#and then! the mark is gone but dean is altered by it. he's not the same not the dean sam wants to spend his days beside | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 1 year

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I Will Find You in the Dark Ch. 7

Series Summary: Dean and Julie's story continues through turbulent times in the Winchester's life. Can Dean and Julie survive through it all? Can their love survive?

Chapter Summary: What happens when the demon is gone, but the mark remains?

Pairings: Dean x OFC (Julie) Established Relationship

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence throughout. Smut throughout. More detailed chapter warnings.

Chapter Warnings: Nothing explicit. Some fear, much angst, bit of fluff. Talk of pregnancy, and parenthood.

Word Count: 2,532

Series Masterlist

A/N: The seventh chapter in the sequel to my fic, Green is My Favorite Color I strongly suggest that you read that one first, since there will be references made to it throughout this sequel. Also, I suggest you read the Dean and Julie Mini-Series I wrote as a bridge between that fic and this one. (The Mini-series’ title is a bit of a spoiler for the original series, so I won’t post it here, but it can be found here.) I had a lot of fun writing that original series, and the mini-series, and certainly hope those who read and enjoyed those, enjoy this sequel. 💓

The beautiful dividers below and at the end were created by @talesmaniac89 ❤️ Title card was created by me.

One month later

Dean woke up with a shout, clamping his hand over his mouth and breathing heavily. The mark on his arm burned, and he moved his hand to cover it, pressing out the pain.

He looked beside him, hoping he hadn’t woken Julie, but she wasn’t there. He scanned the room quickly and then got out of bed. Not bothering to put his robe on, he went searching for her in his black boxer briefs and white t-shirt. He walked through the library, but she wasn’t there, so he headed for the kitchen.

As he stepped into the doorway, he saw her and sighed. Then a smile blossomed as he watched her, headphones on and singing along softly with whatever song she was listening to. Her body swayed back and forth and her hand smoothed her satin nightgown over the bump that sat fairly low on her belly.

He walked into the kitchen and Julie jumped a bit as he approached. She laughed and pulled her headphones off.

“You scared me.” She said, her tone accusatory.

Dean reached her side and pulled her close, smiling down at her. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

She smiled back up at him before she wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled her cheek into his chest. He rested his chin on the top of her head. “I woke up and you weren’t there.”

She turned slightly to again run her hand across her belly. “Sorry. He got hungry.”

Dean chuckled. “Well, he’s a growing boy.”

Julie nodded. She spoke softly against his chest. "Did you have a nightmare?"

He didn't answer, but that was an answer in itself. She squeezed him a bit tighter and looked up at him. His eyes were closed and a muscle ticked in his cheek.

She raised her fingers to brush against his cheek. He felt cold. She shook her head. "Dean, everything will be okay."

"Will it?" He asked, and something had altered in his voice. His eyes popped open, black like onyx, deep and empty and terrifying.

Julie screamed and tried to jump back, but he had his arms like a vice grip around her upper body.

He smiled an evil, sinister smile. "Oh, Julie. Things are far from okay."

Julie didn't stop screaming, and the sound made the monster laugh loudly and lustfully.

"Julie, Julie, Julie." He said, shaking his head, shaking her.

Julie continued to scream as the room spun, and then suddenly she was startled awake with another scream.

She could still hear his horrible laughter, still see his oil slick eyes, and she was frantic, panting as though she'd run a mile. Something was still clutching at her and she wrenched away from it only to look beside her and see it was Dean. He'd been shaking her awake, but now his hands were raised as though in surrender.

"Jules, sweetheart, it's okay. You're safe."

Julie's heart pounded in her ears, and her face was wild, terrified. Dean reached towards her again, trying to put a hand to her cheek.

But she gasped and jerked away from his hand, knocking it aside. Her heart slowed slightly as she saw the spasm of pain flash across his face quickly, before he covered it up with a soft smile.

"I'm gonna go grab you some water."

He stood up, walking away from her in his black boxer briefs and white t-shirt and it brought the monster's image to her mind again. Julie pushed the covers off to swing her legs over the side of the bed.

She rubbed her hands over her face, and breathed deeply so that by the time Dean came back in with a cold glass of water, she'd started to feel more in control, her heart slowing to its normal rhythm.

Dean handed her the glass and she gulped it down; the cold refreshed her a bit, and pushed the nightmare images even further away.

She looked up at Dean and felt awful. He wore a look of concern that she could see was also disguising hurt.

"I'm so sorry, Dean." She said, clasping his hand in hers.

But before she could say anymore he gave her hand a squeeze and shook his head. "No, kid, you don't have to apologize. Nightmares can take us all out."

He raised her fingers to his lips, kissed the back of them and then gave her hand another squeeze before letting it go. "Well, I got my four hours, so I'm gonna head to the library. Get a bit of research done."

Julie started to stand, but he kept her sitting with a gentle hand on her shoulder and a smile. "No, Jules, you need to get some more sleep, sweetheart. You're growing a human. Takes energy."

He slipped on the pair of jeans that was thrown over the desk chair, and then smiled at her again; the smile still hid sadness. "I'll see you when you wake up."

He started to bend down to kiss her cheek, and then stopped himself, obviously not sure how he'd be received. His hesitation broke Julie's heart and she grabbed onto the front of his t-shirt, pulling him down so she could kiss him, firm but tender - trying to convey all her love within one, too brief, exchange of breath.

Dean kissed her back, and then cupped her cheek and kissed her forehead.

"Sleep." He ordered softly, before slipping from her fingers and walking out of the room.

***

Dean sat at the library table with a book that told a slightly obscure and differing tale of Cain and Abel. This version came a bit closer to the one Cain had told him and Crowley, though it left out the part where Cain had tried to kill himself with the blade and became a demon in the process.

Dean shook his head. Probably an important part of the story. He thought with a grimace.

He closed the thick, old book loudly and leaned back in the creaky wooden chair, swiveling it sideways and stretching his legs out.

He traced his fingers over the raised mark on his arm, before dropping his right arm back down, and bracing his left on the arm of the chair, covering his mouth with his hand. He slowly rubbed his fingers back and forth across his lips, his mind drifting.

His brain was running riot with a million conflicting images. At the center of them all though, there was Julie's terrified face as she’d awoken from her nightmare, and that image was overlaid with the way she'd looked a month ago, as he tried to crush her windpipe; it was the same fear and terror in both images.

Then his own nightmares crowded into his mind. He couldn't sort through them, didn't want to. There was just endless screaming and blood; the burning mark, and the rush of power that came when he swung the blade.

He closed his eyes against the onslaught of emotions and memories, trying desperately to make them go away.

He heard shuffling feet and looked behind him to see Julie wandering into the room. He gave her a chastising smile. It had barely been an hour since he left their bedroom.

"You were supposed to be in bed."

Julie shrugged and then climbed into his lap. She sat sideways across his legs and looked up at him as she settled in, nestling her shoulder into his chest. She raised her fingers to his jaw and ran the tips of them over his scruffy cheeks.

"I don't sleep very well when you're not there."

Dean smiled at her, and held her hand in place against his lips, kissing her fingertips one by one. Julie sighed softly and laid her head on his shoulder.

After a minute, Dean broke the silence. "Do you want to talk about the nightmare?"

Julie shook her head quickly. "No."

Dean thought she probably should talk to him about it, but he respected her refusal. He knew something about hiding from the bad things in your mind and refusing to acknowledge them.

"Any luck with research?" Julie asked him, and he knew she was asking if he'd found a way to rid himself of the mark that had caused her nightmares.

He just shook his head too. "No, nothing."

Julie nodded and was quiet for a long time. He thought she might have dozed off, but then she moved, smoothing her hand across her belly. Dean covered her hand with his.

"We gotta figure out a name." He said quietly as though he was trying not to wake him.

Julie smiled up at him, her dimple showing. "What did you have in mind?"

Dean pushed out his lips. "I don't know. Do we wanna try for something strange, you know, something that no one will ever be able to pronounce or spell?"

Julie giggled. "Like what?"

Dean thought for a moment. "Ah…Jackson, but with an X, or Elijah but with an A instead of an E?"

Julie chuckled, and added to the list. "Um…Kashton?"

"Ooh," Dean said, impressed, "very nice, but I feel like it needs more vowels if we want absolutely no one to be able to pronounce it."

Julie's wide smile turned into a gasp of surprise and both her hands flew to her belly.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, fear sweeping over him.

But Julie shook her head, all smiles once more. "No, no. It's good. He's moving. Kicking. I've sort of felt him flutter a little before, but this is the first time…" She trailed off and then beamed up at Dean.

She took hold of his big right hand and placed it low on her belly. "Here, you might be able to feel him too."

After a minute of silent anticipation, they both exclaimed loudly as a tiny foot kicked against their joined hands.

"Oh my god." Dean breathed. He waited impatiently to feel him kick again and was rewarded with another jab.

"Does it hurt?" He asked Julie, worry briefly replacing excitement.

But Julie shook her head. "No, it feels…strange… a little inexplicable, but also incredible." She smiled, her eyes shining, and Dean leaned down to kiss her gently.

As she rested her forehead against his, Julie chuckled. "I don't think he liked those names we were coming up with."

Dean grinned. "Well, we've got some time."

Julie kissed him again. "What about naming him Dean?"

Dean scoffed and she pinched his arm lightly. "Hey! That happens to be one of my favorite names in the world."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, we'll see."

He stared down at their hands on her belly, just waiting for more movement. The busy baby boy rewarded them both with what felt like somersaults. They laughed quietly, their heads close together. Slowly, though, a small frown gathered on Dean’s brow. He swallowed several times before speaking very quietly.

"I don't want him to hunt."

He looked at Julie, who wore a soft, sympathetic look, and repeated himself. "I don't want him to hunt."

Julie reached up to card her fingers through his hair, automatically trying to soothe him.

He shook his head, feeling a sad kind of panic rising in him. "I don't want to have to tell him monsters are real."

"Dean." Julie said simply, consolingly.

But he continued speaking. "I don't know if I ever told you this, or if Sam did maybe. But, I was the one who told him that monsters were real."

Julie shook her head and her face spasmed with hurt on his behalf. "No, I never knew that."

Dean smiled and nodded. "Yeah, he was just a kid, maybe eight or nine. I didn’t want him to know, just wanted him to keep being a kid, you know? So, I kept telling him to stop asking questions, told him that he didn't wanna know the answers."

He shrugged. "But you know Sam, dog with a bone. So, he never let up. Then one night he found Dad's journal and asked me if it was all true. So I…I told him."

Dean closed his eyes at the memory. "He was so scared. I tried to tell him we were safe, that Dad wouldn’t let anything get us." He paused for a beat. "But I think, even then, deep down, I knew that might not be true." He exhaled softly. "Cried himself to sleep that night. Had nightmares for weeks after."

He pressed his two big hands firmly over Julie's belly, leaning down to kiss it and wishing more than anything that he could just put up some kind of bubble of protection around Julie and their child.

Julie ran her hand over the back of his short hair and his neck. "Dean," she assured him, "of course he'll never hunt as a child. We'll keep him safe."

Dean shook his head, turning it to look into Julie's eyes, trying to convey how strongly he felt. "I don't ever want him to hunt."

Julie lifted his chin up, forcing him to sit back up. "Listen, children should be allowed to hold onto their innocence as long as they possibly can, they should be encouraged to just be kids."

She bit her lip before continuing. "But look, we're in a very different situation from the way John raised you. I mean, he had this horrible life thrust into his lap, and he didn't know the best way to protect you. So, he did what he thought was best, and just tried to prepare you."

She shook her head. "But we don't have to do that. We know all about what goes bump in the night, and we know how to keep him safe without forcing him to grow up before his time."

Dean nodded, admitting that truth.

Julie's voice got soft. "But, you know, even non-hunters have to eventually tell their kids that monsters do exist. I mean, it may be the human variety, but all kids still end up learning, slowly, that evil exists in the world. We just have to make sure he knows he's loved and safe."

Dean tucked Julie's head under his chin, pulling her tighter against him. How did she always know what to say to make him feel better, to ease his fear and sadness?

Julie kissed his neck and then spoke again. "And when he's eighteen, it will be his choice what option he wants for his life."

Dean nodded reluctantly, accepting that that was the only thing they could do. "Maybe he'll decide to go to Stanford." He said with a smile.

Julie pulled back to look at him and kiss his lips this time. "Maybe." She said softly. "But the most important thing is that he'll have options, any and all options, open to him."

Dean nodded solemnly and made a silent promise to his unborn son.

I will keep you safe, and you will grow up knowing you’re loved, and I’m gonna make sure the whole goddamn world is yours if you want it.

But the voice was still there in the back of his mind, like it was when he told Sam about monsters, making him question whether he was really telling his son the truth.

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays. @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @impalaslytherin @maggiegirl17 @akshi8278 @candy-coated-misery0731 @deanswaywardgirl @slytherinlyn314 @globetrotter28 @jensensgirl @perpetualabsurdity @tristanrosspada-ackles @djs8891 @muhahaha303 @kayyay1219 @emily-winchester @recoveringpastaaddict @maximumkillshot @mimaria420 @sacriceria @envyaurora95 @lacilou @jc-winchester @spnwoman @mimi-luvzyu

2 - Dean Winchester Fics Only. @carryonwaywardgirl

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.) @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @alexxavicry @nancymcl @spalady26

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well) @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @maliburenee @supernatural4life2022 @spn730015 @kickingitwithkirk @waywardbaby @foxyjwls007 @deanwanddamons @deandreamernp @deanwithscissors @myloversgone @snowlovespie @leigh70 @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @charred-angelwings @hopefuldreamers-world @jensensgotyoudean @thoughts-and-funnies @magssteenkamp @princessmisery666 @eevvvaa @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @bernasaurus @jensenslady79 @courtn92 @avanatural @ellie-andthemachine @this-is-me19 @roseblue373 @katbratsupernaturalwhore @fanfic-n-tabulous

#dean x ofc #dean x julie #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fan fic series #i will find you in the dark #tw: pregnancy

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youchangedmedestiel · 1 year

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Dean needs Cas and wants him to stay

Maybe someone has already done that, probably, but I needed to do it, because I started to think about how Dean doesn’t want Cas to leave starting from season 8 because one, there is no bunker, no real home before this season, except maybe at Bobby’s. Two, in season 4 and 5 Dean and Cas are not that close, their bond is only being developed slowly in season 5 since Cas is not being brainwashed anymore and most of the time he is searching for God. Three, in season 6 Cas works behind Dean’s back to fight Heaven’s war and Dean isn’t happy about it because Cas doesn’t tell them much about what his plan is, and they spent a year apart before that. Four, in season 7 Cas is supposedly dead, then Emmanuel and then not himself and Dean is still mad at him for the betrayal. Meg keeps them posted on Cas’s evolution anyway.

Finally, in season 8, Purgatory happened, their first hug happened and Dean did say he needed Cas. I mean DUH. So let’s see how much he needs him and wants him to stay. Let's hurt together.

Season 8: Cas crushing Dean’s heart repeatedly by leaving

Dean feels guilty for failing Cas and not being able to get him out, he alters the reality of his memory, not being able to accept the fact Cas gave up and left him, especially after he said he need him. But when Cas comes back from Purgatory, he leaves Dean multiple times. First, after killing Samandriel, Dean tells him to wait before he vanishes and even says his name once he is gone (8x10). Sam and Dean actually finds the bunker only in episode 8x13. Later, Cas lies about searching the other half of the demon tablet and Dean says “Without us?” And then, Cas grabs the angel tablet leaving Dean alone and emotionally hurt in the crypt (8x17). Dean put his heart out and Cas just crushed it, so he has a hard time forgiving him for that, but despite being mad he hopes he will come back to him as Naomi highlights it wisely (8x19). When he comes back, Dean is really mad at him for not trusting him and leaving (8x22).

Season 9: Dean has to ask human!Cas to leave the bunker, their hearts are crushed

As soon as Dean knows angels are searching for Cas and that Cas is human he tells him to go in the bunker immediately. When they reunite, Dean’s reaction to Cas’s death is really something, the shaking voice as he says his name, realizing Cas is gone, and the soft “Yeah” as Cas calls him when he wakes up. This season Cas doesn’t leave Dean, Dean is the one asking him to go because he doesn’t have any other choice and it hurts Cas (9x03). But Dean is hurt too since he tells Sam "Hey, look, nobody wants him here more than I do, okay?" (9x04). Dean does go check on him as soon as Cas called him about a case (9x06). Dean has to send him away a second time because of Gadreel (9x09). He apologizes later to Cas for that, now that he is back to help him (9x10). Then, Dean starts to feel the effect of the Mark of Cain starting from episode 11, so he is not really himself, especially after killing Abaddon (9x21). He knows that Cas is away searching for a way to bring the angels back to Heaven and stop Metatron, Cas updates them. But when he doesn’t answer his phone and seems to be missing, Dean orders Sam to go find him while he takes care of Gadreel (9x18).

Season 10: Dean is affected by the Mark of Cain and Cas searches for a cure

Dean is really affected by the Mark of Cain, so not really himself. However, he tells Cas “I’m glad you’re here, man” after he helped Sam cure him (10x03). Then, Cas is away most of the time to help Claire (10x09, 10x10 and 10x20) and to find a cure to save Dean. They help him with Claire a little bit. Mostly, this season Cas works with Sam to find a way to remove the Mark of Cain.

Season 11: Dean wants to save Cas and Cas’s body

Dean wants to go find Cas after Cas called him when he was affected by the attack dog spell (11x01). Then, he doesn’t want to call Cas to disturb him in his binge-watching at the bunker, because he had a rough go (11x04 and 11x05). Sam tells Dean they might need help from Cas to find Amara and Dean knows it, but he doesn’t want to ask him that, saying he had a rough go lately. Sam highlights that they all did. Dean looks away, makes dimples of discontent, and finally agrees to call him, but he doesn’t really want to. He prefers Cas staying safe at the bunker (11x06). Dean is the one searching for Cas (actually Casifer) when they are back at the bunker after killing the banshee (11x12) and discovers that he is gone, telling Sam he was weird when he saw him earlier. When Dean discovers that Cas said yes to Lucifer, he doesn’t want to believe that he doesn’t want to be saved and wants to save him anyway (11x14 until 11x18). He even faces Amara, putting himself at risk, to allow Sam to go save Casifer (11x21). He worries about him again when Casifer is going to fight against Amara one on one (11x22).

Season 12: Dean tries to prevent Cas from being killed

Dean wants to go with Cas that found a lead on Lucifer but Cas refuses (12x03). Dean just wants to go home when Cas almost dies (12x12). Through this season, after searching for Lucifer, Cas is searching for Kelly Kline, updating them/Dean regularly on his findings (12x04, 12x13 and 12x15), that’s how Dean notices Cas sounding weird as he goes in Heaven. And when Cas doesn’t call Dean for days, he is worried and searches for him even before Sam suggests it (12x18). He finally comes back and Dean is mad because they were, well mostly HE WAS, worried. But then, Cas leaves him again, stealing the Colt from under his pillow. Later, once again, he runs away with Kelly. And another last time, he forces them to fall asleep and leaves (12x19). At last, Cas dies and Dean falls on his knees next to his dead body after screaming “nooo” to try to stop him to go after Lucifer in Apocalypse world (12x23). Dean’s worst fear has come true, he definitely loses Cas.

Season 13: Dean is grieving, then terrified to lose Cas again

Dean grieves Cas really hard for 5 episodes. When Cas comes back he is so happy again and he doesn’t want him to go alone again to find Jack and wants to go with him, but Cas stops him, as a last resort Dean tells Cas “don’t do anything stupid” (13x07). Cas ends up kidnapped by Asmodeus. The knight of Hell calls Sam to give update about Jack (13x08 and 13x09). Dean apologizes for not being able to notice Cas was kidnapped, saying they would have search for him if they knew (13x13). Cas wants to try to find help from angels but Dean isn’t happy about it, doesn’t agree at first and finally says “just don’t get dead again”, as a last resort again (13x19). Dean is just too scared to lose him again.

Season 14: Dean is having his family in the bunker all together

Most of the time Cas is gone with Jack to work a case, when he is not in the bunker with them, which is not a problem for Dean because this means Cas will come back with Jack at the bunker. Actually, he is almost always here, at least “for a few weeks”, because Dean tells Sam he saw Cas going out of the bunker early in the morning to stretch his legs and that he understands why he needs it (14x16).

Season 15: Dean is mad and finally asks Cas to stay in his own words

The first eight episodes Dean is mad at Cas, he is mad at everything actually. Even mad and after saying awful things, he asks Cas where he is going when Cas decides to leave (15x03). He doesn’t want him to break all contact when he says that Cas should check the messages Sam sent him (15x06). Dean comes back after hearing Cas’s messages saying that Sam was hurt. It’s the first time they see each other after Cas left the bunker. They stand in the war room and Cas leaves after saying Sam is ok and Dean is not happy about it. He probably wanted to talk but he couldn’t himself and Cas either (15x07). Dean is still mad at Cas for leaving as he says “Maybe if you didn't just up and leave us.” But finally, in his prayer to Cas, scared as hell to lose him again, he admits that he should have stopped him, that he forgives him “of course” and that he is sorry (15x09). When Cas leaves the bunker in the middle of the night to find another way to stop Chuck and save Jack, Dean asks him twice where he is going (15x15). And finally, Dean asks him one last time not to leave him, telling him “Don’t do this, Cas”, when Cas is sacrificing himself to summon the Empty and save Dean.

To summarize:

As soon as they had a real home, being the bunker, Dean wanted Cas to stay with them. He never told him clearly, probably thinking Cas doesn't want to stay, but he showed it so many times. Despite all his effort, he loses him countless times. The last time he loses him, Dean does say “Don’t do this, Cas” trying to stop him, he asked him to stay in his own words but Cas just left anyway, to save him. (Shit, I need to end this on a positive note). But Dean finally is able to reunite with him again in Heaven, where he can’t lose him anymore. (Alright, that’s better).

#spn #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas #dean needs cas #dean wants cas to stay #dean is afraid to lose cas #spn meta #It's my first meta #so please be nice #I just like thinking about those two idiots #and I just wanted to share my thoughts #maybe I missed some #feel free to add other things I might have missed #i hurt myself writing that #why did I do that?#but it's fine they reunite in Heaven anyway #my random thoughts about destiel

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humandisorderincarnatedean · 3 years

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every day i go insane over a different sam & dean quote. today it was sam’s ‘i wanted you back’ in about a boy

#like!!!! sam's entire thing in season 10 is just. save dean from the mark whatever the cost #and then! the mark is gone but dean is altered by it. he's not the same not the dean sam wants to spend his days beside #he wants regular dean back. the dean he knows. even if that means he has the mark. he just wants dean. what the FUCK #sam winchester #dean winchester #wayward brothers #10.12 about a boy #.txt

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why-do-i-like-the-bad-guys · 3 years

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Roles played by actors that made me aware of their existence and what movies I watched after because they were in it:

Let’s start out with the one and only Dean Winchester who was played by Jensen Ackles-

Movies/ TV shows I’ve watched because for him:

Ten Inch Hero

The Boys

Now, I know it’s not only one movie but that’s only because my fascination was mainly with the long tv show, so by the time I practically finished it, I was onto my next target.

Speaking of my next target who has the same fate; Castiel who was played by Misha Collins-

Now I’m gonna be honest with you. When I started watching Supernatural I didn’t get the big deal the angel Castiel was. I was like (and plz forgive me for my ignorance) he’s not even that cute. Since then I have mended my ways and dedicated a lot of time to watching online panels of him.

Onto other Movies/TV shows I’ve watched because of him:

Karla

Onto the next Victim of my fascination, Alaric Saltzman played by Matt Davis-

I’m gonna be honest with you, you can all have Damon and Stefan for yourselves, I’ll take Alaric over them any day lol.

And some movies/TV shows he was in, before I knew he was in the vampire diaries that is:

Legally Blond

Law and Order SVU-one episode in the early seasons.

Another underrated character is Bobo Del Rey, who is played by, Michael Eklund

I’ve also taken some time to look into some of his other roles:

The Call

Mr. Right

The Hitman Never Dies

The Package

Van Helsing (tv series)

Altered Carbon

Dirks Gently Holistic Detective

Dark

Bates Motel

Arrow

Welcome to Sudden Death

Oddly enough he was one of the reasons I found my next fixation; Sheriff Romero who was played by Nestor Carbonell

He was the thing I needed just then too. Those eyelashes I swear!

What I saw him in since:

Lost

House MD

The Morning Show

Our Next man in the line up is Brock Rumlow who is played by Frank Grillo-

This man wormed his way into my heart with that amazing hair and body. Plus he looks really good as the bad guy.

He’s probably also the one I’ve seen the most films of so far:

Boss Level

The Purge: Anarchy

The Purge: Election Year

Black and Blue

The Hitman’s Wife’s bodyguard

Prison Break

Reprisal

Point Blank

Wheelman

Homefront

Body Brokers

Into the Ashes

Donnybrook

Disconnect

Law and Order SVU- 2 episodes

And the next one is Hiram Lodge, Played by Mark Consuelos-

I mean I’m sorry, but that Body should be a crime, just as Grillo’s. Too damn sexy.

And it’s mainly that aspect that I looked him up on different things lol. But I didn’t watch them all the way through

Tv shows/Movies:

Alpha House

A Walk Among the Tombstones

An episode from Law and Order SVU

Next up is one who was introduced to me from the TV show Law and Order SVU William Lewis, played by Pablo Schrieber

Now I know what you’re thinking…this is just wrong. But I mean this man could get it. I’m sorry I don’t make the rules.

Onto what I’ve seen him in:

American Gods

Lords of Dogtown

Lights Out

A Gifted Man

Our Next man up is Donald Pierce who is played by Boyd Holbrook-

This man holds the key to my heart. Or one of them at least. I’m usually not into blondes all that much but his southern drawl and beauty are amazing.

Here’s what I’ve looked him up for:

The Predator (2018)

We can be Heroes

Gone Girl

The Skeleton Twins

The Free World

Morgan

Cardboard Boxer

In the Shadow of the Moon

The Sandman

Justified: City Premeval

Onto another bue-eyed blond haired hottie Takeshi Kovacs played by Joel Kinnamen

I’m sorry but there is no need for a man to look that good and be that tall. He is Swedish of course.

What I’ve seen him in:

Suicide Squad (2016)

The Suicide Squad (2021)

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jesuisgourde · 3 years

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My favorite bits of Peter Doherty’s (non-lyric) writing:

This is under a readmore as it’s quite long because I’ve just gone through all the places his writing has been published/posted and copied over all the bits of text I’ve highlighted or marked as something I really like. There’s a section for each book/forum/et cetera.

(also, all typos and weird spellings are Peter’s)

BOOKS OF ALBION (Book) 99-07:

Who will sell me a lie?

A cup of tea, Chalky Dean, to ease your misery Your war, your family, your new flat in Kilburn - been there since ‘73 since ‘83, on your own The England designed by you can’t be found, and you feel so much on your own The England life gave to you, is long gone away and you have never felt so ready to leave and look for it. So out you go The Stoned Englishman

Freddy was a fusion. The rags around his minds were torn patchwork quilts of youth cults, forgotten grooves, visions and unprintable politics, with the odd bloody bandage of High Art and an aesthetic to grind away the gap between deep black dub & Oscar Wilde.

He fell from the sky, never to land - never a sound: just words, ‘Every blues song in the world has the answer - I’ll tell you in the morning.’

Made my way home with a hoover, carrying it around my neck like the arm of a drunk friend.

Can be here, there, anywhere I choose as the century turns, and I must let my curiosity reach for the pen, camera, microphone. I must record all that excites me & captures my imagination & senses for a second.

My memory is a jar, my sight is blind, my hand has little feeling. The jar is huge, but the hole is tight and rarely can I fit my whole hand in and really rummage.

I delight in the sight of unison for any purpose - a gang in the street, soldiers, relay races, uniforms, uniformity: what a challenge to the artistic soul, what a joy for the ancient, animal instinct still screaming away in our DNA.

You can love a girl you will never see again You can love a girl you have never seen before but never can I love a girl I can’t see there and then and when a sigh continues the conversation, with no words, only the distant roars of love’s traffic

pillars straight with aesthetic malice

I must make note of all that happens - great insights & mind-altering experiences are no more significant to a diary than everyday tittle tattle. All the better if the tittle tattle is of radical proportion.

My perpetual lateness has got the shoes squeaking in the corridors of power & the toe within will certainly strike me should I be late once more.

Under this dandyish, frivolous, artistic exterior sits a pensive, ordered fellow - under whom lies an even dandier, camper chap.

Senses frayed, screeching bones of metal on the tracks.

Is this communicating? You must get em all round here. uniformed society. The rod used by the rod. This is wrong, look at this.... violence breeds violence. Keep a level of violence, a gas glow, burn slow - tell the russians, we surrender & we’re not playing soldiers. Everyone looks the same, we all do, don’t hide. Did you go to the do’s? It’s still there. If you can remember it, it wasn’t there. They’re all drugged. Hypocrit - you are, critic & a hypocrit sucking on your finger, plastic bags under your eyes.

To abandon morality for all eternity is a challenge only for the brave - no hope, no fear

What is this face So murderous in its strangle of branches? Its sneaking acid kiss. It petrifies the will. These are the isolate, slow faults That kill, that kill, that kill. sylvia and tabitha no more

Scraps of identity, a warped & oppressive system that was sidestepped, and I spiralled untangled embracing rushing air & new sensations, fears & opportunities for the rampant imagination.

Wales greets me, we are in the hem of the Brecon Beacon’s shirt.

Clambering over wonky miles of line headlong the tumble in rhyme a jumbled jungle of ill thought 2bob endeavours we’ll crack the jackpot riddle together gazing out of goaties window, one eyed willie besides on this rolling vessel unto Arcady & all tumult & woe to overcome. Woe the registration, overtaken on the long grey stretch before us. Autumn barricading itself in subtlely in colours mixed and matched, steady days like a yawn, the nights silent stillborn cry for the very dawn. Bales of hay strapped up on the M4 broken bones on the roadside, weathered by the years cars crossing lanes like crabs. Biggles stirs in his sleep coughing. Again: a time for valour. A time of whispered events. Now faded with the passing years.

Thief steps I went down with the stairway which sulked abysmally into the darkness below. A chaos of sordid galleries echoes of hostile silence whose curse I did not discover. The past & the future are contaminated with doubts & nostalgia. The inseperable oblivion was voluntary, & my escape so unpleasant that I swore to forget it....and a pattern emerges, a cycle...

wonky old lamp and its lampshade hair-do leaning over the rusty coloured sofa. There are but 3 books in the room... something perhaps to do with the wide open fireplace, with its canopy of burnt bricks and a mouthful of soot it burps out as windy days & cold nights whip down the old chimney pot for a burn.

Stumble do we through & across kingly cross streets & alleys streaked with gloomy yellow lamplights & hypnotic red bulbs spelling ‘vacancies’. My vacant desire is neck & neck with a gaunt & grinding sullen teeth sucking sadness.

I never could my voice like a throat in a frog my lungs shattered, heart battered

Patches of grass and rubble stacked like promises.

Butter pervades the kitchen & a nutter is in the hall days stutter in the sunlight & my heart flutters so in the voices of a summer evening

Yes come the coffin and carry off the loneliness, less all days are known only for the boney rap of vice on my window and the pony and trap that is the snap, crackle & plop of the papplenazi & the ilk in the rotton milk media that sours the sweet soup of ours and cuts down towers to the size of mice and men are pecked by two faced diseased hens shuffling their weird trotters along the all the way like so many shit lumping fetters hoofs of haunted yesterday.

Tell doom to ‘do one’ if you’re on for another reckless turn on the rivers apocalypse of rocks & rushing waters The throat burnt up dry as you nearly drown in frozen over tides Trust yourself like metal trusts rust: in a simple formula

nominally in disorder / in a fashion commonly nowt in this pressing matter not sort of unignorable pressure - abusive selfish conversations with the blank dirt that glues the corners of my backwards minds intogether outside the high walls levering the face off with the sticky oil of gluey tears. They dry and rip the sense out of the skin’s mask. In past lives I was blank... actually deadly sleepy and convinced by my corrupt reasoning that I was wide awake and ready to break into a running jump. As it turns out I fell off a small step and ruined my jumper.

ideas flashing like sparked fellas in raincoats through my mindless ways

This time next year this lone salty tear that falls may yet reach the sea, drowning in rivers lost under London like Victoriana.

‘where the bee sucks, there suck I in the cow-slips bell I lie’ Ariel says so, and a can ariel snapped off do I use to gather the honey through the machine neck & blaze into smoke to toke & choke my remaining mornings. Mourn I the tempest in duller days... indeed or they would not be duller days. I do not feel any desperation, sat alone when I’m not alone, because I’m just picking up the pen again since my love blurted ‘the end’ where we begin, and the fever returns me to the canal....... waters that do not flow et in Arcady ego

oh so you are not here now and so I greive in the salty, sopping eventide with a mess of feeling & reeling around the forest clearing in time that tears afford me. Salt blind I stumble into the night & pile heartache upon confusions. Alas I am last to understand my minds instructions.

My rotton guts clinging to the acid of itself and crushing the time in bile. The label has come off myself and I am bound to the train of love’s bullet train that screams by me and sends all my things flying til I’m in the ditch soaked, cursing & crying my soul dry of feeling, my senses fraying and my whole nerve praying for god to give the ghastly gits & ghouls of suffering a right pashing soon enough couldn’t be sooner or better still & soon.... my love to take me in her arms & love me as my soul so desires.

The sky is shy, hiding behind the curtain ignoring me when I ask the time

Nicotine fingers coiled to grasp the purple smile.

I lay upon my spine-cracked bed lost high upon the numbness London sirens spin me to sleep & my rattling chest lunges at breath

Sweat dripping on a dead cigarette’s blood

I reside in pandemonium’s parlour, half-lit, half-dead.

You can’t be sometimes but neither are or are not close to heaven or heavens even so the singular light and clearly the colours sharply cut half cut morning though my thoughts come out blanker than colours, emptier than my heart. Oh godless era this lost dear priceless night of invisible surrender & duress of deranged features & diabolical wantings do this or that well & save your reputation from ‘Darling Crackhead’ to little beauty & take the next year off.....

Up & down & inside out without flesh or mind find youth about your deaf to blind the sight of shout of pouts parading kindly mouth

Meeting melody is the victory of the empty, spiralling nightmare.

My heart and lips are somewhat numbed by the push & pull-me of my head’s rowdy scheme & sentiment traffic flow & stutter, that the once fulfilling & sustainable life of that whimsy & luck & pop mythology triumphantly & benignly reigned over & upon.

One million at least many holes in the fire blanket cover the plastic and stare in and out of the cell window it covers against regulations. 3 times they came in the yesterday. Villein is still and static cold and 26. Did he somewhere along the way become more approachable - given the heavy horse’s chaotic creation. I’ll let you a merry dance sick legal banter out on the vines where song lick slang is slung like dead bed sheet snakes from cell to cell.

Old films are like nick really.... You see the same old faces with a strange routine laced in nostalgia. What does Watney’s brown ale taste like - wondered Villein - and how like the read read is the red on the old reel that we see the buses move along in, and the phone boxes sit still in.

The shadow of a long metal gate prolongs itself across the forecourt and across the yards of morning.

the fucking jangle of keys strangles my dreams

though beautifully little book of hearts will your pages fall open upon ready (or as good as) sentiments rave & revealing the much clouded blank page.

This is the long way to ruin but things must fly by if your loneliness must make the dead-end clear

opposite us Eyeless A-list? wreckless and for now (he lies akimbo) rockless & (st)roll the darker witch demi-monde which means less than some sense fractious six kids & a suburban green park. Restless forgotten beneath reasons & demands what is on offer is something neither musical nor revolutionary. Celebrate: pages & pages of senseless mostly & unfortunately true to life. Written for its own wasteful existence

The sun warmed his upper body & a bead of sweat ran down the groove of a scar and popped itself on a plastic spike that stalagtited off his prison rosary.

my days are spent swerving prangs like old bill in a jag but reality keeps on like a nag “stop it stop it stop it before you cop it” cop it being worse things than a sting....cop it being worse than verses that appear in the morning too minging to sing, and there’s not much worse than this except perhaps death. cop it is death, a blood red card from God if he were a ref.

Rhyme & reason are all wildly out of season & it’s spineless treason to our kinship that allows this violent silence to part us

wide-eyed boy in freefall, through the clouds and oh good I’m impatient sort us out, missus, eh?

The boiler room is my close noisy neighbour & like the wind (my other neighbour) she thunders up at the mutual wall every now & then with dreadful interruptions.

Sometimes it becomes impossible to conceive of even the most common-place of actions (such as standing up and going inside to warmth and a drink with a splendid array of characters)

Her timing is impeccable as always tapping in time to silence which paralysed weather look north pathways to gate

some ennui hustles its way into the small angular room, the pen is lead heavy and doubts and depressing notions guide my hand across the page like the credits in bold white that fall down the screen, a black & white picture of a chewed on wedding cake.

BOOKS OF ALBION (Internet) 99-06:

[I went through these in alphabetical order so the quotes are not in chronological order at all]

To hold you, to heal you, to kill you yes & roll over you in Teesdale St. Loyal and jealous the night, play a record. If you will I will anyway feel this hollow or sick. loyal and sick to the back teeth of that awful taste. You’re the model of my love, hardened in the fire, so soft to touch, so warm to the blade, you hurt me & I hear you cry out in pain.

Lungs all one cavern, softened to the mossy fur of smoke that warms me & rolls me away like under stones.

I heard your education was very expensive (is that where you learnt to stick cruelty up a frock) my education was fairly comprehensive (kicking balls against walls + reading ‘Brighton Rock’)

what’s that awful silent carnage pummeling at my nerve.....the whole of yesterday’s horror webbed and plummeting in my little head.

riddles are the insane architecture of the feeling of being unworthy

the space in between was like energy trapped in a jar. velocity, anticipation.

Sensations are fragile and tangible as towers of cards, any second they disappear into flat chaos, nothingness. Feelings and emotions are light headaches, cars with quiet engines.

Oh but won’t there be another song where I can find it again? I don’t want to lose my soul from my pocket.

Me & the old clock gambling with what? With that which was already sold. Like telling the tale that was already told. Gravely we stood like stones and mourned the present.

The old clock doesn’t for a second give a tick or a tock if you can spell but knows anyway how to decipher all the inky or carved scrawls that unto Arcady infinite wit, wisdom, or wild fury (or fuck it) even whimsy that remedies another meaning to another empty mothers day full of promise, dust & sunlight.

Awake in a haze, twisting screwing my carcass under the covers

Sonny do not go through that door the light ain’t through that door self unmade man

You know I’m alright I don’t even care I like it when they stare and stare Call me queer, dear oh dear A million things & what I wear He’s real hard when he’s with his mates But I saw him again and he was too late

I’ll never desensitize, god knows I’ve tried. There’s no meaning or comfort and I’m stuck in this role.

There’s one cluster of lights through the mass of grey. Aaah, it’s gone now. Saw them kissing in the sea.

Now there’s a long shadow coming across the horizon, flashing tail on the plane wing. Under that shadow iron in the fire orange strip. Above it a blurred golden masking tape round the rim of the sky. Now it has become lava, clouded all furnaced. What will happen? How far is the end. Sky is tracked now all yellow its shirt lightening up & dark again. There is no night or day now.

down the wooden stairs slow melancholy walk heavy jumper thin man so harsh his tongue & hard his life but he crumbles alone behind closed door on its hinges again

Along concrete veins pulses this wondrous pure poison / all Arcady under soft moss vision clear All these new cars shooting past globules of regret, unpleasant to eye & countryside

But I remember that girl when she only slept & I remember that boy when he only wept

Imaginations orchestrated, dull or deviant Libertines and their very destinies. Footsteps echoing through ghostly chambers, the click of the lighter and the clink of the spoon on fine china. Melting sugar harmonizing with a hairdryer. The fluid in the human that promotes balance after disorientating spinning & spinning & spinning

like sound in slow motion waves - spreading out in shapes reminiscent of expanding & contracting molten plastic, touching random films bound together by love (by drink & drugs).

not lobotomized celebritize wannabes never wills fund celebrity’s lobotomy livin’ up the wannabes tread lightly on this drifting ice

we made our urgent pilgrimages to the kingdom - to the bodies urgent delight her white shoulders like south americas out of the remoteness, near to the sea’s curling cliff this islet of the known universe, a liverpool full of cripples in sportswear and naked princes

I been on trial been in denial but now I walk with a smile cause I’m not afraid to frown I’m sorry and I love I’m not sorry to love you I stole all the words ‘From Calliope’ But you know I know and you know I know my principle curse shame at mounting dues I have come to owe A devil of verse and nothing’s so pure as I first thought and all I was taught compared to your loss amounts to nought yet oh why am I so easily caught in the trap that you laid for me, so openly, all could see I was sold, I was bought

Seems to me to be a chase for Liberty - reflected in this my reality - chasing open-backed buses and leaping on in search of....... the bus I suppose.

Breaking into heaven that’s what dreams are - so how’s about waking into hell with a thick heavy chest and sniffle.

Or them truly days sketching into Arcady, castle like country stone houses with churches in the chapel and true love over the beautiful orchard of flowers. Racing an old car across the open fields, old barns with amps & guitars & drumkits & stepping down secret staircases to burn ancient cushions in rages & fits of love

Imagine somehow poison being proved not to exist in someone’s heart. Imagine being unlocked from this cell.

Clean European flesh in Thai monasteries, statues of giants or giant statues? Have you moved away? Or are you there still, pretending to be dumb, feigning asexuality My flesh is warm and soft I’m all ears feigned regrets & tears

The toxins that seep out of my pores have been painted on my body by the sun. The monks have assured me it will disappear but I know it’s there for keeps now, pigments of the pigman.

so I thought: ‘... (something can’t remember)

The joke is on humanity God is self explanatory Irony in agony Given to imaginary Phony personalitys and Parodys, a savage anxiety a wayward calamity

It was a Tuesday footsteps heard in my old room returning to the stream of rhyme the tears of lonely scenes apparently you snap back into your body returning from the astral plane at last he heard clearly the

Can we make silent old & long remorse that lives & feeds & writhes like worms upon a corpse as grubs on verdant grows

I swallow the bait and choke on the line I have to have none & have to all the time. The walls breathe, bulging satchels of torn up people, eyes lock & my shiftless workers reap of the harvest you can’t change us we mug you as we hug you chuggin the vision pluggin the now brightened gloom new life is given & strife is driven away I pray forever and a day that the glow will stay and in blood I won’t pay for the mistakes I made the fakes I played the rakes I enslaved then copied I’m clothes for the dandy’s swagger I’m a kind hearted feet & a bed bound blagger now I’m stopping all was filling mad hall everybody stop look listen and parse I’m out me mind fighting my shadow’s shape levitate & never will I break the promise I made with my soul enslaved to savour the flavour of liberty’s grave response.

time: James says ‘play with me a bit’ and so I fill the analogy with water from the glass tankard. Cartoon ghosts dye suspended suspended by salt in the water. 15 minute fire - 15 minutes of flame.

All the time is the same (of the hour that realms past the second had a voice in the past - the voice is behind) that was the sound of me.

The ice has melted the fingered heart on the window now, and the day is broken.

Rode in on a Trojan Horse trampled over my dreams but that’s par for the course

falling over ain’t dancing it ain’t funny honey

Words, long ago, building a dream what’s worthless to the past is priceless to the last

I love without the use of any organs

Issues don’t concern him - he grinds away at the state on the rare occasions but still with the lust of a libertine he allows the free hand of the market to fist him ceremoniously. Smiling of course - writhing delightedly with his injuries on the velvet wasteland of his glossy imagination.

He chanced his arm, took a risk, hitched another free ride, (this time in the bosom of fate - that syphilitic mistress)

afternoon - windows crusted with dry summer’s flake and a lonely fly, all a scene ignored by the viewer who though facing it, stares and stares straight throughout his silence.

Can it be true that you after so long you’re strolling into view I’ve missed you but you know I can be stoical and struggle on with lost limbs a plenty

wearily weary we lay back & break the lease idly in idolatry I look god in the eye cawing & crowing of swooping birds weeahh weeaaahh high pitched screeches near lowland estuary beaches by the window bars a pale man reaches to god with both hands

warped mirror of my malady differing shapes of the face that gazes nearly upon itself

oh, you’re an ill-formed magician’s wand

Sometimes your hard-faced, makes me wanna hold you tight & kill you till you’re at least pretending to smile. At least pretending that the smallest ever thing can ever be made right. Not living in a pantomime fragile thing cigarettes appear out of thin air

I you loved him when he was on the dole & when he was the king of rock n roll & you’ll love him when he’s buried in a hole.

her body contorted, androgynous gaze in the spotlight... a familiar desire to have & to hold, the toned frills white shorts shrieking animal noises from the speakers in this suddenly sinister theatre looking like blood in her palms

thoughts encircling like smugglers by a gap

a tatty crossfire of plasters hold the end of my right index finger together

How do you suppose, supposing you’d ever bother yourself with supposition on or about such super fucking pointless & tragic waste of lives

Days running into themselves, nights attacking the rigid structure of conventional subversive. Do we make ourselves sick in the soul, lungeing into long spirited long long sequences of repeated oblivion.

my shame costs the same as bargain basement fame the person that they let ya be has a detachable personality day glow smiles & detachable arms cut out wit & stick on charms the sale starts today at half past 2 so go out & buy me while stocks last wooh!

safety pins - they that hold my life together - bend and contorted rusty sticks that don’t glint cuz there’s no sunlight to glint ‘em

Sirens over present today flinching me, luring me onto or away from the rocks. It may hap that these are they: the devices that spark & fizz & whizz bang pipey smite the night’s fatigue.... string it out until the soul bleeds & the atmosphere heeds the siren’s warnings. Disintegration is the proof of the unconnecting of the connecting lines that’s all the coils & jacks that link my mind & my whole heart & soul with the facts of the most dubious matter of reality & the debt to humanity that selfish acts stain the day with.

Lordly ol’ corruption tucks his ransom sack buttons his dirty mac bottles the crack & discreetly tucks the smack into the inner lining of his waterproof pack

I can’t continue with the sorry & pain as I blankly stare at the morning sky the webs & bubbles awash on the pane as the rain spits at the window and my tears flood the tracks of my gaze and I stumble blindly through the days and obliterate my ghostly nights with £200 worth of brown & white

Television on, curtains drawn, spectacles wonky but welded & working not so bad....Brady allowed peace to enter his life albeit for a moment - for an afternoon film. ‘Get stuck inta that’ he said to his cat, laying down a wobbly plate of jelly & rabbit chunks on the kitchen floor. The cat frowned & staggered away from the food. ‘Oh now what’s your matter?’

on the path of dalliance tread lightly his new friends are all but one unsightly it’s the way it is to be on the drifting ice you must tread lightly & remember not to fight me remember I’m your friend & shall be so till the very end but I know how my memory clings quips about clippers & posers but if if you should fall I resolve today to pay tomorrow the debt you owed to sin & sorrow

Straight card faces can’t read anything in them but the well met loss of meaning

Strangers familiar with the art of snatch & grab grabby armies squatting to squander their dreams for dreary routine, filles more innocent that you and I flitting with the dusk in piles of leaves.

Time flicks knives into the present, slicing up the meridian pie & the day is classified, gone & dusted to the dawn. Sidewinder: elongated hours twisted into references points by ancient authorities

personally I live off mysteries The milk that arrives mysteriously every morning, I suppose it brings us life, but if trouble comes it’s been put there - or the bottle it comes in have done - by the devil.

Sleeping rough on the stony grass at the railway station. Stone me what a life. I’m parched & warped by the trials of this day. I shall sleep here at Folkestone West. The crickets chirp & sky ocean is red, sprawling above me.

The morning cracks open the sky - the upwards sky - and a rattling fence & damp, cheerful birds sound the dawn. Close my eyes and invisible trains rampage feet from my trunk and head. there’s the drums & a wonky old piano that sounds like a cow mooing.... & a wobbling saw. Short sharp snatches of twisted mirth. A cartoon gun shot, bubbling pot of stew. Moogs & wurly burly’s. Stuttering guitar & crazy punks barking melody.

Feel reality slipping through my fingers I died on a Tuesday born on a Wednesday I was just calling to say how much I loved you back on the dirt farm with the chickens & the schizoids Now I’m leaving this place on the very next train You can wait for me if you like but I won’t be coming back again

Stick your vanity to the page.

Strings piling up like bodies behind the rhythm

what of the world? it rests a little on the side there, & just there

But then how long until the next gruesome example of my own soul. In those bleak few hours I age 30 years. I’m now over 2 million years old. Closer to 3 million actually.

And of her I shall speak to the scraps of paper, inserts of lips, inside covers of old penguins, back of fag packets & bus tickets the damp walls on the staircases of tenements - there it was The Albion. One can’t adjust

Peeping mute to my Liberty’s core, drop your eyes, acute, sore

Still I’m a waif & stray lost & found endless journey homeward bound bound & gagged & cued & slagged

These walls have ears.... if only they had north & souths what marvels & mysterious they could spotlight & unravel

Still, it’s reassuring to note that actual genius does exist here. Each man-child & girl does possess a sobering, decadent talent in some form or another.

Night swallows the day. Dawn suckles the night, reborn & milky. The cruel afternoon chews up spits & shits out the leftovers of the morning light. Grey is upon us like funerals.

I smell like old socks & inconvenience.

I’m blind with mascara & dumb with lipstick

There sat a young black man, perhaps in his early or middle twenties. He looked for all the world like the archetypal rude boy, clean, cheap reebok, nike, adidas variously rolled, laced, & zipped about his lean, spreadeagled body that hung loosely about the waiting room chair. Gold & tattoos adorned his person, and a blank animal look was attached to his clear face. He sat before me in a row of four empty chairs, staring at polished floor or the mundane television. A balding white man minced in & all perceptions were suddenly proven to be false as they embraced and snuggled up to each other, giggling & whispering & touching each others noses..... very much in love, fingers crossed for the blood tests.

I sensed doom shadowing across the room like a heavy cloud of scurrying rats.

The blemish luminous with blistering blood.

such grasping times we never saw

FORUM POSTS 02-09:

carlos blinded by hair on his all white bed spreadeagle like a born again lustful jesusir he is as ever a elegant and sweet bawd of romantic notion and thoughts too fast for the tongue raising precious stakes and splintering.

Gary saved me from ninjas and I ended up just at dawn's ankle stepping up the tenement steps to the wolfden wherein the grip of calm shook me by the lapels

I remember he lived above a furniture shop in Mortlake with a different Peter and he sit by the fire watching David Niven films staring at the abundance of lovelorn letters she sent him wondering how he could never write back: scrawling heartbloody replies and casting them into the flames.

Tonight we play Bologna, the last leg of the Italian leg of the lamb of arcady that we returned to pasture after so long hemmed in like a crashing boar between archers and lemonade.

you`ve got me all welled up in the dark

I watched awhile then approached the sullen prince of exhiliration. I asked him "How did we arrive here" I cannot describe his look, and he turned away and drank from a glass made of stars.

I present myself openly, tearful, ravaged to the bone.

The confusion and pride and squalid aggression in (un)holy pockets and the misinterpreted gestures.

ring him? you'd have more luck getting through on the phone to jabba the fucking hut. and even if I did, say what 'oh I'm a broken hearted and cannae see for floods and we both know everything about everything about it all and you hate most of our fans and your a rude arrogant fake where were you doing karaoke when there was a wonderful roof and real people who love our music to play for and you'd said you'd come and I love you with all my oh my and you're a judgemental, paranoid, twisted mumbling snob fuck'

something or anything or all the greedy guts stir in me well of ********** (loneliness) not such a dirty word if it means all of sweet nothing and ungracious fallen feeling that had no such as dear grandeur in the heart of the matter.

Some alarm all inside me when a young boy threw himself down the stairs when I would not play pool with him. that'll sink in soon: I mean the expression I'll re etch and trace and loosen my mind over on his sweet face tumbling glass all to shatter.

Mountain ranges of paperback books, heart shaped renditions of 'you're my waterloo' and 'france'

Laying beside me on the bed, terrible dust clouds wheezing our dreams.

Tips of the left dirty finger nails slightly crooked up to scars and 'Libertine' in handwriting, round the bend and flecks of poison in and out of the chest, "Baby Shambles" nd down again to a mermaid, bracelet of silver hearts. skull to come and crossed bones

Like a mirror or are you indifferent? Labrynth of opinions and sour tongues. Ideas about language and the surprising limbs, the way its younger than doubt - if people read it. Perfect words, like in the living abbaration with a clear solution - six figure station for the stars, and the distance of the stars and all the curious coincidences. He has a gift and I never exaggerated even if it was all dot to dot now and then alone again or your friends and closenit community of malice. As you lay in awe on the kerbside floor, dreaming of the earth, throwing stones and wobbling teeth

fear and hatred do not find expression in tears. they are not worthy of them, best saved for tender feelings.

Chico and Groucho flickering on the telly screen in the corner of the dust and gloom dreaded tin beds rusted before our eyes, malevolence trifles and recollections those puncture babyface convicts as fledgeling gits went there where there were nowhere was

up on until late of loneliest time (this my life was filled with every crime (grime) now I was banished from the only place I ever felt strong and safe by the only friend with who I never had to pretend coz he knew me all up and down inside out.

Birdsong incessant, and life blooming yet its my heart of hearts where the thorn thicket is set frozen in whitest stark winter.

Dull colours that stand their ground: above all, words sentenced to the recommended few seconds of chirped or silently read post, perched above all this rotton intention and masked pleading for someone to come right here and take me to a high ceilinged flat in Eastern Europe and set me down for anonymous years in a delicate desperate love affair, and to live together and write at the old desk which will be there. In timeless mornings full of music and shut out light, that's where I'll find your lover or is he swinging violently from one end of the ugly little box to the other with my days drained of blood at the neck. the shade of grim that theft has clouted the borders of the subject with: pride turned the crimson of my shame's sham e lessness.

I felt a sudden headful of applause, a muted celebration of some unspeakable joy that draped a dark cloth over my suffering.

well motors awake and calm street of petals strewn and disinfectant serious city if it's not dark now but is, and I'm alone but not then.. well the moon was strung up in the sky like a last nights wonderful idea that the sacred heart had gone wholly without doubt obedient restful companions devoted diners and melodic somnambulists owt to fret upon save all torments there there afore ye go all before you the beats spun out out like endless poems and in the warbled americana of the potbellied parisian crazyassed pilots of their own bigamy (it's bigger than both of us baby) and pre-war arcady this dream will curtail your dry viewing

I'll whip this drear prose into shape yet, my hands frozen, sockless I waited in the half light for you, in the cold morning under the old moon on oily steps. I'll wait forever.

New mispelt friends untold, likewise serpents hissing the cobbled maze. Theatres, tin cans, moustaches and pedal scooters.

candles putting the shadows to bed stretched out on sheets ruddy with luminous blood, wax, sooty smears (my attempts at cleaning up foiled again) rum, whiskey in tin mugs, an eternity of cigarettes and all the blinking eyes in the world couldn't shed enough tears to trace an oceans outline of regret for: the imagination, or a voyeur's conscience or disturbed men with beleif in them-ridiculous-selves

in the sweet by and by we'll taste on our bloody gums and lips the truth behind all of this

one of them deleriems, where you try and stir your tea with your cigarette.

the thin legs of two of her outcasts are what this paragraph clumsily cops a feel for...Strangers to each other: voodoo eyed sp'rew stainy mystics scuffing the gravel by the garages dancing.

Gently rubs her finger against me. She was a cat some life ago and stretches, prowls to the bed, glances at herself in the mirror.

solo bead mimic's a tear the sweat's melancholy cousin the bilo hasn't a hope in his rigid hell of heavenly song mines his carved in stone nothing from deep underground and hollow he reaps blank fields of I suppose you could call it liberty (but it is not isn't free) I'll tell you that for nothing

my silence lost in a shoebox ful of old prison letters

The majesty of the city contrasting sincerely alongside the misery. Which in turn stands fearless shoulder to shoulder with the damned and the fucked up irretrievably Strong and gentle the sun , the sun appeared ‘never’ cries a voice from some and where ‘the sun was always a savage molton mass of billion fingy, right headcase.

Traffic and sadness, clogging up the city and thinning the good feeling so spread thin The morning convinces me of my hitherto muted beleif in solitude

Reach for the tree that shades your past. Jealous Snakes,don't let linger and last, my breath is caught when realisation pierces, through the time that unravelled my most insane fierceness, Will love solve this universal disease?

Dipped head, Wincing eyes, polite smiles, She walks. Scarred by fire or words?

Cruelness, tenderness, a fragmented life. Dreams of conformity, lies from those who laugh in the face of convention. Consuming bitterness. It is over.

Paris tower, fashions turned sour....who wants a piece of the power??

a song doesn't become heartbreaking or not depending on who is managing to hold the phone lines up above the brown swamp water you supposed to wash in to channel it to you yes you oh don't listen I'll never reach the pointless end of it

The morning Scares the living daylights Out of me with her impression of you

Dead quiet in the oceangrey sky, miles of gravestones buckling under the weight of still earth, loving memories litter dark trees who've stood about for the revolving centuries, never talking to each other

I shout silent stunned rage reddening lips wrapped about jagged barrelled glass the demons immune to the fumes now strengthening with the poison nauseous smoke drowning lungs and pranging the mind to mangle the self selfish light yellow yardie rock and rolling eyes

the new musical express, like a fanzine going to a fancy dress party disguised as as a tabloid

Drew returns from a stroll around the cemetary.. 'a few Doherrty's in there..' and all of my living soul in here, singing my heart out and as London is light shedly upon too.

pre-show descent into some lawless cutthroat province of the soul. Always was it thus. time was when i couldn't even get to the venue for throwing myself at moving buses, although these days it is contained. Held in mid-throat vacuum, the cold pitiless -gulp - pitiful . Void, Wrench, ugh how the ecstacies and roars of rapture are reversed, ridiculed by this slow death that cuts me up shoves me up the wall lust of the libertines stylee. And no escaping it, and nothing alters it, and nothing can numb it or brighten it up. jawclench horor show under your heartbeats spell cue circus music.

.............hookers, dancers, lovers, poets all here they arrive at the most unlikley of hours under my blue light they appear to me a strange, beautiful sea of poisonous flowers my blue light shall always water them for I wont take any chances striving as I do to bring existence into my existence

the sun nor any weather allows caprices of the atmosphere - my entire being logged in to bliss though cauldrons tipped souls into itself greedily all the while. i could not bear to live aloud - the racket shamed me so, the flash of steel like Pinkie's tightening grip, she'd never seen it done or so...

FROM ALBION TO SHANGRI-LA JOURNALS, 08-13:

the night is cold as I uncurl and stretch and arise, it has the drab atmosphere of a long forgotten bomb-site in a long forgotten part of town. This is my room, my dust and my gloom.

I'm a lonely man in a dream Splattered with drops of Nightmares………..

The dry fur in the close of the throat, the oily smudged appearance of the mouth and eyes, the stiff back of legs, the swollen and severed arms. The heaving chest. The stained hands and filthy aura. Bombed out mouth and crippled colourless tongue. The vacant opinion and vacuous state of personality. The unpredictable libido and surreal sense of time and space.

My feet at sixes and sevens. Rasping my tongue along my lips stubble like so many painful bum notes.

Here comes the night with a brick in its hand, staving in people's minds.

The only time you feel like crying And the door caught her frock in its crushed fingers Wolf blues there grinning… Seeing the piggy squealing Flames licking their hides

No guard at all. Criminal, insane, sensation. Cobblers mate. Apple-gobbled pig-headed on a plate. Oh go on give over, you love a new nib.

entry is a random, barely legible clutter of sick and sodden sorrows from some sunken souls scribbled scraps of some sort of self-styled services of statements, stories, songs and strangeness, some secrets and silliness. Silliness? Sillyness……..

Crash into my arms, see rings of pink flesh, infected pools of torn skin and orange tracks, shouting the snaking routes of so many holy veins by the elbows join, bulbous lumps of hardened tissue decorate the inside of the arms along with thin scabs of black and claret. At once both swollen and saggy – a rare and disgusting combination. The mermaid on the right forearm is guillotined at the tail by long winding tracks marks matched only by the tube map on the left. I will say though that my nails are very clean today.

It keeps close the shadows that so free become when the darkness that binds them melts in the sun.

When the slang-using junky decided to concentrate on his writing of music and cut down on junk, it was a case of putting the art before the horse.

I left the 1st floor apartment of rue de Copenhague this evening with a wall behind each eye.

My heart is damp but drying My life's a mess but I'm trying

I mouth the shape of smoke-rings thick and cokey. Blood blots all over the fluffy white towelling of the bath robe. My chest heaves and hacks up slumps of snotty black lung soil. My nostrils leak dangly strands of liquid, speckled with tiny crumbs of chemical candy – remains of the many lines hoover'd up the ol' hooter this night pass'd. My left hand creaks in agony, craters carved into the skin with flesh-melting mounds of pain. A web of stringy lines of blood patterns the back of my hand. They sprout out from the wrist…

Masochistic, sick Apocalyptic, fix n lick Fix n' lick, lick lick Endless lip suck sips Molten oily pips Sticky strips off in rips from bloated crust-coated limbs So these were meant as hymns to the spirits that seep about Moody and broody Wits sharp as knives All about may they be if influential in our lives For God's sake my mind has turned itself on and mangled all the rails…

The old kicking up a stench of nooses Rott'd with sweat, knotted with guts With remorse and regret And cold acceptances of every snapped neck

There's a hollow roar from a speeding past truck sounding for all the world like an unsympathetic crowd.

Clatter of a million feet on crowded city streets gives a good back beat to the strains of sirens and smashes of the traffic as it passes, clogging up the cities roads, like a poison clogging up veins. Putting a time together (and in green if you don't mind).

Embarrass in Paris! Saw you going to the Loo (vre) geddit!

The King of Failed Rendez-Vous Loves his title too much To ever wear a watch A captain Hook of sorts He fears naught but The ticking of clock Ticking of Glocks To him as vague as snowflakes Each second Has its own duration He's a time killer Liberty lover Won't let time kill her The king of failed Rendez-Vous Loves his title too dearly He'll never concede to being really But another late boy Fate's toy So don't hold your breath cos the King of failed Rendezvous Will never come meet you For he loves the glory and the wealth Too much to ever walk the line And be a simple subject of time.

Anxiety & destruction Gulfs in the gut Belly wet with teary streams

A terrible energy impacts, coiling and tightening, spoiling and frightening.

Love the taste of Grenadine. Sugar colour glistens in the silence, the dog and the child, the dust is wild. Some peace falls now on the heart, in the head.

Had a most disturbing dream, I was on a game-show on TV, gambling with the oddest things, like love and life and everything.

You hear that crackling sound, a low thud and crash, and then sparkling and crackering and spackerling all around, like a pane of frozen glass suddenly headed off by the sun at the pass and the splitting of splinters, fever-fast like a flood or a rash, and finally the pane does smash.

See the ratcatcher A mind bent on rats has he Blind with shattered glass is he He leans drunken into me Whispers filth and diseases Death & agony He empties his sack on me And rolls on into infamy

A sense of Arcadia surges like fast shadows up and gone.

them bleedin' pound shops are lethal – you go in in all good faith to get a lighter or a stick or two of sandalwood incense and come out an hour later laden down with more heavy bags than that woman I've seen pushing a shopping trolley down Shaftesbury Avenue, humming (stinking) and humming the theme tune to Beverly Hills Cop. Bumming copper coins, smiling a cracking 2 tooth gape of a smile that lights up her tired old face somehow like a broken light bulb lights up a dark bunk. Until the moment you realise it is fucked, there is a sense of expectation. Could she be an undiscovered literary genius? An English Emily Dickinson, sans the comfortable life? With a rare and remarkable relationship as baggy-rights Maggie-trolley-tripe has with all the pile-up of pigeons down the pedestrianized part of Trafalgar Square. .

Only song is immortal – the words returned to the gods who celebrated their gift of sound and the worn but well intended words they welcomed home into their godly gobs in the glorious kingdom of heaven. No one spoke in heaven, sound was song and sublime symphonies soaring out of orchestral camps and pennywhistles but even pennywhistles sang sweetly, sad, serene, sweeping or celebratory celestial ska & skiffle & spurts of thick spittle streams splashing any poor sod unlucky enough to be tested by the gods and their manipulative scripting of all scenes in eternity

Take a nervous peek out of the window, blurred with bubbles of rain. Raindrops

'Tis a straight jacket – as oppressive as one. Nothing vague about horror. Blurred visions of the future. Need to destroy; the thing bites into my bones, digs in. Possibilities endlessly impossible Sweat soaking my clothes, my face awash Toothache in the heart – imagine the pain of that.

Full of butchers and swans and never the twain should meet for meat…

Black skies pushing in as the afternoon gives up.

BLOG POSTS 10-15:

the inertia has crippled conversation – the weightless lump of time and the heavy clouds of exhaust fumes [later back on my back at the dump, I'm reading through this Monsieur Pepe le Poherty and I trust that even in your exaggerated spasms of lower sixth stylee stabs at creativity...I trust that even then I am not a weightless lump of time]

[Why Gladys I'd be on sick form and sicker from suckling the sicklysour syrup that stiffens in the veins before it can feed the body's thirst by the second until less than a third spills fourth like filth, the haters in seventh heaven]. Time slumps anyway, there’s grit under my tongue and flab all across my belly in jelly slabs.

her jaw is grinding itself out of smiles.

And it’s yapping and yelps all about the Paris afternoon – in the heart of the happy district am I. Leaning out of the window. Barks in the street. Daedalus’ god, J’s old man, that’ll be. Leaning into his doorframe like a lazy god, smiling to himself as the crowd of Raginiron-by-numbers men parts like the red sea for a young dark-haired fashionistaeater\ a creature of slender and long lines and lickspittlelips\ one puppydog eye, one serpent wink\ a fiver and a wad of sprung obscenity – ecstasy in the right hands, ecstasy in the wrong hands. Unreliable fella, bad speller, In love with his girlfriends brother but hasn’t the heart or balls to tell her. Honour? in the right light Grace? Like a paperplane in flight Features? Looks sly, sculpted, high, and bright What can he teach us? How to run, rim and kite Loves: suits torn and tight Loathes: having to end every night with a fight Hair? Immaculate

and so like a sometime ruby rind now dry and dust is made of the wet laces of blood in time, because i cant get to you this way, I must skirt. Skate about the drifting ice. Take swipes and potshots and swipes and longshots sunday is edging away, can hardly walk.. the fug of spidery webb’d fuzzy unpleasant sensation that is pinsandneedles. The cramp i mean, the cramp.

Anaïs Nin famously had a house-boat on the river, La Belle Aurore, I believe. Thats my cue to flutter my singed wings and circle the narrative with flights of flesh-salted sheets warm to the bodies and the artificial stench of a throbbing cheap radiator. Making waves, lovingly serenading the dawn the pretty dawn – from the stuffy one room of a little wooden barge.

the heartfelt, creepy melt down the thin walls of the Tyneside Mal Maison the staggered inept *crawl around shows without new ryhme/true reason the vast blank nowt where once was an arcadian stalwarts’heart (akin to treason] the everkeen zest in the quest for arcady that remains constant all the seasonn!

‘There is a funny snap in my mouth or is my head a bag that suddenly filled with air, concrete edges rounded in to fold not a bag – a whole world or a room closing in? stagger up the aisle, as we fling up he sky.

reflected the sick, oily puddlesick splintering seams of sorts of thoughts caught myself cheating of recently accepted decline

Perhaps the sky’s are lying to the world And I’m really…not really here …. And the Eiffel Tower is just An unfinished game of chess The Gods played in Paris

the dark haired one , the smaller one, who is unfeasibly misleading in her clothes. like, brother oh my brother the spleet-rousing,ruckrousefucking castle cutting down walls and all huge walls knocked through kicked in firestranglingfury of desire that forms like circles in the spittingguts when a girl pulls you on to pressure the point, to pull the undull dobba into stupidly warm heats and hip close waists, sheets drained of light

when I have slept so deeply, for so long, I find that I walk really oddly. Heavy, waterlogged feet. I trundle down the dimly lit corridor , always occurs to me I’m walking like the guy in ‘Sean of the dead’ when he first wakes up. Think of Hounslow, CarlBarat, my sister, losing virginity on a patch of wasteland, the girl flashing to taxi drivers, carry on films hilarity. Hancock’s morbid expression. back in reality: Have a Granadine water with ice, a bit of cheese. rice cake. Still half asleep, nearly pour grenadine water on rice cake. This isnt my favourite brand. too sickly. Theres no food really, no brandy cold red wine where did hide everything I neeed to return to oz.

my dreams are swimming around my head, dangerously close to the plughole.

It occurred to me , as I sat awake, gawping mostly at nothing, but for a while at the the unfathomable pitilesness of the old man with the cruel heart who kicked a tramps dog in the head below my window ,t occurred to me that WilLiam Blake also had a fat line or two to say about progress. Contraries ? Contraries? Energy is eternal deldelight energy desire messiah death and sin, children of Satan the fallen messiah? Stole from the abyss… send the comforter!

merciless as the Mersey madder than the sane Seine Fame’s as the Thames luckier than the Severn Culpable and ready to confess (not in De-Nile) feeling fine comme ca le Rhine

sweet bitter tang in the burpthroat

desolate laugh – like a battleship captain, being rescued from going down with his aircraftcarrier by a little non-military but nevertheless enemy-flag flying fishingboat A fat and delirious laugh in the wet too – like the skipper of a sinking battleship being tickled on the belly by a dolphin as his boots fill with water desolate, hollow laugh – like from a kid who rolls with the bullies at school just to survive, and now hes laughing because everyone else is as they push a screaming childoff a small but steep incline, onto a rock covered in dry nettles and bracken

morning sits up and flicks a finger at its reflection.

Factor 30 cynicism evaporates in the fuzzy sun , milky runs off of and over a glazed tattoo.

saw a beautiful wooden boat with ‘love is everywhere’ written up the side in fat paint strokes. It is shipwrecked; the annoyed looking tree that it uprooted as it wedged itself into the cliff face is overturned..its roots in the salty wind like a million fingers.

although quite soon the sky will be purpley and then pink and then pure clear blue and so I hold on for Aurora’s show.. swapping the pink pills for the pink sky you might say.

skull a tussle i always knew i had

you are asleep and I don’t know what you see i am awake and this is my silent tap apology

I have a snappy snap photo somewhere of emma running out the door and alan is leaning up against the wall asleep and uzondu is in full Sam Cooke mode, all soulful and valleysteep and belting out from the rolling deep. With his eyes closed and his pink fat lips parted and the sweet silver song of the lad rattled the old frames of the windows to the soul and of 112a Teesdale street, E2.

TYPECAST ZINE (2014-2016)

stringy thoughts swing slack through the mind

‘but the owl & the pussycat and you know who you are had a come closer, here y’are have fooled us all with the a cunning bit clever P.R. firstly – it’s known – that first – in the nursery rhyme verse and what? things first - do you agree? - and lets us sit down there are police files that first things first – and this hurts – I was raise on this verse there’s a small matter of a stolen purse the owl was a dipper - a grifter & a chap & the pussycat a skilled clipper & they crafted an act The owl could flip shift a kipper from under the fishmongers nose & pussy could [crossed out, illegible] lapped up such tricks – as she licked thorns from a rose

“is that you there rocking in a corner?” yeah that'd be so “is there anything that you need to know?” yeah – who the fuck art thou and how you know me so?

Complete, utter, inutterable, stagnant misery set in concrete certainty by cowardice and lament. He sobbed strangely, failing to cry, so fucking grim the sight of his shadow on the ashgrey spillage of shite that was once the floor. That was once his life. Full throated sting of sourness and spite lined his neckinside. Rottoness in the oesophigas

one way or another we will join our dead friends who took with them a huge part of our lives – the lived part not the reflection – and yet the friendship remains..

Morrissey writes so sweetly, so sadly, not reall sour like they say. He has admitted to unhappiness for so long I suppose he's had enough kickings of a kind He underestimates the starkness and crapness of life for kids today. Digital chills abound. zombified but niggling with happygo lucky urges..

MISCELLANEOUS (Loose pages or undated)

Unsubstantiated hype: being heavy, rotten, artificial legs. Legs we most of us take for granted. Envied by cripples. Two people mocking the afflicted, mocking each other, these close friends, hurtful with agility (demanded), skill (jammy git), violence (psycho, all in all), patience (guilt), and malice (unfriendly advice). Reading eyes (older lady in the corner, forgotten old dear, lost in a blank, stiff headache life). Yes gin dear. Anagram enigma, possibly genius prose. Mind you, that was the sarcastic offering of critic's shittermen, lifeless reviews, chickless headens.

Dripping in blood are the days changing in to evening wear and so London is a night time pipeline red alert and dead dirt in the sticky spoon bubbles up a sweet ancient perfume steamed form the spoon and as the stopper props up the dropper the drop the shot, that will pop rock a'flame and rolling bones in a sharp dressed ghost's freefall through the peaceful minutes at the beginning of the night.

(the need to fill the hole comes from the hole……that comes from knowing that there is a need to fill a hole that...)

I think I only needed something to hold on to. It has never been about depravity. It's always been about melody. But melody and I met in many depraved situations. Meeting melody is the victory of the empty spiralling nightmare.

as the blood flashed back home and I fell upsidedown into floor, into liquid sigh. Quick-sand, near the tomblands too close I was sitting on myself on the kitchen floor when Phil got back. A pool of shiney blood formed an elongated egg shape.

Miki tucked her violin into her silhouette and made mournful the silence with slashes of deformed design and searing, spiritual shots high into the

Content is a foreign land, malcontent but a sh short train ride away. Discontent more or less across the canal.

everything was made when a pointed mass of impossible dreams swung in on itself like a folding plastic table

j jarbly garble garble my words lost in the sincerest insecuritY stuPENDous jarbly high-wire balancing act trYing not to wobble becoming someone different – changing with the company I keep on keeping trying so hard to be meself I strain like teeth gut moron I once stumbled upon a time heaped deepening Entwining lines mined my own mind (tunneling like it was going out of fashion)

That old thoughtless gutless inn eyeless monday standoff with the world.

The language we whip with the language we wrap things up without.

A throb and a pound a fever head slaughter dead nasty lungsflooded with thick billious fleghmish glob a fever infection that nasty one, when you cough yourhead rattles in agonies, as if there was a small 'no mans land' bandwidth between the skull and the pain. A neutral zone if you like, if you despise.

It’s the blue smoke glamour of crack slab urban bohemia,

The richest man alive doesn’t have a penny, And I’m looking to cash in on his wisdom, Looking out for the wise in his eyes and the ice in his next drink, And his next drink, And his next drink, And his next drink, I watch the world, its tower blocks headbutting the skyline, So stitch that, That slit in the sky like a knife gash, and a fallen sixties leather jacket, The tenements so unlovely and kitsch, And the people rolling on in our colours and classes, classes and colours, The beats of New London, Twisted by the bitter rhythm of the wrong education, In the big schools

We’re on the offensive, On all fours in the puddles of No Man’s Land

Demonic conference if conferring besuch that demonsvdo. With pra er so ray er few now are relieved a most heinous infestations.

straight is fair and square, the rigged system is a twisted perfect circle

flickers like a silhouette of soldiers through airport glass

etching twitchy responses to the gesture that hypnotizes, dance, or beauty

the computers in water computers in blood the sky as a library you click in and out of

if you’ve got a voice - somebody write an amendment to end the prayer of who sin the corner a sackful of notes, each one a loveless letter less love for more wealth and they insist on the debtor the mourner writing again wringin a dead in the corner

the wages of sin fund all wagers and win or lose I want weighed in

this and that, pop and fizz, hock it like a shot, flappinglike it’s off topping like a toff swatting like a boff swat him like he fly, sopping from the cry

monkey on my back? monkey? three monkeys more like and seeing hearing speaking all the vilest villainous evils that can deviant event create when free will is freaked fierce

vanity won’t let you be unaccepted anywhere

straining for a glance a chance to catch your eye as I bow in backbentsnap earnest

meanwhile, off-screen a general slovenliness of spirit consumes me I feel lost and longlost a little brittle

what in the hell kinda code is that there? znd me with me head all fugg’d mellow like, only much lightness and airiness where others might hav - for exampl - thoughs thoughts

#peter doherty #i feel like i should clarify that the more intense/painful/drug-related excerpts i put in #are there not because i'm romanticizing peter's drug use or hurt #but because those passages really knocked me over the head with their vivid imagery and sensory descriptions #which is something i will always and forever appreciate in any kind of writing be it prose or poetry or anything else #if people want me to write a proper transcription of the book and internet books of albion i can #this was surprisingly easy to transcribe #the libertines #pete doherty #books of albion #squash reads books of albion

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haidyn-reeves · 4 years

Text

The Thought of Losing You

Summary: This is my spin on 14.02 (Gods and Monsters) and 14.11 (Damaged Goods).

Prompt: “The thought of losing you scares the shit out of me.”

Pairing: Dean x Female!Reader

Warnings: Season 14 spoilers. Lots of profanity, lots of angst, dollop of fluff.

Word Count: 5,315

A/N: This is my entry for Sabrina @winchesterxfamilybusiness‘s 250 Followers Writing Challenge! This was my first time writing for Supernatural and ever posting anything I’ve ever written. I hope you like it!

Y/N knew she wasn’t supposed to fall in love with Dean Winchester, but her brain and her heart weren’t exactly on the same page.

There were only so many times she could watch the man she loved and idolized sacrifice himself as if his own life was meaningless. Every time she lost Dean, the pain became more and more unbearable. She grew up alongside the Winchesters, her grandfather being one of the men John Winchester learned his tricks and skills from when he was younger. His dying wish was for John to protect her, and when he passed years later, that duty was passed down to Sam and Dean. The pair didn’t mind, she was family to them. Sam liked being a big brother to someone for a change, and Dean welcomed the days when she would spend time with them so he had someone other than Sam to hang out with.

It was safe to say Y/N had been there through everything. She was there when Sam died and when Dean made the crossroads deal. She was there when the hellhounds dragged him to hell and when he made his miraculous return months later. She watched the Mark of Cain change him in ways she never imagined, and then hid from his demon alter-ego when he tried to kill her and Sam in the bunker.

The point is, she was there for every high and low, and she wasn’t sure she had the capacity to handle another low.

In the most cliche turn of events, Y/N developed feelings for the older brother over time. How could she not? He looked after her more than her own father the majority of the time. She idolized him from a young age, thought he was so cool, felt the most at ease around him. Dean was always there and Y/N had no choice but to fall for him, and hard. Of course, in another cliche fashion, she couldn’t dare tell him. He was her best friend and he certainly could do better than what she had to offer.

The most recent predicament was Michael, the Archangel from another universe who wormed his way into their world with Lucifer. Selfishly, Y/N was relieved when their world’s Michael stopped trying to convince Dean to be his vessel and the angels stopped pursuing him, though she felt bad for Adam. She never imagined she’d find herself in this situation: Dean, saying yes to this new Michael, in order to save his brother and Jack from Lucifer.

Dean dismissed her when he sent Bobby and Mary to the garage. She begged him to let her stay, to let her help, and of course not to do anything stupid, but Bobby pulled her away as soon as Dean’s jaw clenched and that look crossed his handsome face. Usually she could win, that look would fade and he’d be putty in her hands. In that moment, she was scared of him, because the look resembled the murderous glare his demon self threw her way seconds before narrowly missing her with that forsaken hammer.

When Sam and Jack returned to the bunker without Dean, Y/N’s heart stopped and her breath hitched in her chest, a clockwork reaction any time something terrible happened to him.

“N-no,” she whimpered, looking at Sam through blurry eyes as the tears threatened to fall.

“I’m so sorry,” he muttered, finding it hard to watch her break over his brother yet again. “Michael…he tricked him and…”

“He disappeared,” Jack sighed. The room began to spin as the dizziness washed over Y/N. She fumbled in place, clutching the back of the chair in front of her at the war table, Sam rushing to her side and gathering her into his arms.

“We’re gonna find him honey,” he whispered, though he wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure himself or her. He squeezed her tighter as she sobbed into his flannel, wishing he could do more. He wasn’t Dean, he didn’t have the same connection with her as his brother did, and he hated that there was nothing more he could do for her.

That was almost two months ago.

Over the last nearly eight weeks, Y/N battled between wanting to go out and look for Dean and succumbing to the intense sadness and anxiety over the loss of the older Winchester. She knew she should be out there looking for him, helping Sam, Mary and Bobby. She wasn’t sleeping, and when she did she was plagued with dreams of Michael torturing Dean, because that was all she could think about during the day. She snapped at Jack when she overhead him talking to Castiel in the kitchen during one of the few times she left her room for food. As soon as she heard the words “Dean doesn’t matter” leave the nephilim’s lips, she was at his throat.

“How dare you,” she began, her voice low and shaking as the anger pulsated through her veins. “How dare you say that, considering you wouldn’t fucking be here if not for Dean. He’s done nothing but protect you and give you a home, and you go and say he doesn’t matter? That is his body. He is a prisoner in his own body. He’s trapped in there-“

“Y/N-“ Castiel started. Y/N whipped her head around, glowering at the vessel before her.

“NO, Cas. What he said was un-fucking-called for.” She turned back to the nephilim, disappointment and anger evident on her face. “Look, kid. The world would not be the way it is right now if not for Dean fucking Winchester. He may not matter to you, but he sure as hell matters to me.”

Since then, Jack kept his distance. He never saw Y/N as upset as she was in that moment, and he still didn’t understand why she was so mad at him, because in his mind, he was right. Michael was the enemy, Michael needed to go, Dean be damned.

Sam was growing more and more concerned for Y/N as time went on without any sign of Dean. He knew she wasn’t sleeping, having been the one to wake her from her nightmares and stay with her until she drifted back into a restless sleep, if her mind even allowed it.

“You don’t have to stay with me,” she mumbled one morning when Sam brought her a mug of tea. “I know you want to be out looking for him.”

“I’m leaving in a little bit, do you want to try and come with me?” She shook her head, her eyes again welling up with tears. How she had any left was beyond her. “Its okay, honey. You should try and rest anyway. You’ve had a rough few weeks-“

“But I’m a hunter, Sam. I know better than to act like this. I should be out there looking for him, he’d do the same if it was me-“

“You may be a hunter, but that doesn’t mean you’re not human, Y/N/N. You still have feelings, emotions, and we both know you have very…specific feelings towards Dean. This wasn’t a hunt gone wrong, Dean is missing and you’re hurting because you love him. What you’re feeling, what you’ve been feeling, that’s heartbreak. It’s crippling and it’s brutal and until he’s back, it’s not gonna go away.”

“What if he doesn’t come back Sam?” She hated how small her voice sounded, she couldn’t even deny her feelings to his face. At this rate, every additional body in the bunker had to know she was in love with Dean.

“He’s Dean. He’s died, been dragged to hell…he’s not gonna let some dick angel keep him away from us.” Y/N nodded weakly. “Are you going to tell him?”

“Sam-“

“You have to tell him, Y/N. He has a right to know, he needs to know, maybe then he’d stop sacrificing himself-“

“Your brother wouldn’t know what to do with himself-“

“True, but he’d be happy, with you. He adores you. He deserves to be happy.” Y/N tilted her head to the side, eyebrows cocked. “You know I’m right.”

“We’ll see.”

Sam sighed, pecking her forehead before getting off the bed. “I’m gonna head out, you need anything, you call, yes?” She nodded. “Be good, no yelling at any nephilims today.”

“He deserved it-“

“I know.”

One of the things Y/N wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to was the amount of people now residing in the bunker since coming from the other world. She missed the peace and quiet, but she was extra thankful that her bedroom, like Dean’s, was tucked away from the action. Sure, the bunker was large enough to accommodate the newcomers, and they were all quickly catching on as new hunters, but she longed for the days when the bunker was more of a secret hideaway, not a community center.

In the time Dean was gone, Y/N treated his room like the West Wing. She made sure no one besides herself or Sam ever went in, on the days she got out of bed anyway. Her room was down the hall from his, and since the hallway was generally empty, she could immediately hear when someone was entering his room. The door had a slight creak when it pushed open slowly enough, but Dean insisted he liked it. It sounded “homey.” So when she heard that familiar creak and knew Sam wasn’t home yet, her body was out of her bed and moving down the hall before her mind could register she was even upright. Her feet carried her to the door with the pretty golden eleven, finding it open. She felt her blood run cold as she stepped over the threshold of the room, ready to deliver a verbal beating to whoever dared enter this room of all rooms, before her breath hitched in her chest and she found herself staring at the back of the man she was waiting for.

“D-Dean?”

His shoulders visibly relaxed at the sound of her voice and he turned around, his olive eyes welling up with tears as he took in the sight of her. She was clutching the doorway, her body swimming in his red flannel, dark circles under her pretty eyes as she choked out a sob upon seeing him before her.

“Hi sweetheart,” he whispered, opening his arms as she flung herself forward, crashing against his chest. Her body again shook with sobs as she clutched at the white dress shirt adorning his shoulders, her face buried into the middle of his chest. His arms wrapped around her as he struggled between squeezing her against him and holding her fragile body against his own. Her sobs were muffled screams and he cringed, hating that once again he was the reason she was breaking this badly. He finally allowed his tears to flow and soon he was crying into her hair while trying to calm her down.

“You miss me?” He asked some moments later once her breathing returned to normal and her body stopped shaking.

“No,” she weakly deadpanned, still morphed into his chest. His fingers danced up and down her spine in gentle patterns as he chuckled, placing a kiss to the top of her head. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know, he just…left.”

“He better fucking stay gone,” she growled, “or at least find a new vessel. Got a few ideas.” Dean laughed softly and she pulled back to look up at him, raising her eyebrows. “You think I’m joking?”

“No ma’am.”

She glared at the term, her eyes growing wide. “Why didn’t Sam call me to tell me he found you?”

“Surprise?” He grinned sheepishly. “He said you were probably resting and didn’t want to wake you. He…he told me how you’ve been the last few weeks and sweetheart, I’m not upset. I’m upset at how much of a toll this took on you but I’m not upset that you weren’t looking for me.”

“I’m sorry Dean, I wanted to-“

“I know, Y/N. You don’t have anything to be sorry for. I understand. You were struggling, I couldn’t expect you to push yourself.”

She looked down, still feeling embarrassed over the situation. “I’m sorry for barging in, too. I thought someone was in here that wasn’t you and I got so upset-“

“It’s okay,” he smiled, “I half expected you to be in here waiting for me.”

She blushed and Dean grinned, hugging her to him again. “You probably want some alone time, I should let you get settled in but I really don’t feel like leaving your side at the moment.”

“I’m gonna take a quick shower and I’ll be right back, okay? Promise.” His green eyes were boring into her own, his words serious as the rolled off his tongue. She nodded and he smiled gently, kissing her head again before grabbing his clothes and heading down the hall towards the large communal bathroom.

While Y/N waited, Dean let the hot water run down his tired body, scrubbing his skin raw as he tried to get any trace of the Archangel off of him. He didn’t understand why Michael suddenly left the way he did, but he wasn’t about to get his hopes up that he had seen the last of the celestial being. He stood under the water as his own tears of frustration fell from his eyes. He was angry that he was taken advantage of, tricked into being the vessel for more than he bargained for. He hated feeling like a prisoner in his own body, own mind, not knowing exactly what was going on around him as Michael took control. He missed his brother, his girl, even if she wasn’t officially his. Y/N was everything to him, and after some convincing on his part, Sam revealed that he was everything to her as well. It happened on the drive home when he realized she wasn’t with Sam, and he immediately panicked thinking something had happened to her.

“She’s at the bunker, Dean. She…she hasn’t been doing well.”

“What’s wrong with her?” He breathed, his body going rigged on the passenger’s side of the bench seat.

“She’s just been taking your…disappearance the hardest out of everyone. She doesn’t sleep, she barely eats, she bit Jack’s head off.”

“What did he do?” Sam didn’t want to repeat the words Jack had uttered, because in truth, they pissed him off as well. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words and cause Dean more hurt, he carried enough pain already.

“He said something she didn’t like, honestly he deserved it. She was defending you.” Dean blushed softly, picturing Y/N turning into the spitfire she could be, all because of him. “You know Dean…”

Dean looked at his brother, confused, “Sammy?”

“I shouldn’t,” Sam stopped himself, knowing he was about to break Y/N’s trust.

“You already started.”

“It wouldn’t be fair to Y/N.”

“I won’t say anything, just tell me.”

“She…the reason she was so bad the last few weeks, is because she loves you. Has feelings for you. And you being gone, not knowing where you were, it visibly was destroying her.”

Dean’s eyes widened and his heartbeat sped up in his chest. “She can’t-“

“Why not? Haven’t you seen the way she looks at you, man? She looks at you like you hung the damn moon for her.”

Dean shook his head. “Loving me comes with a price, one she shouldn’t have to pay. It puts a target on her back and she doesn’t deserve that.”

“Dean, it’s pretty obvious you feel the same way she does, you’re being ridiculous. She makes you happy, man. You deserve something good, and Y/N is good.”

Dean wasn’t going to act on this new information, not until he knew Michael was done with him, for good. He couldn’t stomach Y/N hurting over him anymore. Once he knew Michael didn’t have a use for him any longer, he could approach her about the mutual feelings between them. Of course Dean reciprocated them. How could he not? Y/N was beautiful, funny, intelligent. She was everything he could hope for, plopped into his life all those years ago. He raised her to be the third best hunter in the world. She was perfect for him, but he couldn’t put her in danger by simply loving her back.

For a little while, things seemed to be looking up, which was consequently never a good sign when it came to the Winchesters. Just when they thought Michael was possibly out of their lives, he snuck back in and invaded Dean’s personal space all over again. With help from Sam, Y/N and Cas, he was able to take control and lock Michael away in his mind. The problem was, Dean felt like there was a toddler banging on a drum set living in his head. Michael was constantly making a racket, leaving Dean with a perpetual headache while he tried to block out Michael’s incessant demands to be let out of the “cage” Dean locked him away in. It was during this time that Dean made the painful decision to never act on his feelings for Y/N. He wasn’t sure how long he’d survive with Michael taking up residency in his mind, nor did he have any way of knowing that Michael wouldn’t hurt her.

Sam and Y/N became suspicious when Dean decided he wanted to visit Mary, alone. Since being back, Dean rarely had alone time, though if he was being honest, he didn’t mind at all. In fact, he welcomed the company. Company kept his mind off the tenant upstairs. He spent most of his time resting before Sam decided he could go back out on hunts, and resting usually meant cuddling with Y/N and watching copious amount of Netflix. He was struggling, but he wanted to make sure she was okay as well.

Y/N was reluctant to let Dean go visit Mary alone. When she expressed her concerns for the older Winchester to Sam, Sam agreed that something wasn’t right and the pair decided to make their own drive to Donna’s cabin.

Which is how Sam and Y/N found themselves standing across from Dean in Donna’s shed, an ominous metal coffin of sorts on the workbench before them.

“What the hell is this?” Y/N asked, her eyes fixed on Dean.

“This is how I’m going to get rid of Michael,” Dean explained, failing to make eye contact in return.

“This isn’t what I think it is,” Sam glowered, beginning to understand what his brother was getting at.

“Someone better explain what the hell this is,” Y/N urged, agitated.

“This is a Ma’lak Box,” Dean began, Sam sighing in anger. “It’s warded to keep an angel inside…including an Archangel.”

“Okay…so how are you gonna get Michael into the box?” Y/N asked, oblivious to the elephant that was in the shed.

“Michael is…inside me. In order to get Michael into the box, I have to get in,” Dean muttered.

“NO!”

“Its the only way-“

“BULLSHIT. There is ALWAYS another way!”

“NO THERE ISN’T,” Dean yelled back, “I can feel him breaking free. I can’t hold him much longer, this is the only way, Billie showed me-“

“Dean, we can figure this out. There has to be something else,” Sam tried to reason with his brother. “What happens when you’re in?”

“The plan is to be dropped into the Pacific and buried-“

“The fuck you will,” Y/N seethed. “NO. You’re not doing this.”

“This is why I didn’t tell either of you, you’re the only ones who could try and talk me out of it.”

“So you were just going to disappear again? Be buried alive without a goodbye? Expect us to be okay with this?” Sam was amazed at how dense Dean could be sometimes.

“I said my goodbyes back at the bunker,” Dean sighed. Y/N was staring at him in horror, still trying to process that once again, she’d be losing Dean, but this time for good. Dean looked at her and cringed. “Please say something.”

“You stupid son of a bitch,” she fumed. “You’re so hellbent on sacrificing your own life for the greater fucking good because you’re convinced your life doesn’t mean anything. Well guess what! Your life may not mean something to you but it means everything to me. You don’t have to do this, we can find another way. Fuck what Billie has to say, there is no way this ends with you buried at the bottom of the fucking ocean.”

“I have to do this-“

“No, you don’t,” Sam argued. “We can find something else Dean, anything else, something that keeps you alive, with us.”

“Do you think I want to do this? To either of you? I HAVE to do this. I don’t have a choice-“

“YOU ALWAYS HAVE A CHOICE. YOU TAUGHT ME THAT,” Y/N screamed, the anger simmering under her skin.

“Look, I’m not exactly looking forward to this, okay? I’ve made up my mind, you both need to accept it.”

“We…we have to accept it? Accept that you’re going to be buried in this…this box…with a murderous archangel hitching a ride in your head? Are you out of your mind?” Y/N was amazed at how Dean was so calm about this. “You expect Sam to just let you go? I clearly don’t mean enough to you for you NOT to do this but at least think of your brother.”

“You know that’s not true,” Dean groaned.

“Could’ve fooled me,” she spat, rolling her eyes.

“This won’t solve anything,” Sam barked, shooting a glare to both of them. “You’re not getting in the box, we’ll figure something else out but right now, this discussion is over.”

“You think this is up for debate, Sammy? It’s not-“

“I said, this discussion is over. We will have this conversation when we get home, when we can get Jack and Cas’ input-“

“Oh yeah, let’s clue the nephilim in to the plan,” Y/N snarled, “after all, Dean matters oh so much to him anyway.”

“Excuse me?” Dean glared.

“Forget it,” she mumbled, “I need some air.” She turned on her heel and left the shed, the sight of the box now making her stomach turn. She made her way back to the cabin, hiding around the back out of sight before she allowed herself to slide down the wall into a fit of angry tears. Dean was going to leave her, again, and this time he couldn’t come back. How was she ever going to live with that? Knowing he was at the bottom of the ocean, alone in a box with an Archangel to torment him for the rest of his days? How could she possibly move on from that?

Back in the shed, Sam was pacing. “You’re not doing this,” he decided, pausing his movements to look at his brother. “You can’t do this. Not to me, not to her, not to Mom-“

“I’m doing it to protect you, all of you,” Dean argued. “If I lock Michael away, he can’t hurt any of you or cause more damage to anyone else.”

“This will kill her,” Sam warned, his voice quieter now. “Dean, you can’t-“

“This is what’s best. This is my decision and I’m sticking to it.”

Y/N decided against the wall of Donna’s cabin that she was done. She reached the end of her rope, her patience run bone dry. If Dean wasn’t going to listen to any voices of reason, she was going to make damn sure she would be okay. She could ask Rowena for a spell, something to make her forget she ever loved Dean Winchester. She refused to be a broken shell all over again because he left her, this time willingly. She would take care of herself the way he taught her to.

She emerged from behind the cabin to find the brothers walking out of the shed, Sam looking visibly distraught as he watched Dean head towards the cabin. Dean’s gaze fell on her but she refused to meet his eyes. If she was going to take care of herself, step one was creating distance, putting an end to the bond between them. Dean moved to walk towards her and she stepped back, eyes still on anything but him. He stopped in his tracks, shoulders falling before he straightened up again, refusing to show any weakness over his decision.

The ride back to the bunker was silent. Y/N wasn’t speaking to either brother, but if she had to, she spoke to Sam. Dean was trying to ignore how hurt he was, but he had to remind himself that this was for the best. He thought she could understand that.

A few days went by and Y/N was avoiding Dean as much as humanly possible. When Sam received word of Donatello, she decided to hang back and make sure the new hunters had a leader while the brothers were out taking care of business. Sam didn’t argue with her, knowing she needed her space from his brother.

When they arrived back in the safety of the bunker, days later, Y/N retreated to her room, going through her things and removing anything of Dean’s from her drawers. She wanted to do it when they first got back from the cabin retreat, but her body physically wouldn’t let her, not yet. Any flannels, shirts, anything she ever wore of his was going back to his room. She didn’t want anything of his around to remind her of him later. She carried the few shirts to his room, barging in and dumping them on his bed.

“What are you doing?” he asked, staring at the pile before him.

“Don’t want them anymore. They’ll just remind me of you when you’re gone, you know, buried and all.”

Dean winced at her words. Reality was starting to sink in, that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t such a good idea, not if it meant a rift between him and his best girl. “Y/N please, we need to talk about this-“

“I think you’ve said enough.”

“I can’t have you hating me, sweetheart. I can’t lose you, not yet. The thought of losing you scares the shit out of me-“

“Don’t you dare fucking say that to me,” she whispered, sounding much less menacing than she wanted to. “Not when I’m the one constantly losing you.” Dean felt his heart break in his chest as he looked at her, seeing all the pain he’d caused her evident on her pretty face. “And I should be used to it by now, but I’m not.” She looked down at the floor, staring at the marbled tile beneath her feet. “Maybe this is my fault-“

“Y/N no, how-“

“Maybe if I told you the truth you’d change your mind. Told you I loved you, more than I’ve ever loved anyone, maybe then you’d want to stay and find another way.”

“I know,” he breathed. “I know you do.”

Her eyes widened and she looked up at him, her cheeks flushing. “You what?”

“I know how you feel about me,” he murmured. “Sam…I forced it out of him when we drove home after he found me. He was so worried about you and he started to let it slip but I forced him to tell me.”

“So…so you know…that…and you still want to…” her voice trailed off, her words failing her as she stared helplessly at him.

“I was doing it because of that.” He watched her cringe before he realized his mistake. “Oh God, not like that! I mean, I was doing it because I love you, just as much, but I need to protect you from Michael. I told myself I wouldn’t do anything about this…us…until he was gone, but I don’t know when that will be or if it ever will be. I can’t let you get hurt because of me, not like this. I can’t put that target on you.”

“Dean…I know you think it’s your life’s mission to protect everyone, because John gave you that order to protect Sam, but sacrificing yourself? He’d also want you to live, Dean. You deserve everything good this fucked up world has to offer, Dean Winchester. You think your life means so much less than anyone else’s but that’s not true. You’re so important, Dean. Sam and I wouldn’t be here without you. You’ve saved so many lives, changed so many lives. You think you’re this monster of a man who doesn’t deserve happiness when that’s all you’ve ever deserved. You’ve spent your entire life caring for everyone else and making sure everyone else was okay, but right now, you’re not okay, and you need to let me and Sam take care of you. Let us help you find another way, please Dean.” By now tears were rolling down her cheeks the same way they were rolling down Dean’s. “I have watched you overcome and survive incredible feats. I’ve admired your courage and your strength for as long as I can remember. Please don’t stop fighting now, not yet. You have so much more left to do in this world, Dean. Some dick angel from another world is not going to be how I lose you. The world is better with you in it, MY world is better with you in it.”

Dean’s silent tears turned to choked out sobs as he took in her words. This wasn’t the first time she had to remind him of the good in him, and he hoped it wouldn’t be the last. Sam had already gotten to him before they drove home and made him see that there could be another way, that he couldn’t give up, that wasn’t what the Winchesters did.

“Oh Dean,” she whispered, enveloping him in her arms as he cried, his face buried against her shoulder. She rubbed his back softly as she cried with him, his arms wrapping around her tightly, scared of letting her go.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, “I’m sorry you’re constantly getting hurt by me-“

“No. It is not your fault. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m not doing it,” he whispered, his breath hot against her neck. “Sammy…he helped me see how wrong I was…and you…I can’t leave you. Not like that. I love you so much, sweetheart, I’m so sorry for putting you through that-“

“Dean Winchester, if you ever try to pull something like that again…”

“I know,” he nodded. “I’m so sorry baby. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“How?” She asked, Dean lifting his head from her shoulder.

“I don’t know, but I’ll spend the rest of my life figuring it out.”

Y/N blushed, fighting the grin that was spreading across her lips. “You could start with a kiss.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” he chuckled, cupping her cheeks in his hand and wiping the remaining tear drops away with his thumbs. He looked into her eyes, watching the way they sparkled as they stared back into his own. He smiled, leaning down to softly connect his lips with hers. She all but cried as she moved her lips with his, her arms wrapping back around his middle.

“Sammy was right,” he chuckled once he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers.

“About what?”

Dean smirked, “You really do look at me like I hung the moon.”

“Oh bite me, Winchester.”

#MakeMeSwoon #Sabrina's 250 Followers Writing Challenge #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester angst #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean x reader #spn fic #supernatural flangst #dean flangst #dean fluff #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester flangst

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sortasirius · 4 years

Text

Halcyon Days

AN: Happy wedding day to my boys :)

Words: 1232

Read it on AO3 here

Dean’s kissed Cas…a lot in the last three months. He never thought he would never need to rank them, or that one was better than the other.

Well, not until now.

There was the first kiss, the one he had put everything into, with wild abandon, when Cas had shown up at his house after his first day in Heaven. He was supposed to be using his words, supposed to tell Cas what his final words had meant to him, how he felt the exact same way, had always felt the same way, but instead, his brain had disconnected, and he was pitching forward into Cas’ willing arms, pressing their lips together in a way that Dean had never thought would happen for him. Is it normal to feel like someone lit a firecracker in your gut when you kiss someone? Because that was how this kiss felt.

There was the kiss after they had had sex for the first time, the one that was sweet and gentle and languid, like molasses on his tongue. He was tracking the notches of Cas’ spine while Cas’ hands ran down his arms.

“You’re beautiful,” Cas had breathed into his ear when they broke apart, letting his lips ghost along the shell of Dean’s ear, making Dean shudder, “You’re so beautiful, inside and out.”

“I love you,” Dean had rasped, losing his voice as the weight of Cas’ words settled into his chest. Cas kissed him again, and Dean may have been imagining the sweetness of Cas’ mouth, the taste of honey on his tongue, but he didn’t think so.

There was the kiss after Dean had said, in the middle of the Roadhouse, that they should just get married. They were both spectacularly drunk and had just lost their fourth round of darts to Kevin, when Cas had thrown one right in the bullseye, much to everyone’s surprise. Cas was good at most things, darts was not one of them.

“Fuck Cas, marry me,” Dean had slurred, referring (mostly) to the shot on the dartboard. But Cas had stopped mid-swig of beer and had stared at Dean with nothing but utter shock on his face.

It took Dean’s drunk brain about ten second to catch up to what he had said, but the Roadhouse had gone quiet at that point because Dean was a loud bitch, especially when he was drunk.

He hesitates. Fuck it. He’s taking what he wants, what he deserves.

“Let’s get married, Cas,” Dean had reiterated, looking at Cas earnestly.

Cas blinked a few times, trying to make out if Dean was serious or not. Dean was, he had never been more serious about anything in his life. And this had nothing to do with fucking darts and everything to do with the literal angel in front of him.

“Okay,” Cas whispered, moving towards Dean almost unconsciously, reaching for him the way Dean imagined a drowning man reaches for a liferaft. This kiss felt electric, with people applauding and cheering in the background, Dean had rarely felt so charged up, and had loudly declared they would get married on Valentine’s Day, because if they were going to do this, they were going to make it as cheesy as possible. Cas had laughed and pressed a small kiss to the underside of his jaw.

There was the kiss the night before, before Charlie and Benny had dragged Dean away from Cas by force, insisting that they should abide by this ancient (and, in Dean’s opinion, outdated) tradition of not seeing each other before the wedding. This kiss was rushed, hurried in a way, trying to steal as much time as they could before a separation.

“Dean,” Cas had gasped as Dean had pressed him against the counter in their kitchen, tipping his head back as Dean pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to Cas’ absolutely unfairly beautiful neck, “They’re waiting for you.”

“They can wait,” Dean had growled, pressing his knee in between Cas’ legs for better leverage. Hands on his chest put space between their skin, and Dean pushed back, trying to just get one more kiss, one more lingering touch of Cas’ skin on his.

“You’ll see me tomorrow,” Cas reminded him, letting them both catch their breath.

“Unless you get cold feet,” Dean stared at the faucet of the kitchen sink, glittering in the moonlight. Cas lifted his chin so their eyes met, eyes full of concern.

“Is that what you’re worried about? Cold feet?”

Dean shrugged. The answer was a resounding yes, but he didn’t know how to say that and not seem stupid.

“Dean Winchester,” Cas made sure Dean was really looking at him, “Spending eternity with you is all I’ve ever really wanted. You are giving me my heart’s desire.”

The words knocked the air out of Dean’s lungs. He’s never been loved like this, never even imagined it.

Cas leaned in to kiss him again, slower this time, cooler by several degrees, but with a softness that makes Dean melt.

“Go,” Cas whispered against his lips after a few minutes, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I love you,” Dean whispered, pressing their foreheads together.

“Eternally,” Cas responded, and Dean had had to shut his eyes as he walked out the door, feeling like he was being pulled in the opposite direction.

There was the kiss when they met each other at the end of the aisle, Cas’ lips brushing Dean’s cheek, the warmth of the contact seeping into every single one of Dean’s pores, filling him up with a floating happiness that made him feel like he was bouncing down the aisle, Cas’ hand in his, heading straight for Rowena, who was smiling at them with a kind of affection and understanding that Dean himself had never understood until now.

Then, finally, there was this kiss, the kiss that was so all-consuming, so life altering, so intense, it was like they were the only ones in front of the lake by the Roadhouse, like they were completely alone, lost in this moment that neither of them had ever thought they would get, let alone that they deserved. Cas was just…right. He filled the missing parts of Dean, the ones that he had never really known were empty in the first place, until he woke up in his own grave, with a mark on his shoulder. And in walks this celestial being in a trenchcoat into his life, and ever day he found himself falling more and more and more in love with him. He fell in love with the way he spoke, the lilting of his voice, the way he said Dean’s name. he fell in love with his selflessness and selfishness. He fell in love with eyes as blue as the brightest sky, the color of forget me nots, the color of Dean’s own tie.

This kiss was a part of all the others, wild like the first, sweet like the first night, bright like the proposal, soft and hungry like the ones last night, and a promise like the one at the other end of the aisle.

Dean could kiss Cas forever, in fact, he intended to, but he would always remember this one, he would always remember what this one meant, after more than twelve years, this one was the start of a new journey, one that he, finally, didn’t have to take alone.

#my writing #deancas wedding #destiel #deancas #ficlet

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unityghost · 3 years

Text

Masquerade

Oh look, I wrote part 29 of Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels.

Based on the following prompt from Archive of Our Own user PersonFace:

Gabe hides his true thoughts and pretends to make progress, and, to his surprise, he's good at it. Not, they let it go, not, they're not noticing, he's really good at hiding away, and putting on a face. Even Sam is fooled. Gabe is conflicted on how to feel about that.

I'll confess that some of this doesn't follow the prompt to the letter, but I did my very best. And of course I am sorry for how overdue it is.

“No,” said Sam.

“Yes,” said Gabriel.

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “I told you, you’re not coming to fight.”

“I heard what you said, which is why I lied and agreed I’d lay low. Thing is, I don’t want to see you flop because you lacked the knowledge to keep from getting slaughtered.”

Sam’s face softened. “You gave us all the information you could.”

He and Gabriel stood alone in a motel room near the Uinta mountain ranges in Utah. It had been a long while since Gabriel had spent a significant amount of time out west, and indeed, they planned on being here for no longer than a few days. Dean had already left to start the car, and Sam was blocking the doorway so that Gabriel couldn’t accompany them.

Gabriel knew that Sam had a point: since healing an injury on Sam’s hand two weeks previously, after a witch and her miniscule but bloodthirsty familiar had attacked him, Gabriel had been exhausted.

Even so:

“You really don’t know much about these sons of bitches,” Gabriel reminded Sam, trying not to sound like he was pleading. “And I’ve seen them before; I would be able to take one on.”

But Sam held firm. “You’ve already done plenty to help us along, all right? You taught us more about the satori than Wikipedia and all the Japanese folklore books combined. We don’t need you to fight; we just needed that guidance. Okay? You really aren’t ready for this. And I’m not saying that to try and make you feel bad. When you’re stronger, I won’t make you stay put. Promise.”

“In other words, I’d slow you guys down.” Before Sam could protest, Gabriel added, “Fine. You’re hardly off the mark, so fine. I’ll entertain myself while you go hunt down your furry lunatic. Remember, get a good swing in, and if it doesn’t know what’s coming then you’ve got yourself an extra three seconds or so to avoid being eaten.”

Sam nodded, pretending Gabriel hadn’t told him this already. “Sure thing.”

“Did you meditate? Clear that noggin of yours? The satori feed on thoughts. Especially complex, contemplative thought.”

“Dean and I both meditated.”

“Like I said: complex and contemplative. I’m not as worried about Dean.”

Sam glanced down at his watch. “Gabriel, I’ve got to go. But while we’re gone, put your feet up. Let yourself relax for a while. I promise we’ll be okay.”

“Did I say you wouldn’t be?”

Sam smiled, and just missed the raised middle finger cast behind him on his way out the door.

Gabriel waited for the engine to fade before he checked his pocket to ensure the room key was there.

Yes, he was worn out; yes, he was low on grace; and yes - he had enough sense to understand that Sam had been generous in allowing Gabriel to come at all when he was sure to slow the others down. Nevertheless, it was true that Gabriel knew these creatures better than Sam did: he’d dealt with them more than once when they had free reign over the Central Pangean Mountains, long before humankind could take advantage of any opportunity to mess with them.

Gabriel was familiar with what scant literature was accessible to the public these days; and no matter how many times he insisted that not only were these monsters more cunning than the Winchesters’ average prey, but quicker and more ferocious, neither of them took the warnings seriously.

“I’m not questioning whether you can take them on,” Gabriel had told them. “I’m just trying to get you to believe me when I tell you that you gotta prepare for more than you’ve been able to read up on.”

“So tell us more,” Dean prodded, watching him in the rearview mirror.

“I told you all I know! It’s not like I’ve ever sat down to have lunch with one. But I’ve seen what they can do to humans, and …” Gabriel paused, remembering. “A couple of times I was able to chase them off.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “And the other times?”

Gabriel waved a dismissive hand. “Doesn’t matter.” He didn’t want to admit that the “other times” had seen him standing out of sight, watching the carnage and unwilling to get involved. “I just hope you had good reflexes in Little League.”

“We’ve got everything we need,” Sam assured him from the passenger seat. “Plenty of options in the trunk.”

“I’m not worried about what weapon you use. What matters is how fast you can swing it. The goal is to take the sucker off guard, not to destroy it.”

“Then what’s the point of this trip anyway?” Dean demanded.

“See, Sam? Your brother gets what I’m trying to say.”

“As long as we can chase it off,” Sam reminded them both. “Look, Gabriel - I hear you. We don’t know how to kill it. So we’re going to immobilize it.”

“Right.” Gabriel sat back and closed his eyes. He could feel a headache coming on. “With your fancy-pants spellwork.”

“Rowena told us - ”

“Rowena knows how to chase them into isolated sprawls of water. They can’t swim, and that’s all well and good, but what happens after that? Did she do a follow-up study? For all we know, this could be the same one she took down all those years ago. You want me to page the coral reefs, see if they found a mangy corpse over yonder?”

Sam sighed. “You’re just gonna have to trust us. We’re doing the best we can.”

“I know. That’s why I insisted on tagging along.”

Outside of the motel, Gabriel halted, breathing in the mountain air. Not for the first time, he was discombobulated at the subtleties his near-graceless body picked up in a way it never would have before: the way this oxygen was thinner than that of Kansas, the chilly tickle of fall as background noise in the latter half of summer. These minute changes affected him in strange ways, altering his heartbeat and sometimes making him feel as though he was surrounded by unfamiliar presences.

He began walking. It had been a long time since he’d set foot in the Uinta Mountain ranges. Memories flickered at the back of his mind - memories that might have taken place prehistorically or may have happened a mere few centuries before. It was hard to tell sometimes which memories fell where, considering that his time with Asmodeus was a history in itself that felt both very old and very fresh.

That’s how it works when there’s no end in sight, he thought, making his way down the road toward the mountains themselves, where he knew the monster would be lurking.

It was an hour before he got a text message from Sam. Nothing yet. Probably gonna be a few hours.

“Cool,” Gabriel said to the mountain air. “Because this won’t take me long at all. Good thing one of us knows what we’re doing.”

He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been on rolling, open grass like this. Lebanon was beige; the mountain ranges were a pure, warm green.

He wished he could move positions the way he used to. It was conceivable that he might manage some distance should he attempt to fly, but there was no point in wasting his energy on that, especially since he wasn’t sure whether he had the grace he needed to take this creature down. He couldn’t remember having ever seen one killed another way; all that could be done, it seemed - at least for humankind - was to frighten the satori off with whatever object an unwitting traveler could swat at it.

What Gabriel had wanted to say to Sam, and hadn’t, was: “If it’s a choice between you getting clawed to death and turned into a meal and me taking myself out with a last gasp for grace, why are we even debating?”

How’s it going? Gabriel texted, and Sam wrote: I’ll let you know when we get rid of it.

That terse reply, indicative of irritation (although Gabriel, sensitive as he was these days, knew he wasn’t a good assessor of others’ emotions), was nothing compared to what he would face when Sam found out he’d tried to tackle the satori on his own. The real upside to Gabriel not making it through this in one piece was that he wouldn’t have to deal with punishment.

Sam’s not going to punish you, something inside of him retorted, but he focused on taking one step after another. He was tired, but he could feel that his grace was present. Maybe healing Sam’s hand had stimulated it.

Doesn’t matter. Just gotta get this done.

When he felt the satori, his neck prickled and his heartbeat sped up. It seemed that his ability to sense unwelcome supernatural presences had either never left or been reignited at some point in the recovery from his time in Hell.

Or perhaps he was attuned to predators lying in wait.

“Come on,” Gabriel called. “Eat me.”

All birdsong ceased as Gabriel turned around.

The creature stared at him and smiled.

“You’re gross,” Gabriel told it. “You look like if the offspring of Mr. Potato Head and an orangutan got its finger caught in an electric socket.”

The goblin-esque animal-thing only grinned wider. Its eye sockets were still and hollow in a furry face.

When it spoke, its voice was high and tight as if it had inhaled from a balloon, and the words came rapidly:

“The blackness thickens,” it said. “No one will be here for long; it’s all pretend. Not one of them wants you; not one of them cares. It’s a good thing you came along to destroy the enemy: make yourself useful and perhaps they’ll let you stay. Ask nicely and they’ll allow you to keep stealing from them.”

Gabriel’s skin crawled. “What are you doing, you mangy freak?”

“It has not been able to read your mind before,” the beast replied. Gabriel, who could only assume that “it” meant the satori itself, could no longer tell whether it was actually looking at him or whether those grotesque holes were sightless. The horrid animal looked dead. “You used to be an angel. When you were more than this, it couldn’t get into your head. But look: is this not proof of what you have become?”

“I’m here to - ”

“And yet if you use what little grace swims in your near-human flesh, what use will you be? Perhaps it is time; the hour has come to show that you’re a failure, and they’ll have the excuse they so sorely need to throw you away. It can eat you, too; if you are human, and it can read you, then it can swallow you as well.”

Gabriel stepped backward.

Chill out, he told himself. The son of a bitch is screwing with you.

“The son of a bitch is not screwing with you,” the creature said. “Your memories - I smell them on your breath.” The satori cackled - harsh, like retching. “You fear that he is still inside of you. Who would have thought that you, once so esteemed and powerful, might buckle? Paralysis maintains its grip upon the creature you once were.”

Paralysis indeed, Gabriel thought as he found himself struggling to respond with either speech or movement.

The creature gave its choking laugh again. “You see? You are frozen. It knows. It knows better than anyone.”

“Wrong.” Gabriel steeled himself for either overwhelming exhaustion or worse. He felt a pang of annoyance that he couldn’t do this the way he used to. “No one knows better than yours truly.”

The flash of grace hit the creature hard, and Gabriel felt some of it ricochet back to him. It hurt, but wasn’t enough to knock him over. That came only after he saw the satori crumple to the ground, its eye sockets just as lifeless as they had been a few seconds before.

Gabriel found his face pressed into the dirt. Every muscle ached in a peculiarly human manner.

He experimented with standing up and found that, although it was a sluggish process, it wasn’t impossible. He was dizzy but he could walk.

He took breaks here and there to lean against a tree and catch his breath. The birds had started singing again.

During one of these brief siestas, he sent a message to Sam:

I know you’ll hate me and I don’t blame you but I squashed the big furry toad thing.

A few moments later, Sam replied: Where are you???

Almost to the motel.

What were you thinking???

Gabriel didn’t reply. Sam sent another message only a few seconds after that: We can find you if you stay put. Don’t move.

I’m almost back; calm down.

He could picture Sam closing his eyes and inhaling, trying not to show that he was frustrated.

Are you sure? Sam asked.

Yes. Chill. I’ll meet you there.

He didn’t check the messages after that.

Gabriel arrived first. The motel room smelled like coarse carpeting and the salami sandwiches Dean had eaten in Gabriel and Sam’s room several hours before.

Gabriel groaned and lay down on one of the two beds. He wished he could fall asleep then and there, but he knew he was about to be in trouble.

“You didn’t even take a weapon?” Dean cried when the brothers returned. “You were just banking on being able to lasso him with possibly nonexistent angel milk?”

Sam strode over to the bed. “Did you really - ”

“I’m sorry. I know. I didn’t want you to get slaughtered by something I knew I could get rid of for you, okay? Sue me.”

Sam cupped his hands over his face and exhaled. “Did it do anything to you?”

“No.”

“It didn’t hurt you?”

“If it had, then my answer would’ve been yes. I’m fine, Sam. I’m good. And I knew you’d be upset with me, but I would rather you be mad than dead.”

“I’m not upset with you; I just - you should have told me you were going to risk your neck like that.”

“Well, I asked your permission to risk my neck and you said no! What was I supposed to do, Sam? What’s done is done and we’re all still freakin’ alive, so go shower and stop yelling at me.”

He knew that Sam wasn’t yelling, but to Gabriel it sounded dangerously close.

Sam glanced at Dean.

“He’s an idiot,” Dean announced.

“Come on,” Sam snapped. “That’s not helpful.”

“Neither was going after a monster without telling us first.” Dean glared at Gabriel before making his way to the exit and slamming the door behind him.

“He’s worried, that’s all,” Sam said.

“Yeah, he’s all in a tither over my safety. I could tell by the way he tried to disembowel me with his eyes.” Gabriel shoved his face into a pillow and groaned. “I know, okay? I do. I really - I mean - look, I’d be royally pissed too, but I was doing what I thought was best. I’m not sorry for that.”

“I …” Sam struggled for a moment, but all the fight seemed to have left him. “I’m glad you managed to pull it off. Just don’t do it again.”

With an effort, Gabriel sat up. “I’m not interested in standing by anymore.”

“We’ve had this talk already: you don’t owe us anything.”

“Fine.” Gabriel flopped back down. He hadn’t removed his shoes. “I just knew what had to be done in this instance. It can’t be taken back now and I’m glad you’re not dead.”

He shut his eyes, then felt the mattress sink under Sam’s weight.

“I’m sorry,” Sam told him. “It’s only that - ”

“Don’t be sorry.” Gabriel kept his eyes closed. “I knew the reaction I was in for. As if I didn’t run through this a thousand times in my head. You disowning me is more appealing than me having to dig your grave.”

“I wouldn’t disown you. You know that. I’m not mad, and if I was - ”

“You are mad. But frankly, I figured you’d be a lot worse than this.”

“You really don’t trust me, do you?”

Gabriel opened his eyes and squinted up at Sam. “I trust you. You obviously don’t have enough faith in me to help you when you need it, though.”

Sam stood up. “Maybe let’s have this conversation tomorrow.”

“No need. Go clean yourself up.”

“Take off your shoes.”

“Too tired. Not conscious.”

As he was drifting off, he felt Sam untying his sneakers.

There was little dialogue during the long trip home the following day. Dean was still tense, which surprised Gabriel, who had been ardently convinced that Sam would be furious and Dean would be relieved. Dean wasn’t worried about whether Gabriel lived or died, and someone had taken care of his dirty work for him.

There was, of course, the possibility that Dean was upset over being denied a triumphant capture. But Gabriel wasn’t particularly concerned about Dean’s feelings in this instance. What mattered was that he and Sam were both alive and well.

Gabriel slept most of the way home, and his dreams were full of eyeless beasts clawing at his face and digging soiled ape-like paws so harshly into his skull that the pressure became too much and he grew blind. In the nightmares, he tried to scream at them, but couldn’t make a sound.

There was nothing he could do, because they already knew he was afraid.

He was stiff and clammy when it was time to climb out of the car. During the extraordinarily long journey (probably not so extraordinary for them, Gabriel realized), Sam had taken Dean’s place at the wheel and Dean was staring sullenly out of the window.

“Okay back there?” Sam asked.

Gabriel nodded.

“Here - ” Sam made his way around back to open the door and help Gabriel out.

“I’m fine,” snapped Gabriel. “I can move on my own.”

He immediately felt guilty for his tone of voice, but the dreams wouldn’t leave him.

“What’s wrong?” asked Sam. “Hey, you’re all sweaty and shaky.”

“Tired from using up my grace. Think there’s probably none left.” Both halves of his explanation were true. There was no need to explain that the nightmares had made it worse.

He shoved himself out of the car and Sam reached out a hand to steady him. Gabriel stepped away before Sam could touch him.

“Gabe,” said Sam, “You look like you’re going to pass out.”

“I’m not.”

“I can tell when something’s wrong with you.”

Gabriel clenched his jaw. “Is that so?” He straightened himself and made a concerted effort to walk evenly and steadily up to the door and down the stairs into the bunker. He stumbled toward the bottom step and Sam grabbed his shoulder.

Gabriel wrenched himself away. “Jesus, Sam, I’ll tell you if something’s wrong!”

“Okay!” Sam looked alarmed. “I just - okay.”

Gabriel ignored the shame that accompanied his outburst. Sam didn’t deserve anybody shouting at him, but there could be no denying that he was right: Sam had seen Gabriel in various states of distress and knew what it looked like when he wasn’t well.

He turned away, making for his bedroom; then he paused and looked back at Sam.

“I just need a little rest,” he said. “That’s all it is. I’m on edge, all right? But I’ll be fine.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Go. Get some sleep. I’ll bring you something to eat later.”

“All right.” Gabriel wasn’t sure he would be able to eat, but there was no reason to make Sam more suspicious. “I’ll see you later.”

He didn’t look back this time.

That week, Gabriel made it a point to eat in front of them - especially Sam - at least once a day. He wasn’t unable to eat, and mostly it wasn’t a necessity; usually, however, he didn’t have any appetite. Besides that, hunger made him feel guilty, and sometimes he had a hard time eating without an immediate recollection of being held down and force-fed during his time with Asmodeus.

If Sam noticed that Gabriel was eating more, he didn’t say. Gabriel tried to let his mind go blank during mealtimes. Asmodeus often crept in, and he must have looked a certain way when that happened because Sam would frown.

Not one of them wants you; not one of them cares.

Gabriel forced himself to swallow, privately willing Sam to stop watching him, desperate for control over his own mind.

Is this not proof of what you have become?

Not even Sam ought to have access to his innermost thoughts and memories - not anymore.

Meanwhile, Dean’s behavior had settled into some semblance of normalcy. Gabriel had never been more thankful for his indifference; he had never taken such joy in the absence of intuitive empathy.

Then there was Castiel, who seemed mostly inclined to leave his brother alone. He sometimes looked puzzled - although that wasn’t unusual for him - but he didn’t say anything.

If Jack had any suspicions about Gabriel’s newfound stoicism, he didn’t let them show. He was cheerful and inquisitive as always, and yet - maybe from spending so much time with Cas, or perhaps because he had learned neither how to express his compassion nor how to block it - there were times he too appeared confused, not sure what to make of his uncle.

“Why are you looking at me like that, kid?” Gabriel asked him one evening.

Jack replied, “How am I looking at you?”

“Like I’m still brushing off loam from the uncanny valley.”

Jack didn’t know how to respond to that, and the subject didn’t come up again.

The four of them were sharing dinner one night when Gabriel made his decision.

“Hey,” he said to the others. “You guys all need to chill right the hell out, okay?”

Everyone turned to stare at him.

“Every time I take a bite,” Gabriel elaborated, “At least one of you watches me like you think I’m going to burst into flame. Or tears. Maybe that was warranted at one point, but I’m starting to feel like there’s something stuck in my teeth and nobody wants to tell me.”

“Your teeth look fine to me,” said Jack.

“Look,” Gabriel went on, “I get that I kind of wore myself out back in Utah, but can you fellas please stop watching my every move with those confused looks on your faces?”

Sam appeared taken aback. “Is that what we’re doing? I guess I was just …”

Slowly, looking him in the eye, Gabriel forced himself to take a bite of the pizza Dean had crafted. He had tasted it before, and although it was exceptionally good, Gabriel had a hard time with the richness of it. Had it been up to him, he would have steered clear of meals that were meant to make a person feel full. This was the first time in the last week that he had fully committed to this sort of sustenance; before that, he’d been able to get away with lighter fare.

The fact that Gabriel was able to dismiss the taste and weight of the food, that he was able to bring his mind elsewhere and ignore the spasm of nausea he had anticipated when he sat down, was encouraging.

“You were just what?” Gabriel asked when he’d swallowed.

“Uh …” Sam blinked. “Nothing. Sorry.”

“You’re used to me being a swooning maiden,” Gabriel countered. “Right now I feel fine, and your constant inspection is nothing short of creepy.”

Sam furrowed his brow, but nodded. “All right. Sorry, Gabriel. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

Gabriel took another mouthful, swallowed, and said: “Who knows? Maybe using my grace to wipe out the monster was just the kick in the pants I needed to get up and running again. I mean, hey, if I have it in me to off a predator from Jim Henson’s fever-dream, maybe I’m not in for the permanent misery that seemed inevitable before he and I faced off.”

Sam smiled, looking more at ease. “Yeah. I guess that makes sense.”

“Hey,” Dean interrupted, “You including me in that accusation? You and I have been having a great time.”

“That’s true,” Castiel agreed. He hadn’t taken any pizza, but was enjoying the company. “I’ve never seen the two of you get along so well.”

“Right?” Gabriel sat back. “So what do you have to complain about, Sam?”

“I’m not complaining, Gabriel, really.”

“Good. Because if you’ve got something to say, you can say it to me.”

For a moment he was afraid Sam was going to shout at him, although Gabriel knew that when he’d dared use that tone with Asmodeus, he deserved whatever response came his way.

Instead, he saw Sam further relax. “All right. I will.”

Sam was watchful during the remainder of the meal, although it was possible that Gabriel was only imagining as much. Sometimes he thought he felt Sam’s eyes on him, but when he looked over, Sam was just enjoying the food.

After dinner, Dean crooked a finger at Gabriel. “C’mere a minute.”

Gabriel followed him into the hall.

“What’s going on?” Dean asked, which surprised Gabriel.

“Nothing,” he replied.

“Look, I’m not complaining. I like you like this. But last week, before we left for Utah, you were afraid to ask for a napkin - and that’s even if you took five minutes to eat without Sam practically forcing it down your throat. So what gives?”

“Nothing,” Gabriel said again, wishing Dean had used different hyperbole. “Why are you harassing me about this?”

“Well, maybe if I knew what I was harassing you about it, we wouldn’t need to have this conversation.”

Gabriel stiffened. He felt betrayed. He had trusted Dean to be ignorant and unconcerned.

“I don’t know what you think you’re seeing,” Gabriel told him. “All I know is it isn’t real.”

“Maybe Sam should be the one to decide that.”

“Oh please. What’s Sam got to do with anything?”

Dean remained stone-faced.

Gabriel hardened his voice. “No one’s bothering Sam about anything. What, have you consulted him how to fix whatever imaginary problem you’ve got keeping you up at night? Asked him how to rewire his favorite disaster?”

“No,” said Dean, “Because I’d never hear the end of it from this new version of you.”

“What ‘new version’ of me? I can’t figure out if I’m being insulted.”

“Look, all I know is people don’t change like this overnight. Not without a reason.”

“Good thing I’m not people, then,” Gabriel snapped.

Dean shook his head. “Like I said, man, I don’t know what’s going on with you. Maybe it’s none of my business; I just figure you should ask Sam for help if something isn’t right.”

“I - ” Gabriel faltered. “You don’t want me to bother Sam about this, do you? Not that there’s any - but if there were, if I was - look, no one’s asking Sam for anything, okay? There’s no need, and if something was wrong with me, then he doesn’t need to do anything. Poor sap’s done enough for every lifetime he’s been put through.”

“I think he’d wanna know.”

“What would he want to know? What do you think the issue is here?”

“Well, if I knew, I wouldn’t’ve thought to bug you about it. But fine. Maybe my intuition is off.” He turned to leave, but then paused and looked back at Gabriel. “Sam would never forgive himself if you felt like you couldn’t tell him something, though.”

Gabriel stared at him. Then, more timidly, he asked: “Are you sure you haven’t mentioned anything? About … about whatever you think you see?”

“No. Should I?”

Gabriel shook his head.

“Look, Gabe,” said Dean, “He worries, but at the same time, he really wants to see you get better. He might be pulling the wool over his own eyes about this. If something happens to you and he thinks he could’ve done something to stop it, neither of you is going to be okay.”

Gabriel didn’t respond.

“I’ll see you later, Gabe,” Dean said, and left him standing in the hall with his heart beating twice as fast as it had been during dinner.

With static humming in his mind, Gabriel went back to his own bedroom. He shut the door and lay down on the bed, puzzled and frustrated by the sudden tautness in his throat. He ignored it.

He felt as though he had just been scolded, although he was reasonably confident that no such event had taken place.

Paralysis maintains its grip upon the creature you once were.

It occurred to Gabriel then that even he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. He allowed himself a brief indulgence in the notion that Sam really was under the impression that, for the first time in months, nothing was so wrong with Gabriel as to require immediate attention. He wondered if they could be friends without the ongoing dynamic of victim and savior, although he knew Sam would have scoffed at such a description.

Then he considered the practical implications of remaining here when he had just taken such a hit to his grace supply. He had reason to believe that it would come back - he had been entirely without grace more than once, and it always came back - but the amount of time that would take couldn’t be predicted. If he was to stay here, in the bunker, he had to have grace sooner rather than later. He remembered being without grace in Hell, and wished he could forget the punishment for such a crime. Now, in the bunker, he might not be penalized so much as …

Well, uselessness was a punishment in itself.

The hour has come to show that you’re a failure.

Gabriel sighed and closed his eyes.

They’ll have the excuse they so sorely need to throw you away.

No dreams, no nightmares, no tossing and turning: this slumber was quiet and pure.

But the next thing Gabriel knew, there were two voices calling his name; one he recognized immediately as Sam’s, and the other took him a few seconds to identify as that of Castiel. He couldn’t make out the words, and then he realized he couldn’t fully open his eyes; they had grown too heavy.

Panic set in as someone lifted him upright. He didn’t even have the strength to go rigid, let alone any power to fight back.

“Gabriel.” Sam was speaking to him in a low, hurried voice. “We’re not going to hurt you. Just wake up, all right?”

Gabriel wrenched his eyes partway open. The room was hazy. He took shallow breaths.

“Geez,” Sam told him. “Gabe, buddy, we couldn’t get you to wake up.”

Gabriel tried to ask, Why? but couldn’t make himself speak.

“It’s almost two in the afternoon,” Sam told him, “And when I came in to check on you, you just …” He trailed off.

“Wouldn’t move,” Castiel finished.

Gabriel leaned back against Sam.

“What’s going on?” Sam pressed. “I’ve never seen that happen to you before.”

When Gabriel managed to reply, his voice was hoarse. “I’ve fainted plenty.”

“This is different. Hey, keep your eyes open for a minute; we thought - ” Sam paused. “We just didn’t know what was going on.”

“Tired,” Gabriel slurred.

“This goes beyond tired, Gabriel,” said Cas.

“My grace … it’s …”

“It’s what?” Sam prodded.

“Dunno. I …” Gabriel tried to ignore the pounding in his head. “Killing the monster, the satori - ”

Sam and Castiel waited for him to continue. When Gabriel’s breath began coming a little more easily, he finished, “Maybe took some fight out of me.”

“This is why I told you not to come.” Sam didn’t sound angry - just worried, even afraid. “I know you were trying to help, but Gabriel, you were the one who said how vicious those things are. You’re not ready for something like that.”

“Through no fault of your own,” Castiel added.

Gabriel tried to push himself off of Sam and found that he was too weak.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked him. “Does anything hurt?”

“Why?” The question emerged, at last, without Gabriel even thinking about it.

“What? Why what?”

“What good’re you gonna get out of knowing what’s the matter with me?”

Sam shifted so that Gabriel was lying with his head on Sam’s lap instead of bent at an angle against his chest.

Castiel spoke up: “I suspect that Sam is simply trying to remind you that you’ve become an important part of his life, and he doesn’t want to see you suffer.”

“Well, whoop-dee-doo.”

“Gabriel …” Sam checked for a fever, then pushed stray locks of hair from Gabriel’s eyes. “I don’t understand. You seemed okay last night.”

“I’m still okay.”

“That’s obviously not true,” said Cas.

“Can you try and sit up?” Sam asked.

“Maybe.” He let Sam shift away and prop him against the pillows. As he watched Sam step back, face pale with concern, he had a moment’s doubt about his own pride.

Sit back down, he wanted to say, or I wouldn’t want to touch me either.

He closed his eyes.

“No,” Sam commanded. “Gabriel, don’t. Not yet. I want you to stay awake for now.”

When, and how, had this suddenly become too much? He knew how to frolic in lies. He knew how to make personal falsehoods into very real truths; pretending until he was no longer play-acting was a familiar process.

Why now, then, did he feel his throat tighten as he stared down at the blankets?

He was committed this time, though. He was well-versed in the warning signals of a breakdown and understood that there was no benefit in acting like a child. Sam had seen and dealt with enough, and Gabriel had debased himself so often that he couldn’t imagine anyone harboring even a modicum of respect for him at this point.

That was fine. He needed to learn not to care so much about his reputation at the bunker.

“Cas,” Sam said, “Maybe …”

“Yes. Of course.” Gabriel felt his brother watching him. “If you need me, I’m nearby. Although I suspect you know what you’re doing, Sam.”

“Thanks. I think we’ll be okay.”

Gabriel heard the door close.

“All right,” Sam said, “I know you don’t like to be coerced into talking to me, and usually I’d let up a little, but if you’re sick you need to tell me.”

“I’m not.”

“Then what happened just now?”

“Beats me. But what do you expect?” Gabriel spoke more smoothly now, but directly to the blankets. “I used up all my grace on the satori. Can you blame me for being a little out of sorts?”

“No, of course I don’t blame you. But I’m not talking about your grace. Or at least I don’t think I am.”

“Yeah? What do you think we’re discussing here, then?”

“I don’t know.” Sam looked helpless. “You seemed fine yesterday, and now you’re - I mean, how did you go from that to this? This whole week you've been ... I mean ... I don't know. I thought ... ”

“Am I not an open book to you anymore? Good.”

“What?”

“There’s no reason for you to be inside my head. There’s no reason for you to - to know any more about me, or what happened to me, than you already do.”

Sam was silent.

“I see through your strategy, Sam,” Gabriel added, still staring at the blanket. “I - when you’re quiet, you want me to talk.”

“I’m just worried.”

“You’ve made that abundantly clear, and I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know what I can do to make you feel better about this whole thing.”

“About what whole thing? About you trying to get well?”

“Pal, if that’s what you’re looking for - for me to get back on my own two feet - then what are you complaining about? Obviously I’m better. I haven’t cried or thrown up once since we got back, and I don’t see how that’s a questionable development.”

“No, I mean, it’s not, but - ”

“But what, Sam?”

“It’s not. Really, it isn’t.”

In the moment of silence that followed, Gabriel felt such an urge to speak, to tell the truth and recount exactly what had happened in the mountains, that he tore his gaze away from the blankets and met Sam’s eyes. He now had a choice: he could say something about what had taken place, or he could lose control of himself altogether.

If there was a third option, Gabriel didn’t see it.

“I don’t want to give you a whole novel about this,” he said. “My head is killing me.”

Sam nodded.

Gabriel hesitated for a few moments longer. Then he took a deep breath and began: “When we were out in Utah, and I took down that creeptastic freakazoid, it - you know - it did what it does. It found some way into my brain, and yammered on and on about my every thought. Which wouldn’t have been a problem in and of itself if I hadn’t - if I wasn’t - well, before, when I faced one of them, it couldn’t read my mind. I was an angel and it couldn’t get in. So what does that tell you, Sam?”

Sam looked blankly at him.

“Come on, Mr. Ivy League,” Gabriel pressed. “This is measurable proof that right now, at least, I’m more human than anything else. Plus, I’ve already got one monster in my head. I don’t need another psychic bedfellow. You mean well, I know, but - but don’t you think, Sam, that you being the way you are to me might be holding me in one place? Or making me an easier target, instead of building me back up to what I used to be?”

“I’ve never thought that.”

“Well, does this change your mind? I just wrote you a whole thesis.”

“Gabriel, if you didn’t have any power then you wouldn’t have been able to take that thing down in the first place.”

“And look at how that turned out. I can barely move.”

“That’s because you haven’t given yourself a chance to recover.”

“How was I even supposed to know I needed it? I’ve been fine this last week.”

“Have you?”

“Yes!”

"I sort of wasn’t talking about the satori.”

“Oh for the love of all things holy and unholy, Sam, stop being so dramatic. I’ve had plenty of time to tunnel my way out of this.”

“Did you get through the whole week without a flashback or nightmare? You seemed like you felt pretty good. I … should I have checked?”

The guilt in Sam’s voice made Gabriel wish he’d stayed unconscious. “No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I said no, Sam.”

“You’re not well.” There was horror and distress on Sam’s face now. “I thought - ”

“Christ, Sam, relax.”

“Why didn’t you - ”

“Because this is on me, Sam! It always has been. And that’s almost beside the point. Geez, you know - you really need to make up your mind. Am I meant to improve by eating more and learning to calm myself down, or am I supposed to hold you like a security blanket every time my engine misfires? Which is it, Sam? Should I be strengthening the muscles that Asmodeus deflated or should I keep letting you man the ship when a storm kicks in?”

“Gabriel …”

“Answer the question. I’m serious. I can’t solve this equation no matter how creative I get with it. What am I supposed to do? For me, for you, for everyone here? I need an answer and maybe you have it. I sure as all get-out have no idea what I’m supposed to do or where I’m supposed to go without messing something up.”

Gabriel thought Sam looked like he might cry. “I guess it depends.”

“No, see, that’s not how this works. Because if this was a case-by-case endeavor, one of us would have found the balance by now. No, Sam, I don’t feel good. Why’s that? I don’t feel good when I’m alone; I don’t feel good about how I act when you step in. There’s no winning for me, and for you there’s just constant sacrifice that never leads anywhere. There’s a right and a wrong answer here, and if neither of us can figure it out, then I don’t know what to do. Just stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop - stop trying to make me showcase my emotions. Maybe it works for you but it doesn’t lead to anything good for me; all it does is make me feel ashamed.”

Sam seemed at a loss for words. “I’m sorry,” he offered. “I’m not trying to make you do anything. Gabriel, I think you should just do what feels natural. If that means pretending everything’s okay, then - then fine, I guess, except I don’t think that’s what you really want.”

“Well, I don’t know what I want; as far as I’m concerned, I don’t want anything except to be more like an angel and less like a toddler.”

“I don’t think of you that way. You know that, Gabriel.”

“Sure, fine, but let’s not sugarcoat the fact that I am the way I am, and the responsibility is on me to change.”

Sam looked away, contemplating. Then he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me about what happened with the satori?”

“Because then I would’ve gotten worked up about it and so would you. You would’ve been worried about me.”

“I’m worried about you anyway.”

“Yup, I missed the mark on that one. What else is new?”

“So you think - ”

Gabriel shoved himself properly upright. “Stop it, Sam! For the love of every damn good thing left in this world, just stop it! Stop trying to coach me into a breakdown!”

Sam looked aghast. “I’m not!”

“So what are you after? You want to help? Do you want to keep me in one piece or break me into a thousand? I never know with you anymore; it - ” Gabriel took a shuddering breath and began to cry. “You know exactly what you’re doing. I’m not here for you to play with me, Sam!”

Sam stood up. “Gabriel - ”

“Is this what you want?” Gabriel raised his face so that Sam could see the tears. “You think that bullying me into showing my feelings is going to lead to success? I don’t like myself like this! I don’t want you to see and you keep on trying to open me up just like he did! Stop it, Sam! Stop it!”

“No, no - hey - ” Helplessly, Sam took his hand and Gabriel tore it away. “I - Gabriel - should I get Castiel?”

“No!”

“I don’t want you to be alone.”

“Neither do I!” Gabriel pounded the mattress with his fist. “So stay, because I need you here, and I hate you for that and I hate me for that too. I hate all of this!”

“I know you do.” Sam’s voice shook. “But you haven’t done anything wrong. Maybe I have; I don’t know. But none of this is your fault. I’m so sorry if I messed up.”

“You didn’t! I did! I don’t know! Stop it!” Gabriel took frantic breaths, tasting salt where the tears met his lips.

“You said I was like him.” Sam sounded weak. “If I ever made you feel that way, it was an accident.”

“You’re not like him; you - you’re trying to do something to me, and so was he, and I don’t know how to tell the difference between you pushing me to bleed out in front of you and him ripping me open with his bare hands!”

“I had no idea that’s what I was doing!”

“Because you’re - Sam, you’re - ” Gabriel found himself unable to breathe for a moment. When he managed it again, he said, “You’re not evil.”

That seemed to perplex Sam. “I hope not.”

“Of course you aren’t. But do you have any idea what that does to me?”

“I … no, I guess I don’t.”

Gabriel didn’t know either. He ground his teeth against the urge to scream.

No one will be here for long; it’s all pretend.

“I wasn’t like this before,” he said.

“That’s because you weren’t trapped in Hell before.”

“You’ve been trapped in Hell! And you’re nothing like this! Talk all day about how you need help, about how you have your bad dreams and your breakdowns - but you’re nothing like this, nothing like what I turned into.”

Not one of them wants you.

“That thing knew,” Gabriel wailed. “That thing knew exactly what I believe, exactly what I’m afraid of; that thing got into my head in a way even I can’t get into my head! I don’t have any control anymore, Sam - none.”

Not one of them wants you.

“That creature thought I was human, Sam,” Gabriel whispered. “Feeding on your kindness hasn’t done anything except squash me.”

Not one of them wants you.

“I know I can’t really understand what it’s like, exactly,” said Sam, “But what scares you so bad about being human? Especially if you know you aren’t, and your grace always comes back - even it’s on the slower side.”

Gabriel shook his head. “It’s not about the grace.” He swiped at his cheeks with his palms. “It’s about this.”

“About …”

Gabriel looked at him. “Do you know, and you’re just trying to get me to say it?”

“No! I’m not trying to make you say anything.”

Gabriel wasn’t sure he believed him, but lacked the energy to argue. “Well, then it’s about - it’s about the stuff in my head, and how I seem to be open season for anyone who wants a shot, for better or worse. In your case, it’s for the better; you don’t want to hurt me, or at least I don’t think you do. But you still know. You still see inside of me, and I’d give anything at all for a little emotional opacity. I’m weak, maybe as weak as I was in Hell.”

“No.”

“At least in my stupid cage I had a consistent idea of what the next day might bring. I anticipated chaos. He’d destroyed me, on purpose, for fun - so after a little while, I didn’t have to pretend I was holding myself together. Giving up the effort was easy enough; I had no choice. Well - no - unless I did have a choice, and made the wrong one. But he had power over me and I was used to being hurt. I didn’t have to play at not being vulnerable. It’s not like that anymore, Sam.”

“Shouldn’t that be a good thing?”

“You’d expect so, wouldn’t you? Me too. I’ve lost track of what’s good and what’s bad. So it’s not my grace I’m worried about. Or - no, that’s not true. I do worry about my grace, because I don’t know what the heck I’m supposed to be without it. It’s more like - it’s that worrying about my grace is almost a luxury right now. If I get to lose sleep over how much grace I have instead of how easily I get scared and lose control of myself, I count myself lucky.”

Sam frowned, trying to grasp what Gabriel was telling him.

Sometimes Sam understood, and sometimes he couldn’t relate. In this case, Gabriel suspected, Sam was at a loss because at no point in his life had he ever known genuine autonomy. With Gabriel, it was different: independence and secrecy were everything to him.

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel muttered. “I know I don’t make this easy for you.”

Sam was silent for a moment longer, then asked: “Can I tell you something?”

Gabriel froze. This wasn’t the first time he’d become immobile over the possibility of Sam explaining that no, he really couldn’t do this anymore. Perhaps this was the paralysis to which the satori had referred.

“It’s nothing bad,” Sam added hastily, in yet another demonstration of how naturally he could read Gabriel. “I just wanted to say that I don’t look down on you for being affected by your time with Asmodeus. Of course you freak out sometimes; who wouldn’t? And don’t say anything about me," he added as Gabriel opened his mouth. "I’ve been out of Hell a lot longer than you, and you were gone for so long … there’s a lot you didn’t see.” Bitterness crept into Sam’s voice. “Anyway, you can’t help what this has done to you. But hey, you know who would judge you for struggling? Asmodeus. Not me. Not any of us, but especially not me.”

Gabriel tried to respond, but there was no way to speak around the tightness in his throat and chest. The sincerity in Sam’s voice hurt him.

Finally, he managed: “You set that up to sound so dramatic.”

Sam smiled. “Sorry.”

Neither of them spoke for a while after that, although the break in conversation felt natural, not awkward.

Gabriel was fighting sleep when Sam broke the silence. “You’re convincing, you know that?”

“I’m what?”

“The way you just … slipped into your old role. I was surprised, but it didn’t seem forced. The way you spoke up for yourself at dinner last night was impressive. Normally you would’ve been scared of getting in trouble.”

“Hm.” Gabriel considered. “Well, I’ve said it before, Sam: I don’t know who or what I was before Asmodeus. Something changed; that’s all I can tell you.”

“And I was thinking - you know, even before we got back from the mountains, I saw something different. You pushed to come, and then you broke your promise about staying in the motel. I don’t know, maybe I’m off, but that’s a decision you might not have made before.”

“It was important. If something happened to you because I was too afraid to help, that would’ve been punishment on its own. It was a no-win situation so I took the option that I knew would keep you alive.”

“But you probably weren’t so sure about whether you would come out okay.” There was no accusation in Sam’s voice; he was merely making an observation.

“No,” Gabriel agreed, “I didn’t.”

Sam went on, “And it says something, doesn’t it, that you were able to put on such a good act? That’s an old talent that maybe you haven’t tapped into in a while.”

“It must not have been as good as you say, because your brother picked up on it somehow.”

Sam looked surprised. “When?”

“Last night he cornered me about how it isn’t standard to switch from empty to full in such a short span of time. Said I should go to you if I needed help.”

“Wow." Sam blinked. "I guess I don’t really know what to make of that.”

“Well, to me it means that some lucky winner always has access to my cesspit of a brain. Whether that’s you, or Dean, or Asmodeus, or a mountain-dwelling monster.”

“Oh geez, Gabriel …” Sam reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “It’s not like that, buddy.”

“Of course it is. Everybody gets a piece of me if they want it.” Gabriel turned his eyes to the sheets again, fighting tears. “And when I wasn’t whatever I am now, the satori couldn’t get into my head. Like I said - proof, Sam. Proof so concrete you could draw chalk around it. Proof.”

Sam shook his head, but didn’t seem to know what to say.

“I can’t stay awake,” Gabriel muttered, because it sounded more reasonable than When you look at me like that, you’re proving my point. “Can I rest a little bit?”

Sam hesitated. “Let me wake you up in twenty minutes. Just to make sure you’re not out cold again. Then, if you’re okay - another hour, and we can take it from there.”

“Fine.” Gabriel hated the idea of being shaken awake in such a short time, but hadn’t the stamina to argue.

Sam helped adjust Gabriel’s position so that he was lying down, then pulled the blankets around Gabriel’s shoulders. He didn’t move to leave.

If this was an instance of Sam being able to read him too easily, he didn’t want to know.

#Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels #PASF #Supernatural fanfiction #SPN fanfiction #Sabriel #Platonic #Friendship #Fanfic prompts #Do I regret my decision to forgo anonymity?#Sometimes #Too late now #Oh well #Gabriel #Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #Gabriel/Sam Winchester

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ambersock · 3 years

Text

On the Edge of Forever

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Lucifer (Cassifer)

Summary: Sam has a plan to deal with the Darkness. Dean is definitely not going to like it.

Word Count: 4095

Warnings: Angst, Minor Sam Whump, Swearing, Sam Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues

A/N: Takes place in Season 11, after 11.10 The Devil in the Details. More notes at the end.

Now: Dean

Baby’s tires squeal in protest as Dean uses up a month of tread taking yet another turn too fast, her back-end fishtailing with only intermittent traction keeping her from spinning out. He’ll apologize to her later. Dean slams the accelerator down as he exits the curve and hits 90 on a straight section of the backwoods road on the outskirts of a town probably called Where The Fuck Are We We’re Lost. He starts to recognize landmarks from the last time he was here almost three years ago; he’s close. Not close enough.

He hurtles towards his destination, praying to who the hell knows what (because, really, there’s nothing out there that gives a shit, is there?), that he makes it in time to stop his idiot brother from doing an idiotic thing. Because he idiotically let his brother go to talk to fucking Lucifer, and of course Lucifer got inside his head. And here he is again, wracking his brain to figure out what the hell he can possibly say to convince Sam to abandon his insane plan.

Five days ago: Sam

Ever since the train wreck that was supposed to be a “safe” visit to the Cage to ask for Lucifer’s help against the Darkness, Sam has been replaying the Lucifer-guided tour of his worst fuck ups over and over on an endless loop, hoping that repetition and whiskey will numb him just a little more each time. For the hundredth time Sam curses his hubris, thinking he would even register on God’s radar, let alone that He would answer his prayers and send him visions. For the hundredth time he curses himself for being so naïve that he never suspected that the visions were just a lure from Lucifer to reel him in, break him down, and use him as a ride out of the Cage. And he hates himself for how close he had come to caving in. More than once.

On his third shot of whiskey and his umpteenth rerun through his trail of regrets, it hits Sam: within the chain of events of disaster begetting calamity begetting catastrophe, there is one moment in time where it could have easily all fallen apart. One small delay, one broken link, would cause a cascade failure and drastically alter everything that came after. He can’t help fantasizing, over and over, about all of the different little things could have happened that would have changed the entire outcome. If only.

On his fourth shot of whiskey, Sam remembers the sigil that allowed Henry Winchester to travel through time, and he huffs out a laugh.

On his fifth shot of whiskey, Sam staggers to the archive room and starts pulling books.

******

Sam continues to stare at the passages describing the Enochian time travel spell. The task he’s set himself is a flame that has both sustained him and consumed him for days on end. There’s a tree’s worth of paper covered in notes scattered across every horizontal surface, held down by mostly empty coffee mugs distributed randomly around the cramped space. His eyes are dry and red, an eyestrain headache thrums in the back of his skull, and his back is aching from being hunched over musty tomes for hours at a time attempting to deconstruct and reverse engineer the spell, to adapt it to his specific purpose. He’s not sure when he slept last, and Dean has started to give him those sideways I-know-something’s-eating-you looks which means he’s got limited time before Dean drags him out of the bunker “for his own good”. Sam forces himself to clear his mind of everything except the patterns of Enochian writing in front of him. He’s close, he thinks he’s found the right figures, he just needs to understand how to combine them with the original blood sigil. As Dean would say, he’s on the one-yard line and it’s time to push through it.

Hours later something finally clicks like a circuit closing in his brain, and suddenly the pattern of the lesser symbols within the larger whole makes sense to Sam. The solution is simple and elegant, and it’s so obvious to him now that he can’t believe he didn’t see it sooner. He adds the figures to a drawing of the original blood sigil and he knows, just knows, that this is going to work. He allows himself to luxuriate in the endorphin rush that accompanies success, the feeling that he’s about to score a win. For the first time since he threw himself into the Cage, he feels like he’s finally doing something right.

The only problem now is finding the right way to tell Dean. He’s going to need some time and distance, a head-start to get out in front of Dean’s inevitable knee-jerk reaction, because Dean is definitely not going to like this. Even if it was his idea.

Yesterday: Lucifer-wearing-Castiel

It was a stroke of luck, really, that Lucifer landed Castiel as a vessel instead of Sam as he had originally intended. Dean might have caught on to Lucifer-wearing-Sam, but it was just too easy to pass himself off as the besotted pet angel when Dean had caught him tearing through the records. A contrite little “I’m sorry Dean” coupled with a soulful look and Dean was sold. It is surprisingly so much easier to masquerade as someone else topside than it ever was in the Cage. He never could fully convince Sam that it was Dean who was carving out his organs.

Fun aside, there is now a possible monkey wrench in Lucifer’s carefully laid and, so far successful, bid for freedom. He stares at the disarray of notes decorated with Enochian symbols strewn all over the small bunker storage room by his erstwhile vessel, and can’t dismiss the growing possibility that everything is about to unravel.

“Oh Sammy-boy, what are you up to?”

His vessel has been mucking around with a time-travel sigil, and it seems like he’s pretty far along. Logically, Sam would be looking to prevent the release of the Darkness, which also certainly means undoing the events leading to the damage to the Cage that allowed Lucifer to escape. There are two lessons he files away for later: one, never speak Enochian in front of a chew toy; two, sending Sam Winchester on a guilt trip tends only results in a manic attempt on his part to fix things, which is exactly how Lucifer ended up back in the Cage the second time. He takes a moment to appreciate the irony of how tormenting Sam with his past regrets might now colossally backfire on him. He questions whether it was really worth it just to see Sam squirm like that once again, but then he can’t keep a smile of contentment from spreading across his face.

Yes, yes it was. Definitely worth it.

So now to the problem at hand: Lucifer-wearing-Castiel has other important, and definitely more amusing, things he needs to attend to, such as feeding Crowley his own intestines. But this potential threat to his plans is not something he can abide. He mulls over the merits of just disintegrating Sam—not very satisfying, but efficient—when he feels a tickle from a small, dark corner of his consciousness. He sighs in irritation.

“What do you want, Castiel?”

I believe I can help.

“Yeah, not really buying that.”

Give me five minutes, and I promise that Sam will no longer be of concern.

Lucifer is loath to cede control, but at the same time his curiosity is piqued. He can always return to Plan Disintegrate later. Or maybe he’ll think of something more entertaining while he’s waiting.

“Five minutes.”

Castiel takes out his phone and picks Dean out of his contacts. As Dean picks up, Castiel reaches for the page holding the altered blood sigil.

“Dean… I’m afraid your brother is planning to do something very foolish…”

Earlier: Dean

“You’re going to what?”

“I’m going to fix this. Fix the Darkness. I figured out a way to take Abaddon off the board in the past. No Abaddon, no Mark of Cain. No Mark, the Darkness stays locked up. Kevin lives. Charlie lives. It’s a no-brainer.”

Dean is standing in the room where Sam had been doing his clandestine research, now devoid of the notes that Castiel had described. After 17 frantic, unanswered calls to Sam, who had gone missing all night, Sam has finally called back and Dean knows that something’s seriously off. He sounds eerily upbeat, which immediately sets off Dean’s alarm bells given how shaken and preoccupied he had been after coming back from the near-disastrous visit to the virtual Cage. Whatever Sam’s planning, Dean is pretty sure he’s not going to like it, and Sam’s not exactly forthcoming with details. Either Dean needs to get Sam to spill, or he at least needs to get a trace on his phone and figure out where he is.

“Aren’t you the one who always says not to screw with time? Mothra Effect, or whatever? And if you go back and meet yourself, won’t the universe, like, explode or something?”

“Butterfly Effect. And I’m not going back, I’m sending something back. Seriously, Dean, do you really think I can possibly screw up the time line any worse than The End of Everything?”

Dean doesn’t have a good response to that, so he switches the topic to keep Sam talking. “So how, exactly, are you gonna take Abaddon out without the Mark and the First Blade? You planning to send her one of your documentary podcasts and bore her to death?”

There’s a huff of exasperation on the other end and Dean swears he can hear Sam roll his eyes. “Hilarious. Look, I’ve found another way.”

“Then tell me where you are and I’ll come help.”

Silence.

Then, “Don’t worry Dean, I’ve got this. It’s an easy spell. You should keep researching the Darkness in case this doesn’t work.”

Sam being evasive confirms that Dean has good reason to be suspicious about this plan, but the trace is still going and Dean plays for more time.

“Don’t worry? Might as well tell me not to breathe. Let me guess: you’re sending a bomb back to blow Abaddon to fucking bits so we can’t sew her head back on.”

“…Huh. Interesting idea, but there’s too much risk that I’d end up blowing up one of us. Anyway, it’s a blood spell. Whatever goes back has to be infused with DNA so that it can latch onto the same DNA. I’m just sending some cloth back. Like I said, it’s simple.”

Dean gives in to his growing irritation at Sam’s caginess and decides to go for the direct assault.

“Sam. What aren’t you telling me?” Dean already has his suspicions of what Sam isn’t telling him; there’s only one way he can think of that takes Abaddon out of play and saves Kevin. He’s hoping he’s wrong. He’s also dying to know how time travelling cloth comes into this.

“Don’t get mad.”

“Sam.”

“Look, just promise you’ll hear me out, okay?”

“SAM.”

Dean can hear Sam take a breath, like he’s getting ready to plunge into deep water. “…I’m going to make sure I finish the third Trial.”

There it is. Damn it.

“LIKE HELL YOU ARE.”

Click.

Sam disconnects before the trace finishes, but Dean doesn’t need the trace to know where to find him. He hauls ass to the garage where the Impala is waiting.

Now: Dean

Dean stands on the brake and Baby skids to a halt next to the car Sam had appropriated, sitting in front of the old, decrepit church. It’s exactly as he remembered it last, like it’s been frozen in time waiting for their return. Overgrown bushes still cling to the rotting siding, and stained glass still litters the ground from the blown-out side window. The only thing missing is the shower of angelic fireballs cascading toward the earth with Sam dying by his side, an image that perversely reminds him of watching fireworks in a field with next to his little brother.

The last time they were here, Sam was half out of his mind with fever and remorse, and Dean’s desperate I’m-Your-Big-Brother-You-Have-To-Do-What-I-Say tone had actually, thankfully, gotten through to him and Sam had backed down. He can’t believe that he has to talk Sam down from the same fucking ledge again, only it’s worse this time because Sam is laser focused on his mission to fix the problem. This time, emotional pleas and yelling and demanding aren’t going to work. This time, so help him, the only way Dean will be able to talk Sam out of this will be to throw logic at him.

Dean launches himself out of the Impala and bursts through the doors of the church to see Sam sitting, chin in hand, in the chair that once held a nearly human King of Hell. A crimson stain is spreading on a strip of cloth that he’s holding to his arm, and there is a bowl of already-mixed spell ingredients on the floor in front of him. Sam has clearly been waiting for Dean.

“Well, that was quick.”

Dean, bent over huffing, heart still pounding from breakneck drive here, is seriously tempted to punch Sam.

Before Dean can take a deep enough breath to start in on forcefully explaining to Sam how idiotic this is, Sam launches into his sales pitch. “Look Dean, I know what you’re going to say, but just listen. I’m not throwing my life away on some impulsive, reckless act. I need you to understand that, that’s why I waited for you. I’ve had days to think this through. This endless cycle of crossing lines we’ve got no business crossing, of throwing away the world to save each other, this is where it all started, and I can stop it before it starts.”

“Damn it Sam, are you even capable of coming up with a plan where you don’t die? Closing up Hell wasn’t worth your life then, and it’s not worth it now—”

“Isn’t it though? I mean, my insides were going to be deep fried whether or not I finished it. You were right when you said you shouldn’t have pulled me back. Look at everything that came after—Kevin, you becoming a demon, and—and the things that I had to do to get you back, to remove the Mark… getting Charlie killed… and how many people died when the Darkness infected that town? I mean, how can you tell me that saving all of them isn’t worth it?”

Dean feels a knot growing in his stomach because he knows damned well that it wasn’t Lucifer who got into Sam’s head. It was the Mark that told Sam that he should have been on the pyre instead of Charlie. It was the Mark that told Sam he should have died finishing the Trials. It was the Mark that told Sam that he was evil. It had said all of this to Sam for his crime of saving Dean from an eternity of suffering.

But it was Dean who never apologized, never tried to set things right.

They have both said and done abhorrent things to each other while under the control of some entity or force, and there has always been an unspoken understanding between them that they don’t take it personally. Mostly. Sometimes. Okay, Dean usually gets mad, leaving Sam to trail after him afterwards apologizing profusely. But Sam always brushes these incidents aside and moves on without a word. Hell, the first thing Sam had done after the hammer episode was to go out and get Dean a double bacon cheeseburger with extra onions and three different pies.

But this… this has really gotten to Sam. He didn’t just dismiss it like he did when they were under the influence of the Siren. He buried it instead and let it set down roots and infest every corner of his brain. And when Sam gets like this—like after he set Lucifer free, like after he found out what he had done while he was soulless—he just can’t let it go until he does something to atone for it. This is ironically what Dean both most admires and most infuriates him about his little brother: his unwavering determination to make things right and his absolute faith in their ability to do so. More than once he has carried Dean along in his wake by sheer willpower when all Dean wanted to do is crawl into a bottle. But these crusades never end well for Sam, and the one thing that Dean will never be able to protect Sam from is himself.

Sam crosses over to the oversized wooden double doors at the entrance, already adorned with the augmented blood sigil. He winds the cloth through both handles and ties it securely as blood continues to ooze from the cut on his forearm. Dean gets what Sam is doing now. He’s using the spell to send the blood-infused cloth back in time, homing in on his own blood in the past, to hold the doors shut back then. Dean had barely gotten to Sam in time to stop him from curing Crowley, and if it had taken him just a few more seconds to push through the door it would have been over. Will have been over.

“Kah-nee-lah. Poo-goh.”

The sigil on the door starts to glow dimly, and the reality that This Is Happening hits Dean like cold water in the face. He had every intention of trying to talk Sam out of this with a reasonable, adult discussion, because he knows damned well that Sam doesn’t respond to orders being yelled at him. It all flies out the window at that moment and he’s barking at Sam like a drill sergeant, because if he doesn’t, he’d be breaking down instead. He grabs Sam’s arm and spins him around.

“What the hell, Sam? You know that nothing I said while I had that thing on my arm counts. You can’t seriously believe that I meant any of—”

Sam cuts him off, his gaze intense, his voice fervent. “It’s true, Dean, what you said. Mark or not, it’s the truth. I chose to cross those lines; I chose to let the Darkness out. You told me not to, and I did it anyway. So this is me stepping up and taking responsibility. If I’ve got a chance to undo all of this, I have to take it. And right now, it’s the only play we’ve got.”

Angry words propelled by desperation shoot out of Dean before he can stop them. “Yeah, that’s exactly what you said about your visions of the Cage, and how did that work out for you?”

Sam visibly flinches and pulls away from Dean as his expression hardens. “Kah-nee-lah. Poo-goh.”

The sigil blazes.

This is not at all what Dean intended. He came here to talk Sam back from the edge, and instead he’s pushing him toward it. Dean swallows his anger and it tastes like acid going down, and all that remains is panic.

“Sam, just stop. I don’t care what came out of my mouth when I had the Mark, it’s all bullshit. Sam, you don’t need to do this—”

“Yeah, Dean, I really do. I wasn’t strong enough to make the right choice then, but I can do it now.”

Dean flounders for whatever magic words he needs to get through to Sam and comes up empty. He does the only thing he can think of to shock some sense into him or, preferably, to knock him cold so that he shuts the fuck up and can’t finish the spell. Dean’s fist connects with Sam’s jaw, propelling him backwards. Sam goes down, sprawling on the floor, but he’s not out. He sits up, hand to jaw, and Dean expects to see shock or anger on Sam's face, but all he sees is compassion. And Dean knows that he’s lost.

“Sammy, don’t—"

“Kah-nee-lah. Poo-goh.”

A blinding light envelops the cloth holding the doors shut.

Yesterday: Lucifer-wearing-Castiel

Castiel ends the call after warning Dean about Sam’s intentions. He takes a marker to one of the added symbols and alters it slightly. He freezes as Lucifer gets back in the driver’s seat.

Lucifer asks suspiciously, “And what exactly are you doing with this, Castiel?”

I’m just disrupting the sigil. The change I made will prevent the spell from accounting for the current position of the Earth relative to its position within the—

“Summarize, Poindexter.”

With the change I’ve made, whatever object Sam is sending back will end up in space. Sam will think that his alteration failed, and he won’t interfere with your plans. You would know if I was lying.

“So… I’m trying to understand this. You’re helping me by sabotaging Sam’s work… why, exactly?”

To eliminate your motivation to kill my friend.

Lucifer considers Castiel’s response. “Huh. We’ll see.”

I can still expel you.

“Now Castiel, we both know that’s an empty threat.”

Castiel is silent for a moment. Then:

It’s a small world after all, it’s a small world—

“Alright, alright. Just kidding. Grow a sense of humor.”

Now: Dean

The cloth binding the door handles is gone, but as far as Dean can tell, nothing else has changed. Sam is still on the floor, a stunned expression on his face that would be comical under any other circumstances, and all Dean can think is thank fucking God, and he starts to wonder if maybe there isn’t something out there intervening on his behalf after all.

“I don’t… it should have… it didn’t work.” Sam looks around in dazed confusion for a moment before pushing himself to his knees, and he looks up at Dean, eyes filled with defeat. Dean can’t stop the memory from superimposing itself in his mind of Sam kneeling in front of him, resigned in his acceptance of Dean’s judgment of him, waiting for the scythe to swing.

“I’m sorry...” Sam apologizes for not being dead.

Dean thinks he’s going to be sick.

He drops to Sam’s level and doesn’t know whether to shake him or maybe hit him again. He pulls Sam to himself instead and holds onto him like he’s going to blink out of existence if he lets go. Sam doesn’t resist, but he doesn’t respond.

Dean knows that there is something that Sam needs to hear, something he should have said weeks ago. Dean hasn’t been able to tell him, because it’s selfish and the good guys aren’t supposed to be selfish. The good guys are supposed to put the rest of the world first, and happily throw themselves into oblivion for “the greater good”. He keeps his grip on Sam because he doesn’t want to see Sam’s reaction to what he’s about to say; he’s not sure what Sam will think of him afterwards.

“What you said… after you risked the world for me, when you said that you’d do it again in a second…”

Sam tenses in his arms, and Dean takes a breath.

“Sammy, that wasn’t evil. That was the best fucking moment of my life.”

The statement hangs there for a few heartbeats. Then Sam relaxes, lets his chin drop to Dean’s shoulder, and tentatively folds his arms around him. Dean feels him starting to shake.

“I wanted to—I couldn’t save them.” Sam’s words fall out of him between hitched breaths.

“I know Sammy.”

“It should have been me up there instead of—”

“Don’t.”

All of the mourning that Dean hadn’t allowed Sam to express as they watched Charlie’s body burn, all of the grief that Sam has held bottled up ever since pours out of him then, and Sam clings to Dean like a drowning man to a life preserver. He doesn’t know how long they stay there. His knees are aching and his legs are falling asleep but he doesn’t care because Sam is still here and he’s alive. He waits until the tremors slow and finally stop, then slowly pulls back.

“Hey, you don’t get to put this all on yourself. I’m the one who took the Mark without reading the warning label. We’re in this together. We’ll figure this out, both of us.”

Sam just nods numbly.

“Now let’s get out of here before we hit menopause.”

Sam rewards Dean with an expelled almost-laugh and a flicker of an almost-smile, and Dean chooses to count that as a win.

~~~~~~~~~~

More Notes:

I have this nagging need to address all of the drama from 10.23 Brother's Keeper that the writers just decided to drop on the floor.

The title is named after the ST:TOS The City on the Edge of Forever. The theme of the story, at least from the original script, is that it is possible to love someone so much that you would throw away your whole universe for them. I can't help but notice the parallel to SPN.

This is exactly what Dean wants from Sam throughout seasons 8 and 9, and when Sam does it in season 10, Dean calls him evil for it. Sam just can't fucking win.

#spn fic #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester #dean winchester #cassifer

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mcrninqstar · 3 years

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𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑡: 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑠

SUMMARY: Love is patient, love is kind…but love is also strong. Cupid gathers Lucifer, Levi, Zatanna, and Rachel together on Valentine’s Day to finally put an end to an awful curse placed upon Lucifer and Levi by God himself. TRIGGERS: Angst, Pain WRITTEN WITH: @ofcupidslove, @zztophat, @trigonsgem, @ofleviathcns, @mazikeenofmurders

CUPID, ZATANNA, LUCIFER: Cupid was nervous. She had all the ingredients and the back up that she needed, but this was the biggest expansion of her power and magic that she'd performed in well, ever. So many people were counting on her to get this right, and she didn't want to let them down. Belphegor had stopped by earlier to give her a pep talk and it really helped boost her confidence. They always believed in her when she didn't believe in herself. They had a lot of things planned for Cupid's birthday so she was excited to get the show on the road. Only, her confidence started waning a little bit as the preparation work for the spell dragged on for longer than she thought it would. Cupid glanced at her watch and then back at the bowl of ingredients she was mixing together.

"Hey," Zatanna nudged Cupid gently as she placed another bowl beside her. "We'll get you out of here as soon as we can," she promised the angel. It was Valentine's Day and Cupid's birthday. The magician was just as eager as the angel to push the spell forward. She and Michael had plans tonight. Their last date night had been crashed by his siblings. She was hoping this date night wouldn't be spoiled too.

Both Bells and Michael stopped by Cupid's greenhouse earlier in the day to provide some support and a few extra ingredients. After talking with Dean, Zee knew that Belphegor was planning a date night for themselves and Cupid. Planning was a rare thing for Bells and Zee knew Cupid didn't want to miss the date. She would do what she could to push the spell through, but the prep work that was required was extensive. Michael had brought in a few god artifacts that they had to dismantle and siphon power from. Even with Michael and Lucifer's help, siphoning all that power had taken more time than expected. They were finally reaching the end of the prep work and would be able to start the ritual soon.

"Are we ready?" Lucifer asked. He'd been a bit of a helicopter since the whole thing started. He wasn't sure what to do with himself or how he could help, but he wanted to help. He'd sent Maze back out to Los Angeles to keep an eye on Chloe during the ritual. He wasn't sure what kind of affect this would have on Chloe. More than anything, he wanted to give the Detective her free will back. If she chose not to come back to him, he would understand. And if she did come back to him, at least he would know the choice was hers and there was no god meddling to it. "Is there anything else you need?"

"I think..." Cupid glanced at the notes she'd written down for herself. "I think we're good. I, uh, I need you all to gather in that sigil over there." She pointed to the center of the greenhouse where a large sigil was drawn, in the middle of the sigil stood an alter. "Once you're in there, I'll need you three to drink this," she held up a flask full of potion that Zatanna helped her mix earlier. Lucifer took the offered flask and made his way over to the sigil in the middle of the room. After taking a swig of the potion (which was disgusting) he passed it off to his brother. "Bombs away, Levi."

LEVI: levi was ready for this whole thing to be fixed, being stuck in limbo like this had taken a toll on him and he could only imagine what it had been like for rachel. in an attempt to not cause her any extra pain he'd kept his distance, although he'd forgotten about the gifts and flowers he'd set up to be delivered to her... that had been an awkward conversation... but at least it was going to be coming to an end soon. since levi had been told that cupid was going to do her spell he'd been moving between being excited to finally have his angel back and worried that he'd really lose her this time. when he arrived at the greenhouse he'd kept to the fringes, speaking to lucifer occasionally and avoiding zatanna's glares. he didn't know if rachel wanted to speak to him but anytime their eyes met he'd give her a smile, letting her have the choice in speaking to him or not. hearing that it was ready he followed lucifer to the sigil and took the flask from him, taking a drink of it before grimacing at the flavour "angel- i mean, here rachel." he smiled awkwardly before offering her the potion

RACHEL: Rachel was beyond ready for this to be fix, she couldn't count how many times she'd almost let her rage get the best of her lately, talking to Zatanna helped but part of her knew that things would never be fixed unless this curse was gone. She felt it each away at her every single day something seemed to remind her of Levi which was almost too easy these days. It was like she was always fighting with herself when it came to being around Levi seeing how he wore his pain on his face she could see how much he wanted this curse broken yet at the same time she noticed his worry of losing her forever because that was always a possibility something Zatanna and her talked about in great lengths. She gave Zee a softly smile as she moved towards the sigil following Cupid's request she always hated this day especially given how lovely everyone always acted around this day made her sick. She could felt Lucifer's pain and Levi's nervousness when she got closer to them smiling softly at her once boyfriend. "I don't mind you calling me angel, snake charmer" She replied softly taking the potions downing the rest of it without issue before turning her attention towards Cupid.

CUPID, ZATANNA, LUCIFER: Cupid took a deep breath to steady herself as everyone made their way over to the sigils and drank the nasty, icky potion she spent three hours working on. She had to get this right. If she was able to break this spell, then that meant there was hope for breaking Belphegor's curse too. It meant that there was hope that they could undo what God did. "Can you draw this mark on everyone's palm?" Cupid asked Zatanna as she tapped on the piece of paper to show her the drawing. The magician nodded and obliged, taking care to draw the symbol on each individual's palm before making her way over to the alter in the middle of the sigil.

Cupid entered the sigil moments later and a shift in power happened. It was like a vacuum sucked the air in around them. They could all see Cupid's halo now, its shine almost blinding. "Sorry," Cupid apologized to them all as she tried to steady herself. The flow of power was nauseating. "The markings on your palm sort of act as a power share." Two fallen archangels, a half demon, a magician, and a whole bunch of God artifacts they'd siphoned power from. If this wasn't enough magic to break through a God curse, Cupid didn't know what would be. Her current form couldn't handle much more power. She made her way to the alter, holding onto it to steady herself.

"I don't know what the cosmic consequences of this spell will be," she admitted. "I don't know if it will hurt or not." The literature wasn't very clear on that. "But there is one thing you three need to know. If I break this spell, God will know. He'll feel it, just as you feel it." These curses were as much a part of God as anything else. "There's a risk he could come back..." she glanced up at Lucifer, trying to gauge his reaction.

"Then that's a risk we'll have to take," Lucifer replied. What was one more fight for free will anyway? Maybe this time when God showed up, Lucifer and Michael would be on the same side for once. Or maybe Lucifer was just being hopeful. He didn't care either way. He wanted his freedom back; he wanted those around him to have the right to choose to be around him. What was love, power, and devotion if not a choice of free will? "Go on, dove," he encouraged Cupid. "Give the old man a good old fuck you for us. He deserves it after everything he's done. What do you need us to do?"

Cupid let out a sigh of relief as Lucifer agreed to the consequences. She didn't want to be the one to make that choice. She didn't want to be the one to potentially call God here. But the devil gave her permission and she was going for it. "One fuck you, coming right up," she nodded. "If you could all please link hands...let's get this started."

LEVI: he smiled softly at rachel at least she doesn't seem to completely hate me he thought to himself "well, who am i to deny you what you want angel." levi winked at her before turning to face cupid "i agree with goose, let him come." his tone was steely and if anyone read his thoughts they'd get a peek at how furious levi was with his father, not only for what he'd done to him and rachel, but for what he'd done to bells... levi had plenty of things to work through with god. part of him was still worried about what this would do to rachel, levi didn't want her to go through any more pain but he knew she wanted to be in charge of her own choices and feelings so he'd do what he could to ease any pain she had to go through. "make him suffer." he held his hand out to lucifer before reaching over to rachel with his other hand "whatever it takes... right angel?"

RACHEL: She gave Levi a soft smile that didn't reach her eyes, she struggled to be happy lately, before turning to cupid taking a deep breath to calm her rage at the mere mention of the name. "I'd make you all orphans in a matter of seconds, so best crack on with this." She replied a heat behind her voice she hardly ever used before watching the other. She could keep her cool, her years of meditation had helped her growing up and she wasn't about to mess anything up or though it off the spell. She sighed turning back to Lucifer and Levi taking both of their hands feeling butterflies swim around her stomach wishing this would finish quickly without too much pain but she could take anything thrown at her, she won't be controlled anymore by anyone. "Whatever it takes." she nodded her head at Levi taking a deep breath to calm her nerves.

CUPID, ZATANNA, LUCIFER: "I dunno about making him suffer," Cupid chuckled. "I'm strong, but not that strong." Even Rachel's threat of making them orphans was overstated. "But I can certainly knock him down a peg or two." As the three affected individuals connected hands another wave of energy swept through the building. Cupid nodded to Zatanna and anointed the magician's hands and then her own with a sort of herbal mixture. The two linked hands at the center of the alter.

The angel took a deep breath and the pair began to recite a spell in unison. "Amor animi ex amore et ex animo, et animarum illorum iam semet explicare." The wind around them picked up as Cupid and Zatanna chanted love from love and mind from mind, let their souls now unwind. The alter below their hands began to glow as if something divine was forming beneath them. Cupid smiled to herself, momentarily surprised that the spell was working. "Venite et partem animae, ut sit amor sui." The angel chanced a glance over at the party of three. She could see the outline of a red string forming around each of them. Levi and Rachel's met somewhere in the middle and Lucifer's continued onward for what seemed like forever, connecting him all the way to Chloe back in Los Angeles.

Cupid continued the chant and the glow from the alter crawled up her arm until her whole body was now glowing too. The wind was picking up speed, knocking the plans in the greenhouse all around like a mini tornado, but the effects of this tornado weren't felt inside the protective circle. As long as everyone stayed inside the circle, they would be unharmed. The same could not be said for her plants. Even the forever flowers were suffering. Cupid herself felt like she was being battered around as she continued the spell. Her energy was waning as she poured everything she had into this. "Ne liberi amore sit, non est in vincula! she finished, gasping as she let go of Zatanna's hands.

The glow around Cupid quickly receded back into the alter. As her eyes adjusted, she smiled. Sitting there on the alter was a pair of golden scissors that hadn't been there before. "Holy shit..." she grinned.

"Is that a holy shit it worked? Or holy shit we're in trouble?" Lucifer asked, as he glanced over his shoulder at Cupid. Based on the level of destruction outside the protective circle, he hoped it was the former and not the latter. Even with all the divine power given to them, he could see Cupid and Zatanna were in rough shape. They wouldn't be able to do this again.

"It worked," Cupid smiled as she leaned over the alter and took a shaky breath. Zatanna came over to steady her, but the magician was just as shaky. They'd both expanded so much energy into the spell, but Cupid knew the work wasn't done. "I'm okay," she assured Zatanna. The angel of love grabbed the Golden Scissors off the alter and made her way over to the trio. "The strings here..." she indicated. "They're called Red Strings of Fate. In order to free you, I have to cut them. I dunno what it's gonna feel like, but odds are its going to be unpleasant. So...that being said, who wants to go first?"

LEVI: when cupid and zatanna began the spell levi kept glancing over at rachel. he trusted the pair to be able to manage the spell, he'd gone on more than one expedition to fetch powerful objects at zatanna's behest so he knew that cupid had enough power to channel... so he couldn't help but worry about rachel not that he would ever not worry. when cupid finished the spell levi looked down, seeing the string between himself and rachel before looking back to cupid as she held the scissors "not that i don't trust you dear, cause i do, but i really hope those three sisters don't show up... they're a little upset with me after a party in athens." he chuckled before looking to rachel "well angel, shall we bite the bullet or let the silly goose go first."

RACHEL: Looked at the at everyone this ritual so far had gone well, she trusted Cupid to know what she was doing and even so the curse affect her realm if anyone could break it, she knew it was her. Part of her was shocked to see the red line come between her and Levi, she'd read many stories that talked about the red line of fate that linked people together and it always sounded so romantic but right now it was something that could be forcing her to love Levi something she hatred with a passion. "I'm not surprised your brilliant both of you" She looked at Zatanna and Cupid nodding her head before turning back towards Levi as Cupid came over towards them with the scissors shaking her head at Levi's silliness "I don't mind going first I'm sure everyone in this room wants this over as soon as possible." She took a breath squeezing Levi's hand for a moment before using her powers to send him a telepathic message. No matter what, hanging out with you has been a highlight these last couple months. You are worth everything in my eyes Levitation, try not to hate me on the other side of this. She mused staring at him giving his hand yet another squeeze. "Any advice about what will happen when these get cut?" She asked Cupid softly

CUPID, ZATANNA, LUCIFER: "Ah, your reputation proceeds you, Levi. Whatcha do? Sleep with them and then not call?" Cupid teased as she held the scissors. She felt a brief surge of power wave through her that she really couldn't control. The scissors in her hands shifted form and became a pair of daggers, then a saw, then a sword, before going back to their scissor form. Shit. She swallowed hard. Gotta stay stable. Deep breaths. Don't fuck this up.

"Cupid..." Lucifer called to her gently. They had visible threads but Cupid was hanging on by a string of her own. If she pushed too far...well, let's just say Lucifer would rather be damned for the rest of his life than deal with the aftermath of a dead Cupid.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she assured him. She stood tall and as self-assured as she could. Lucifer nodded, and pressed a button on the ear piece he had with him. It connected him to Maze who was in LA with Chloe. He was relieved that it was still functioning despite all the power radiating in the air. He figured it was due to the safety sigils they'd drawn around themselves and the alter. "Alright, Mazikeen. The red strings should be visible now. We're on the final step. Keep me posted," he requested.

"The lore wasn't specific about what's going to happen when I cut this string," Cupid explained apologetically to Rachel. "Whatever you do, stay in the protective wardings until I lift them," she instructed. She wished she could give Rachel more guidance on what was about to happen especially since she was the victim here. Forced to love Levi, what a tragedy. Cupid was still pissed at Levi for how long he kept this from Rachel. He'd come to Cupid for confirmation after Aamon's banishment and yet still at the Masquerade six months later, it seemed like Rachel was none the wiser about forced affection toward him. He hadn't told her until he'd come back from hell...almost 7 months since his suspicions of the curse first arose.

She took a deep breath and held Levi and Rachel's string. She felt the power radiating off of that string. Cupid nodded to Zatanna who was back at the alter now. The magician read off a line of text from Cupid's notes. The red color in the strings slowly started fading to pink. It all seemed to be draining into Cupid. Once the string was a stark white, Cupid brought the Gold Scissors forward with a shaky hand, she took a deep breath in, and on the exhale, she cut Levi and Rachel's string, releasing them from their bond to each other.

Cupid felt weak and nauseous and had to act fast. She looked over at Lucifer who'd been momentarily distracted by the pair's reaction to the cutting of the string, but then he turned to meet Cupid's gaze. It was now or never. He nodded quickly to Cupid. The angel grasped Lucifer and Chloe's string and watched the red color fade rapidly. Once it was a pristine white, Cupid brought the scissors down once more and cut Lucifer's string, freeing the devil from his binds.

RACHEL: She took a deep breath, she could feel her apprehension at finally ending this curse it didn't matter what happened so long as she was in control again. Rae hated feeling this way she couldn't even know her own mind linked to Levi like this, why couldn't anything in her life be simply. She kept her eyes on Cupid very thankful they'd been able to find a way to break the curse but even she could see the amount of power this was taking from Zatanna and Cupid combined. "I understand Cupid its okay, I can bare whatever happened so long as this works" he replied honestly giving the other a soft smile before taking yet another breath when she felt a tug as the other pulled on their string. Everything started to heat up as the the string turned from red to white but she could handle it, whatever was happening it simply was just a reaction to what was going on during the ritual.

When she felt the string cut she couldn't stop the scream of pain the fell from her lips as she doubled over gripping Lucifer's and Levi's hands tighter then normal. Her blood felt like it was one fire, almost as if a fever had taken over her body as punishment for daring to end the tie that God himself put there when she was born. She could feel spasms of pain shaking her cord as she tried hard to stay within the protect circle and not to hurt the others in there with her. She looked up at Lucifer sure there was worry written all over his face "its receding...she'l be okay...." She spoke taking deep breaths staying bent over on her knees just for a moment to catch her breath.

LEVI: as cupid worked her magic levi had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. being away from rachel like this had made him realise that it wasn't just her affected by the curse. levi had been shrugging off his duties and responsibilities because since meeting her his angel had been the only important thing to him... he'd been acting more and more like his father and levi hated that with every fibre of his being. he'd stopped talking to his family as much and had been putting off telling her about the curse, levi hated everything about how this had changed him and he'd started to become the one thing he didn't want to be.

when rachel's grip tightened on his hand he looked down at her, worry all over his features. he dropped lucifer's hand and knelt beside her, helping support her as the magic worked it's way through her. "i got you angel." he whispered to her. if he could, levi would take as much of the pain from her as he could but he'd promised her that he wouldn't do that so he just held her through it. he himself could feel the spell working through his mind, feeling ties he didn't even know were there burn away and the fog lifting from his consciousness. "i'm so sorry you have to go through this. i never meant for any of this to happen." he knew after this he had to go back to hell and let rachel be herself, as much as he wanted to stay he couldn't.

MAZIKEEN: This was a tense night for all of them, but Maze was glad to not be in the same room where they were trying to break the curse. She was just following Chloe from a distance, keeping out of Chloe's sight, but making sure Chloe stayed in hers. It was mostly boring stuff, but it was still important. She perked up a little when the bluetooth device in her ear beeped. She pressed a button, and it connected her back to Lucifer. "I see it," she told him. For now, it looked like Chloe didn't notice the red string attached to her, which was good. Chloe was focused on picking out groceries. She had no idea what was coming for her as Cupid cut the string connecting Lucifer and Chloe.

Chloe dropped what she was holding and screamed in pain. Maze rushed to her side. Chloe had fallen to the ground, and Maze was kneeling down with her, holding her hand. "Hey, I've got you," she said reassuringly.

"Maze?" Chloe asked. "What the hell are-" She clutched her own body with her other free hand as she remembered the pain she was in.

"Lucifer's working on breaking the curse you're under. It'll be okay soon." The pain was a lot for her, which had been obvious just by what Maze had heard from Rachel, but Chloe didn't have the fortune of being part demon. She was all human, and humans were so fragile. The pain became unbearable for her, and even after it stopped, she passed out. Maze checked her pulse, and she seemed fine. Maze guessed that she'd passed out more from fear than from pain. She'd be fine with a little sleep. Maze picked her up and slung her over her shoulder before talking into the bluetooth again. "Chloe's okay. She's just taking a little nap now. I'll take her back to where she's staying and watch over her over the night to make sure she's still okay. How are things on your end, Lucifer? Are you okay?" She didn't like the idea of him going through the same thing, but he was an archangel. He was probably fine.

CUPID, ZATANNA, LUCIFER: Zatanna and Cupid flinched in unison when Rachel screamed, but Lucifer didn't have time to react before Cupid was already cutting his string. He felt a burning in his core as if ties were rapidly stripped away. It didn't hurt necessarily, but it didn't feel good either. He felt naked. Not in your usual Tuesday orgy kind of way, but in a vulnerable kind of way.

He flinched when he heard Chloe's screams of agony on the other end of the line. He couldn't be there with her to check in on her and comfort her as Levi was doing for Rachel now, but he trusted Maze. Then the screaming stopped and his heart dropped to his stomach. He let out a sigh of relief when Maze replied that Chloe was okay. She must've just passed out from the pain. Lucifer himself was surprised Rachel was still standing, but she was part demon so that gave her some advantage. "We're okay..." he replied hesitantly to Maze. He looked around at Rachel and Levi for confirmation. They both seemed okay, but Lucifer didn't know if there would be after shocks.

Zatanna knelt down beside Rachel who looked pale and gaunt but was otherwise still breathing. Zee muttered a quick healing spell before nodding to Cupid to finish off the spell. Cupid returned to the alter and took a deep breath. She felt absolutely electrified and not in a good way. The curse was broken but a lot of the residual energy from it still hung within Cupid and she needed to dump it all somewhere. This meant she had to create a cursed object. She picked up one of the large, stuffed teddy bears that were commonly sold during this season and placed him on the alter. "Sorry, Teddy Roosevelt. This hurts me as much as it hurts you." Cupid placed her hands on the alter on each side of the bear. Cupid began to glow once more, this time a light pink. The pink glow drained out of her and into the teddy bear. Once the light completely disappeared, Cupid lost consciousness and dropped to the floor beside the alter.

Lucifer ran over to Cupid to check on her. She was still breathing, but she was weak. The final part of the spell had taken everything out of her. Lucifer glanced at the teddy bear and then back at Zatanna. "Don't touch the bear," she ordered. She walked over to the alter and put on a pair of enchanted gloves. They would keep her safe while handling the bear. Gingerly, she picked it up and placed it inside one of her top hats. She would be able to take it to Michael and have him destroy the remaining energy. "Is she okay?" Zee asked Lucifer as she glanced at Cupid.

"Physically, yes? Emotionally...she's about to miss her date." Lucifer used whatever strength he could muster (which wasn't much at this point, he was beyond exhausted) to pick Cupid up off the ground. "If you lift the protection wardings, I can get her back to Belphegor's place."

Zatanna nodded. "Alright, kids. Brace yourselves." Zatanna took a deep breath and held out her hand. Her eyes began to glow a soft blue as the sigils on the ground burned away. It felt like a bubble had burst around them the moment the wardings were lifted. The entire greenhouse was cluttered and in disarray as if a storm had blown through it while they were doing the spell. Zatanna staggered backward, but grabbed onto Lucifer's shoulder for support. She herself felt very weak now that the wardings were lifted.

"Not to be the bear of bad news, Ms. Zatara, but I think you're about to miss your date too. Levi..." Lucifer looked over his shoulder at his brother. "Can you get Ms. Zatara and Ms. Roth home or would you like me to call one of my demons?"

RACHEL: Rachel heard Chloe scream almost in time with her voice she wasn't sure why she was still standing if anything she blamed her demon half, this took so much out of her she felt tired and weak. She barely register Levi or Zatanna coming down to her. She all but clung to Levi not trusting her legs or body to support her weight after what she'd been through. She watched the rest of things through a haze of tiredness laying her head on Levi's chest "its better this way" She whispered back feeling her head clean through the love haze that used to be there, it was a good thing this pain, it would help her in the long run.

Her eyes snapped open when she felt and heard the sigils began to burn away freeing them at long last, everything seemed different now but she could see how tired everyone in the room was moving to grab Zatanna's hand pulling her close to Levi and herself. "I'm sorry You both missed your dates for us, I really do appreciate everything you've both done." She replied honestly turning an eye to Levi "I'd prefer if you took us...if you aren't too busy Levi....I don't wish to show my weakness to unknown demons.." She asked before shooting a wincing look at Lucifer "No Offense intend"

LEVI: he nodded "just hold on to that angel. it'll pass." levi kept rubbing soothing circles on her back as she worked through it. he looked over his shoulder at his brother meeting his eyes and giving him a nod that he was alright... well as alright as he could be given the circumstances. i'm going home after this... rachel needs to be herself without me around. levi thought to lucifer, not wanting to break the news to rachel with everyone around.

"i have nothing but time for you angel, i'd be happy to get you and ms. zatara home." he smiled softly at her before standing up and holding out his hand to help her up as well as offering one to zatanna "if she doesn't mind that is." levi joked and turned back to lucifer "i'll make sure they get home safe and sound. tell bells i'm sorry for stealing cupid away from their date."

CUPID, ZATANNA, LUCIFER: Lucifer nodded at Levi's message. He understood where his brother was coming from. He hoped for Levi's sake he didn't stay in hell for too long. It was easy to stay down there and try to ignore the impact of all of this. While the curse made Lucifer weary of all of his connections potentially being coercive, it had a different impact on Levi. It made him hyper focused on his relationship to the point where he forgot everyone else. Going to hell wouldn't fix the isolation he'd caused himself. It would just make things worse. When the dust settled, Lucifer would go down to hell and try to talk him out of it.

Zatanna was disappointed she'd miss her date, but she didn't have energy for much else. Despite her exhaustion, she could see the resolute look on Levi's face. He wasn't coming back. That in and of itself was going to hurt Rachel in the coming days. "You can drop me off first," she told Levi as she took his hand. "You and Rachel probably need to talk." If he really was leaving, she wasn't going to let him just ghost Rachel. He needed to tell her he was going and Zatanna knew he needed to do that with some sense of privacy.

"Safe travels," Lucifer nodded to the three of them. He watched as Levi teleported himself, Rachel, and Zatanna out of the greenhouse. Lucifer stood with Cupid in his arms for a moment as he looked around the mess they'd created. "I'm sorry, Cups," he replied as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. He knew she couldn't hear him but he really was sorry. Not just about the condition of her greenhouse or her missed date, but about everything that had happened since she found about about Belphegor's void. The trauma was fresh for everyone in those days and the change in Cupid was gradual. He'd watched her innocence and softness disappear slowly as a result of Belphegor's curse. "We'll fix it," he promised. And with that, he teleported out of the greenhouse and took her back to Belphegor's apartment. / END

#╰☆☆ now tell me what is it you truly desire? | replies ☆☆╮#cupid: discords #zatanna: discords #rachel: discords #levi: discords #maze: discords #mazik #╰☆☆ it's you. it's always been you | mazikeen ☆☆╮

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awyeahitssam · 5 years

Text

Ella!EnchantedAU - Stiles has the curse of obedience.

Scott smiled, taking his hand.

Stiles pulled him to his feet.

The next three words the floppy-haired boy says make Stiles’ faint smile falter completely.

“Be my friend.”

...

Thing is, Stiles could have chosen to hate Scott McCall. Some days, he very nearly did.

But Stiles was compelled to be Scott’s friend. If they didn’t speak for a few days, Stiles would begin to get painful hand spasms until he at least attempted to contact the other boy. By the third day -- Stiles enjoyed nothing if not knowing the limits of his curse -- Stiles’ body moved automatically, typing out messages or walking to Scott’s house without his consent.

Stiles wasn’t a very kind child, but he never turned his acidic tongue on Scott.

After all, even to people he liked Stiles was kind of a dick.

But when Scott said ‘let’s be friends,’ it seemed like the curse defined the word by Scott’s idea of ‘friends’ rather than Stiles.

That turned out to be a rather good thing, because Stiles was fiercely loyal and protective. Scott… wasn’t.

...

“Behave, Stiles,” the Sheriff would snap, and Stiles would.

“Just make dinner tonight, son.”

“Tell me the truth.”

...

Stiles glanced around, trying to come up with something that didn’t have him keeping the oversized manchild afloat for another hour and keep an eye on the Kanima at the same time.

Whiskey eyes landed on his phone.

Scott.

Derek followed his gaze, scowling harder than ever. “Don’t—“

Stiles dropped him before Derek could finish the order, swimming to the phone.

In the end, Scott was no help.

...

“You’re going to tell me where Derek is.”

Stiles grit his teeth. Like hell.

“Why would I help you?”

Peter stared at him for a long moment, eyes half-lidded. The mad glint has dimmed to something pitless. Hollow. Stiles didn’t trust it.

“Because I’m ordering you to.”

Stiles feels his heart rate pick up, his breaths quicken, his palms start to sweat. He swallows through a dry mouth.

Peter knows.

He knows.

But he hadn’t actually ordered yet.

As if hearing the thought, Peter goes on.

“Find Derek for me.” Stiles remains still, staring Peter down, eyes condemning for the first time. There’s a vicious fury rising in his chest, wild and uncontainable. The last time Peter dealt with fire, it hadn’t ended well for him.

“Find Derek Hale as quickly as you possibly can,” the man modified, gazing back at him calmly.

Specificity. Stiles’ worst enemy. He’s good at getting off on technicalities, at disobeying the spirit of an order while still completing it, but even half-mad Peter’s too smart for that.

Stiles’ body turned on autopilot. He snatched the laptop from Peter’s hands and swiftly logged in. He pulled up the browser with a keyboard shortcut and hacked into the wifi of the building next to them in a few short keystrokes.

He had the tracking information off Scott’s phone inside two minutes.

Peter looked at him, looked at the results, and smiled.

...

“He’s going to kill me!” She shrieks. “You can’t let him hurt me, Noah, you’ve got to protect me—“

Claudia might be having one of her good days, and then she’ll get a glimpse of her son and have an episode. Stiles notices, of course he does, and tries to stay away. But he loves his mother. He wants to be there whenever he can, whenever she’s lucid.

She’s the only one that knows about the curse. That knows him completely, and adores him whenever she can still recognize that he isn’t plotting to kill her.

On May 19th, Claudia looks at Stiles with tired eyes and says, “Kill me.”

It all makes a sudden, horrible sort of sense.

Claudia had known, had probably decided long ago, that Stiles would be the one to end her suffering.

Frontotemporal dementia doesn’t kill.

So Stiles does it for the disease.

...

“Team Free Will,” Dean Winchester says from the laptop speakers.

Stiles laughs so hard he cries.

...

He asks him.

It’s something that eats at Stiles, even after the man is dead and buried.

Peter didn’t give Scott a choice, and he could’ve easily taken away Stiles’. Instead, he asked.

And Stiles--well.

Being a werewolf changed you fundamentally. Stiles was willing to bet that even your DNA was altered.

He counted on it being enough.

It wasn’t.

He flashes preternatural blue eyes at himself in the mirror, a snarl curling his lips.

Hates just that much harder.

...

“Shut up!” Isaac shouted.

Stiles mouth clicks. Isaac looks surprised, but he smells of terror at whatever Stiles’ face is doing. Stiles bares human teeth at him and the boy’s pulse jumps. Isaac sneers, all bravado.

Stiles leaves before he wets himself.

...

Orders can counteract each other.

Sometimes, when Stiles really don’t want to do something, he’ll manipulate somebody into telling him to do the opposite.

The first time they’re alone, after, Peter looks at Stiles and says, “You don’t have to be friends with Scott McCall.”

A knot in Stiles mind relaxes, and then releases entirely. Stiles thinks of Scott, thinks of him without the shiny order that made him remember the good more than the bad.

He doesn’t hate Scott, though by now he had more than enough reason to.

But Stiles finds he doesn’t like him, either.

The black and white naïveté, the self righteousness, the way he ordered everyone around nowadays and Stiles was forced to comply.

Stiles stands abruptly, heart beating too-quick in his chest.

Stalks forward, staring intently into the preternaturally-blue eyes of Peter Hale. The man looks almost wary until Stiles leans forward, sets a hand on his shoulder, and drags it down the line of his arm.

Scent marking him.

“Thank you,” he acknowledges, and it comes out a pleased rumble, octaves lower than his usual register.

Peter blinks at him once, then quirks an eyebrow. He smells delighted and a bit astonished.

Stiles grins, eyes glowing.

“I’m leaving,” he says lightly, half an offer.

“Am I to presume that’s an invitation?”

Stiles flashes his fangs. “Presume away.”

He turns on his heel.

Peter follows.

...

Stiles’ life has never been simple, and that doesn’t change with Peter as a packmate.

Once, they stop mid-hike and Stiles peers over the cliff. There’s a few minutes of peaceful silence, and Stiles is enjoying the nature in a way he never had before, eyes closed, breeze fluttering through his growing hair.

He smiles. Steps that bit closer to the edge, enjoying the feeling of lightness and freedom.

Then hears, “Never kill yourself.”

Stiles feels the order snap into place. It is disproportionately light in comparison to the sensation of his stomach dropping out.

It’s the first order Peter has given him since that night in the parking garage.

Stiles digs claws into his skin hard enough that he begins bleeding freely, and slowly turns to Peter.

There’s a glimmer of apology in his eyes, but something in his scent betrays him. Maybe he’s genuinely apologetic for betraying Stiles trust, but he doesn’t regret the order.

Stiles snarls. His wolf whimpers and snaps in his mind, wanting to turn tail and bite into Peter’s neck at the same time. Stiles feels his teeth elongate to fangs and pulls his eyes from blue, staring over the cliff once again.

The view doesn’t seem half as beautiful as it had moments ago.

It wasn’t like Stiles wanted to kill himself. If he did, he would have a long time ago. But having that option--

“How dare you,” he whispers to the open air. He’s too furious to look at Peter, too hurt to address him directly or acknowledge that this level of self-righteousness in the air could give Scott a run for his money.

“I don’t mean to hurt you,” Peter says.

Truth.

It almost makes it worse. Stiles bares his teeth.

“I decided to trust you,” he says. “And you just spat on it. Pack doesn’t betray pack.”

Peter meets his gaze steadily. He looks wary, but he doesn’t say anything in his defense.

Stiles wants to rage at him, wants to use words to cut into that calm facade until he bleeds. ‘You and your niece are very alike,’ he almost says, but Stiles isn’t that hasty.

Isn’t that cruel, though he wants to be.

“What if hunters capture me? Torture me? What if I go mad from it? I don’t even get the option of biting off my own tongue now, Peter?”

“I would come for you,” the man says quietly.

Stiles roars.

Peter’s eyes widen, and he takes a short step back before standing his ground. He smells concerned and surprised, but not apologetic.

“Don’t follow me,” he snaps, shaking with the urge to destroy.

Stiles is a very angry individual.

Having no say will do that to you.

...

“Take it off,” Stiles snarled, pulling Peter’s hair harshly.

The man met his gaze, blue eyes dazed and dilated. Then, after another long moment of staring, shook his head.

“Can’t lose you,” he rasped from between fangs. “I won’t.”

Stiles’ laugh edged on manic. “You already have, you fool.”

When Peter woke in Deaton’s shop four days later, Stiles was long gone.

...

There have been moments.

Moments when Stiles was absolutely certain he was about to die.

Like when Jackson sneered, “Kill yourself,” and Stiles’ hands found the closest sharp object and aimed it unerringly at his carotid artery. Like when his dad—

Well. He tries not to think of his dad.

But somehow this—emotion—is harder to manage. The level of betrayal that can only mean he trusted Peter in the first place.

Stiles’ world crashed down on a pleasant autumn day during a walk with his packmate.

And the ruins continue to burn for a while yet.

...

“As you can imagine, I don’t like people taking away my ability to choose,” he says, almost lightly. “When I was nine my mother made me kill her. When I was twelve my dad almost killed me by saying something careless when he was drunk. I was forced to be Scott’s friend for eleven years.”

“None of them set out to hurt me,” Stiles acknowledged. “But they all did. I trusted each one of them, and they came so close to tearing apart the fundamentals of who I am.”

Stiles’ eyes blazed red when he turned to Peter.

“You know that kid who never did anything he was told? That’s who I am inside. The only person I should have to answer to is myself, but that was taken away from me a very long time ago.” Stiles sighs warily. He suddenly looks far older than his twenty-two years. “You’re the first person I willingly offered my trust to in years, and you shattered it. And you weren’t sorry, not really, or at least not until later, when you realized what it cost you.”

Peter swallowed heavily. He smelled tired, and very, very sad. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice little more than a rasp. “I am, Stiles. You can kill yourself. You can do anything you want. I’m sorry.”

Stiles huffed a laugh, not sounding very amused at all, and Peter felt a displacement in the air just as Stiles appeared in front of him, red eyes boring down into his blue.

“You think I would return before breaking the curse?” he said wonderingly. “I trust no one that much, Peter.”

Peter swallowed heavily, awaiting the inevitable blow. He bared his neck, just a bit, even knowing what was coming.

Peter jerked when a cold nose brushed against his neck, rubbing up the line of his carotid. He felt like his heart was in his throat, jumping wildly and very audibly.

“You…”

“I,” Stiles agreed, more than a touch mockingly. He sighed at whatever look was on Peter’s face at that, and pulled him in closer. “You’re an idiot. I can do whatever I want now, Peter.”

Peter shifted as fingers combed through his hair. Peter made a strange sound, a mix between a purr and an engine revving. “I love you, though.”

Peter stared at him.

“Oh.”

Stiles huffed a laugh, leaning forward to brush their cheeks together. Scenting.

“And here I thought I was choosing such an intelligent packmate,” he said, more fond than mocking this time. When he pulls back the smile in his voice is gone, his eyes back to their normal honeydew. “Don’t think my loving you will change anything, Peter. Betray me again and I will rip your throat out.”

Peter whines, high and embarrassing. Stiles makes a low, rumbling noise in response and leans in, kissing his forehead lightly.

“And I’ll rip out the throat of anybody who threatens you, of course.”

The noise subsides, and Peter sighs, smelling content, confused, aroused. Stiles soaks in the scent without any intention of remedying the confusion for a while yet.

The arousal, however, he can do something about.

#steter #ella enchanted au #stiles/peter #peter/stiles #werewolfstiles #turned stiles #creature stiles #the gift of obedience #snippets #probably not something I'll ever finish #it's been gathering dust for a while #disjointed

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19mrs-barnes17 · 4 years

Text

Wrong Turn

Summary: It’s the final stand as you find yourself taken with unexpected company in the basement of your family’s old cabin.

Part: 3/3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Warnings: a little blood/gore

Word count: 2,112

A/N: Final part! Enjoy!

“So, The Spice Girls, huh?” His eyes narrowed, brow knit as confusion painted his expression. It really was too easy. “It’s a nice touch, but I was never much of a fan.”

The moment his gaze landed on the poster it was gone, crumpled on the cement floor and you sort of regretted bringing it to attention. Now the walls lay barren, the shifter watching you silently from the steps that led up to the cabin. Somehow his eyes were not filled with hatred, they were dead, and that made his cold stare all the worse. He couldn’t have been older than 17 and yet he looked as though he would critique a murderer’s technique while they were committing the crime right before his eyes. The emptiness made your skin crawl.

You had killed his mother and yet he didn’t seem angry with you. He seemed bored.

“You two play nice, company is on its way. And I still have so much to do.” His footsteps receded and your eyes scanned the room. Who else was here? The lighting was so poor only certain spots received the limited natural light entering the room. It was already morning, the drive from the motel only a day’s drive. And with Cas preoccupied the boys would be a bit behind on the road.

“Marco.” Chains clinked against one another, the sound emanating from somewhere to the right of you. You narrowed your eyes, praying they could focus enough to see who was bound in the darkness.

“Polo.” Your heart dropped at the sound of the voice, the soft chuckle that followed calming the panic that had been building in you.

“Samuel Winchester what the hell are you doing down here?” Another chuckle sounded from the shadows and you shook your head. “Last we knew you had left behind a note that said you were on a case.”

“What are the odds I was hunting the same monster you were after.” You smiled softly, hissing as the shackles dug into your already sensitive skin at odd angles. “How long do we have?”

“Back up is due in at least two hours, we’re on our own for now. I think he took my blade, so we’re not off to a great start.” The door creaked open and the two of you remained silent, watching a new shifter slowly make his way to the concrete floor.

“I hate to interrupt the reunion, but you’re needed upstairs beautiful.” A chill crept down your spine as the stranger held a rag over your mouth, you struggled against his force even though you knew it was useless. Sam pulling on his restraints began to fade as your vision blurred and your brain was sent into shut down, his shouts turning into nothing.

It hurt. Your skin tearing so easily. The way the blade cut across you made you want to scream, but you held it in. Only muffled sobs escaped your lips. The crimson seemed to decorate your flesh, flowing down your arms and dripping from the tips of your fingers. You refused to give him anymore satisfaction, refused to make a sound or let another tear fall. It was probably one of the most difficult decisions to go through with, the stinging and numbing occurring throughout your body driving your nervous system mad.

The blood loss was weakening you, but it didn’t last long, just enough to decrease your threat level. You probably couldn’t even lift your arms any longer, twitching your finger was a chore. Not long after they brought Sam upstairs, you were bandaged and tied to a chair as you watched the same technique be used on him.

“Though this is totally fucked up, I gotta say… you’re the most clever monsters I’ve come across.” The son made no indication he even heard your sloth-like speech, but the stranger was pleased to hear your praise even if it was sarcastic.

“And to think he wanted to just kill you two, what a waste that would have been. We wouldn’t have had the chance to take out the top three hunters in the country and two Avengers. Now we’re doing it in one fell swoop and make a killing.” That’s when you noticed the cameras, the laptop, and the fact that both were wearing altered faces to hide their identities.

You suddenly felt violently ill, stomach churning a mile a minute as you began to realize what was happening. They were going to sell you, well in parts, to monsters. It wasn’t a popular thing to come across but you had heard a story passed along by hunters, the Monster Black Market was the most famous myth in the community. Everyone had heard of it but anyone who had actually seen it never came forward, probably because they had been chopped up and sold on it.

“At least we’re making history, eh Sammy?” Your head bobbed, eyes blinking rapidly to keep yourself awake. He was moved from the table to a chair beside you and replied with an eye roll, muttering how you were spending enough time with Dean that you were beginning to sound like him. “Ouch. I thought I was more original than that.”

“Well hey, maybe you’ll get new material from this.” You attempted to chuckle but instead it turned into a coughing fit, small droplets of blood dripping onto your pants.

“Quit it, you’re lucky these are black.” He smiled lazily your way, sluggishly shaking his head at you. “Hey upside to this, we can probably donate the blood.”

“Shut them up will you. The transporters will be here soon and I can’t have distractions.” The stranger plunged a syringe into Sam’s neck before approaching you, the door busting open and a silver bullet halting him in his tracks. Your vision was less than trustworthy, only focusing on the face before you when it was a foot away.

“Hiya handsome, you get em all?” He furrowed his brow and turned in time to be struck across the face with a hardcover book, he was momentarily dazed but quick to fight back as your leg extended just enough for the shifter to trip over. “Wow, about to pass out from blood loss and I’m still helpful.”

“Yeah, yeah. What do you mean by all of them? Just those two or are there more?” You slowly began to drift off, eyes fluttering shut before shooting back open as he shakes your shoulder. “Hey, you stay with me ya hear?”

“I think I can answer that question for you.” Dean walked over to the window where Steve had the curtain pulled back, his eyes not liking what he saw. Two sets of headlights peering from half a mile out, an uncertain number of unknown monsters coming and only the weapons in the trunk for the three and a half able-bodies to defend with.

“Anyone got a candy bar? Anything with sugar?” Dean had untied you and his brother, moving the unconscious Sam to the table. You slowly rose and kicked over the camera, knocking the laptop to the floor. “Sadistic pigs.”

Everyone was armed, you included even despite the argument against it. In the kitchen you found your coat, the snacks you kept in your pocket still there. The chocolate bar was pretty much a chocolate blob, but you could care less. This wasn’t the time to be picky. By the time the fight was near you felt at least semi-prepared, nowhere near full strength but well enough that you weren’t going to pass out. Sam was still out, whatever they gave him, strong enough to tranq a moose it seemed.

“I’m gonna go set up this thing upstairs, good luck gentlemen. Try not to miss and I’ll try not to die.”

“Mhm, I think you mixed those up.” You paused with a smirk, arching a brow at the hunter.

“Or did I? What am I supposed to try to die and you’re supposed to miss your mark?” Dean facepalmed before waving the whole conversation off, smiling to himself as you climbed the stairs.

“You love her, don’t you?” Dean almost didn’t catch the words that slipped from Steve’s mouth, his eyes softening as he returned his gaze to the window.

“She more than I ever thought I’d get. Love is rare in our line of work, especially with someone who knows the risk of the life.” Steve nodded softly, eyes watching the approaching vehicles.

“So I’ve been told.” He didn’t miss the soft smile tugging at Dean’s lips as he thought of you, it reminded him of something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

As the cars pulled up to the cabin everyone stood in position, your eyes carefully watching as the men stepped out from the car. You needed them to congregate, the more you could hit in the limited time you would have, the better. A woman exited from the second car and waved the men toward the building and in doing so became the prime target. You let the men approach the house, watching as her group surrounded her.

The moment the shot rang out and she fell to the ground you had lost your opportunity for a mass target, only getting one or two others before the bullets flew your way. Bucky, hidden somewhere in the woods took over and never missed a mark. Steve and Dean were in the middle of it all, their hand to hand combat unparalleled. Each was in their element as they took the monsters down one by one. Steve sliced and jabbed with the silver blade and shoved the vamps toward Dean who was swift with his machete. Bucky focused on the outliers who were still zeroed in on your position, wood splintering as you began to crawl from the room.

Dragging yourself out of the room you started to feel even dizzier than before, the rush in your blood began to fade alongside your focus and strength. With the remainder of your strength you sent a prayer to your only hope, voice barely above a whisper as your eyes began to flutter shut. Everything that hurt began to fade and nothing had ever scared you more, nothing was more terrifying than not feeling anything at all. You barely felt the fingers on your forehead, eyes too tired to open up as your mind slipped into a deep sleep.

Dean ran into the house as soon as the fight was over, his heart racing as adrenaline pumped in his veins and pulse pounded in his ears. He froze as his eyes fell on you in Cas’ arms, the only comfort he found was in the rise and fall of your chest.

“Where the hell have you been?” You were transferred into his hold, the emerald green in his eyes shifting to a lighter shade as he looked at your peaceful expression.

“In heaven, I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I’ve already healed Sam, both of them should be alright after a night’s rest.” He looked upon the scene with a perplexed gaze. “This situation is most unusual. Why sell people when they don’t need money to live?”

“Because they can.” Bucky’s words drew the eyes of every person in the room, Steve’s growing concerned.

“Because some people are just twisted. We should get started on the clean up. Get them back to the bunker? ” Dean placed a kiss on your forehead before handing you back to Cas. He was gone in a flash and Dean turned to the two men who stared at him with slight concern. “You boys ever burned a body?”

Ever since that day S.H.I.E.L.D. began to keep a watch for supernatural activity, always sending a call your way if anything came close to one of their facilities. The relationship was mutual, a call from you if you ever came across something alien or in their ballpark. You were mostly just grateful they didn’t throw you back in a cell, but it seemed Steve made a compelling case.

Finally all your belongings were safely in the bunker, half of Dean’s closet now open for you much to your surprise. After that day it was almost like a door had opened in his heart. Suddenly he became more vocal about his feelings, because he had been reminded of what he could lose. And he didn’t want to waste another minute.

You sat on the bed as he placed a single picture frame on his dresser, the photo of a day you would always recall with nostalgia and fondness. It was the day he told you he loved you.

Tags: @qtmeryr @broken-hearted-barnes @asphalt-cocktail @cantnkrusshedevil @gstran18 @xoxoaudreymarie @royal-sunflower @greenarrowhead @rando10k

#SuperMarvel crossover #supernatural #marvel #dean #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #steve rogers #Bucky Barnes #Sam Winchester

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roswelldetails · 4 years

Text

RNM 2x05 - I'll Stand By You

So just a little note from me, the person behind the season 2 detailing. I am trying really really hard to keep emotion out of these posts...which is really really hard for me because I'm an inherently emotional person. I'm a glass case of emotion, ready to shatter at any given moment. (#dramatic) But I want to be true to the intent of this blog and keep my feelings, biases, and, you know, shipping out of this blog.

It was really really hard to do with this episode. Because I straight up ugly cried for like, 45 of the 60 minutes. 😂

So I guess, the point is, I'm proud of myself and sticking to the details here. My regular blog is where I'm doing the emotional flip out thing! 😂

EPISODE SUMMARY:

ACCEPTING REALITY — The discovery of some complications with Max’s (Nathan Dean) pod forces Liz (Jeanine Mason), Michael (Michael Vlamis) and Isobel (Lily Cowles) to confront the possibility that they may not be able to save him. Elsewhere, Maria (Heather Hemmens) and Alex (Tyler Blackburn) make amends. Kimberly McCullough directed the episode written by Alanna Bennett & Jason Gavin (#205). Original airdate 4/13/2020.

DETAILS:

Max/Isobel/Michael reunite at age 11 according to what Michael tells Alex in 1x10. So that would make the opening of this episode set in 2002ish.

Michael tells Max and Isobel, "I remember you. I don't know you."

"After nobody adopted me for a year they just stuck me with the name of that trucker who found us."

"I didn't ask you for anything."

This is like the thesis statement of Michael's whole history with Max in the flashbacks.

"Don't pay more than you collect, kid. Passing credit back and forth is a good way to get stuck with somebody forever."

Rosa's art.

What I can see says: "...what they all told me, but I didn't listen" and "Stand the shelter".

Rosa on her dreams

"I have not had any freaky dreams in weeks. Okay, Max is probably off haunting Isobel now that they're strong enough for their psychic twincest weirdness."

"How long has that been happening?"

"Um, I don't know. It's an old boom box."

"Rosa, have electrical appliances been malfunctioning around you?"

"I really thought it was just a side effect of the handprint."

"If being in the pod introduced a new protein into your system it could have altered your DNA too. You could be developing abilities."

"Liz, look. The handprint is changing. It's smaller."

"It's fading."

"Tell me this is a good thing."

"I don't think so."

Michael and Liz theorizing on why the pod shorted out:

"The pod's got a charge. It's like a battery powering the preservation process. This one's gone dead."

"Did the generator blow the electromagnetic threshold?"

"I think a surge came from the pod itself. But that pod has lasted almost a century. It shouldn't glitch out."

"Okay, well, then, this one did."

"All right, stop. It doesn't matter why the pod is broken. It just is. So how long does Max have?"

"My theory is that being tethered to Rosa through the mark is what kept Max from going brain-dead, and in turn the stasis process is what kept the mark from fading. So he could be gone by tonight."

"Okay, well, we have three more pods. So let's just put him into another pod."

"No. He's just gonna do it again. I haven't told you everything. I didn't want to scare you. I didn't want to be the one that took the hope away."

"Talk now, Rosa. Right now."

"I was seeing Max in my nightmares months before I told you about it, and he was begging me to stop you. He said that he was in a lot of pain in there."

"That's Noah's pod. Noah told us it was broken. It wasn't keeping him in stasis. He could feel time passing. None of us thought of that."

"We've been doing everything we can to make Max stronger. He pulled his own plug."

Note...as far as we know Isobel was the only one who knew about Noah's pod being broken. In 1x12 it was before Liz arrived at the house that he told them about the broken pod, so only Max and Isobel heard that part of the story.

Alex on his training. "NSA intelligence cryptology training".

Monitor screen in the secret lab:

Noah's heart is still too weak to transplant. Kyle says it needs at least eight more weeks

"I wrote a paper for a bioethics class on patients in vegetative states who feel pain. Sometimes it's all they feel."

As a non sciencey person, I was wondering if bioethics class was a real thing. Tonight I saw an interview on the news with a UC Berkeley bioethics professor on COVID. So yes, it's a thing.

Alex on Michael that summer post-Rosa's death:

Starting fights with jocks

Broke into the drugstore

Not going to UNM

Hasn't hung out with Max all summer

Got busted for stealing hubcaps (Kyle's hubcaps, we learn later)

Became a walking bar fight

Was in jail when Alex left to enlist

Michael on Max in 2008:

"It's more than that. And it's less than that. We were friends when we were kids, but now Max reminds me of a bunch of stuff that I'd rather forget. The only thing that we have in common anymore is Isobel."

Max's yearbook had a pencil stuck in the page with Liz and Max's photo in it. (The one we first saw in 1x03).

"Biology Club. Max hated science. He was in that club for four years just to watch your sister chew on the end of her pencil."

Max's mindscape:

First just desert, clouds, and then lightning strikes (destructive energy?)

Liz's antennae -- they disappear from Isobel's hands

Rosa describes it as broken

Crashdown special is Max's favorite "Little Green Man milkshake".

The Crashdown counter is kind of merged with biology lab equipment.

The juke box is there

The Crashdown booths

Jeep

Neon Crashdown sign

One of those claw drop game machines (from the Crashdown) but it's filled with baked good displays.

The yearbook

Later, everything else is gone except the one Crashdown booth, the Jeep, and the neon sign.

The distorted music they follow to find Max is the Cactus Groove song in the music list...just, messed around with. See @angsty-nerd's post here:

"I'm the hothead. You are the hero. It's always been that way."

"You stole the hubcaps off Kyle Valenti's graduation present. Both his parents are cops. Do you want to end up in jail tonight?".

👀 Tonight, specifically.

Michael seemed excited about the job at Foster's Ranch until he found out that Max set it up for him. Max found out about it from his dad (only like the 2nd or 3rd mention of his dad in the series so far).

"When I got back in town I asked Max why you and your brilliant mind hadn't changed the world yet. He said you didn't care about the world enough to bother changing it. He believed you could."

Max and Isobel in the mindscape:

"You're okay. I could feel something was wrong with you. Everything felt…"

"Cold. I know."

"You can't be here. It's finally ending. I can feel it. But I don't know what happens if you're in my head when I die."

"So it's true? You want this?"

"I could feel my connection to the outside world getting stronger, so I snapped. I couldn't take it anymore. I released a surge. You have to let me go, Iz."

"I can't take it anymore."

"Okay."

"I am so sorry."

"I just want to memorize this."

"Okay. Okay. I need you to tell Liz something."

"You can tell her yourself. She and Kyle are prepping for surgery. They're going to use the faulty heart. She just wants to talk to you before you die."

"No. No."

"You won't be suffering. They're just gonna bring you back and then let you go."

"No you have to stop this. You cannot bring me back under any circumstances."

"Max? What is really going on?"

"I am dangerous. Whatever Liz is bringing back is not me. It's just some broken shell."

Maria on her mom's computer

"Her nurse said that for the two weeks before she went missing, when she wasn't trying to escape, she was talking to someone online."

The 21st birthday flashback

Isobel gets Michael to help move Max after getting drunk on tequila. He passed out in front of the tattoo parlor. It's the same tattoo parlor Michael goes to at the end of the episode.

Max's weird drunken statement.

"The thing is, there has to be there. Okay? There's always three. Until the very end. I'll show you...What it means is you should be here…'cause it's all broken without three. So we'll figure it out. You'll find your way back."

👀 Until the very end. Interesting.

On Max becoming a deputy:

"You know he did the whole police academy thing because of you, right? He thinks you're gonna get into the kind of trouble you can't get out of if you don't know someone."

Back in the mindscape:

"I figured it all out. She, there's an energy to suffering, there's an energy to death, and when I heal people, I absorb that energy. So when I resurrected Rosa, I took in ten years of emptiness. So if you resurrect me, you will be bringing back an infection. Don't want… I don't want to come back as a monster. I don't want to hurt anyone that I care about."

"That's what this is about? We've been hurting, Max. We don't work without you."

"You will! You will. You are stronger now than when I died. All of you are. You, Michael, Liz, you will survive this. The three of you. No, you need to stop them, Iz. Now."

"Okay. I love you."

"You too." Isobel disappears.

Max is using pretty similar wording to his drunken rambles in the 21st birthday flashback

We don't see that Max is chained down until this next exchange with Rosa. Isobel didn't see that detail as far as we know. Didn't hear the chains clanking when they stood and hugged. Only after Isobel left.

"I'm sorry this is happening."

"Isobel is lying. She is buying time. You know she'll never let me go. But you can feel the darkness too, right? That's why you don't like being in my head. Because you know it's real."

"I didn't want that to be true, but yes."

"I know my sister and I know your sister and they'll never give up. So you have to be the one to stop this surgery, okay? Or I will destroy everything that we love. You have to stop them to save them. Now go. Please, Rosa. Go."

Isobel explaining to Liz

"When he saved Rosa he absorbed all of that dark energy. He's gonna have to expel it."

"And he's afraid he's gonna kill someone when he does."

"Yeah. So we just need someone stronger than Max to take that hit...if he thinks he needs to protect us he obviously doesn't know how capable we are. Bring him back, Liz. I'll handle the rest."

"I get it now. It's gotta be the three of us."

"He would never pull his plug to end his own suffering. Unless he thought he was saving us from something. And I'm a little sick of his heroic martyr crap."

In case you missed it, Michael did not know that. At the beginning of the hospital sequence Isobel is telling Liz what she learned in Max's mindscape and says that she hasn't been able to get ahold of Michael. Michael figured it out on his own. He finally "got it".

The pacemaker:

Isobel with Max at the end… everything is gone except the Jeep. And Bright Eyes playing (the song he and Liz danced to on their first date back in 2008). And then his eyes close and Bright Eyes fades away.

“First thing I remember is the three of us. We woke up terrified and lost. But together. And then all of the sudden I was alone. I got real good at being alone. I had given up on people entirely. And then you found me again. Hell of hero move. You showed up just in time. When you are a kid who nobody loves, kindness is a currency. Friendship doesn’t means jack. Family just lies, and hurts, and leaves. I’ve only ever known love to be temporary. So yeah, I push people away. Every time someone threatens to care about me I test their love until they have to leave. Connection is conditional. Everybody eventually gives up on the guy who refuses to be rescued. But you were the only one who I couldn’t run off. You never believed me when I tried to be something I wasn’t. So this thing in your chest, it might give your heart a pretty solid kick every once in a while. Consider it payback. It’s my hero move, Max. If you wake up, you consider us even, okay? If you wake up, we can be a family.”

Good visual parallels during Michael's speech. Alex and Kyle drinking together during the "and then you found me again". Maria walking up on "the guy who refuses to be rescued"

Max is in the coma for three weeks. Wakes up at the secret lab (instead of his house, which is where he was previously. I'm guessing it was a planned wake up because he's no longer plugged into all of the IVs and whatnot.

"I begged you to understand."

"Max, it's gonna be fine."

"No… I told you to let me go. I can feel it inside me."

"It's...it's symmetry, okay? It's just energy for energy. We can deal with that. Fight it, Max. This isn't you."

"I don't want to hurt you. I need to get out. I need to get away from you, from everyone."

"I can't let you do that."

Max shoves Isobel and runs. When he shoves her there's a slight ringing like the sound they use when the aliens use their powers. Isobel follows and stops him with her powers.

"I made a promise that if you came back and you weren't Max, and you were actually going to hurt people that I would kill you. I figure, hey, you got to play God. Make life and death decisions all on your own. Well it's my turn now."

MUSIC:

1. Letters To Cleo "Here and Now"

2. Lady Antebellum "Love Don't Live Here"

3. Cactus Groove "Fallin"

4. James Talley "Big Thunder"

8. Ross Copperman "Stars Are On Your Side"

5. Lindsey Ray "Keep You Safe"

6. Tommee Profitt feat. Sam Tinnesz "With you Til The End"

7. Bright Eyes "First Day Of My Life"

The Cactus Groove song is the first song this season that I haven’t been able to find on Spotify… let me know if any of y’all had any luck with it!

#roswell new mexico #rnm season 2 #episode details #long post #rnm 205 #i'll stand by you

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