rebeldes-6lifes-blog

[daredussy]

he's a degenerate and a polite young man, experienced cock handler, born 2 shit forced 2 wipe... he's lieutenant simon ghost riley

he seems the silly sort to wear silly tshirts innit

[themoonandotherslikeit]

Gone - Part Five

Before

“Just remember not to touch anything.”

“This isn’t my first crime scene,” Castiel said flatly.

“Okay, okay. I hear you.”

The two men exited Dean’s Impala. The cold air bit at Castiel’s cheeks, stinging his skin. He pulled Dean’s leather coat tighter across his chest. Dean’s entire demeanor had changed from the relaxed stature he’d had back at the apartment. He was working now, and his eyes seemed to be scanning everything, taking it all in. He didn’t want to miss a single clue. He squatted down at the space near where they’d found the woman’s body. He scratched his chin as if he was deep in thought.

Castiel felt awkward, out of place, and in the way. He shoved his hands in his pants pockets, fingering the plastic bottle, as he began to walk the perimeter. The ground was frozen from the icy winter air. The grass was frost tipped and glistening in the morning light.

It all felt a little hopeless, empty, because what could they possibly find that hadn’t already been found? The evidence had already been removed, the grass no longer imprinted from where her body laid. Time and the elements eliminated anything else that they could examine. There weren’t any clues.

His shoes crunched the frozen grass and leaves under his feet, and his breath fogged up around his face in warm puffs of white. He’d made it to the other side of the small corner park, his shoe toeing the curb. He sighed and pulled out his phone from his pocket to check his messages. He hadn’t been in to work, but Naomi had told him to take some time off anyway. How much time was enough? A few hours? Would she be looking for him? He couldn’t exactly afford to lose his job.

He hadn’t noticed the numbness in his fingers until he tried to pull his phone from his pocket. The glass slipped against his deft fingers and tumbled to the earth. “Shit,” he muttered, crouching down to retrieve it, the toe of his shoe knocking it into the sewer grate.

He paused there crouching and looking into the blackness of the grate and considered the probability of a demon clown yanking him to his death. Normally, he would venture to say it was unlikely, but in the wake of the week he was having, he was reconsidering. No option was off the table.

Castiel let out a heavy sigh and rotated to where his knees were on the cold, wet ground. He reached a hand down into the grate, squinting into the darkness. His phone lit up with a vvrrr as it vibrated. The light at the bottom of the shallow sewer grate glinted against a shiny piece of plastic. The light flashed again. It looked like some kind of ID-- perhaps a driver's license.

It had to be a coincidence. No clues were that easy. They weren’t handed out on a silver platter. Here you go, Castiel, here’s all the answers. Go tell the pretty detective. He will reward you. He shook off the thought and instead reached his hand deeper into the grate. The metal dug into his shoulder as he strained. He turned his head to the side to get closer, his cheek pressing against the frozen, wet metal. He feared for a heartbeat that he would stick to the grate. How humiliating. He reached his fingers out, further, deeper, until he felt something wet. Leaves, cold and soggy from weather and time. He resisted the urge to gag as his shoulder let out a sickening pop!

His body went slack from the sudden onset of pain, his fingers settling in thick, standing water. He took a few deep breaths, counting to ten.

One.

Inias is dead.

Two.

I may die here stuck in a sewer gate.

Three.

I quit being a doctor.

Four.

I have been numb most of my life.

Five.

But not now.

Six.

There’s an answer. It’s not the answer, but perhaps it is an answer.

There was a crunch behind him, a footstep. “Cas?”

Seven.  

I am not alone. For once I’m not alone.

“Shit, did you fall?”

Eight.

“Hey! Answer me! Cas?”

Dean.

Nine.

Dean.

Ten.

Dean.

“I’m fine,” Cas finally managed. “I just… I dropped my phone. I can’t reach it.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Dean scolded as he crouched down next to Castiel. “Come on.” His fingers were against Castiel’s upper back.

“No, I’ve almost got it.” He grunted, stretching just a bit further until, yes! His fingers barely scraped the cool plastic of his phone and then, if he could reach just a breath further. He let out a groan of pain as he nudged the laminated plastic toward him. With agonizing effort he managed to grip both pieces. “Help me up,” he said breathlessly.

Dean obliged, pulling him up using his underarms. His shoulder was fucked, he knew that already, but in his cold, bluing hand he held his broken cellphone and a piece of worn plastic. “I think your phone is toast, Cas. Shouldn’t have risked it…”

“Scold later,” Castiel demanded tiredly. “Look.” He nudged at Dean with the drivers license.

“What?” Dean asked. There was a hint of annoyance in his voice until his eyes landed on the face of the woman on the ID. “Fuck.”

“What is it?”

“It’s her. Meg Masters.”

Castiel let out a laugh, relief flooding his chest and almost numbing the pain that throbbed through his shoulder. “Good.”

“You found this in there?”

“Saw it once my phone fell.”

“Damn, Cas,” Dean said softly, as he cupped Castiel’s cheek in his somehow-warm hand. “Starting to think you’re some kind of lucky charm.”

Castiel gave Dean a weak smile. “I think my shoulder is out of the socket.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What? You’re just tellin’ me this?” He pulled at Castiel’s coat gently to expose his already swelling shoulder. He winced in pain as Dean’s fingers danced along the joint. “Damn it, Cas.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, closing his eyes.

“Don’t say sorry. Just… don’t get hurt, alright?”

Dean Winchester. Don’t get hurt, alright? He was this tough detective, but he had this way about him that felt too soft. Being near him almost felt like being near a fireplace. It was this warmth that radiated, licking at his cheeks, the crackle and the scent sucking him in. When he was with Dean he felt safe. It wasn’t logical, but he supposed relationships typically weren’t.

“Maybe we should get you to the emergency room.”

“No,” he grunted, shaking his head. “Just pop it back in.”

Dean made a face, his lip curling back and his eyebrows coming together in distaste. “You want me to do what?”

“Pop it back in,” Cas said through gritted teeth. “It’s easy.”

“I think we have different definitions of easy.”

During his pediatric rotation he’d done it several times himself. “Come on, Dean. I can’t possibly pop my own arm back into place. Just help.”

Dean let out a sigh and nodded. “Fine, fuck, okay. What do you need me to do?”

“Take my wrist. Pull it forward and straight in front of me fast. Don’t tell me when you’re going to pull. It’s better when it’s a surprise.” He closed his eyes as he felt Dean’s fingers curl around his wrist and yank with a single breath, and for half a second he thought he was going to pass out. “Good job,” he gasped out, letting his head fall back slightly. Dean caught his back, his palm flat between his shoulder blades. “It’s okay, Cas. I’ve got ya.”

Castiel knocked on the glass of the window to the leasing office of Inias’ apartment. “Hello?”

“Come on, your hours say you’re open,” Dean called through the circular section of holes that were cut out for talking between the glass.

The blonde woman behind the glass looked up at him from over the book she was reading. She pointed to piece of paper that had been taped on the inside of the glass that had I’m eating lunch, fuck off! Dean narrowed his eyes, unimpressed.

He pulled his badge off his hip and slid it through the opening onto her desk. Her eyes flashed to it as he said, “Hope you’ll reconsider ma’am.”

She closed her book and forward. She was in her early forties, Castiel surmised, by the way her skin hung on her cheekbones. His eyes flickered down to the book on her desk A Guide to Divorce, you don’t need him sister!

Castiel felt that he was notoriously the saddest person in the room, by default. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

“How can I help you, Detective?”

“We have a question about a former tenant of yours.”

“I’ll do my best to answer whatever questions you have, but people come and go here so fast sometimes it feels like I never even saw them. It’s a building of goddamn ghosts.”

“He’s lived here for years,” Castiel offered, his voice hoarse. Even standing in the lobby, even during the day felt like too much. He could still see Inias hanging in the closet, his hair clumped in the sink.

“You recognize this guy?” Dean asked, sliding an old photograph of Inias and Castiel. Cas stood awkwardly next to Inias, who was grinning like a complete idiot wearing his cap and gown. Even from the blurry resolution Cas could see the bags under his own eyes. “Apartment 415?”

She picked up the photograph and looked at it, examining the photo, the two men in front of her, and then the photo again. “Yeah, I knew him. He was a good tenant. Never caused anyone problems. He was cute, too. Always asked how my day was.” her gaze lingered on the photograph again before sliding it back through the slot to Dean. “Is he in some kind of trouble?”

“We are having a hard time locating him,” Dean said, seriously.

Dead. Missing. Hurt.

Words bounced around Castiel’s skull like a loose ping pong ball. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing before he fucking lost it right there in the middle of the complex.

“He moved out a few weeks ago, detective. It was pretty sudden. He didn’t even want to wait to see if he got to keep the deposit.”

“Did he leave a forwarding address?”

She shook her head no, and Castiel’s mouth went dry.

“What was he like when you talked to him?” Dean asked. He looked serious, cool, and collected. “Did he seem agitated, afraid?”

“I didn’t talk to him. Well… not directly. He sent me an email.”

Castiel pressed closer to the glass. “Can we see the email?” He found himself asking, pressing his fingertips to the glass, leaving marks behind as Dean touched his wrist gently, urging him to back up.

“It would be helpful, ma’am,” Dean added, not looking at Castiel as he offered her a warm smile.

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked down for a moment. “Let me see what I can do. We normally wouldn’t… but if it’d help you, detective .”

Cas flexed his fingers at his side anxiously. She didn’t get it. They didn’t have time to flirt. His friend was dead, or if he was alive, he was almost out of time.

The woman shuffled around her office. From his angle it looked like she was shuffling paper, but he guessed she was cleaning up her work space, because a moment later she opened her side door and waved them both into the tight space.

He didn’t like it. Her door clicked shut, and he immediately felt like he was suffocating. He scratched at his throat absentmindedly and tried to focus on something through the glass, but all he could see was his smudged fingerprints. From there they almost looked like scratches on the inside of a coffin.

“He emailed me late at night, which I thought was odd. He never communicated through email, but it seemed urgent.” She sat in her office chair and typed on the computer, pulling up the email. She clicked a few times before turning the screen.

The two men leaned forward to read the email.

I am sorry to do this without notice. I’m sure it’s going to put you in a difficult position. That was never my intention. Please take this as the notice of my immediate evacuation of the building. I have arranged for the remainder of my lease to be paid out, but please feel free to rent the space as I will not be returning. I have gotten an opportunity that I cannot pass up.

I wish you well.

Inias  

Dean looked to Castiel for some kind of confirmation, but Castiel barely saw Dean turn to him. His eyes were focused on Inias’ name. It pulsed, throbbed, the letters bent with the beat of his heart. Dead dead dead dead dead. It sang in his head like a nursery rhyme. Like little girls jump roping. The slap of the rope with every beat of his heart.

“Cas, buddy, you okay?” Dean asked.

He sounded far away. Everything did.

That wasn’t Inias. He didn’t talk like that. Castiel talked like that. The words felt strange, but familiar.

He felt like he was going to throw up. His stomach twisted and cramped, and he covered his mouth in horror.

I did this.

He didn’t know how, and he didn’t recall doing it, but he knew that he’d written those words before.

“Cas?” Dean asked as he pressed his palm to Castiel’s shoulder.

The touch made him shoot up in his seat, shaking his head. “No, no, no. I have to get out of here.”

He turned the knob on the door and pushed out of the cramped space with the thick, unbreathable air, and he ran. He ran through the lobby and out into the street, gasping for the taste of fresh air that he could never hope to get in the city.

He collapsed to his knees, his palms on the asphalt.  

“Cas, hey,” Dean called after him. He kneeled next to Castiel and rubbed his back. “Hey, you good?”

“No,” Castiel gasped. “I’m not. I’m not good.”

“Look at me.” He placed his index finger under Cas’ chin, and he turned his face so their eyes could meet. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“I think…” He couldn’t say it, not out loud. He couldn’t admit it, not to Dean… Not to himself.

“Whatever it is you can tell me,” he promised. His thumb traced along Castiel’s jaw. His expression was soft, caring, understanding.

“I can’t explain it,” he said finally after a brief pause. “But the email...those words… They were mine.”

“What do you mean?”

“I recognized the email as if I typed it myself.”

Dean’s jaw tightened. “Did you kill Inias, Cas?”

“No,” he said suddenly, his eyes widening. “Of course not.”

I couldn’t have.

I didn’t.

I did.

“Then we will figure out the rest, okay?”

Castiel just nodded, because he didn’t have a single other thing to say.

“Are you sure you can get in and out without being seen?” Dean asked nervously, leaning over the center console in Castiel’s car.

Castiel looked to the outside entrance to the morgue in front of him and pressed his lips together tightly. “I have to see if there’s any documentation left, any proof that she was ever here. I can get in and out without being seen. I did it most days I worked here. No one pays attention to the medical examiner.”

Dean looked unconvinced, concern knitted his eyebrows together. “You sure?”

“Yes, I am certain. I will be fine.” He touched Dean’s hand, his fingers brushing Dean’s knuckles. “I will be fine,” he repeated softly.

Dean’s green eyes met his, and they were deep and unwavering. They were the depths of the sea, threatening to swallow Castiel whole, and if he was being honest, he would willingly drown within them. “You’ll be fine,” Dean said, his voice echoing Castiel’s own.

Cas wanted to kiss him, but instead he just squeezed Dean’s fingers and got out of the car. The door shut with a click that seemed to echo in the empty, silent air. It was too quiet, and he felt like he was in a dream. The soft morning fog seemed to blanket him in, surround him on all sides. All he could see was the door to the morgue. There had to be answers within the walls. She had been there. The weight of her ID in his pocket told him that she was real. The phantom touch of Dean’s knuckles told him that she was real, but they needed something more. Something tangible. Something that proved it without a doubt.

So he walked to the door and pulled his key card out of his pocket and swiped it in the slot. He watched the light turn from a glowing crimson to a bright emerald green, the lock clicking open. He turned the knob and pushed into the morgue. The hallways were dim as always, and the familiar smell of formaldehyde stung his nose. He was suddenly so much more aware of the weight of the bottle in his pocket. The pills jingled, bouncing, and clattering, the sound seeming to echo through the empty hallway.

The hallway stretched in front of him impossibly long, the silver doors at the end gleaming in the low fluorescent lights. It felt so far away, like he would never reach it. Perhaps he should turn around and go back to Dean. He could go back to the apartment and hide under the covers. Before he could find any comfort in the thought, Inias popped into his head. His friend's smile gleamed in his memory brighter than the silver doors that led to the answers he could only hope he would find behind the cold and sterile exterior. The weight in his gut pressed and twisted, stopping him in front of the door, his fingers outstretched to push the swinging door open. He stood there, completely frozen. What if the answers he seeked weren't the ones he wanted? The fear of the unknown wrapped around him, coiling and squeezing the air out of his body.

“There’s been a murder. We need you to come up here. There’s a new detective, and I think it’s the first time he’s seen a stiff. We could use you here.”

Inias had asked for him. Inias was his friend. Inias is dead. His chest ached at the thought and he reached into his pocket, pulling out his pill bottle and popping the cap.

Two would be enough, he knew. They'd take the edge off. They'd erase Inias' grin from the front of his mind. They'd give him the strength to push forward, to take a step, to complete his task, to not be such a fucking coward.

He swallowed them dry. They crept down his throat in an almost crawl, and he resisted the urge to vomit. He bit back the bile and clicked the cap back on the bottle and slipped it into his pocket for safe keeping.

He sucked in his breath and held it for a beat, letting the pills settle within him before his fingers brushed the cold metal, the pressure of the door against his fingers felt stronger than he was used to as he pushed the door open.

The space was undisturbed as far as he could tell. His instruments were just as he left them when Naomi had last asked him to leave the building. He trailed his fingers along the cold surfaces, reeling in the familiarity of the space. He’d been thrown off balance and being back in that room gave himself some solid footing, somewhere safe to stand. The morgue had been his saving grace after his surgery career had fallen through the cracks, he’d melted into a person he didn’t recognize, one he didn’t want to. He used to think the morgue had saved him, but now he wasn’t so sure.

He didn’t have the same feeling with his scalpel as he did when he was with Dean. The cold, unforgiving surfaces of the morgue didn’t send butterflies through him, or make him feel safe. Not anymore.

He walked to his desk in the back of the room. He picked up his clipboard and ran his fingers along the edge of where a page had been ripped. He knew it had. He couldn’t prove that it was Meg’s page, but it was something. He opened his desk drawer, not sure what he was looking for, but anything was better than nothing. He moved pens, bright colored Post-It notes, and shuffled through meaningless papers that honestly needed to be shredded.

“Doctor Novak?”

Her voice slithered into the room like a snake in the brush. Naomi. The sense that he’d been caught made his stomach fall through his ass, splatting on the floor. “Naomi.” He sat up straight in his chair, his fingers still shoved deep inside of his desk drawer.

“What are you doing here, Castiel?”

“I left something in my desk.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” he said stiffly, pulling out the first thing that his fingers touched. He held up a bright pink pad of Post-It’s.

“Well you couldn’t forget something so special, could you?” She asked, dryly. “Can you come to my office, Castiel?”

He recoiled, sliding back further in his chair, his back bumping the wall as she stepped closer to him, his desk still between them. “I was actually leaving…”

“You were, but now you’re coming with me.” It wasn’t a question.

He nodded in response, standing up slowly, his pink Post-It’s crumpling in his palm. Castiel followed Naomi to her office, every step echoing through the halls, through his head, the walls seemed to tilt as he walked, making his head spin. He wanted to dial Dean, as he could feel his phone bounce against his thigh from the inside of his pocket as he walked.

Naomi stopped to unlock her office door, twisting the key, letting it click open. She swung the door to allow him inside and immediately walked to her electric kettle. “I asked you to not come back to work, Castiel,” she said, almost sweetly.

“I know. I apologize… I just needed…”

“To get the notes from your desk.” Her lips were in a tight line as she spoke. “I remember.” That shut him up almost immediately, and he swallowed hard. She poured a mug of tea and squeezed honey into it from the golden, bear-shaped container. She stirred it with a spoon three times before handing it to Castiel.

He took it and held it in his palms, the heat stinging his skin. “I shouldn’t have.”

“I’ve never known you to be defiant, Castiel.”

Naomi continued to say his name, a sweet hiss. He could see her, then, crouched in the grass looking up at him with large, slitted eyes. Take a bite. Just one little bite can’t hurt.

“I’m not defiant.” Even as he said it he could taste the lies on his tongue. They were thick like cotton, and he suppressed a cough in his throat.

“Of course you aren’t. Have a drink. You’re under a lot of stress. I know that,” she sat on the edge of her desk, and looked down at him. A predator and her prey. His eyes flickered down to the mug in his hands, and he felt sick to his stomach. He knew, deep in his gut that he couldn’t drink it.

“I’m not thirsty.”

“Drink it, Castiel. It’s good for you.”

“No.”

She recoiled at that and reached her hand out, her finger pressing on the bottom of the mug, raising it to his lips. “Now.”

+++

Part Six

Masterlist

[toxoplasmajuice]

Meredith for literally all of them

dam ok here we go (since i reblogged II too: this was from last night so this ask is abt useless details IV so yea. i’d tack on II too but some of the questions are the sam e)

1: What do they smell like? What kind of perfume/cologne are they using?

she changes her preferred perfume very often. right now it’s this lavender thing but like a week ago it was this musky thing


2: Do they use hand cream? What sort? What does it smell like?

she does not regularly use hand cream, no


3: Long fingernails or very short? Bitten? Painted? Dirty?

she would love to have long, intricately painted fingernails… but too long fingernails get inconvenient and all nail decoration just turns transparent light blue in a second anyway. so her nails are usually medium-length (long enough to be able to break/open things, but short enough to not break on her/otherwise get in the way). there’s often paint (or other art materials) under them though (but again it turns transparent light blue)

4: Do they usually have warm hands or are they cold?

she’s a freezing ghost


5: Do they speak with an accent? Does their accent change when they are angry/excited/happy?

i don’t imagine her with any accent besides just a general american (general simlish) accent tbh


6: Do they wear jewellery? Where? What kind? Any backstory?

a wedding ring if that counts, she also sometimes wears miscellaneous other pieces of jewelry she probably picked up at some odd country store or another


7: What’s always in their pockets/purse/wallet?

phone, driver’s license, stuff she found on the ground like buttons that fell off somebody’s shirt, credit card, keys, a tiny notebook for recording inspiration she gets while out and about


8: Something they never leave the house without?

besides some of what’s covered in 7, not really?


9: What kind of mobile phone do they use? What’s their display background? Why?

she has a cheap outdated android probably through sims tracfone but it’s good enough for her. her background is an artsy candid photo of bubble and tilda and i think that’s pretty self explanatory


10: What’s their ringtone? Do they use different ringtones for different people?

for a while her ringtone was some dark indie song she liked (idk what, im at school with no earbuds) but she kept missing calls because she was listening to the song so she changed it to a vintage phone ringing sound effect. it’s the same for everyone


11: Do they smoke? Drink? What brand?

today she just drinks like a mostly healthy adult. like, she’ll have a glass of wine when the occasion calls for it (and rarely even that around tilda). she used to be a lot less responsible in college but even then she didn’t drink a lot because she wasn’t big on partying. she was always turned off from other drugs due to cost (and again, a lack of interest in the party scene). i dont know shit about brands im a #responsibleteen dont look at me


12: Do they have visible scars? Where did they get them?

i feel like she would have some, most likely from self harm but also possibly from when she was super reckless before she died (though that could reasonably also be called self harm but i digress), but i didn’t actually… give her any, half because i don’t have the cc now nor did i back when i made her and half because even if i did it probably wouldn’t show anyway. it’s possible that any she has are in hard to reach places and/or so faint at this point that they don’t even show on her ghost


13: Do they have tattoos? Where? Why did they get them?

she sometimes wants one but 1. isn’t sure what she’d get and 2. is a ghost


14: What kind of clothes are they usually wearing at home?

i forgot what i gave her for pajamas but whatever i gave her for pajamas is what she usually wears at home (unless for one reason or another she must get dressed). also smocks over that for obvious reasons. also likes to steal bubble’s shirts


15: Do they wear hats?

university life beanie hair (if i had a non-hat version of that hair, i might’ve been able to have her wear other hats too? at least in my game because i have hat sliders while your game hates sliders iirc. they’d probably mostly be… other beanies)


16: Do their shoes look worn or are they always clean and shiny?

well, they fade to transparent light blue anyway, but they’re usually moderately worn. she doesn’t buy a lot of new shoes unless she needs to or a pair is REALLY calling out to her. ᵐᵉʳᵉᵈᶦᵗʰ… ᵖᵘᵗ ᵐᵉ ᵒⁿ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶠᵉᵉᵗ…


17: Any quirks? Do they squint a bit? Do they bite their lips or nails often?

she has a nervous habit of adjusting her hat (leading to messy hair x1000). and another nervous habit of tearing at seams on her clothes. and a bored habit of poking through one hand with the fingers on her other hand because she’s a ghost and physically can do that. i always worry im missing some quirks when i do this question rip

[takadasaiko]

Fallen Series: Out of Town

FFN II AO3

Summary: Bobo takes his first plane flight out of the Ghost River Triangle. Post-curse.

Notes: So, I've been in NYC the last few days and while there I was chatting with Kimmins and SetMeAtopThePyre about how interesting it would be after the curse was broken and Bobo could actually leave the Triangle to send him to some place like that... how would he handle all of that and such. Finally got a chance to write it on the plane home last night.

Out of Town

Wynonna hadn't known what to expect. She hadn't been worried about Doc. Doc had rolled with nearly every culture shock that he'd been dealt since the day that he'd come crawling up from that well. From everything she heard he'd made the trip with only one mishap - in the form of trying leaving his knife in his bag, but Wynonna had warned Dolls to make sure he didn't have that or, possibly worse, his guns when they left out - but there was something about the thought of Bobo Del Rey in an airport, handing over a photo ID, going through security, and getting on a plane that made her think that maybe she should be prepared for the worst.

The fact that it all had to be thrown together last second hadn't helped.

In the wake of Bulshar's defeat and the curse breaking a new division of Black Badge had reached out to Dolls. Things had escaped the Ghost River Triangle. Big and bad things, and the division was holding him and his "team" - seriously, what did these people think they were? - responsible for it. Dolls had flown out to meet with them twice before, but now they were determined that everyone needed to come out. When Dolls had tried to get them out of it he'd been told they were welcome to book their trip on their own or they'd be welcoming an escort into Purgatory. They were coming, like it or not.

They hadn't known the details about Bobo at first. Oh, they knew about him, of course. He had been the leader of the Revenants, there was no staying off their radar with that, but they hadn't realized he'd worked his angle against Bulshar to take him down, nor that he eventually sided fully with what Jeremy had started calling "Team Earp" and had fought alongside the rest of them to bring the demon down and keep him there.

The moment Black Badge had found out there was suddenly a request for Mr Del Rey to accompany them… you know, now that he could and what not.

He'd been surprisingly chill about the whole thing, shrugging and saying that they needed to get a feel for this new Black Badge and if they were a threat or not. That had been the first thing to set Wynonna on edge, but she'd agreed that he shouldn't fly alone, and they hadn't been able to get a ticket out of the Big City with the rest of them, so she had changed hers to the following day. It wasn't like she could really shuffle him off on Waverly to deal with anyway. She didn't have any more experience than the one hundred plus - year - old Revenant that had been stuck within the same boundaries for the last ninety of those years.

Wynonna had been skeptical when Bobo had said he had an ID, but he'd produced a driver's license still within a valid date. She tried to picture him willingly waltzing into the sheriff's office that doubled as Purgatory's DMV, filling out paperwork and letting them snap a photo of him. The longer she studied it, though, the more she thought that he'd probably terrified the poor sap that had taken the photo with the way that icy blue glare of his cut through. Funny, his hair was still dark in in the photo, and a quick glance to the date showed that he must have had it made before his attempted escape with Willa that had resulted in his trip down to hell and everything that had happened after. The dark hair was such a contrast with the platinum blond strip that remained as a reminder of what Bulshar had done with and to him. She'd never heard the full story of exactly what had happened in that mine, but she knew that he'd had to fight the demon's influence until the day that Peacemaker's bullet had struck Bulshar between the eyes.

Bobo hadn't tried to bring a knife with him like Doc had, but he had come too damn close to throwing a fit at security for Wynonna's liking. He'd refused to hand them his coat or his boots. The former Revenant leader had looked almost insulted when they had told him to load it into the tray and Wynonna had thought they were going to arrest him for a minute with the way he'd stood there snarling at the poor soul that had dared to ask him to follow the same protocol everyone else was. The Earp Heir had already crossed through by that point and there had been nothing to be done but watch and hope that she didn't have to call Nedley to see if he had any pull with law enforcement in the Big City.

They'd made it through though and he had looked like he might never part with that damn coat as soon as he got it back. Yet another story Wynonna still hadn't gotten. Maybe she should have made a list for the trip.

If she had expected him to talk during the flight, though, she was mistaken. He had seemed perfectly fine with the idea of hopping a plane to the Black Badge offices in New York City when it had come up, but as they got closer and closer Wynonna had watched the subtle changes. Those sharp eyes of his had watched through the massive windows as planes took off and landed outside. He'd been quiet. That wasn't abnormal, per se, and he was answering easily enough when Wynonna asked him something he cared about and brushing her off if the question was something he didn't like, but once they were actually on the plane she couldn't help but notice that he'd gone a little paler than usual and that once they were seated that he took as subtle of a death grip on the armrest as he could manage.

"You nervous?"

"No."

"Going to tear the arm off the chair?"

That had gotten her a glare and a low growl that had left his throat on a breath as he forced his fingers to uncurl, his teeth clicking together audibly as he did. Wynonna had muttered an apology and had left him alone after that. She still wasn't sure exactly what the curse breaking had left him with, and she had no interest in finding out what a nervous Bobo Del Rey could do to a giant flying hunk of metal in the sky - possibly without even meaning to - if he still had his telekinesis.

There'd been turbulence. Of course there had. He'd gone from ghostly pale to a little green with that and had slumped deeply into his seat, long legs pressed against the back of the seat in front of him, and had just curled up in his coat with his eyes closed the rest of the way.

He had given a soft grunt when they landed, finally releasing his new hold on the arm rest that Wynonna hadn't noticed until then and had waited in silence until she nudged him to follow the others off the plane and she had no idea how she was going to get him on the return flight back. Maybe this was the moment that Bobo left Purgatory for good. She'd thought he would after the dust settled, but he just never had. Not permanently at least.

They caught a cab into the city and she wasn't sure how much he heard about what the plan was. Dolls and Jeremy were meeting with Black Badge officials all day while Waverly, Nicole, and Doc would meet them at the hotel. He nodded at all the right times, but his gaze remained fixed out the window as if he were staring at the passing cityscape.

Finally, as they climbed out of the cab and into the rush of the city and his gaze swept upward with an almost haunted look to it, she'd had enough. "Hey," Wynonna called to him and popped him hard on the shoulder to gain his attention. "You gonna be okay? Did we break you?"

Bobo blinked rapidly as he turned to look at her and finally cleared his throat, uttering the first words she'd heard from him in hours now. "I've been here before."

It was her turn to stare. "Okay?"

"It was…." He cursed lowly, shaking his head and running a hand over his hair to smooth it back. "Late sixties maybe?"

Wynonna gaped a little. "Sixties? Weren't you stuck in Purgatory?"

"Eighteen."

Then it hit her. He'd been to New York before the curse. Before Wyatt. Before…. "Ah," she managed.

"It's changed. Everything….. changed."

"No shit. Kinda happens with a century between."

He snorted a short laugh, shaking his head. "Don't I know it? Used to take weeks, months in weather like this. Only so much you can read or see on a screen. It's…."

"Welcome to the twenty-first century, I guess?"

"'spose so." He squeezed his eyes shut and Wynonna stood there for a long moment and waited, not sure what to do. Hers and Bobo's relationship was a strange one, usually filled with plenty of mockery and snark, even if they had an unadmitted and begrudging respect for each other these days. But this was too weird, watching him try to process it all. He'd watched most of the development as far as she knew, but knowing that it was happening and experiencing it like this had to have been jarring. Not everyone reacted like Doc did, and she'd never seen Bobo forced into a situation like this before. They'd always been in Purgatory or the Big City. Familiar territory.

"Wynonna! You made it! Why didn't you call?"

Wynonna turned just in time to set her footing so that her sister didn't knock her over. She was supposed to call when they landed. Right. She'd been so caught up in directing a nearly catatonic Bobo Del Rey through the airport and then into a cab that she'd completely forgotten. "We got a little tied up."

"How'd you like your first plane ride, Bobo?" Waverly chirped, nearly bouncing. "Wasn't it amazing? Isn't this city amazing? The movies don't do it justice. Just look at it all!"

His expression softened a little and Wynonna could almost see him shove the emotions he'd been nearly drowning in since the airport back home down and below the surface again, finally regaining at least the appearance of control. "'course it is, Angel."

"Waverly has the whole day planned out," Doc said as he greeted Wynonna with a quick kiss to the cheek.

As if to prove the point Waverly started rattling off the list of things she'd put together for them to do, Nicole smiling at her side as she added in at a couple of places that Waverly got turned around at. Wynonna risked a look over to their newest member of their bizarre little family to see him almost smiling as he listened to her continue on. Maybe she should have had Waverly go with him.

The older Earp waited until her younger sister had finished and directed them all up to the hotel rooms to throw their stuff down before they started in on it all. "You going to be okay?"

Bobo quirked an off-coloured eyebrow at her. "Ain't the first culture shock I've gotten since the curse," he said, that even drawl of his working back into place, almost like he was bored by the conversation already.

"You think you'll make the flight back okay?"

He smirked at her. "You hopin' to get rid of me, Earp?"

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "And let things get boring?"

A low chuckle rumbled from him and he moved past her, bag in hand, to follow a very impatient Waverly through the revolving doors and into the hotel.