’s still some time.”

Father looked hopeful.

“I know that you care,” Cas said, and there was an all-too-human lump in his throat. “That’s all I need for now. I’m lucky, I suppose—Sam and Dean know their father didn’t.”

Father nodded. “Thank you, Castiel.” He cleared his throat. “On that subject, I think two people can come back today. Amara figured out a way to balance the souls more efficiently.”

“Crowley was a good teacher,” Amara said with a grin.

Cas beamed. “And it will be the two we discussed? Are they…aware of what’s happened?”

Father nodded. “They both know. They’re ready.”

“Of course they are. I can escort them back, if you like?”

Father nodded. “Go ahead, Cas. And know that I…I will work to be worthy of your faith.”

“I’ll try as well, nephew. Your faith is inspiring.”

Cas bowed to them both, and left the room.

*********

Dean parked Baby and leaned back in the seat with a sigh. Sam was half-asleep in the passenger seat—kid looked more relaxed than Dean had seen him in years, and a relaxed Sam was a sleepy Sam. Not Dean, though—he was wide awake, and every breath felt easy. He shook his brother’s shoulder. “C’mon, Sammy. We’re home.”

Sam blinked. “I wasn’t asleep.”

“Need a nap?”

“Dude, you nap too!”

“No, Sammy, I power sleep in short bursts. There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is.” Sam got out of the car. “That’s why you need nap music.”

Dean was about to retort when he heard wings flapping. Smiling, he got out and came face to face with his Cas. “Hey babe, great timing.” He kissed Cas, delighted by how easy it was to kiss him at last. “How was Heaven?”

“It was nice.” Cas had the glow he always got when he walked on holy ground, and his eyes were soft and fond. It had been ages since Dean had seen him like that. “I brought back gifts.”

Dean didn’t understand, but Sam sucked in his breath. “Do you mean—”

“My father and aunt were able to begin this process early,” Cas confirmed. “Your parents are back.”

For one stuttering heartbeat Dean was afraid again. Had Chuck not understood? Didn’t he know?

Then he heard a fondly muttered “hello, idjits,” and Dean spun around.

“Dad!”

Bobby stood in the garage’s door. He came towards them with his arms open, and Sam got to him first, Dean only a step behind.

“Alright, sons. Alright.” Bobby patted Dean’s head. “I’m here.”

Dean hugged Bobby as tight as he could. For a minute, he forgot everything else. Their dad was here, and he was the first to come, and they could have the rest of their lives together in a world where there wasn’t an annual apocalypse.

But then Bobby let go, and Dean saw behind him a blonde woman with a plaid shirt and a silver charm bracelet, with a smile that Dean had almost forgotten.

“Mom?”

#spn fanfiction #destiel #team free will #sam winchester #dean winchester #castiel #john winchester bashing #team goddamnit john verse #original characters #post S11

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tgunn64 · 7 years ago

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Favorite Heroes - Jake Peralta (Brooklyn Nine Nine)

So, yeah, I was really upset when Andy Samberg left SNL. He’s probably my biggest idol and favorite performer ever. But, I do think it’s good he now gets to create his own work, or else we wouldn’t get his sitcom, Brooklyn Nine Nine--which revolves around the misadventures of a somewhat ragtag police unit in New York. Andy Samberg is the head producer and I believe a writer as well, and of course, he stars as Detective Jake Peralta. Jake believes work and play go hand in hand, and adores his job as a policeman. His idol for life is Bruce Willis in Die Hard as he splits his time between solving detective cases and enjoying his favorite ‘healthy snack’--Gushers wrapped in a Fruit Roll Up. He's basically a big kid in a 27 year old man's body, bright eyed and big hearted if not a bit cocky. His somewhat immature nature and tendencies make him a bit of a menace at times, but not that isn’t to say he doesn’t take his job at all seriously. He spent several months undercover in a mafia family, and put nearly all of them in jail successfully. When one (and only one) manages to get away, he fell into a major dip of sadness. He really does care about getting his mission accomplished.

As a child, Jake’s father left him and his mother, heavily influencing him and how he was socially sculpted. Lacking a real father figure made him grow into a bit of a hot shot cop that never had to follow the rules too closely thanks to his impressive arrest record, until his new Captain, Ray Holt, straightened him out. In a way Holt is a lot like his surrogate father figure in this way, and though Jake grates on his nerves, the two have a very nice Barry Allen/David relationship. Plus, it’s nice that although undeniably a goofball character, it’s for somewhat a reason--I really like that the show sculpted a backstory for Jake. More than anything else, Jake has a massive capacity for helping others. When he senses something is wrong, he uses his detective skills to evaluate. When he’s worried about Holt’s lately unpleasant disposition, he goes out of his way to find out way, even going as far as to contact Holt’s husband on the matter. When an investigation searching for a young man’s father comes to a dead end, he refuses to give up, saying that he knows what it’s like to grow up without a father and won’t let someone else go through it.

Being a police man on TV in an era such as this one, it's a tricky thing to handle all things considered, but what I love about Brooklyn Nine Nine is that it does not shy away from issues or the imperfections of law enforcement. There's an episode where Jake's friend in the precinct, Sargent Terry Jeffords (a black man), is stopped by another cop when he's out late searching for his daughter's lost toy. While Terry is dealing with all of the drama, it's up to Jake, who is babysitting Terry's daughters, to console them and teach them that what happened to their father is an injustice, and that he's a good man. Whether it's tracking down the captain's lost corgi or cracking down a crime lord in Florida, Jake gives his all and his eccentric technique to solve a problem. I think he does genuinely encourage creative and unconventional thinking, which is a lesson I feel should be bolstered all the more. He utilized a Chuck E. Cheese's to create a massive trap for a whole group of armed gangsters--and that's just so awesome and actually adds some intrigue to a what could've been a straightforward comedy. Jake is the good cop-goof cop everyone should aspire to be like. He only wants to spread good nature and Die Hard references under the accord of law.

#tommy's favorite heroes #jake peralta #brooklyn nine nine

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demondeanismybaby · 8 years ago

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A Simple Word

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1632

Summary: Dean finds something private, and you get caught up in the moment.

Warnings: Literally none, so much fluff

A/N: This is for anon who requested So, first off, I really love your blog and writing style. Like so much. But, for a request, I want to be a novelist and have this old notebook with ideas and the start of chapters and character sketches and random stuff that I like always have with me and I was wondering if you could do a dean x reader where she is a writer and has a notebook like that and one day he finds it and looks through it. Preferably fluffy but I don't mind some angst or smut interlaced too. Thanks!. I wrote this bit of fluffy fluff which I loved because the idea for this story was so sweet. I am thinking about writing a part two though which would be smutty so if you want to see that let me know!

He hesitated, hand wrapped lightly over the knob, the door was already open a crack and it was too tempting in his state of boredom not to open it fully. Even though he knew Y/N was gone, there was a little bit of tension inside of him as he debated his next move. Dean wasn’t really sure where she had run off to, she had only said that she was going to be right back, but that was over an hour ago. He knew he shouldn’t be overbearing, and even though his gut reaction was to freak out and scour the town searching for her, he forced himself not to. Instead, he had decided to wander through the bunker, and if he just happened to land in front of her bedroom door then, that had to be just a coincidence, right?

“Hello?” He said to no one in particular, he already knew the room was going to be empty, and as he fully stepped into the darkened space he was proven right.

Glancing around he took in the general state of the room, it was fairly clean but not overly so, and he decided he might miss something in the darkness so he flicked on the light. He squinted at the brightness, but his eyes quickly adjusted and he suddenly wanted to touch everything. He forced himself not to, treading lightly, so as not to disturb anything, or leave any evidence he had been here at all. He checked out the room and laughed a little as he looked over the walls plastered with posters, photos, and quotes that inspired you, you had truly made the bunker your home.

For the most part he kept his hand studiously glued to his side, and even though they were craving to reach out and brush them over every item that he did see from your comforter, a shade that only you could love, or the slightly rumpled sweatshirt that he recognized from your nightly trips to the fridge, he resisted.

But as he looked over the pictures he knew that temptation was getting the better of him, there was a notebook lying on the bed, it had her familiar handwriting and he longed to flip open the cover, he told himself not to.

“Don’t go through her stuff,” he said to himself out loud, “it's private, and she would be pissed if she found out.”

It didn’t seem to sink into his brain though because he carefully lifted the slightly bent notebook and rubbed his fingers over the thick black cover. The pages were well loved, no longer flat and pressed together and he could tell that most of them were full. He had always been curious to what exactly she put into this thing since typically she kept it with her at all times.

“Don’t do it,” he said as he opened the cover, taking in the elegant curve of her handwriting.

There was something about the shape of each letter that perfectly captured how he thought of her. Once he had gotten his fill of tracing his finger along the path of her signature, he started to flip through each page. It was full of stories, some he recognized things that they had done or seen on various hunts, others were strange and exotic, not even the monsters they saw on a daily basis could compare to the things she came up with from a place of pure imagination. It was so overwhelming his breath was catching, it felt like he was getting to know this deep place inside of her that he had never seen.

Losing himself in the way she described characters, trying to get to know them or imagine what they looked like was intoxicating. No one pegged Dean as a reader, but the truth was he loved reading, and your words pierced him and left him needing more. He felt like he was being completely sucked into another realm.

“Dean!”

He hadn’t heard the light tread of footsteps coming up behind him, so his body jumped slightly at the harsh call of his name, and then his heart fall. Y/N was home, and here he was standing in your room with your most secret item open in his hands.

Forcing himself to turn and face you, he put effort into picking each foot up and turning around, “I’m so sorry,” the words were genuine and he silently sent a prayer to Chuck that you wouldn’t pummel him right there.

Ripping the notebook from his hands you stared at him with wide eyes, obviously in shock that he had come into your room and was rifling through your private things, but then your gaze softened at Dean’s hunched shoulders and little pout. It was impossible to stay mad at a Winchester.

You handed him back your most prized possession, and now it was his turn to look shocked, he knew his face must have shown his surprise because of the little laugh you let out.

“It’s fine,” you said, “so tell me, what do you think? Any good potential stories in there?”

He knew now was the time for being honest, you were vulnerable but you deserved to know exactly what he thought, “it’s all amazing, your writing is awesome.”

He felt his heartbeat quicken as he took in the way your cheeks flushed a little pinker, and you dipped your gaze to the floor, there was something so sweet and innocent in your gesture it had him wanting to wrap you in his arms and hold you for the rest of time.

“Thanks,” you muttered.

“Well, it’s the truth,” he wanted to add just how much the words had gotten to him. The way that he had felt transported to another place and time, that there was something about the way that you were able to capture such small and minute details in such a powerful way it made them come to life. Instead, he just added, “you should become an author.”

You couldn’t tell him what the words meant to you. It was a secret desire you had always harbored to become a novelist, but you told yourself it was unlikely. Hardly anyone published fiction anymore and getting your stuff into print was a challenge when you were on the road with the boys. Still, watching the way Dean’s eyes had been sparkling when you had come upon him reading through your notebook had lit some sort of fire in you. It was the recognition you had been craving, and then some.

You almost wondered if there wasn’t something deeper going on then the oldest Winchester just thinking you were a good writer. There was an intimacy to the moment that had you feeling open and more exposed than you had ever been with him before.

“Hey,” you said trying to cut through the thickness of the moment, “do you want to hang out for a while.”

He nodded in agreement and went to head in the direction of the door but you put your hand out to stop him.

“No, dude I meant in here.”

You loved the way his smile lit up his whole face, it seemed to penetrate his eyes and spread out from there, “Yeah,” his voice cracked a little and you did your best to stifle a laugh, “let’s hang out here,” he said.

Sitting down on the edge of your bed, you leaned your head so it bumped against the wall. When Dean continued to stand in the middle of the room awkwardly you patted the space beside you for emphasis and he nodded before coming to join you.

He was still clutching the old worn notebook in his hands, and you noticed with slight distress that he was worrying the pages between his fingers, so you stilled his motions.

“Do you want me to show you something,” you asked, you had an idea that you were thought even though you might regret it now was as good a time as any.

“Sure.”

“Here give me this,” you said plucking back your notebook and starting to flip through the pages.

You found the specific entry easily, it was the one you were the most familiar with because it was the thing you most frequently added to. It was a poem. You started to read it gently, it referenced the strange green waves of an ocean tide, the way that the light seemed to burst from inside of them, and the love you felt gazing upon it. Dean was silent the entire time you read.

“Well, what do you think?”

He was silent. He had come across the poem when he had looked at the notebook before she had come home. There was something about hearing her voice read the words that had him choking up. The way her voice rose and fell with the various lines, the soft shift in inflection at the change in meaning. It was like experiencing a living thing.

“I loved it.” He didn’t hesitate because it was beyond true.

With that he braced himself, you pushed your lips against his, and he was caught off guard by the swiftness of it. He couldn’t believe the softness of her skin underneath his fingertips or the way her mouth tasted sweet like a ripe strawberry. He didn’t want her to ever stop.

Eventually, you did. When you pulled back you took a deep gulping breath of air, and he noticed the way your skin was pink and your eyes were dark and filled with lust.

But, his heart stopped at the words you whispered to him.

“I love you, Dean Winchester.”

He decided right then that finding your notebook was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

#dean x reader #dean x you #spn #supernatural #dean winchester #spn fanfiction #spn fluff #spn reader insert #anon request #writer!reader #my writing

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not-poignant · 8 years ago

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Tumblr is full of writing tips posts. What is the most stupid and horribly wrong writing tip you've seen here? That possibly made you go 'ffc no, you should never do THAT'

Honestly I see so many horrible fucking writing tips that I often don’t know where to start.

But there’s one I see a lot which has persisted over the years on Tumblr, and would have like...genuine writing teachers responding like this:

And that’s any writing advice that suggests about four million other words you should use in place of the miraculous word said.

There was this trend (it’s thankfully on its way out) of posts that got absurdly Thesaurus happy to suggest a billion other words you could use in place of ‘said’ as though you were in a Sir Arthur Conan Doyle story where characters would ‘ejaculate’ instead of speaking (yes really: ‘I can’t believe it!’ he ejaculated.)

Said is a marvellous word. It’s really an incredible, wonderful word.

The rule for using words like ‘whispered’ or ‘taunted’ or whatever is (and this is not universal): if you can tell what the character is doing from the dialogue alone - use said. If there is no way you can tell tone from the dialogue, consider using something other than said to indicate tone. If you always have to use something else, your dialogue is probably not very good. And if you constantly use a word other than said because of I don’t know...personal vanity or whatever - that’s awesome man I can be guilty of it too, but sometimes it really means that you’re telling your reader the same thing multiple times in different ways and it can get jarring.

Said is a nice, invisible word. It’s mostly just letting people know who is character A and who is character B and who is speaking when. That’s all its for. Invisible words are great in writing! Why? Because they aid reading flow. The invisible words get your reader’s eye to the most important parts of your story.

Dean Koontz used to do this thing where he did great streams of dialogue and omitted all markers of who was speaking. Almost no one liked it, and almost everyone got confused by it. But it was a personal habit of his and he did it for about a decade before he was like ‘wait people really don’t like this‘ (to be fair he could do it for like three solid pages, like seriously imagine this:)

‘I don’t know’‘What don’t you know’ ‘I’m just saying this horrible thing we’re dealing with...’‘Yeah maybe we could do this to fight it’

FOR THREE PAGES IT GETS CONFUSING. (In short sections it can work). Sometimes how your character talks is not enough to get you through that clusterfuck. Enter the miraculous word ‘said,’ with a name or pronoun in front of it, that just acts as a gentle map for the reader, that goes ‘hey maybe you’re not reading this like it’s an examination for university, and to help you not get lost, here are some words you hardly have to notice to make sure you’re still involved in this story.’

Dean Koontz doesn’t really do this anymore, lol.

Anyway, honestly, I am kind of...against universal writing tips anyway, so any time I see a writing tip post on Tumblr, 9/10 I am usually doing this in response:

And it’s sort of... it’s a few things:

- I think a lot of these posts are written by highschoolers or first year university students who are sort of processing some basic writing rules (that in no way apply universally, culturally or even geographically to all - seriously if an American incorrectly ‘corrects’ my Australian grammar one more time I will reach through the internet and throttle them, we don’t use double quotation marks for our dialogue!) and do that by sort of regurgitating them with their own take and applying them to everyone. It’s awesome they’re learning, but you’re not in their class, and they are not your teacher. A lot of these articles are like post-educational-processing and not actually genuinely helpful writing advice.

- The universality of these tips tends to annoy me. It’s one thing to suggest that most fics on AO3 should have paragraph breaks - that’s basic functionality and accessibility, in the same way that it’s basic to put spaces between words. But it’s quite another to suggest that passive tense is always evil or adverbs are the devil. It’s simply not true. Fucking Pulitzer Prize winners have used both, lol. And they didn’t win in spite of doing these things. It’s one thing to say ‘it can be lazy to rely on this too much’ it’s another thing to say ‘no adverbs! Ever!’

- Sometimes it’s really really really easy to tell when someone has picked up Stephen King’s writing book. Also that book is super fucking ableist. Like most writing books, it’s centred in a whole lot of privilege. Also Chuck Palahniuk’s writing manifesto doesn’t apply to 98% of writers but thumbs up if you’re in the two percent.

- ‘How to write’ is an intensely personal process. Writing tips are like...idk, good to read, but in a light-hearted way. Sample often, discard just as often. Try before you buy (into it). Always think ‘do I know authors who have broken this rule and did I still find them entertaining?’ Almost always the answer is ‘yes.’

- I know a lot of professional writers and editors. Like, that’s my main ‘crew’ online (and in real life, even though I hardly ever see them, but if I see more than four people at once, it’s generally some of the big writing names in Perth and we’re usually bitching about something like how many small publishers can’t stand up to Amazon and not how that one author always uses ‘said’ too much pfft). On Twitter. On Facebook. On Dreamwidth. All I hear about every day is people dropping new books, getting nominated for awards etc. and here’s the thing about professional writers - they rarely share the same kind of writing tips you find on Tumblr, because they’ve learned that a lot of that stuff isn’t universal.

Most of us are tired of Tumblr articles on how to write (don’t get me wrong, some of them are very very good, and Neil Gaiman has given lovely advice on Tumblr repeatedly - I don’t actually love his writing, but good god, I love him as a giver of writing advice lol since he’s not a homogenising dickbrain about it), most of us are tired of the grammar police, etc.

Anyway I do get impatient about it and it’s one of the few areas - there’s a reason why my ‘on writing’ / ‘pia on writing’ tag tends to feature very specific sorts of writing advice - i.e. focused on encouragement and motivation, over people saying ‘this thing should be universal’ when no, actually, it shouldn’t be.

And my way isn’t the right way either? And that’s why I don’t often share writing tips (though I think I could stand to do it more sometimes, maybe some people want to actually learn to write like me; I don’t recommend it personally lol). Like I break rules because I like the outcome, especially around length and passive tense and long scenes without ‘scene breaks’ and so on. But theoretically Cecilia Dart-Thornton’s The Bitterbynde Trilogy would be trash by some of these writing articles standards and it’s honestly one of the most sumptuous epic fantasy trilogies of all time and the purple prose works and it deserved the awards it won.

So imho, honestly, a lot of those articles can bite me, lol. But especially the ones where people are like ‘hey, have you considered not using ‘said’ and making everything 400 times harder for your reader, just to prove you can use a thesaurus???’

(PS: I talked to Glen about this, who is also a writer (and scriptwriter) and the thing he says he hates the most is: ‘write what you know.’ Totally feel that too.)

#asks and answers #pia on writing #on writing #gif post #mostly i think 'don't be a homogenising dickbrain' about writing #you see a lot of newbie 'editors' on tumblr #trying this out via writing tips #but what they're really trying to do #is make people write in a way *they like to read*#and it's one of the 101 failings of newbie editors #and all of us newbie editors have been there at some point #okay not all of us #just some of us #also i know a lot of writers #we bitch about bad writing advice #way more than we actually bitch about the things #these writing advice articles cover lol #sometimes we mockingly say #'oh such and such don't know you passive tense is *evil*??'#followed by laughter #which doesn't prove anything #except that we're dorks #also please don't judge these people by my writing #they are all way better and way more successful than i am #lol i'm mostly highly regarded there because of my art go figure #Anonymous

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mathematicianadda · 5 years ago

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The Big Lock-Down Math-Off, Match 11

Welcome to the 11th match in this year’s Big Math-Off. Take a look at the two interesting bits of maths below, and vote for your favourite.

You can still submit pitches, and anyone can enter: instructions are in the announcement post.

Here are today’s two pitches.

Pat Ashforth & Steve Plummer – Maths or Art?

Pat Ashforth and Steve Plummer explore maths through knitting and crochet at woollythoughts.com.

In a previous match I talked about how perception might affect mathematical thinking. Here we are again with another example.

Are these the same?

Look at them with the eye of an artist and you will almost certainly say ‘No’. As a mathematician you might say ‘Yes’, or, at least ‘Maybe’.

You will definitely recognise this – or will you?

Most will instantly say ‘curves of pursuit’ – but is that right?

Technically, a pursuit curve is the path followed by the chaser in pursuit of the chased. This might be an animal pursuing its prey, one ship trying to catch another, or any other kind of chase. It is a single path. We usually see curves of pursuit where there are several chasers with each one pursuing the one in front and making pretty patterns. They don’t have to be in squares. Three equally-spaced chasers would make a triangle; six would make a hexagon. There can be any number of chasers. These are called cyclic or polygonal pursuits.

Right now we are only concerned with four chasers starting at the corners of a square field – but the squares you see above are not accurate cyclic curves. We have used artistic licence in our design. What you see are squares always rotated through the same angle. This is not what happens in a genuine curve of pursuit.

Assuming that all chasers are moving continuously at the same speed they will always cover the same distance in the same amount of time. The distance they move forwards will always be the same. This is not what happens in our design. The difference is not obvious on the first few squares but as you move further in you can see that the short side of the triangles remains the same throughout the ‘real curve’ but it is the angle that stays the same in the ‘artistic curve’.

The ‘real curve’ would be extremely difficult to replicate in knitting, as a separate set of instructions would be needed for each set of triangles. The knitted version uses the same shaping technique throughout, which results in triangles with equal angles, instead of a matching side. Our chasers are changing their speed, but are always chasing one another. You have probably noticed that the squares in our version don’t quite touch the edges of the previous square. We know that lines in a drawing, theoretically, have no thickness. Woolly things have quite thick joins.

The knitting starts with the centre square and each new square is four triangles added to the sides of the previous square. Having established that the rest should be straightforward. Not so.

The story of the knitting pattern goes back a long way. Briefly, it was first published in 1997 and hundreds of people made blankets. After a few years we started to get complaints from people who thought they had received the wrong pattern. They wanted the one with curves, not squares. We spent so much time explaining that what they saw depended on the colouring they used, we had to find a solution. Colours often cause problems because people feel the need to use exactly what was used in the original. The solution had to be in shades of grey. We made nine different versions so everyone could find what they wanted.

This is our original blanket which was made with rather uninspiring colours that we just happened to have at the time. We never expected this to still be our most popular design, more than twenty years later. Is it due to the maths or the art?

James Arthur – Functional equations

James is a confused physicist disguised as a pure mathematician who calls the heart of Cornwall his home. By day he is a web developer and studying towards his degree at Exeter Penryn. By night, he is a differential geometer and an analytical number theorist. He blogs at AlephJamesA.co.uk.

This story starts where all other good stories start: at an International Mathematics Competition. It shall be a story of intrigue, betrayal and in the end success.

IMO 2020 Jury Room

In the Summer of 2019 at Celtic Manor, a few miles from the Welsh Border. I was sitting in a conference room wearing my purple stellated icosahedron IMO t-shirt, sorting out bags to give to team leaders and other helpers at IMO. I was always a fan of the UKMT Challenges, and I had done the BMO2 that year and missed out on the Trinity Camp, but I was happy to have got so far. After all, I was at IMO anyway!

IMO stands for “International Mathematical Olympiad”.

I spent a lot of time in the room chatting and sorting stuff out, I also spent a lot of time running about Celtic Manor doing several bits and bobs. My main job was helping out in the Jury Meetings. I was a microphone runner, so I spent a lot of time getting to know the delegates and everybody else there.

Shhh… look over here

Now here we see a lesser spotted functional equation, it isn’t seen very often out of IMO in the UK. It is neglected by the education system and so is innately shy.

\[ f(2a) + 2f(b) = f(f(a+b)) \]

This problem is from Liam Baker, South Africa

It appeared on Day I of the 2019 Competition at Bath University. It was of much debate if I remember correctly, on whether it was too easy for the IMO.

How I came across it

While in a jury session, this problem took my interest. Functional equations had come into my find briefly in specific topics, especially when talking about Fibonacci Sequence and The Golden Ratio, but I had never studied them in great depth. I had just studied recurrence relations in excellent depth the term before.

I was sitting in the conference room working on a few problems that I was given by several delegates from other countries, they all took great interest in me, surprisingly! I was then handed a copy of this question, told to solve it and sworn to secrecy until later we found out it was on the paper. I had a problem, I have never solved anything like this before. Here is the exact problem:

Let $\mathbb{Z}$ be the set of integers. Determine all functions $f : \mathbb{Z}\to\mathbb{Z}$ such that, for all integers $a$ and $b$, $f(2a) + 2f(b) = f(f(a+b))$

… as in the paper, the version I was given was slightly different, but I believe that is still under embargo, so we shall go with this version.

While we are looking at this problem, we see that if $f(x) = 0$, then it would be a solution. We shall keep this in mind for later, and in particular, it’d be good to remember that if all the terms are in terms of $f$ then $f = 0$ is a solution.

The Road to Enlightenment

To solve this problem I was chucked through a crash course to solve these types of problems; I shall do a quick crash course for our purposes:

Types of Functions

Functional Friends

Three types of functions interest us: Injective, Surjective and Bijective. These really confused me, but I have got to grips with them now. They will be your little fluffy friends for Functional Equations. Friends that also are liable to bite the head off the problem, and so solve or it for you.

Def: Injective – Take a function from a set $A$ to a set $B$, $f: A\to B$, then if the values for $f(x)$ and $f(y)$ are equal, then $x = y$, i.e. $f(x) = f(y) \iff x = y$.

Def: Surjective – Take a function from a set $A$ to a set $B$, $f: A\to B$, then there is some elements of $A$ that satisfy $f(x) = b$.

Def: Bijective – Take a function from a set $A$ to a set $B$, $f: A\to B$, then it is sufficiently surjective and injective.

Learning By Example

The rest is a lot of plugging in and testing the outcome of substitutions. So let us take an example from IMO 2015, hosted at Chiang Mai, Thailand.

Let $\mathbb R$ be the set of real numbers. Determine all functions $f:\mathbb R\to\mathbb R$ that satisfy the equation $f(x+f(x+y))+f(xy)=x+f(x+y)+yf(x)$ for all real numbers $x$ and $y$.

Firstly let us look at this equation. We have a hanging $x$, we shall take this as a sign and let $x = 0$, letting $x$ and $y$ equal $0$ is usually a good idea to get an idea of what is going on.

\[ f(f(y)) + f(0) = f(y) + yf(0) \]

Now, we shall let $y = 0$ and simplify:

\[ f(f(0)) = 0 \]

Amazing, we have one piece of information, if we put $f(0)$ back into our function you get 0. So let us place $(0, f(0))$ back in using this information to try and get $f(0)$:

\[ f^3(0) + f(0) = f^2(0) + (f(0))^2 \]

Where $f^n(0) = f(f(f(…f(0))))$

Note that $f^{2n+1}(0) = f(0)$ and $f^{2n}(0) = 0$, so:

\[ \begin{align*}(f(0))^2 – 2f(0) &= 0\\f(0)(f(0) – 2) &= 0\\\implies& f(0) = 0 \text{ or } f(0) = 2\\\end{align*} \]

Now from this we shall let $f(0) = 2$ and come back to the other case later. Let us go back to the $x = 0$ substitution and let $y=x$:

\[ f^2(x) = f(x) + 2(x – 1) \]

We note the $x – 1$ and then we shall place a new substitution; $(x-1, 1)$:

\[ f(x – 1 + f(x)) = x -1 + f(x) \]

Now make the substitution of $x\to x-1+f(x)$

\[ f^2(x – 1 + f(x)) = f(x – 1 + f(x)) + 2(x – 2 + f(x)) \]

Which by (1) implies, $f(x) = 2 – x$

We have one solution, the second case is a bit more fiddly, it requires you to follow a similar argument and produces that $f(x) = x$.

Now, let us look at what we have done and denote some learning points:

Check if $f(x) = 0$ is a solution.

Aways start by substituting in (0, 0)

Look for non-functional expressions and try and make that zero and see if that leads anywhere

Take pieces of information gathered from above steps and plug into a new substitution, i.e. if you are looking for $f(0)$, then $(f(0), 0)$ and $(0, f(0))$.

and finally fiddle with substitutions until it produces a solution, or until you come to the fact you have an injection. Be persistent.

A quick note on injections

Injections are funny things, but they can be used to solve many different functional equations quickly. If you arrive at something of the form of: $f(g(\varpi)) = g(\varpi)$ (This is varpi, $\varpi$ is awesome!!). Then you can invoke an injection. This means that then if you have a second equation, make the substitution of $\varpi\to g(\varpi)$ and you have usually solved it.

To dust with the beast

The lesser spotted functional equation sits in its natural habitat soon to be unravelled by the curious mathematician, the mathematician stalks slowly towards the equation… he slowly brings out his substitutions for $a$ and $b = 0$, then pounces and sets $a = 0$, the equation squirms and transforms:

\[ f(0) + 2f(b) = f^2(b) \]

The equation reveals its secrets and quickly transforms back, that didn’t seem to work. Then the mathematician tries to net the creature with $b = 0$, the creature squirms again and transforms into a different form:

\[ f(2a) + 2f(0) = f^2(a) \]

This form seems to produce no new information and it transforms back. The mathematician curses and seems to be mesmerised by the ever so obvious non-symmetric $a$ and $b$, he wonders how to exploit that. He remembers that this has to be a function and spots out of the corner of his eye a darting linear motion from the beast, he tries to see if he can set the $f^2(x)$ to the same thing and cancel them, cutting the legs off the beast, making it easier to deal with. He lets $a = 0$ and $b = n+1$

\[ f(0) + 2f(n+1) = f^2(n+1) \]

Whilst taking hold of that transformed form, he then seizes an $1$ for $a$ and an $n$ for $b$ and pierces them into the beast.

\[ f(2) + 2f(n) = f^2(n+1) \]

He cuts the legs off the transformed forms and jams them together. Producing a difference:

\[ f(n+1) – f(n) = \frac{1}{2}(f(2) – f(0)) \]

He screams in triumphance as he realises that $f(x) = \alpha x + \beta$, plugging it back in he arrives at $f(x) = 2x + \beta$, where $\beta\in\mathbb{R}$, linearising the beast and turning it to dust.

To find out more about functional equations and other IMO maths stuff, I am to be writing more on my blog or if you want to read more about what life is like behind the scenes at IMO, read this.

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