#back to what happened to Crowley when he got literally sucked into the ground in Edinburgh | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

natewriteslol · 3 years ago

Note

Hey! Could i request the dorm leaders with an esper MC? Kinda like Mob psycho or Saiki k :) and maybe they don't really use this ability of theirs that much since in their world they're literally a teen who's trying to live a normal life(like Mob basically), so nobody knew about their psychic powers except Grim since the mirror said that he couldnt sense any magic in them(i'm pretty sure that psychic powers don't really count as magic but idk lol).

Feel free to ignore if you don't wanna write it! :)

A/N: Ooh this was a fun one! I haven't watched Mob Psycho (I know about that fine ass blonde man-) but I have watched Saiki k and I loved it, still need to finish it tho jlafljhdas

Characters: Kalim Al-Asim, Riddle Rosehearts, Leona Kingscholar, Vil Schoenheit, Azul Ashengrotto, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia

P.S: I’m so sorry this is so long omg but I guess this is a strong comeback-

Warnings: none except for language

Riddle:

-You wanted to stay as far away as possible from him

-Riddle was part of the trio of people you wanted to stay away from: Riddle, Vil, and Azul

-Riddle paid so much attention to fine details that if something was up, he'd definitely notice it

-But unfortunately you were best friends with the two goobers of Heartslabyul: Ace and Deuce

-And Riddle had started to pay attention to you and your habits, and something was off with you

-It's almost as though you tried too hard to be normal, like Jamil

-And he could never let something like that happen again, so yes he was watching you

-One day you accidently slipped up and was irresponsible with your powers

-Grim was bothering you since he got into a deal with Azul for tuna and they were standing outside with the twins, since Grim lost

-You told him to fend for himself and teleported, however you didn’t plan where you would go

-And you teleported into the Heartslabyul dorm

-What sucks is that your teleportation power was literally flashy with a bright ass green light every time you popped in somewhere

-Just when you thought you were lucky since the whole dorm was uninhabited...except for Riddle who watched the whole thing

-He was completely shocked, he didn’t know what to say other than “What did you just do?!”

-You explained to him, and that just pieced everything together

-How you solved overblots with such ease, and that one day you had a “strength potion to test for Azul” was such bs!

-Riddle ends up keeping your secret, since he values your privacy but if you do something major and mess up then he will tell!

-”I understand but please be more careful with your powers. I need to institute discipline and you are no exception, Y/N.”

-He really does care about you and doesn’t want you to be found out

-Goes the extra mile to cover for you often, and in exchange you help him out with things :)

Leona:

-He didn't really care about you at first but as you started to hang Jack and Ruggie, Leona started to get more suspicious

-Your scent had proven that you had some trace of magic, but Leona just couldn't put his finger on it

-So he sent Ruggie after you for a couple of days

-If you were a threat to Savanaclaw, Leona would crush you

-But Ruggie had only reported back that everything with you was perfectly normal

-"Just give it up Leona, they're just an ordinary human. The scent is probably weird because they're from a completely different world."

-But Leona still had that feeling, so he was keeping an eye on you

-You had made a deal with Crowley to keep your powers secret to solve problems on campus (it did cut repair costs and handymen costs in half so-)

-Your new quest was to rid the forest of the Angolo fungus that was manifesting into living fungus blobs

-The one thing that gave you away was Grim, as you both had to stop by the Greenhouse to read some info about the fungus

-The cat beast was being far too loud, not understanding why he had to go and mess around with the icky fungus

-You simply replied “It’ll be quick, I’ll just use Hydrokinesis and dry out the fungus since they’re mainly filled with water. They become fertilizer once dried so we can just leave them there.”

-And there Leona was, ears perked up once he heard your voice

-Hydrokinesis? What are you talking about?

-So he set off, following you to the forest

-You started to fly, turning the once green and lively fungus to brown dust while Grim napped against a tree

-Leona for the first time in the while, was left speechless

-Once you noticed him, you realized you had to talk to him

-Confronting him later on, luckily Leona didn’t spill to anyone

-He promised to never tell anyone about what he saw, and had no clapbacks for what you had to say

- Leona doesn’t even benefit from this secret...besides mayyybee one day asking for your help if his pride lets him

-By the Great Seven why does everything have to not be in his favor-

Azul:

-Another one who you have got to be careful around, since he’s incredibly observant

-More observant than Riddle

-Azul noticed that you’re an incredibly average person, and were incredibly relaxed even during the most stressful situations

-And almost every single time whenever you were in a tight spot, it works in your favor

-Just how is that possible? Solving overblots left and right? Every single time you disappeared the infestation of magical beasts are gone?

-One day, you were getting picked on by a three guys, their stature far above yours and incredibly strong. How could you possibly win?

-Just as he was about to scoop in a save you, you slammed one of the men into the concrete, taking on the other two by electrocuting them, the blue lightning buzzing in your palms

-They were completely knocked out, dusting off your palms and picking up your things only to face Azul’s eyes

-After giving an explanation of what that was, he was still speechless

-Azul at first was incredibly shocked and then since Azul is Azul... later on realized this had benefits

-He could just blackmail you to be his new bodyguard!

-Oh how he always manages to bend life to his will-!

-So you could just wipe his memory... or turn him into stone...nvm

-You’re now Azul’s arch nemesis since you end up saving people from his scamming and you’re basically untouchable and there’s nothing he can do about it

-But he does find your great strength admirable (and a lil hot, I mean what can u say seeing someone floating in the air with electricity flowing through them is a nice look okay Nate shut up)

Kalim:

-Oh Kalim my beloved

-He just thinks that you’re incredibly talented and a little mysterious

-You have your little quirks and he has his! Who is he to judge?

-Until one day you wanted to make the load lighter on Jamil, since the berries that Kalim had requested for were only in season in one country

-You decided to just teleport and then come back with the berries so Kalim wouldn’t be pouty

-You were outside the door ready to teleport when last minute you felt a hand on your shoulder

- “Oh Y/N you forgot-!”

-And there both you and Kalim were, in a berry field thousands of miles away from the Scarabia dorm

-Kalim screams, falling to the lush green of the field

-What happened?! Where are we?! How did you do that?!

-You quickly gathered all the berries at light speed, making sure that you got back before Jamil realized that you were gone

-Kalim wasn’t scared of you, rather impressed that you were able to keep a secret for that long, he could never!

-You’re already super cool, and on top of this you have otherwordly powers!

- “It must’ve been stressful living your life like this! But don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret!”

-Yes he sometimes asks you to perform some of your powers for him, sorry Y/N-

Vil:

-While you were his friend, he was incredibly suspicious of you

-Even though you wiped everyone’s memory, he still had the faint memory of when he was in overblot mode of you blasting him with a beam of light

-Vil was incredibly upset as one of his assistants had mixed up his items, and left one of his vital skincare items on the set of where they were filming a new commercial

-It was being shipped and would take 3 days to reach NRC

-His mood was horrible and you had to do something about it to give grace to the Pomefiore dorm

-So you went to the second story of the Pomefiore dorm, ready to use Apport (the power to pull anything before you)

-However, Vil felt incredibly guilty

-He was acting like a child and he shouldn’t have taken it out on the people who he loves and values

- “Y/N, how I was acting was incredibly inappropriate and- is that my moisturizer? How did you get it?”

-Starts freaking out as this was impossible as it was on it’s way from being shipped from another country

-This was the last straw for him ther was no justification for this that wasn't done by some form of magic

-He takes you to his room to make you sit down and give him an explanation for this

-Once you finished, Vil understood but was still freaked out

-He cares alot about keeping your powers a secret and will cover for you

-"So my aport powers need to exchange something of equal value so... I exchanged it with that Scucci purse over there-

-"MY LIMITED EDITION SCUCCI PURSE?!"

-He loves you, but you're dead to him, Y/N dear

Idia:

-Before he knew you, he didn't really notice anything off with you

-A little quiet sure but he minded his own business, he had bigger things to focus on

-Until you hung around Ignihyde more often for a project, fixing a huge generator by yourself for one of your partners for a project

-They took a break only after you told them that they could and apprehensive went to go get food and water

-Anyone with eyes could see that there's an overbearing amount of energy flowing through the fairly large sized cube

-Wait, you were wearing no gloves, you could get electrocuted! Why would have your bare hands on something like that?!

-Just as he was able to yell, it was too late, your whole body was flowing with the bright blue energy... and then you let go

-You were walking completely fine, you went and held a random wire on the ground, placing the electricity inside

-The static from your hair was gone, and you looked completely normal. . .

-Just what the hell are you?

-He did hours of research trying to figure you out, even sending Ortho to monitor you

-Yet there was nothing, you were just a “regular teen”

-Was ready to get S.T.Y.X.S on your ass- (is that too soon to joke abt my bad overblot boys-)

-Until one day he caught you again bending electricity to your will

-Is incredibly impressed with your power (lowkey wanting to experiment on you)

-After he realizes that you can read minds Idia is so damn frightened

- “O-Okay I promise not to say anything, just don’t tell anyone what I’m thinking a-alright?!”

Malleus:

-You were one of the only people who he trusted

-Malleus had always detected some form of magical aura that was otherworldly from you and it never seemed to fade

-And it wasn’t often, but it was almost like you knew what he was thinking

-Whenever he was deeply upset he felt a twinge of energy from you, and then you would insist and help him out with his problems

-And he flat out says “Are you reading my mind, Y/N?”

-You had never been directly outed like this before, you felt horrible

-You never read people’s minds unless it was very necessary

-whenever Malleus felt deeply gloomy you felt like it was important to just read his mind and help him with the problem

-You explained it to him and apologized, but he wasn’t upset

-In fact, he was smiling?

- “It seems like we have alot of things that we’re hiding from each other. But... you always had the best intentions whenever you used your abilities”

-He let out a sigh and reluctantly admitted, “And, I know that I’m quite stubborn with revealing my feelings.”

- “I will keep your secret as long as you keep mine, Child of Man,” the dragon fae said, you both shaking on it

- “I always had a feeling that you were special, but I never thought it would be something of this caliber...”

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d-hasselhoff · 3 years ago

Text

That’s Not My Cass 1/?

Castiel x reader

Warnings: Power Hungry God Cass, some swears I think, mentions of heaven&hell + god and angels, by the way I literally hit the max number of text blocks so this’ll be a multiple part thing

Y/n stood next to Bobby and Dean, trying not to let Cass know she was scared of who he’d become. This new Cass, the power hungry god, terrified her. But she couldn’t tell him. Cass’ hand touched Sam’s forehead and Y/n knew what had happened. Castiel took down the wall.

As Cass mumbled about the power he would now hold, Y/n was able to sneak behind him. She closed her eyes for a moment, the Cass she used to know, used to love, flashed in her mind. It hurt her to realize she had to do this, she had to do it for Sam, but she knew it wasn’t really her Cass. so, she raised her arms, the angel blade striking down into Cass’ back. She squeezed her eyes shut, slowly opening them when the bright light that was supposed to emerge from his body never came.

A deep, rumbling laugh emerged from Cass’ chest. “You really think an angel blade will work on me anymore? I’m a god, Y/n a mere angel blade will do me no harm. You can’t kill a god.”

Her eyes widened and she stepped back as he turned to her, pulling the blade from his chest. “You foolish, foolish girl. I hope for your sake I never see you again.” The blade dropped as he flew away, the brief whoosh of his wings left behind.

She collapsed, her knees digging into the cement floor. Sam rushed over, picking her up off the ground, aiding her in standing up, allowing them to walk out of the building and to the vehicles.

“I’m sorry Y/n/n. I didn’t think this would happen. It didn’t seem like Cass could get this way.” Sam gave her a sympathetic smile as they sat cleaning each other’s wounds.

“I don’t know who that was, but that was not my Cass.” She murmured, carefully pulling the thread tight on his chest, cinching the wound.

“I know. Turn your head for me? I can’t quite get to the gash in your hairline.” The gash covered the exact spot Cass used to kiss on her head before they left each other, easily helping her anxiety before cases.

As the four of them, Dean, Sam, Y/n, and Bobby stood in front of the water reserve they watched, perplexed, as Cass pushed himself into the water, a whirlpool taking him under. The only thing left of him was his beloved trench coat.

Y/n picked up the coat, folding it gently and carrying it out.

“He’s really gone, huh?” Bobby asked, more to himself than anyone else.

“I guess so. Rest in peace, if that’s even an option.” Dean replied, opening the door to his impala.

Lucifer had taken over Sam. He hadn’t slept in days, Lucifer constantly nagging at him, not letting him sleep even a wink. Y/n felt horrible for the man, especially when she was able to sleep soundly. Of course, she would never sleep the same, not without Cass next to her. But at least she was able to sleep some. Poor sam.

Now, as Dean and Y/n stood in the office of Dr. Kandinsky waiting to see Sam after his accident, the two were made aware of the efforts put in by the doctors to help Sam’s “issues”.

“Relatives of Sam Smith?” Dr. Kadinsky asked as the two of them stood impatiently, waiting on the whereabouts of their brother.

“Yeah. Where is he?” Dean asked, flailing his arms.

“You have to calm down,” she turned her attention to dean before facing the doctor again. “Sorry, he gets a bit temperamental.” She gave him an apologetic smile. “Can we see him? He’s recovering from the accident, right?”

“So you’re aware of his car accident.” The doctor mentioned.

“Yeah, is he alright?”

“Sam was admitted. He was treated for a busted rib and minor wounds.” Dr. Kadinsky explained.

“Alright, we’ve seen worse. And?” Dean’s exasperation flooded the room.

“And… he’s locked on our psychiatric floor.”

Dean scoffed. “He’s had trouble before, but nothing major, why now?” Y/n asked.

“So you’re aware Sam’s experiencing a full blown psychotic episode?

“Psychotic?” Y/n raised her eyebrows.

“Yeah, it’s not like he’s freakin Norman Bates!” Dean shouted, causing Y/n to pull on his shoulder, calming him down slightly.

“I’m sure he isn’t. But, we need to determine whether the episode is brought on by insomnia or whether the insomnia is a symptom of his condition.” The doctor explained. “So we can figure out how to treat him.”

“The uh, the sleeping issue is new.” Y/n told him.

The doctor pulled in a large breath. “Well, we’ve pumped him full of sedatives as much as we safely can, but he won’t go under.” This caught their attention. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

The doctor led them through the psychiatric ward, leading them to Sam’s room. “Hey, how are you feeling?” Y/n asked, knocking on the door lightly.

Sam seemed to pick himself up when he saw the two of them. “I think you should cancel my ufc fight.” He snickered, patting the spot next to him for his sister.

Dean and Y/n looked at each other, communicating without speaking. This was worse than they thought.

“We’re gonna get you help Sammy.” Dean smiled, patting his leg lightly.

Sam scoffed lightly.

“I don’t think that’s out there, Dean.”

“We don’t know that.” Y/n protested.

“As good as anyone.”

“Last faith healer we hooked up with had a reaper on a leash, remember?” Sam looked up at the two of them, eyes droopy. It was clear he hadn’t slept in days. “I’m just saying”

“What that you don’t want our help?” Dean asked.

“No, don’t waste your time on me.”

“If- If we don’t find help-“

“I’m gonna die. I know. Cass warned us about this, putting my soul back.”

“Screw cass!” Dean shouted.

“It’s really hard to keep the motivation to help you when you accept this so quickly Sammy.” Y/n smiled lightly at him, trying to make him understand.

“I know. I’m just exhausted. Death sounds good right about now.” Sam pleaded. “This is what happens when you throw a soul in Lucifers dog bowl.” Sam laughed pathetically. “There’s not just a cure out there.”

Dean stomped out of the room. Y/n shook her head lightly, lightly grabbing Sam’s head with both her hands and kissing his hair.

“Hey, we’re going to help you.” She gave him one last smile and followed Dean out the door.

Now, as Dean sat on the couch of Bobby’s old place, calling you every number he could think of to help him, Y/n stood opposite of him, researching anything that could help them.

Dean abruptly stood up, mumbling to the fridge to grab a beer. Bobby’s book whooshed off the table. “What the hell?” He turned his attention to his sister.

“What? I didn’t do that,” she motioned to Bobby’s book on the ground. “I assumed you threw it on the ground when you got frustrated.”

“No I didn’t- what is that?” He furrowed his brows as he picked up the card, flipping it around to “call 605-555-0102” written on the back.

So, Dean picked up the phone and called the number. “Hi, uh, my name’s Dean, a friend of Bobby Singers. I, uh, was looking for some info and a card with your number popped up. If you could call me back, thanks.”

“Well, let’s hope, huh?” Y/n asked, standing up from the table and wrapping her arms around her ‘brother’. He closed his eyes and let his head drop into her neck.

“Yeah.” He mumbled. They might not be blood but they were the closest thing to two had to family right now.

They sat at the small table, looking at whatever when Dean’s phone rang. “This is Dean.”

Y/n’s eyebrows raised. “Mackey. Calling you back. Real sorry to hear about Bobby.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“What you called about, I might have something for you.” Dean put the phone on speaker. “There’s this guy, goes by Emanuel. Kinda roams. First started hearing about him a couple months back. He healed the sick, cured the crazy. Naturally, I think something ain’t right. So, I went looking. Easiest way to get to him is through his wife, Daphne out in Colorado. So, I go. Told her I was going blind. Wasn’t a lie, my right eyes burnt out. She tells me, “go home. He’ll come.” So, I went. I set every trap, every test in the book.”

“That’s what we would have done.” Dean mentions.

“Shows up, passes every one. There ain’t nothing weird about this guy. Except… he’s the real deal.”

“What do you mean?”

“He touched me, my eye was fixed.” Mackey explained.

“I don’t believe in much that don’t suck your blood, but I wouldn’t call you on maybe.”

So, the two left for this so called “Emanuel”.

Dean knocked on the door as they approached, the door opening to a middle aged looking man.

“Hi, this is Daphne Allen’s house? We’re looking for Emanuel.” Y/n asked

“Well, you found him. Daphne’s resting if you don’t mind.” He led the two farther back on the porch.

“Yeah, Sure.”

“Um, so, we were hoping-“ Dean was cut off by Y/n lightly hitting his back. She motioned lightly toward the window where Dean caught a glimpse of supposedly Daphne tied up to a chair and gagged. The two made eye contact and he looked back at “Emanuel”, only to be greeted with a demon. The demon grabbed Dean, throwing him against the glass.

“I’d be careful, don’t you know your boss has out a hands off memo?”

“Please, what have you done to help him lately? Roman’s head on a plate? Whatever Emmanuel is, Crowley’s gonna want him. A lot more than he wants you lately. So-“ The demon was cut off by an angel blade stabbing into back. He had forgotten Y/n was with, giving her the opportunity to grab him before any real damage was done. He screamed as the electricity sparked through his body.

Dean pushed the body down the steps, landing at a man’s feet. He nudged Y/n, and she turned around, mouth dropping open. Cass was back? And in a sweater? The two made eye contact, but it didn’t feel right. “What was that?” The gruff voice she had grown to love sent shocks through her system. She thought she’d never hear it again.

“That’s not cass.” She whimpered lightly, head falling onto Dean’s shoulder.

“Did that creature hurt you?” He asked his wife as he untied her.

“I’m okay.” She murmured, sucking in a deep breath as she was freed. “But Emanuel, they were looking for you.”

“It’s okay.” He comforted as he held her. She caressed his face and Y/n bit her cheek. Emanuel seemed to notice the confusion and lead his wife over to the two, introducing them.

“I’m Emanuel.” He held his hand out to the both of them.

Dean hesitated momentarily. “Dean. I’m Dean. And this is my sister, Y/n.”

“Thank you for protecting my wife.” Y/n blinked.

“Your wife. Right.” Dean nodded, casting his glance to a frozen Y/n at his side.

“I saw his face.” Emanuel turned to his wife. “His real face.” He turned back to the two.

“He was a demon.” Dean explained.

Emanuel glanced at the ground. “A demon walked the earth.” He seemed astonished.

“Demons. Whackloads of them. You don’t know about…” Dean stopped. He must have been sheltered for some reason.

“You saw the demon’s true face.” She turned toward dean and Y/n again. “Emanuel has very special gifts.”

“So we’ve heard.” Y/n spoke. “You can heal people.” Her stare seemed to bore into Emanuel’s.

“I seem to be able to help to a certain degree.” She knew it wasn’t really Cass, but god did it feel like it. “What’s your issue?”

“Our brother.” Dean explained.

The three of them sat in the impala, the tension seemed unbearable. “So, Daphne. Is that uh, is that your wife?” Dean asked, looking over to Emanuel who sat rigid in the front seat.

He nodded. “She found me, and took care of me.”

“Meaning?”

“It’s a strange story, you may not like it.” Emanuel mentioned.

“Believe me, I will.”

“Well, a few months ago she was hiking by the river, when I wandered into her path. Confused, drenched, and unclothed. I had no memory. She said god wanted her to find me.” Dean and y/n made brief eye contact. Something was up.

“Who named You Emanuel?” Dean asked.

“Bouncybabynames.com.”

The two of them nodded confused. “Well, its working for ya.”

“It must be weird not knowing who you are.” Y/n mentioned.

“Well, its my life. And it’s a good life.”

“Yeah, well what if you were some kind of, I don’t know, bad guy?” Dean brought up.

“Oh, I, don’t feel like a bad person.” Y/n nodded, leaning back against the seat.

This was going to be a long car ride.

“So, your brother…”

“Sam.”

“Sam. What’s his diagnosis?” Emanuel asked.

“Well, it’s not exactly medical.” Dean explained.

“That should be fine. I can cure illness of the spiritual.”

“Spiritual.” Dean scoffed lightly. “Well, someone did this to him.”

“You’re angry.” Emanuel observed.

“Well yeah, dude broke my brother’s head.”

“He betrayed you, this, dude. He was your friend?” Emanuel asked.

“Yeah well he’s gone.” Dean sighed.

“Did you kill him? I sense that you kill a lot of people.”

“No, I uh, I don’t know that he’s actually gone. I just know that this… whole thing couldn’t be messier. I used to be able to just shake this stuff off. You know, whatever it was. It might take me some time, but I always could.” Dean sighed. “What Cass did I just can’t. I don’t know why.”

“Well it doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does!”

“No it doesn’t. You’re not a machine, Dean.” Dean shook his head lightly. “You’re friend’s name was Cass? That’s an odd name.” Y/n scoffed lightly from behind the driver’s side.

The impala pulled into a convenience store and Dean jumped out. “Oh, hey, just uh, sit tight, alright? And you stay with him?” Emanuel and Y/n nodded and the two walked into the store.

Dean felt a presence behind him. He turned around, about to attack, when the demon threw him into the beer fridge. He stood up, shoving the knife deep into the demon’s abdomen, sending the electricity spiraling. He pulled it out and turned around to two more.

He swung with the knife, missing and being hurtled to the ground, his knife blown out of his grasp.

He sighed, pushing himself up to fight when suddenly the one was stabbed, and the other began seizing, releasing the demon.

“Emanuel, you son of a bitch.” He looked up and was met with Meg.

“Emanuel? Yeah, not so much.” Meg smirked, pulling him up.

“Dean, Dean, Dean. You got some ‘splaining to do. Imagine my surprise when I track this Emanuel down, cozied up with you two? And he just so happens to be the spitting image of poor dead Castiel? So Dean, what’s poor dead Castiel doing in that junker out there with your sister?”

“Christmas caroling.” Dean snarked.

“Fun. But how’s he alive? Last I heard he tried to play god and went poof.” Meg drawled.

“I don’t know. And neither does he so I’d like to keep it that way. You’ve gotta stay quiet about it.”

“Oh I do?”

“He doesn’t know he’s cass.”

“Oh I know. I’ve been watching you for hours. So here’s the deal. You might remember Crowley and me were frosty back in the day? Well times haven’t changed.”

“Good.”

“That hurts my feelings. I’ve been so good to you Dean.”

“No, you’ve been good to you, sweetheart.”

“Look. Right now rumors of this wandering healer are strictly low-level. But body count’s getting high enough to change that. Folks start poking they sniff angel dust.” Meg explained as Dean shoved various snacks in his jacket.

“Yeah, they start falling all over each other trying to tell Crowley.”

“Now picture Crowley with his hands all over poor little amnesia Cass. Don’t get my wrong I’m gonna burn that smarmy dick. My time’s coming. But right now my army-of-one situation is not cutting it. It’s cold out here, there’s a price on my ass and I need friends.”

“Yeah, I get that. But I ain’t it.” Dean shook his head, starting to walk past the demon.

“That’s where you’re wrong Dean. ‘Cause I’m here to help you, and that makes us friends.”

“Help, huh? You mean see if you can turn harmless little Cass out there into an angel sized weapon?” Dean snarked.

“Like you’re taking him caroling. And by the way do you really want to keep going without any backup? Hey, I don’t trust you either. But I could really use Emanuel. And he trusts you, so for now it’s in everybody’s best interests to hold hands and cross the street together, okay?”

“We go straight to Sam. No detours.” Dean sighed.

“I love it.” Meg smirked.

“And one more thing. My knife.” Meg held the smirk, resisting lightly as Dean pulled the angel blade from her grip.

“You sure we won’t be safer traveling with a full throttle angel? I could jog his memory.” Meg offered.

Dean stared at her.

“Kidding! We wouldn’t want to upset the poor guy.”

Dean and Meg approached Y/n and Cass- Emanuel, standing outside the impala.

“Her face she’s-“ Emanuel started.

“Meg?” Y/n stared in shock lightly.

“Y/n, it’s a pleasure.”

“You scheming bitch. I can’t help but feel a weird attraction to you.”

“It’s a mutual feeling Honey.” Meg laughed. Dean rolled his eyes.

“We come in different flavors. I’m here to help.” Meg informed Cass.

“I think we’re going to be great friends.” She smirked.

“Alright, can we just go?” Dean threw his hands in the air and Meg and Y/n laughed.

“Good to see you again Meg.”

“You too Y/n.”

The drive to the hospital was, well, uncomfortable. Dean still didn’t quite trust Meg, and Y/n while she was around Meg, but Emanuel was fully shaking. It was terrible.

“This silence is very uncomfortable is there something I should know?” Emanuel suddenly asked. So many things ran through everyone’s minds, but meg settled with,

“I don’t know. Dean?”

“No. Meg has that effect. Awkward, you know?”

“That must be difficult for you.” Emanuel met Meg’s eyes.

“Dean’s making a joke, Emanuel.”

Emanuel chuckled lightly. “Oh.”

Y/n stifled a laugh, her head falling onto Meg’s.

Baby’s engine stopped and the crew rolled out, taking in the fight before them. Demons crawled around the entrance to the hospital dressed as nurses and doctors.

“How many of those knives do you have?” Emanuel asked.

“Just the one.” Dean sighed.

“Forgive me, but how else are we going to get through there?”

“Yeah Dean, got any other ideas?” Meg smirked.

“Excuse us.” Dean flashed Cass a polite smile and led Meg and Y/n away from the angel.

“Oh for the love of God. Sam’s in there! I know you two are enjoying the trip with your old pal, you especially Y/n.” Meg snapped.

“You think it’s really what cut and dry? Really? You know what he did. And you want to tell him and just hope that he takes it in stride? He could snap. He could… disappear. Who knows?” Dean’s anger cooled as Y/n tugged lightly on his shoulder.

Castiel’s voice broke the tension. “I take it we know each other.”

Meg smirked. “Just a dollop.”

“You can tell me. I’ll be fine.” Cass reassured.

“How do you know?” Dean questioned.

“You just met yourself. We’ve known you for years.” Y/n explained.

“You’re an angel.” Meg cut in.

Dean and y/n stopped, staring at Meg.

“I-I’m sorry? is that a flirtation?” Cass was utterly confused.

“No. It’s a species. A very powerful one.”

“She’s not lying. Okay? That’s why you heal people. You don’t eat.” Dean explained.

“I’m sure there’s more, we just don’t know.” Y/n gave Cass a reassuring smile.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?” Castiel asked, sounding almost offended. “Being an angel- it sounds pleasant.”

“It’s not. Trust me. It’s bloody.” Dean explained.

“It’s corrupt. It’s not pleasant.” Y/n finished.

“They would know. You all used to fight together. Bestest friends actually. And a little more with Y/n here.” Meg smirked.

“More? Like, love, more? Am I Cass?” Cass cocked his head slightly.

“Yeah. We had been together for years. Around three years I believe.” Y/n gave him an awkward smile and leaned back into Dean.

“I had no idea. I don’t remember you. I’m sorry.” Y/n’s breath hitched. She knew this was coming, but it still hurt more than she could imagine. Dean kissed the top of her head.

“Look. You got the juice. You can smite every demon in that lot.” Meg explained.

Cass turned to face the lot. “But I don’t remember how.”

“It’s in there.” Y/n said, reaching up and patting his chest.

“I’m sure it’s just like riding a bike.” Dean commented.

Cass turned toward Dean. “I don’t know how to do that, either.”

Dean turned his head and blinked dramatically and Y/n stifled a laugh. He turned to face Cass again and gave him a look. “Alright I’ll try.” He said before venturing down the hill.

“This ain’t gonna go well.” Dean sighed.

“I don’t know. I believe in the little tree topper.” Meg smiled.

Cass walked up to the guards, nervous as all hell. “Hey I know you. You’re dead!” The demon told him.

“Yes I’ve heard.” Cass replied, placing both his hands on the demon’s chest before reaching one up and smiting him. The memories came rushing back.

He stomped up to the two others and did the same, more flashes of the prior years. He remembered the god, the deals with Crowley, sam, his relationship with Y/n, everything.

“That’s my boy.” Meg smirked.

“Cool it sister. I’m still a little pissed at you for making out with him.” Y/n smiled.

“Oh please you weren’t even together.”

“Still.” She laughed. Dean rolled his eyes.

The last remaining demon tried to run, but Cass was quicker.

The three approached Cass, who seemed to have relived every moment of his past. He looked, ruffled, to say the least.

“That was beautiful, Clarence.” Meg smirked.

“Cass?” Dean asked.

“I remember you. I remember everything.” Cass seemed a little more sullen than he usually was. His attention turned toward Y/n and she could barely look him in the eye.

“I’m so sorry.” Castiel met her gaze. “I never intended to hurt you.”

Something about the odd tone Cass had taken with his ‘sister’ rubbed Dean the wrong way. He had seen too much of her pain caused by him just to be swept off her feet with one feeble apology. “Of course you didn’t! No one does! But a simple “I’m sorry” isn’t going to cut it! You weren’t around to feel the pain radiating off of her! She was in shambles because of you! She deserves so much more than that!” Castiel became dead silent. Along with the rest of the group.

“Dean- it’s okay. I’m alright. Just happy to have him back.” Y/n tugged on his shoulder, pulling him down into her embrace. “It’s alright.”

He closed his eyes, breathing in the peach shampoo, calming the rage swimming in his body. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to flip out.”

“It’s okay, Dean. You were just protecting me. Thank you.” She smiled, kissing the top of his head.

“What I did. What I became. Why didn’t you tell me?” Cass speaking again pulled Dean from his state of comfort.

“Because Sam’s dying in there!”

“Because of me. Everything. All these people. I shouldn’t be here.” Cass finished, marching away from the three of them.

“Cass. Cass!” Y/n shouted after him. “You two stay here.” She turned to Dean and Meg before following the angel. “Cass!”

Y/n followed him up the hill, lecturing him as they went. “If you remember, then you know you did the best you could at the time.”

“Don’t defend me. I hurt you. Do you have any idea the death toll in heaven? On earth?” Nothing seemed to slow him down. “We didn’t part lovers, or even friends, Y/n.”

“So what?” She argued, throwing her arms up.

“I deserved to die.” Cass held her gaze.

Y/n bit the inside of her cheek. She knew he was right. He did deserve to die. But not him. Just the corrupt part. Maybe this did it. Maybe he’d be okay now.

“Now, I can’t possibly fix it… So why did I even walk out of that river?”

“Maybe to fix it.” She argued. An idea popped into her head. It may be dumb, it may not even be helpful, but it’d at least maybe bring back a part of the Cass she knew.

#supernatural x reader #castiel x reader #castiel #sam winchester #bobby singer #dean #dean winchester #god!cas

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hellersqueen · 3 years ago

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i cant stop thinking about how s8 did sam so dirty, and by extension s9 as well.

lets think for a bit about how much better it would’ve been to start s8 directly after the ending of s7. lets focus on sam and the fact that for the first time in so long he is completely alone. bobby is dead, kevin and meg have been captured, dean and cas both just disappeared and are probably dead as well

like imagine how we couldve been feeling for sam. sam who doesnt know who to call, sam who doesnt know what to do, sam going to motels and trying to reach some hunter contacts but unable to get to anyone (even garth cause lets just assume dean had his number but not sam okay lets assume garth is still building his contact list and no other hunters know his number yet idk)

imagine sam trying to repair the impala that is still running but is also real damaged and he’s having so much trouble cause he’s alone and he was never the mechanic one in the family and maybe he should try to get the car to a garage but also the car is so recognizable better stay low, so we see him finally have an actual break down in the car and he’s driving and crying at the same time and then

he hits a dog. and the dog looks like it might die. and obviously he’s freaking out and everything is going wrong and he gets the dog to the animal clinic immediately and we see him enter in a state of panic and his eyes are red and he lost everyone and he might have just killed a dog and now he’s crying again

just how much more could we have been able to empathize with him. i didnt like amelia that much but lets say this meeting still happens and amelia is actually fucking nice to him because obviously his life sucks and when he eventually tells her he lost everyone she can actually understand him because she lost her husband.

lets say the episode goes through the scenes like that but we get to see sam reach a point where he feels better and he is starting to help around at the motel he stays in and he meets amelia again the same way except now he’s trying to hope for some stability and a normal life cause he finally accepts that there is nothing else for him to do but move on, he can’t keep going like this. and maybe garth calls because he can’t get to dean’s phone and then sam can be like “look garth, dean is probably dead and kevin the prophet was captured by crowley and i cant deal with any of this” and so we have him basically confirming he’s taking a break from hunting and trying to actually build his life literally from the ground up.

and then we see months pass like a cheesy twilight montage of the seasons idek and sam actually has a real job and he still has the dog and amelia (who was nice to him!!!!) is now his girlfriend and he’s preparing to go to dinner with her and her dad (who was nice enough to help with getting the impala into a better shape) and then his phone rings and it’s an unknown number so he answers and the voice says “hey sammy”

and then we’re back on track with episode 1 except we have no purgatory flashbacks YET and dean got out and we dont know how and cas is dead according to dean and we dont know how it happened either and when dean is feeling angry at sam for not looking for him or kevin then we can actually FEEL for sam because we were there!!! we saw him being completely alone and lose hope!!! we see how much it costs him to go back to the life he left when he really thought it was over and how weird this is for him because we know how much effort it took him to get there!!!!

and the fact that all season he’s trying to redeem himself because he feels like he failed dean and kevin and cas, he’s ready to die at the end of the trials to put a real end to it because he feels responsible like it wouldve had much more impact on me if i had seen him react to dean’s supposed death and him being alone like at all! instead of the small flashbacks that are more there to flesh out a stupid romance and him TELLING us.

#sam winchester #supernatural #im sorry i feel like i had a lot to say #and IM NOT DONE #i need to talk about s9

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icecream-and-gadreel · 4 years ago

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FMK Ch. 2: John, Gadreel, Cain (NSFW)

Series Summary: Gabriel is known for his cruel, oftentimes deadly pranks. So when you, Sam, and Dean found out he was up to his old ways again, you came with reinforcements. What should have been a swift victory turned into you being stuck in the wildest game you've ever played in your life.

Summary: You're on to your second set of men, but this time, you're more aware of what's going on.

Pairing: readerxvarious

Other characters: Young!John, Cain, Gadreel, Gabriel, Dean, Castiel

Rating: NSFW (Are you at work? Go home and read this!)

Warnings: Blanket Warnings: Due to the circumstances, all sex in this fic has dubious consent! Language, death mention, grace kink, mild body worship, praise kink, pain mention, kinda spooky themes if you squint

Word count: 1800+

Eternity squad: @sheinthatfandom @greenshinigamieyes @lipstickandwhiskey @feelmyroarrrr @bcarolinablr @mrswhozeewhatsis

A/N: This took longer because I literaLLY HAVE TO PLAY FUCK MARRY KILL TO WRITE THESE CHAPTERS AND IT'S SO GOD DAMN HARD. Anyways enjoy ma pals~

Masterlist

You stare up at the night sky, hugging yourself with a shiver. It's chilly. You kick at the ground, closing your eyes shut tight. What were you doing? Something presses at the back of your mind, a clue to whatever the hell is going on. But for the life of you, you can't remember.

“...Gotta eat something, right?” a deep voice booms, cutting into your thoughts. You look up at him, a smile breaking across your face.

John offers you a hot dog smeared in ketchup, tilting his head. “You in la-la land over there?”

“Aren't I always?” you retort, gaining hearty laugh from him. Sam and Dean flash in your mind, and you frown, shaking away the thoughts. “Where are the boys?” you blurt, gaining a cocked eyebrow from him. “How. How are the boys?”

“Good. Sammy's losing teeth left and right, Dean's...a little rough around the edges,” he says, chuckling. “But he's a good kid,” he adds. You both fall silent, picking at the dry, gas station hot dogs. You were on a hunt. After...something terrorizing someone. You were on a hunt with the love of your life. Your stomach flurries at the realization, your heart pounding in your chest. John wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. “So, marriage,” he rasps. Your eyes go wide, memories of the Trickster's game filling your head.

Right, none of this is real. He's playing with your head just for the fun of it. But god, you'd be lying if you said this doesn't feel real. The false memories filling your head. The way your heart pounds at his touch. The thoughts of a future with him, Sam, and Dean. It all feels so alarmingly real. John rubs his nape, giving you a squeeze.

“Ahem. Soooo marriage,” he repeats, a tight-lipped smile on his face.

“Yeah?” you say, biting into your hot dog.

“What d'ya think of it?” he asks, avoiding your eye. You ponder his words, humming.

“It's nice.” You twist your face into a scowl, offering him your food. “This, on the other hand, is disgusting.” He tosses both hot dogs into a nearby trash bin, quickly reclaiming his place next to you with a grin.

“So you'd get married?” he asks, running his hand along your arm.

“Well...” You stare at John as he lowers down to one knee, heart pounding in your chest. This isn't real. This isn't real. You keep repeating this in your mind, but the joy you're feeling begs to differ. “John?” you say, voice wavering.

“You'd marry me?” John asks, holding your hand in his. Before you can speak, he's continuing. “My boys love you, a-and you got one hell of a punch,” he chuckles, pausing to brush his lips along the back of your hand. “And I love you. You'd marry me?” he repeats, gaining a giggle from you.

“It's 'will you marry me',” you coo, bending down and taking him into a kiss. “Of course I will,” you whisper, squeaking as John wraps his arms around you. You squeeze him tight, trying to memorize his warmth. The feeling of his muscle underneath your fingers. Everything. Why does this part have to end?

–

You open your eyes, sucking in a breath as he lifts you off of your feet, pulling your legs around his waist and taking you into a kiss. He lets out small moans and sighs, making no effort to mask how good you feel against him. “Y/N,” he breathes, hands squeezing and caressing your ass.

You stare Gadreel in the eye, words lost to you. You've only known him as the angel who took Sam's body on a joy ride. But this side is...oddly pleasing. “You're so beautiful, my light,” he says, moaning as he presses a tender kiss against your lips. You run your fingers through Gadreel's hair, body melting into his warmth. Slowly, he sinks down to the edge of the bed, keeping you planted firmly against his thick, toned thighs. His length presses against your core, twitching against you. Gadreel's grace tingles along your folds, gaining moans and sighs as it wraps around your clit.

“O-oh my god,” you moan, legs trembling. Is this what being with an angel is like? Pulling from the kiss, Gadreel mouths at your breast, tongue swirling around your nipple. He slides a hand down the curve of your ass, fingers delving between your thighs and pushing into your sex. As he works his fingers into you, he ruts his cock along your slit, gaining cries of pleasure from you. This, along with his grace tingling at your nerves, sends you over the edge. You cry out, grinding down against his fingers, your orgasm pulsing through you.

“I adore every inch of you,” he breathes, nuzzling his head between your breasts. His grace continues swirling around your spent clit, making you whine and flinch with each movement.

You lift up on shaky legs, grabbing his cock and lining it up with your entrance. As you slowly sink down, he lets out a guttural moan, throwing his head back as pleasure overtakes him. “You feel so – nggh – amazing,” he breathes, gripping your hips as you begin slowly bouncing in his lap. You purr his name, biting your lip between your teeth.

The angel smacks your ass, running his tongue over his lips and bucking his hips up. “Gadreel,” you moan, rubbing your hands down his chest.

“So beautiful –” His breath hitches as you speed up, fingers digging into your hips. “So wet and tight – Fuck Y/N,” he groans, coating your skin in kisses, his breaths becoming ragged. His grace swirls around your clit, forcing desperate whines out of you, your hips stuttering as a second orgasm approaches. “Wake up, Y/N,” he says, a frown going over his face. You stare down at him, words lost to you. He bucks his hips up once more, cradling your face in his hands. “Come on, wake up!”

You shake your head, holding on to his wrists. “What?”

“Get up Y/N!”

–

Your eyes snap open, your back arching off of the ground as you take in a painful breath. It feels like someone is sitting on your chest. What the hell kind of magic is the trickster capable of?! Turning on your side, you cough and hack, clenching a hand over your ribs. You look up, eyes locking on Dean as you try to shake away the dizziness. He grips your jaw, twisting your head from side to side.

“You're the only one who can do this, don't die on me yet,” he grunts, forcing you up to your feet. You stagger, grunting as he shoves a blade into your hand.

“Is this...bone?” you mumble, sucking in a breath as something within you reacts to the blade. The veins in your arms give off a faint glow, leading up to a mark on your arm. You close your eyes, images of a grey-haired man filling your head. Cain. You only heard stories of him before this point. “He's here?” you say, looking up at the disheveled barn. Dean nods, giving your cheek a pat.

“I'll hold Crowley's lackeys off. You got this?” he grunts. You nod, gaining another pat from him. “Don't die,” he says before reluctantly making his way down the road. You stare down at the blade once more, memories of how everything happened flooding in.

Cain knew this day would come.

“Y/N.”

You whirl around to the source of the voice, frowning at Castiel. He looks around the area before focusing on you. "Castiel? Is it really..you?" you ask, gaining a nod.

“I can't stay long, there's something off about the Trickster." He looks around once more, gesturing to the area. "He shouldn't be capable of something so powerful, he's –” Before he finishes his sentence, he's gone.

God damn it.

Huffing, you make your way to the barn. The sooner you get this part over with, the sooner you'll be free. Opening the door, you recoil, a sense of dread washing over you. Cain kneels in the middle of the barn, surrounded by dozens of his victims. He raises his eyes to you, brushing his long, grey locks out of his face.

“So, you found me,” he says, giving you a round of applause. “I knew you would,” he adds. You slowly close in on him, readying yourself for an attack. Instead, he sits still, patiently waiting for you to draw closer.

“I'm sorry,” you say, gaining a laugh from him. He drops his head, and you walk behind him, gripping the first blade in your hand. You clench your jaw, grabbing his shoulder and readying the blade. “I'm sorry,” you repeat. This time, you gain no response.

–

You stare ahead blankly, the memories of your encounters fading into the back of your mind. “Cas...” you mumble to yourself. Did he really try to reach you? You swipe a hand over your face, eyeing the notebook. How long did he intend on making you stay here? A whistle sounds in the room, and you look around, leaping to your feet when you find the Trickster leaning against the wall. “I'm done with this, either kill me or let me go!”

“Kill you? Now why would I do that when you're so fun to watch?” he asks, rooting around in his pocket as he closes the space between you. “You know, I was really hoping you'd kill John – I had such a fun scenario for that!” he says, flinching when you grip his collar.

“Let. Me. Go. Or else,” you growl.

“If my boots weren't still shaking from earlier –” He fishes a sucker out of his pocket, popping it into his mouth – “That little threat would've got them going, sweet pea!” he cooes, snapping his fingers and disappearing.

“Fuck!” you snap, whirling around at the sound of flipping pages. The sparkly notebook flips to a random page, revealing your next set of men.

FUCK MARRY KILL: Benny Lafitte, Crowley, Sam Winchester

You snatch the notebook up, shaking your head. “The vampire? Fucking Crowley?” You tap the page, staring around the room. “I already did Sam, asshole, now you're getting lazy!” you scream, your anger finally boiling over. You tick off your choices with a growl, slamming the notebook and sharpie onto the ground. Girlish 'Ooohs' and 'ahhhs' echo off of the walls, the familiar sinking feeling overtaking your body.

#supernatural #fanfiction #spn #fanfic #spn fanfiction #john winchester fanfiction #gadreel fanfiction #cain fanfiction #my writing #boy #do I like writing gabriel #like #he's my muffin even when he's the antagonist #which explains why I loved him in spn buahaha

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cannot-decide-on-a-fandom · 4 years ago

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I understand that it’s currently (well, it has been for a while, but still) fun and cool to make fun of Supernatural and treat it as if it was always just a stupid, mediocre at best show, but the reason why the entire thing going on with it sucks is that it really wasn’t.

I’m not saying it hasn’t done the things people are saying, like killing off every LGBT character and the one important disabled character over, at the time, 12 seasons (well, apart from Bobby, but he got cured, which is a whole other can of worms), had little diversity in terms of people of colour, because it has, and while I don’t think it’s inherently bad to kill minority characters, when you kill/mistreat all of them, that’s very different to “this one character died and he was gay”. I’m in no way denying the problematic writing of the show, and yeah, feel free to call the shitty writing in that aspect. Because that is shitty.

But Supernatural actually did have a lot to love. (this turned out longer than I expected, so I’ll put it under the cut, but please read it if at all interested, because I am curious what other people think. Also, this is based off of what I’ve seen, so our views of reactions might be a little different)

There are no finale spoilers in this, apart from “it was bad”

In terms of characters, I still love Cas with my entire heart, he is generally a well written and fascinating character (not flawlessly written, obviously, but still interestingly), and has a really cool opening role, season 4 still being among my favourites of the show. The characters were incredibly flawed which is actually a really cool thing to see because perfect characters take me out of the story, Sam and Dean were generally good protagonists to follow, I love Crowley and Jack, 2 of the other characters who were at some point listed as lead cast members, I didn’t even have the hate regarding Bela’s character or Ruby’s, there are some really interesting side and recurring characters too (Charlie, Kevin, Jo, Ellen, Bobby-all dead admittedly, which is definitely the frustrating and irritating thing), and they’re likable while still feeling relatively grounded, a surprise in a show about the supernatural.

As for the plot, I’m not gonna act like there were not bad storylines or badly executed ones. I don’t hate season 7 as much as others do, season 8 is my personal least favourite, but that entire season felt like filler for most of it, and to be honest I barely recall any episodes from s7. Plus the villains were probably the weakest (not strength wise, but writing wise) of the entire run. But every season up to season 5 had so much to care about and love, and while for me seasons 6-8 were not great, seasons 9-11 are all some of my most loved hours of TV (which I know is controversial, as people are so quick to say everything went bad after season 5, but I disagree with that too). Yes, the stakes may have escalated way too far and saying stuff like “ooh, God’s sister is the enemy” can seem ridiculous, I never once felt that they lacked heart and lacked a genuine desire to create. It really felt to me as if the people working on the show really did care and wanted to create and tell their stories.

The one off, meta, and special episodes are really fun and Supernatural has kind of become known for them. Things like Changing Channels, The French Mistake, Baby, Stuck in the Middle (With You) are all interesting concepts to apply to the show and whether you like all of them or not I think being able to have some unique or cool things up their sleeves even after a decade deserves props for at least trying (also, writing this now, I have a strong temptation to rewatch 12x12)

And one thing that I still genuinely commend Supernatural for (again, not that they did it perfectly, but I didn’t sense any malice from it) is that the show has encouraged its fans to explore what they want in their own writing and supported them in that. Some people may hate the meta stories, and that’s perfectly fine. But episodes like Fan Fiction were used as a thank you and an ode to the fans, not as a way to mock their interpretations. Dean explicitly says that his interpretation of the stories is not any less valuable than anybody else’s. The Real Ghostbusters did have Sam and Dean shocked at there being a Supernatural convention, but it was because anyone would be uncomfortable if their lives had cons around them, it wasn’t treated as if it was just wrong to be interested and love stories. I understand the issues with Becky’s character and yes, she was not a great example of a fan and I wish it wasn’t done in that way (especially one particular episode, which the show, ever so slightly to their credit, addressed in season 15), but I think that for the most part, the cast and crew recognise how much interpreting the story in your own way matters.

Supernatural wasn’t a shitty TV show that never deserved the success it had, it’s a show that was full of lovable characters, interesting concepts, some actually really good lines (even though it became most known for the memey, jokey lines like “I lost my shoe” I will die on the hill that there were so many thoughtful, deep, interesting lines of dialogue in the show. I am tempted to rewatch the show and make a list honestly because a lot of them I recall really stuck with me for a while and there were actual lessons, believe it or not, in them), actors doing their absolute best and mostly succeeding, a show that tried to do things outwith or a twist on their base genre, and over all a show with a lot of good in it.

The reason the way the season went is so frustrating is specifically because it wasn’t as bad as people like to claim. If it was always bad, yeah, people might be disappointed, but it wouldn’t be as big of a deal if it always sucked. It’s upsetting because throughout most of its run, Supernatural has shown that it is capable of creating interesting, enjoyable, emotional stories, and it’s show it can have interest, enjoyable, and emotional finales.

Of course it really fucked up with its representation throughout the whole show, nobody is denying that, and good. #TheySilencedYou/Us is important. It should exist, because it’s ridiculous how some of their characters were treated. They literally brought Eileen back for 30 seconds one time specifically to kill her, and that really annoyed me, among many other instances. But Supernatural did have a lot to love and a lot to care about, which is exactly why it pisses me, even as someone who hasn’t watched the show in years until this year, off that they threw away 15 years of character arcs, story writing, and 15 years of the positive things the show gave us to create a finale where it’s clear they did not give a crap as to what the fans or even their own cast members would be happy with.

So no, I don’t think Supernatural is a crappy show with bad writing that did not deserve to survive as long as it did. I think Supernatural had heart and love and passion put into it and through 15 years some stories were halfbaked and haphazard but it wasn’t just a bad program. Which is why what happened to it can fuck off, and why I feel bad for the fans, and also cast members who are dealing with a) letting go of their characters in a way that they’re unhappy with (eg-Jensen) and b) dealing with the backlash directed at them when they really aren’t the ones who should be dealing with the problems, because the writers should have known better (Misha)

(One last thing, I’m aware most fans aren’t cruel to the cast, this is a vocal minority, it doesn’t mean I don’t still feel bad for them)

#supernatural #Supernatural Finale #I don't know what I should tag apart from the show title so I'll leave it

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wordstrings · 5 years ago

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Soft Spots for a Fiend

written and submitted by goo!anon:

[[ A/N: Hello! I’m fairly new with writing these certain type of fics, but I sure did try my best! I’ve been inspired by @wordstrings for a while and the most current Good Omens piece urged me to be creative. I’ve decided to create something of my own, this little fic right here. Thank you <3 ─ goo!anon]]

Wordcount: 1,731

[Good Omens, Aziraphale/Crowley]

─

E♭ D D ─ E♭ D D ─ E♭ D D …

The very beginning of Mozart’s Symphony #40 in G Minor, K 550. Who could fail to recognize the tune? It was a rather ingenious piece, to say the least, especially for its time period; and yet, most people seem to recall The Magic Flute in a more fond manner.

T’was a pity that this particular work playing in the bookstore was being so rudely howled over by a certain bleach blonde angel. Completely under the mercy and overzealous expression of his best friend, Aziraphale’s panicked and forced grin spread painfully from cheek to cheek.

“My word angel, you’ve gone and flushed that little face of yours,” a voice purred out from above the angel. “You’ve got to admit, you did tempt me with how coy you can be. Don’t take me for a fool, love. I won’t turn down the chance to exploit a weakness.”

Crowley seemingly held nothing but pure schadenfreude in his heart for his opposite, as this was quite the predicament he had gotten himself into. Under the body of a full grown man with ridiculously powerful legs just to keep one little angel from slipping away. Still, one could say it was all in good fun; it was clear the angel was enjoying himself - otherwise, he would’ve demanded Crowley to stop. Not to say that he would stop, but that’s beside the point.

While the demon’s spiel allowed Aziraphale some reprieve from the torture he had briefly been exposed to, the hands latched tightly around his sides still reminded him of the situation at hand. He will be tickled and it will suck … That’s what his human senses told him anyways.

“Y-you cannot be serious, Crowley. You sincerely let my joke about your potential “goodness” push you over the edge like this? This is a personal attack - I just poked a bit of fun at you and in turn, you literally poked ME instead! I promise, you’re not a soft demon, and you’re not a good pers-”

The swift movement of pinching and prodding fingers traveling rapidly up and down his sides cut him off abruptly, leaving Aziraphale to shriek out his remaining breath. Twisting and contorting under the firm hold of the demon, his laughter had spiked in volume as devilish fingers worked their way up into the angel’s pitifully defended underarms.

“What a keen observation, Aziraphale. Perhaps you can file that memo of yours into a safe place and call upon it for moments like these. Now, tell me . . Would a good person ever do this?” Crowley punctuated by firmly drilling his trapped thumbs into the other’s armpits.

Tossing his head back against the carpet both of them had been “wrestling” on, Aziraphale’s wide open grin allowed full-bodied laughter to spill past his straining vocal cords. Arching backward to try and release himself from the unforgiving grip of Crowley’s legs, his boisterous laughter had gained a frantic edge to it.

“P-plehehease! C-Crowley I d-dohon’t knohow if I cahan take thiiIIIIIS ANYMORE!” Aziraphale cackled, which was a direct result of the demon picking up speed in the abuse of the weakened angel’s armpits. While time spent together had been fun after the impending Armageddon business was settled, Aziraphale would never have imagined that this would be included in the “get-together(s)” package.

“Oh puh-lease, angel. Spare me the utter drama and take it like the little soldier you’re supposed to be. Don’t tell me your undoing will be from a little tickling?”

“N-nohoHOHObodY CAHAHAAN Behe S-SUHUHURE,” The blonde sputtered out, clearly discombobulated by the devious and seemingly endless onslaught of his underarms and upper ribs. “WHAahaAhT if I doOHO COME unDOHONE?”

Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Crowley finally slipped his hands free from the angel’s pits, earning a relieved gasp for oxygen that he most likely didn’t need ─ Human-ish bodies are needy, you know?

“My goodness, “ Aziraphale huffed and reached up to wipe the sweat that had beaded over his forehead. “You didn’t have to torture me like that, nevermind violate such a susceptible and defenseless area!”

“Oi, quit your whinin’, angel. My kind isn’t supposed to lighten the blows of attacks - we go straight for the kill. If my ‘kindness’ eludes me, you’d better be grateful that I stopped.” Crowley playfully sneered, attempting to free the angel beneath him by slightly shuffling backward, but still careful to keep the blonde on the ground.

“Lighten the blows? Your kindness? That’s what you call kindness? Tickling a man half to tears? I’d surely teach you a real lesson in kindness before I believe a single word of that childish description of your blackened morality.”

As soon as Aziraphale finished the jab at his friend, Crowley’s sneer dropped into something initially distressing. He deadpanned. Almost frowned. His expression was near impossible to read completely with those damn glasses in the way. Aziraphale paused in his efforts to escape, afraid he might have actually damaged his best friend’s feelings.

Almost reaching a hesitant hand out to the demon, Aziraphale’s brows furrowed in compassion and concern. “Crowley, are you alright? I apologize if that was too harsh, but I thought you weren’t one for being g- “

In an instant, the red-headed demon quickly grasped Aziraphale’s hand and pulled him forward, enveloping the angel into a ridiculously tight bear hug. At first, he thought the action to be rather loving and sweet, but positivity soon drowned into impending fear when he felt Crowley’s hands ever-so-slightly twitch in the middle of his back where the mantle of his wings would be.

Letting out a genuine gasp of horror, the angel quickly realized the situation he was coaxed into. That sly bastard played with his emotions and now he was going to pay. Dearly.

“My dear little angel Zira,” Crowley practically hissed the nickname into Aziraphale’s ear, causing his face to burst into brilliant shades of red. “I’m afraid you’ve made a grave error in your decision here. My graciousness and mercy are so rare these days, don’t you think? How unfortunate of you to take that for granted.”

Aziraphale could perfectly hear his friend in the ear he sweetly mumbled into, but the pounding of his heart just seemed all too loud and booming to properly process what was going to happen to him.

“I-I didn’t mean to -” Aziraphale choked.

“Ooh, of course, you didn’t mean to slip past your last chance at freedom! Still, I must admit it’s pretty ballsy of you to accept your fate with ‘open arms’ so to speak, eh?”

Crowley pressed his grin against the blistering hot skin of the angel’s neck, causing Aziraphale to suppress a surprised chuckle at the unexpected cold sensation. The demon spoke up, seemingly for the last time before all hell broke loose.

“Little angel .. I’m afraid even God can’t help you here.”

Before Aziraphale could even get a word in edgewise, familiar demonic fingers vibrated and kneaded into the base of his wings in a way that shouldn’t have been cosmically legal. Shrieking, the angel laughed himself into self-induced hysteria. It was all too fast, too sudden, and too much. In a failed attempt to free himself, Aziraphale wrapped himself tighter into the hug he was trapped in out of sheer panic.

The attack on his wings seemed to go on for ages, especially when his physical wings managed to make a sudden appearance from the unexpected foreign touch. Nothing but prying fingers at the base of his wings, torturing the smaller, new feathers. Nothing but the scratching of his sensitive skin underneath the thick fluff of downy feathers.

Nothing but the seemingly eternal torment at the hands of his hellish comrade.

─

Surprisingly, it eventually did come to a stop; something that the angel was deeply grateful for. As soon as Aziraphale screamed into the throes of ongoing silent laughter and tears, Crowley took it upon himself to grant his friend official mercy.

Crowley had been holding onto Aziraphale for the remainder of his cool-down, unsure if he should even part with him so soon after what he put his friend through. Sitting in silence (albeit the sound of Aziraphale catching his breath and relaxing was evident), Crowley reluctantly pulled away from the pleasantly teary-eyed angel, leaning back on his palms properly drink in the sight of his incapacitated angel. Miraculously enough, both beings practically beamed at each other, aside from Crowley’s goofy smirk.

“Good Lord, you’ve proven your point. You’d put Lucifer and his awful deeds to shame if all of Heaven knew what you just did to me.” Aziraphale muttered dramatically, rolling his eyes and wiping away the tears of mirth that remained on his face.

“I’m glad we’ve come to a proper agreement now. I’m a damn good demon and rightfully so - one willing enough to tug on the wings of an angel.” Crowley stated, puffing his chest out in a show of victory and superiority.

A firm push was bestowed upon the redhead, followed by a raspy chuckle from the man that delivered it. “Very well then, Crowley. I will admit, you’re a . . damn good demon indeed, tormenting me like that. Perhaps you can use this victory over an angel as something to tell your Head Department after they come looking for you in a few centuries?” Aziraphale mocked, standing up straight to properly brush himself off and fix the lapels of his coat jacket.

“We both know how you tend to stretch the truth, so why not entertain them with your ventures.” The angel spoke in a smug manner, but not hesitating to hold out a hand to assist his partner. “Who knows? Maybe you can call them about it tonight to get a good word in for yourself too. We can discuss it over dinner, my treat.”

Crowley was about to get up from the floor, but hesitated at the sight of the angel’s outstretched palm. “ . . You’re too good to me, angel.” He reached out and firmly held on to his hand, lifting himself off of the carpeted flooring and guiding Aziraphale to the door once he was planted on his feet.

“Far too good for me.“ Crowley smiled warmly at the angel, taking him up on the offer for a free meal he probably wouldn’t even eat. "You’d think I was a fool to resist such temptation.”

—

Publisher’s note: aaaaAAAAAAAA I love this so much! I’m always a sucker for hysteria-inducing wingpit tickles. ;)

#submission #tickling #author goo!anon #ticklish!Aziraphale #ler!Crowley #Good Omens #Ineffable Husbands #Crowley #Aziraphale #Soft Spots for a Fiend #tickle fic #wingfic

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mittensmorgul · 5 years ago

Note

I know this is a weird question, but with his waning powers, how do you think Cas got out of hell?

Hellevator?

I have a companion question for you. When Cas shoved Belphegor through the rift, of everywhere they could’ve potentially landed in Hell (we know it’s a huge place that holds billions of souls and demons, and we’ve seen a number of different regions of it over the years), how did they land right exactly where they needed to be?

They landed just a few steps away from the vault containing the horn they were looking for. At this point, I’d like to introduce you to some of my other anons who’ve been sitting in my inbox waiting for replies for a while...

[Contents of anon message: hold on how did cas get out of that pit. did he wall up the side like a mountain climber. did he bring bungee cords and slingshot himself out??? im confused]

and these two that I think go together (apologies if I’m mistaken, but they seem a continuation of one another, and I wanna address both of them here anyway):

[contents of two anon messages: Hi Mittens! Quick question. If the Lilith’s horn thing was capable of sucking up souls and demons, why didn’t Cas use it in season 6 for his whole god plan? Crowley had to know about it, right? (He was Lilith’s lover, wasn’t he? If Bel knew about, Crowley had to too) Idk... Retcon makes me dizzy. what was the point of looking for Purgatory if there was a simpler solution that Crowley could have very easily accessed?

For that matter, why didn’t Lucifer use the horn to suck up all the souls to defeat Amara? Would that have been a possibility?]

This... is gonna get long here... There’s actually two ways to approach all these questions, which I think all have the exact same very simple answer. But first, I need to lay out why these questions are all so interesting in the first place, and demonstrate that attempting to give separate answers to each of them using canon to justify all the answers is an exercise in futility.

Let’s begin with the first two questions, which are functionally identical. How did Cas get out of Hell so quickly? And the companion question I posed above... How did he and Belphegor get IN to Hell so quickly, or at least to their specific destination. Because that was... indescribably convenient, yes?

They could’ve fallen ANYWHERE in Hell. Why would the bottom of a magical hole into Hell drop them in the exact destination they were searching for? Do portals to Hell have something to do with intent? I mean, we use the symbolic visual of “falling into a hole” for going to Hell (like Sam diving into the Cage in 5.22), but Hell is no more “underground” than Heaven is “in the sky,” you know? They’re not physical places in the human world, any more than the Alternate Universes we’ve visited over the years are. Without going into a physics lecture, I’ve been thinking of the wound in the ground in the graveyard as metaphysically the same as the Sandbox Portal to Heaven, or the glowy space vagina portal into an alternate universe. Walk up to it, walk through it, and ZAP you’re on the other side, in another dimension of reality.

They don’t step into the Heaven Sandbox and physically ride up into the sky like an elevator, you know? They step, it glows, it spits them out in Heaven, no climbing required. I think the Hell Portal/Big-ass Hole is the same sort of thing. But with the added drama of getting to watch them fall into a big-ass hole. So... we didn’t get to see it, but reversing the process, I think it would’ve just... booped Cas back out and deposited him on the grass where he’d jumped through in the first place.

More interesting to me is the fact that Belphegor presented them with this solution (bearing in mind he’d been gradually manipulating them all along into agreeing to Bigger and Bigger Spells, and each time TFW being desperate enough to agree to give his spells a try, and each time they proved moderately successful. But this was The Big One, you know? This was the one he wasn’t performing to continue earning the trust and assistance of TFW, this was the one he engineered SPECIFICALLY to enact all along-- earning Dean’s trust, getting Cas to the point where he not only could look at him, but actively work with him (even grudgingly). He NEEDED Cas in that room to unlock the box with the horn, much like Cas needed Dean to unlock the box that contained the Angel Tablet in 8.17. Much like Lucifer needed Crowley to “escape” so he could follow him to the storage locker where he’d hidden the Staff of Aaron in 11.15. Much like Zachariah plotted out everything that happened in s4 to get Sam where he was needed to release Lucifer in 4.22 (and manipulated into it so that he’d be willing to do the series of Terrible Things required of him by “prophecy.”)

Which is all a little suspicious when you start looking at past canon to explain it all, you know? All this “prophecy” and “destiny” stuff starts to look a bit contrived, right?

Belphegor and Cas somehow miraculously landed in the Dramatic Entrance Hall to the exact room they needed to find. Where a demon Bel was friends with happened to be looting the place (discovering a ring that received a weird amount of focus for something we’ve never heard of before nor the powers it holds described in any way, and yet ALSO featured in the SPPT promo video, despite being entirely irrelevant to their current situation... which is weird in itself... and something that could come up again later... or not, but it could).

So, did Belphegor’s intent lead them to fall directly to that spot, or is something else at play here?

That brings us to the next question: Lilith’s Crook, which wasn’t a crook at all, but a Horn. First off, why was it called a “crook” when it was plainly a “horn?” A Crook is a specific tool used to catch wayward sheep around the neck like a lasso, but also can be used as a walking stick or a weapon. Wolves come after your flock, you can whallop them with your big stick.

But like all the “horns” introduced in canon, this one has... other powers. We had the Horn of Gabriel introduced as a concept in 6.06 but demonstrated in “reality” only in s9... which wasn’t a horn at all, but a spell. But it did summon angels the same way Lilith’s Crook sucked in demons and souls. Even the shape of the sigil in the spell had a “crook.”

Bringing in the flock, as it were.

We also saw the Horn of Joshua, where the original purpose of the “weapon” was rendered irrelevant by being of interest to TFW as a “Hand of God” potentially imbued with God’s powers they hoped to use to defeat Amara back in s11. All this previous “horn fuckery” in canon has left me inherently suspicious of ANY sort of horn now. But I’ll get to that in a minute... Let’s focus on the rest of the horn-related questions first, since this one is so big that I think the only way to truly justify it is with my final answer...

The next question is, “why didn’t Cas use THIS horn back in s6?” combined with “didn’t Crowley know about this horn back then too? Why did he never mention it when he was searching for power?”

Well... even if Crowley DID know about this horn, it wouldn’t have actually done what he was trying to do back then. Crowley already HAD the throne of Hell, you know? All of that power was already his. He LOANED Cas 50,000 souls to smack down Raphael, which Cas presumably returned to Hell after that. But Crowley had been looking for ADDITIONAL power for himself. The horn... only brought in the souls of Hell-- which were already in Crowley’s possession. Hoovering up all the souls that already made up his current power base would’ve been... power cannibalism, you know? It wouldn’t have given him anything he didn’t already have. He was looking for MORE power. The horn would’ve been worse than useless to him. And he DEFINITELY wouldn’t have given it to Cas back then, because Cas would’ve used it to soak up all the power Crowley DID have and steal it for his own, you know?

So, what would the purpose of the horn have been to Lilith? I’ve been considering the possibility that it was actually an Apocalypse Failsafe, if Sam had failed to kill her to release Lucifer. I mean, as a last-ditch effort to bring about the Apocalypse, she could’ve called all the power of every soul and demon in Hell to her and theoretically have the power to smash open the cage, or otherwise bring Apocalypse-Level Drama of some sort. Evil Vengeful God Powered Demon does seem to make for a formidable foe for Michael to defeat.

Or... maybe something along those lines? But that brings us to the next question: Why wouldn’t Lucifer have used it himself to suck up all the souls to defeat Amara in s11? Or even further, why wouldn’t Lucifer have used it to suck up some souls to defeat AU Michael when we literally saw him eating other Angels for power in s13? He’d been desperate for additional power in both of those circumstances. He even spent time in s11 specifically looking for Hands of God weapons and other power enhancing weapons, and the contents of his crypts was brought to him at one point in 11.15. He was disappointed that whatever he’d been looking for was not among the meager selection of weapons from his apparently looted crypts. But if anyone HAD known of this apparently incredibly powerful weapon, why would nobody have even mentioned its existence before?

Which makes me wonder if Lucifer DID know of its existence, you know? Maintaining the belief that the horn had existed all along, locked away in a box that only angels (or someone able to read and sing Enochian) could even access, Lucifer at least could’ve had reason enough to use it if he thought it would help him replenish his own power either in s11 or in s13. Yet he never even mentioned it. Could it have been something Lilith made for herself after Lucifer had been locked away? Weird, right? WHY?!

Why ANY of this? Why even make something like this, only to have it mentioned NOW, at the very end of the line?

Because every answer I’ve attempted to give here eventually breaks down and fails to satisfy the original question, only leaving us with more questions. So I’d like to present my thesis. While the canon-related questions are a bit of personal fun for me, because I love attempting to reconcile canon like this, I think the show has already told us exactly what’s happening here. I think it’s both DEEPLY rooted in past canon, but also hanging a lampshade on a lot of specific events of past canon.

I think Chuck is basically pantsing his way through writing yet another Dramatic Cosmic Plot that TFW doesn’t even realize they’re still part of yet. And that this “weapon” was invented on the spot by Chuck to force TFW into enacting a hastily scrawled rewrite of some of his favorite scenes from his own Grand Story. Just enough to give him time to figure out what he actually wants to DO with the story, since he’s effectively trapped himself in this iteration of it by one of his own hastily created plot devices... kinda “backfiring” on him-- The Equalizer gun.

Chuck has been repeatedly characterized as kind of a hack writer, not a Great Storyteller, you know? He’s really... not very good at this. He’s like Anne Rice after she fired her editor. He’s got no direction, no original ideas, only “cool plot twists” that entertain nobody but himself. He makes up rules on the fly to try to solve narrative problems of his own making. And he’s been doing that for years.

And he’s been getting worse at it, and more desperate about it, since Amara showed up to confront him from a perspective that began this entire “unmasking the creator for what he really is” process we’ve been seeing unfold since 11.20.

Which is closer to what I think the *actual* mytharc plot of s15 is.

Right now, TFW is caught up on the details-- these magical things they believe are manifestations of a Post-Chuck-Involvement universe. When in reality, it’s STILL Chuck interfering directly in all of their lives. I think right now Dean is the only one even remotely on the right track with that one, even if he’s emotionally reeling to the point where he doesn’t actually *know* he’s realized the extent to which Chuck has fucked with all their lives.

Sam is reeling from the things he had to do because of “prophecy,” the fact he believed he had no other choice. This was one level of remove from his resignation about needing to say yes to Lucifer in 5.22 to personally drag him into the Cage. Emotionally, I’m not sure if he sees it any differently than all the suffering his actions back then brought about. This time, it wasn’t *him* making that sacrifice, but someone he truly cared about making it for him. Sam is having to deal with this from the other side this time around. He’s not seeing the bigger picture, that Chuck was responsible for ALL of this. He’s convinced that this was the price they needed to pay in order to “fix the universe once and for all,” which... we know as viewers isn’t true at all. Chuck is still out there, and magically hooked directly into Sam via that equalizer wound. Is Sam even CAPABLE of seeing outside of his current apparent situation, or is Chuck somehow directly influencing his choices and thoughts? That remains to be seen, but it is a primary concern-- how is that wound affecting both Sam and Chuck, and what part did it have to play in Rowena’s apparent sacrifice?

(and potentially, will Sam be able to eventually wrest control of what that connection is doing once he becomes fully aware of what the consequences of that wound really are? I mean this also goes directly back to the sorts of visions he was manipulated into believing in s11, only to learn when it was too late that they were all a manipulation from Lucifer. This feels thematically similar, but potentially giving Sam power over the situation that he hasn’t realized yet...)

Cas is stuck on his own guilt, he believes now validated by Dean’s rejection of him. He’s not seeing Dean’s perspective here, that it’s not just Jack’s death or even Mary’s death that Dean is angry about. Cas had invested HIS ENTIRE SENSE OF SELF and his entire sense of family and belonging into Jack directly. Jack had been the symbol of Cas’s lifeline to the people he loves and chose to stand with and the symbol of what someday losing those people to mortality would leave Cas with... another immortal being to endure by his side for eternity. The immediacy of Cas’s anger is all tied up in that singular act of Chuck’s, in killing Jack. And seemingly not understanding that Dean is angry about... all of it. About an entire lifetime of direct manipulation and loss and tragedy.

Dean’s big fear, in pushing Cas away, was that Cas himself had been just another one of Chuck’s plot devices written specifically to force his choices or disrupt his life. Dean can’t see the forest for the trees, and he has NO IDEA (or had no idea until Cas chose to walk out of his life) that Cas has repeatedly chosen HIM, DIRECTLY, for A DECADE. Dean has no idea, because right now he’s so blinded by his own hurt, his own disillusionment, and his own anger to see Cas clearly. He trusts nothing and no one, because everyone and everything might just be one more plot device.

He’s having a hard time seeing Cas as anything other than on a par with the Equalizer gun-- hastily invented on the spot to solve a problem of Chuck’s own devising. And I think it’s gonna take a while for Dean’s mental state to settle out enough to be able to accept the truth that *we* know.

I mean, Cas has defied every supposed law of the universe, coming back to him over and over again, inexplicably, from death and the Empty and situations that never should’ve been possible to come back from. I believe he’s questioning if any of that was even real now, you know? but we’ve now got the long haul of emotional coming-to-terms, and narrative progress into Chuck’s story but also Chuck’s storytelling. I think we’re finally gonna come to understand not only his writing process, but also expose all his storytelling weaknesses and failed drafts and eternal rewrites. And his intended ending that TFW will now have to plot their own way out of.

And to me, in s15, that’s the story I’m actually interested in dissecting, because that’s the real story of Faith vs Free Will, and I think that’s what must become the final showdown of the season.

And all of these narrative WTF moments, like these questions have raised above, will go to serve as Red Herrings or Chekhov’s Guns, or both. Because Chuck’s panic writing without an editor, and his head’s so far up his own ass and is more interested in narrative vengeance on his rebellious characters that he’s losing touch with what the reality of the universe he’s created actually *is.* Or what his theoretical audience would actually want for these characters as an emotionally satisfying ending after 15 years of them becoming “real” in his story.

I think this will be the main point of 15.04 (and possibly 15.05, based on the very little I actually know about that episode yet). So as painful as it is for us right now, try not to lose sight of this larger picture. And don’t let yourself become too obsessed with Chuck’s increasingly improbable plot devices, because they’re a narrative distraction (for TFW and us-the-audience alike, like an incompetent stage magician pointing over the audience’s head and yelling OMG IS THAT BIGFOOT?! and hoping the audience will all turn around long enough to shove a rabbit in his hat...)

#spn 15.03 #spn s15 spoilers #spn s15 speculation #spn cosmology #supernatural weapons #heaven hell purgatory and the empty #chuck is a hack #and it's supposed to be obvious that he's a hack... :'D #Anonymous

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obsessivelollipoplalala · 5 years ago

Text

Yours, When Ready

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, voice scratchy, taking a step forward. “I’ve given you a lot of time.”

Aziraphale flinched, like he knew what was coming.

His mangled heart rattled with anxiety. “I would’ve been fine with giving you more, if we had it.” His voice weakened. “But we don’t. You know we don’t.”

Aziraphale looked at him miserably. “Whatever you’re playing at, don’t do it.”

But the words had been pushing at his lips for thousands of years, and there was no stopping them now. “I’m not playing at anything, and I think you know that. I know I’m a demon, but when have I seriously lied to you?”

He didn’t answer.

“We can quit,” he said. “We can get away from Heaven and Hell and go where they’d never find us. There are no sides in space.” His wounded heart was on the floor of the bandstand between them.

“You know God is everywhere,” he protested.

“But angels and demons aren’t.”

“You won’t tempt me away from my duty to earth,” he said haughtily.

“I’m not tempting you!” Crowley snapped, past his breaking point. “I want to go off with you.”

Aziraphale bit his lip, wincing. “No.”

“I do,” he said desperately, aware of the ticking of his watch. He sucked in a breath. “You know I do.”

Aziraphale squeezed his hands together anxiously. “Crowley,” he said, face raw with emotion. “We can’t—”

“We can,” he insisted. “If we can’t save the world, we can be together.” He was vaguely aware of his knees shaking. “I’m not lying to you. I’m—I’ve got to tell you how much I—”

“Don’t say it,” he said softly, pleading.

“But I might never be able to. Please.” Was he begging? It felt like he was begging. He couldn’t stop now. “I can’t deal with this. What if they get their war and Heaven loses? I can’t think about what Hell will do to you.”

Aziraphale looked down at the ground, eyes squeezed shut.

“And what if Heaven wins? They won’t let me seek asylum. I’d rather not die by holy water, thanks very much. If we can’t stop this, I need you to know everything.” He didn’t want to die without saying this—or worse, have Aziraphale die without knowing he was loved.

“We shouldn’t be like this,” Aziraphale lifted his face, and his eyes were wet and the color of the dark clouds above. “This isn’t permitted. You shouldn’t want to be with me.”

Crowley had nothing to lose, here on the day of Armageddon, and Aziraphale wasn’t yelling anymore, so maybe he was getting through to him? “I don’t care what I should or shouldn’t want,” he stepped closer, wishing he could reach out to him. He was scared, but found the strength to speak. “I want to be more than friends. You know, don’t you? After that performance of Hamlet, in the pub, remember?”**

Aziraphale was biting his lip and breathing heavily, shoulders noticeably moving up and down. “You were drinking. You didn’t know what you were saying.”

“I knew exactly what I was saying,” he countered, and it was now evident that Aziraphale did know since then, but was telling himself it was a slip of the tongue for centuries. That was too much to unpack right now. Crowley was starting to feel sick. “You ran. So I gave you more time. I don’t want to do this, either,” he said, because he hated doing this, pressuring Aziraphale, but they literally had a few hours left on earth.

Aziraphale’s eyes darted around like he was looking for a way to escape. “I…”

Crowley’s bleeding heart thumped hard, taking his breath away. “I’m in love with you,” he confessed, voice broken and small even to his own ears. “You must’ve known for a long time.”

Aziraphale exhaled harshly out his mouth, shaking his head more. “No, please,” his voice shook.

Crowley never felt this close to tears in front of another being before. “I am, so much. Aziraphale, please, I’ve loved you for eons,” he reached out and grasped his hand. Instantly, intense fear from Aziraphale’s essence shot through Crowley and he staggered back with a gasp.

Aziraphale was shaking his head roughly, stepping backwards, too. “Stop,” he said faintly, agony in his eyes. “I can’t give you what you want. I can’t do this , Crowley,” he lamented. His face hardened. “I won’t.”

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

**Read about what got them to this point, and what happens after, here 😊 Happy ending, I promise!

#good omens #good omens fic #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #ineffable husbands #my fic #reposting because the format was fucked up the first time #thanks tumblr app

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maxineswritingcenter · 5 years ago

Text

The Dark Side

@laphirablack asked: Heeey, can u do a fic with moc!dean x demon!reader, like she's trying to convince him to go dark side. Maybe some hot smutty smut smurder??

Alright, demons are a go.

-------------------------------------------------

"So you want me to seduce your pet into going to the darkside?" (Y/N), one of Crowley's most trusted spies had been asked to meet her King at a local demon bar.

"Essentially." Crowley said, drinking his fruity drink through his straw. (Y/N) sighed, looking back at the bar tender and tapping her glass signalling him to refill it.

"What's in it for me?" She asked. Crowley wasn't cheap and the rewards from his little gigs were usually pretty good.

Crowley hummed, "The usual payment?" He asked. The usual payment was usually money and a higher position on Crowley's list of friends.

"No way." She said, "Don't try to fool me. I know who this cat is. That's Dean Winchester. The Dean Winchester, who will literally murder me on sight. I'm not going in there without a greater incentive." She took a drink from her Jack and Coke.

"And what exactly would be a greater incentive." He leaned forward.

"I want the usual. And I want you to get involved." She spoke the last part quickly.

"I beg your pardon?" He asked, almost choking on his drink.

"They trust you. Sort of. You just talk to them with that sexy accent of yours and tell them that I am here to help them. Especially after that Ruby situation." She grinned, crossing her legs.

Crowley tutted, looking her up and down, "I suppose you learned something."

"Oh Fergus," she placed her hand on top of his, "I learned from the very best." She winked.

"Fine." He said and smiled tightly. She hummed, looking down at herself.

"I suppose I'll need a new wardrobe." She looked at him expectantly.

He sighed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet. Handing her a few hundred dollars.

"Should be enough. All they wear is in the sporting goods department. Lots of flannel and jeans." She grinned and stood, leaning down and pressing a kiss on his cheek.

The Winchesters had agreed to meet Crowley in the usual place. An abandoned warehouse covered in anti angel sigils.

"Alright, what's this about?" Dean asked, he was opening and closing his hand on the arm that had the mark. The Mark always pained him and made him anxious.

"I don't know. I just got a call from Crowley saying to meet him here." Sam said, looking around.

"Hello boys." Crowley appeared behind them with another woman behind him.

"Is that your trainee or something?" Dean asked, looked around Crowley at the woman.

"Hardly." She said, stepping around him.

Crowley smiled, "Meet (Y/N). She's going to be on call for me while I'm out on business. So don't bother me unless she's dead."

Sam looked at her warily, "How do we know we can trust her?" (Y/N) hummed, stepping forward and unzipping her leather jacket. She pulled it open, revealing her bra.

Dean stared then tried very hard to avoid the merchandise. She pointed to the sigil on chest by her clavicle.

"This mark locks me to this vessel and essentially has me locked to whatever job I take. I can't leave until it's satisfied. Or else." She drew her finger across her throat to mimic a knife.

"Test it if you want." She said, zipping up her jacket.

"Okay, uh, get me a piece of cherry pie." Dean said. She snapped her fingers and disappeared. Soon after she reappeared soon after with a plate of steamy cherry pie and a fork. She held it out to him and watched him grin and take it.

"I'm satisfied." He smirked, starting to dig into it.

"Could you get the heart of a werewolf?" Sam asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

She smirked, "A challenge. I like it, Moose." She snapped her fingers and disappeared. They stood for a few minutes. Crowley looked at his watch and smiled.

She reappeared finally. Her jacket was torn and her hair was disheveled. There was blood coming from her lip. She grinned, holding up a brown paper bag. The bottom of it was soaking and dripping with blood.

"Sorry for the wait. It was not ethically harvested." She tossed it. Sam panicked and caught it. There was a wet slap as it fell into his hands. Dean looked up from his almost empty plate.

"That sucks." He laughed and kept eating.

"Well, boys, satisfied?" Crowley asked. (Y/N) smiled, blowing a piece of hair out of her face.

"Fine." Sam said, "We'll call if we need you."

Crowley snapped his fingers, the two disappeared.

Dean was scrapping cherry filling off the plate with the side of his fork. Sam stared at him, the noise of the metal against the plate echoed throughout the empty building. Dean put the fork in his mouth, looking up at Sam. He pulled the fork out of his mouth and shrugged, "What?"

---

The next few weeks were essential. Gaining the Winchester's trust wasn't easy. She went on errands and even helped kill a demon or two. Crowley said whatever was necessary.

After a hunt one night, Dean and (Y/N) went to a bar to drink to a job well done on a shifter hunt.

"Cheers." He grinned and lifted his glass.

She smiled and clinked her glass, "Cheers." They both knocked back a shot. He cleared his throat, looking at the shot glass.

"So... What's the story with the Mark?" She asked innocently.

"Crowley didn't tell you?" He said, avoiding eye contact.

"He did, but I wanted to hear it from the that pretty mouth of yours." She rolled the sleeves of her red flannel up to her elbows.

Dean hummed, "Well it's more of a pain in the ass than I thought. It's taking over my life. Some days... resisting it is harder than others. I don't know when I'll be able to stop myself."

(Y/N) shrugged, "Maybe you should give in every once in a while. Ya know, when you really need it." She motioned to the bartender.

"I was thinking the same thing." He admitted, surprising her.

"If that's what it takes, to give into the mark and kill Metatron. Then... Am I willing to take the consequences? Would I could back from it?" He looked at the new shot on the counter, "For Sam? I'd do anything to keep him safe." He took the shot.

(Y/N) began having doubts. I'm the last few weeks they had gotten so close. It almost felt like they were... Something...

She hissed in pain, grasping at her chests. The Mark on her chest burned, signalling that she was straying from her path.

Dean leaned forward, grabbing her arm, "What is it? What's wrong?"

She couldn't tell him. He would never trust her again.

"I'm straying from my assignment..." She said, looking him in the eye.

"How?" He asked, his eyes narrowing.

"For wanting to drag your pretty ass in the back and showing you a thing or two." She bit her lip. Dean smirked, none the wiser.

"I think that could be arranged." They made their way towards the back, leaving through the back entrance. He pressed her up against the brick wall, leaning down and began leaving sloppy kisses over her neck. He gripped onto her sides, keeping her against the wall. She sighed, running her fingers through his hair and tugging. Her eyes had been shut, but they fluttered open. There was a group of men standing there.

"Dean." She whispered, shoving him away slightly. Dean looked up, looking over the the men.

"Uh... Kinda busy here. You mind?" Dean asked, his hands still held her to the wall.

"Didn't know Crowley's pet was free game." The one at the front said, "Pass her over here, friend." His tone was threatening. The group began closing in. Dean glared And stepped in from of her protectively.

"I would take a step back if I were you." Dean said. The demon scoffed and punched Dean in the face, shoving him away.

"Asshole!" She punched him, but was shocked when it did nothing. The head demon pushed her back into the wall. He grabbed at her arms, and smirked. Dean looked up at them. His hold body was shaking with rage. The Mark started burning on his arm.

"Dean!" He heard her shout. Dean felt his rage burst in his chest.

(Y/N) watched as Dean roared, bringing out the demon killing knife. He just tore through each demon like they were flies. When the last one fell, he looked at her. His breath was ragged as he came down off his high. He looked around then grabbed his arm, his face contorted in pain. When it passed and he looked up at her, his eyes were widening horror. He looked around, seeing the dead bodies on the ground. He looked so scared.

-----

(Y/N) sat at the bar, nervous for the time ever in her afterlife. She had asked Crowley to meet.

"Alright, darling." He said as he arrived and sat in the stool next to hers, "You'll have to make this quick. I have to go to the hell grounds. The hell hounds have been escaping."

"Release me." She said quickly.

"Excuse me?" He asked, grabbing his drink off the counter.

"I can't do this. When you had me do this before it didn't matter what happened to them. Now it does." She said, "Crowley, he blacks out and when he comes out from under the influence, he's scared and guilty. He can't handle it."

Crowley narrowed his eyes at his most prized demon, "You actually have feelings for him, don't you?" she didn't meet his eyes. He sighed and stood, smoothing out his suit.

"Well, (Y/N). Know that this gives me no pleasure." He snapped his fingers. The Mark on her chest started to burn again. She shouted in pain, sliding down to the floor. She ripped open her flannel and watched as the mark on her chest because to to turn the skin around it black, eating away at her skin. She screamed, curling up in a ball on the floor. The pain was intense and spread throughout her body. Wet streaks began making their way from her eyes, nose, mouth and ears. She tasted her own blood. Crowley had started to walk away.

"Wait!" She called out. She screamed again, feeling the black start to invade her heart.

"Crowley! I'll do it!" She screamed. He stopped, snapping his fingers again. She gasped for breath, watching as the black faded back into the mark.

"Don't forget your place." Crowley didn't even look at her as he walked out. The other demons in the bar stared at her, then looked away when she stood. She snapped her fingers, leaving the bar behind.

---

Later, Dean and Sam had finally caught wind of Metatron. Dean would use the power or the mark and the first blade to kill him. Sam and Dean would go in alone.

Just as they were leaving, (Y/N) grabbed Dean by the jacket.

"Look, I know there's not time. But... Don't lose yourself, Dean." She ignored the burning in her chest.

"I'll be careful." Dean smiled weakly and leaned down, pressing his lips to her forehead as a sweet goodbye.

After Dean's death, (Y/N) went out on the run. Hiding from demon trackers and hell hounds to avoid Crowley. She had found a way around her mark. If the mark was broken, she would be free. The only issue was she had to keep breaking it. Everyday slicing through the mark with a blade forged in hell fire. Unfortunately, her running came to a halt. They caught her off guard and brought her to a tiny motel room. She was tied to a chair, but no devil's trap, nothing to keep her contained. Which only meant something worse was coming. The door opened to reveal Crowley.

"Well, don't you look comfortable?" He asked. He stood in front of her, moving her shirt collar to the side to reveal the scared mark on her skin. She looked away, not wanting to meet the face of someone she used to spend her whole existence trying to please.

"That would explain why I couldn't just snap you out of existence. Not after what you did to Dean." Her head shot up.

"What are you talking about? You're the one who-" she was about to finish but stopped. In walked the only human she had ever loved. Dean was alive. But... Something was wrong, very very wrong. He ... He was like her. A demon.

"What did you do to him?!" She shouted.

"Me?" Crowley said Innocently, "I helped resurrect him. If you had told him to give into the mark... Why... He would still be alive and not a knight of hell."

Dean looked down at her as if she were a stranger.

"Dean, I...." She started to say but her words left her when she saw the first blade in his hand.

"I thought what better way to kill two birds with one stone. With you gone, I can avoid anymore incidents. And Dean can get his revenge.

Dean grinned and looked at the first blade thoughtfully.

"Dean, please." She begged, "You never wanted this." Her heart rate soared as he got closer.

"Personally," Dean said, finally meeting her eyes. He grinned, usually s face that made her heart leap, but now it just sunk. She watched as his eyes flickered black.

"I like the the disease." He raised the blade and struck.

-------------------------------------------------

Take it how you will. I may or may not have a thing for the idea that when Dean becomes human again the pain of this will just KILL him, ya know.

I hope you liked it!

General Taglist:

@happy-little-marvel

@hobby27

@somebodyto-love

@beanie-beebo

@vicmc624

@ria132love

#demon dean #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean x reader #dean winchester #moc!dean #demon!dean x reader #demon!dean #supernatural creatures #supernatural reader insert #supernatural imagine #supernatural #requests #demon!reader

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sunflower-le-tournesol · 5 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Snowbaz - Relationship, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow Characters: Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Snow Storm, Cuddling/Snuggling, for survival!, mostly!, Fluff, Light Angst, Hypothermia, Frostbite, Pre-Relationship, so many tropes and cliches, baz is lovesick, Hurt/Comfort, Protective!Baz Summary:

Clearly, this is not the first time that Simon Snow has nearly frozen to death.

It’s a bit horrifying, so I try not to dwell on it.

Fortunately, I have plenty of other things to keep me occupied, like the threat of frostbite and hypothermia.

... Or, Simon and Baz get stuck in a blizzard.

Baz

Clearly, this is not the first time that Simon Snow has nearly frozen to death.

It’s a bit horrifying, so I try not to dwell on it.

Fortunately, I have plenty of other things to keep me occupied, like the threat of frostbite and hypothermia.

While I’m not actually sure that the cold can kill a vampire, it’s certainly not a pleasant experience, and I know the cold can definitely kill a Chosen One.

Simon is shivering so hard I’m afraid that he might chip a tooth.

I give his fingers a squeeze.

Crowley, mine barely want to cooperate.

If we don’t do something soon, we’re fucked.

“We nn... need shelter,” Simon manages to mutter through his chattering teeth. He’s got his hand wrapped around mine to link us together, fearful that we’ll lose each other the storm, an unseasonal white out that swept in quickly and viciously. “We’ll never ma-make it b-b-back to Watford.”

He’s right.

The strength of my warming charms waned as the chill set into my bones, and every time I tried to start a fire, the frigid wind snuffed it out.

We’re running out of time.

“L-look for a ca-cave or a b-b-big tr-ee.... Any-nything that can b-block the w-wind.”

We trudge through more than a foot of snow, and it’s slow going despite our best efforts.

Simon squints against an icy gust and murmurs, “Th-think... I see... something. Up. Ahead.”

I follow his line of sight and am suddenly grateful for my enhanced senses. There’s an outcropping of rock no more than half a meter in the distance. Patches of gray stone and muddy forest floor are just barely visible, but it’s enough.

“Thank fuck,” I mumble through my chapped lips.

I start tugging Snow in the proper direction, but he stumbles and lags behind a step.

“M’fine,” he answers before I can ask, and then he’s back in step at my side. The wind howls as we continue in silence, and Simon bumbles into me a handful of times as we cross the icy expanse. He apologizes, and I notice that his lips are turning blue.

I urge him faster.

We’ve nearly made it to our best chance at shelter when his hand goes limp in my own and his knees buckle.

I get an arm under his shoulders just before he hits the ground and lower him the rest of the way. Protectively, I hunch over him and brush the frosty curls from his uncharacteristically pale face.

“Shit, Simon,” I swear. “Shit. Get up.”

His eyelids twitch, but he doesn’t open them. “Ngh. Baz?” he groans. His mouth twists into a frown. “S’cold.”

It can’t be good for him to be lying in this shit.

“I’m fucking aware, Snow,” I curse as I haul him back to his feet. It’s harder than it should be for someone like me, and he sways as soon as he’s upright.

“M’tired, Baz,” he whines as the snowflakes catch on his eyelids. They don’t even melt, and he’s normally a furnace.

I brace him with both hands on his biceps and look over his shoulder toward the makeshift cave.

And then I scoop Simon into my arms.

He doesn’t complain, which is a bad sign in its own right.

Somehow he’s languid and stiff, and he uses the last of his strength to curl against my chest.

His breath puffs against my jaw in short pants.

His head lolls onto my shoulders and a few bronze curls spill out from beneath his hat.

Fuck.

I tighten my arms around him, and l haul us both through a blizzard with single minded focus.

Simon

Baz is swearing and spelling under his breath, and he sounds scared, which is weird.

Baz is never scared.

My eyes don’t want to open, so I take stock with my other senses.

I’m lying on the ground, but there’s something soft under my head.

Something rustles, and there’s a sudden burst of warmth. Baz sighs audibly and sags in relief somewhere near my head.

Then his hands are on my face, and they feel warm to me, which is not probably not good because Baz runs so much cooler than I do.

I crack open an eye. His expression floods with relief, and he drags me closer to the small crackling fire.

“Crowley, you’re fucking soaked,” Baz cringes and starts stripping me out of his coat with fumbling fingers. “Don’t you own anything that’s waterproofed?”

It’s not really a question. “Fuck. Why aren’t you shivering?”

This one isn’t really, either, but I force myself to respond even though my tongue feels like it weighs twenty pounds, “S’bad.”

Baz pauses in his ministrations before he’s back at it with military precision. Once he’s got the coat off, he tries a drying spell, but he’s too drained for it to do any good.

Baz snarls, punches the frozen ground, and proceeds to tug off my sopping jumper and undershirt. They hit the rock with a wet smack when Baz flings them to the side.

Baz’s mouth twists into contemptuous scowl when he sees my trainers. I don’t own boots, but I don’t bother to point it out. He pulls off my shoes and socks. I can’t quite hide the wince.

“Aleister fucking Crowley,” Baz swears. My feet have been numb for awhile. They just look awful.

Baz grimaces, but then his expression becomes more resolute.

He deftly unbuttons my trousers and tugs them down over my hips, knees, and frozen toes.

I’m left in my pants, but only for a moment.

I’m too tired to care anyway.

Baz sheds his own coat, wraps it around me, and then drags me into his lap. My heads come to rest against his chest, but he’s still not finished.

His missing scarf must have been my makeshift pillow, and he unfolds it before wrapping it around my feet and tucking them under the coat.

When he’s done, he pulls it over my head to trap in the heat.

“If you fucking feeeze to death, Simon, I’ll kill you,” Baz threatens. I make an affirmative noise low in my throat. It’s all I can manage right now.

“Don’t go to sleep,” he chides after a few minutes of quiet. He’s parroting my advice back to me, and I chuckle. It comes out a little hoarse, a little broken. “Why exactly do you know so much about exposure? Did the Mage take you on an exhibition to fight a Yeti?” I shake my head.

“No? Do tell,” Baz is going for his usual snotty aristocratic tone, but I know him well enough to hear the tremor of panic hiding underneath his sneer.

I lick my lips and try to force the words out of my mouth, “L-locked out. Got. Locked out.”

I was little. It was a crowded group home with overburdened foster parents, who were strict on curfew. To drive their point home, they locked their door at nine o’ clock and refused to open it.

I missed the deadline one time, and I never missed it again.

An older girl who had been living on the streets prior to the placement told me everything she knew about surviving exposure as we huddled for warmth against the side of the house.

“Just in case you ever need to know,” she’d said. She was probably no more than fifteen, but her eyes seemed much older. “Sometimes I have better luck roughing it.”

It was a long night.

She ended up running off again a few days later, and people the children’s welfare office eventually took us all to a new group home.

I don’t know what happened to her.

Sometimes I still wonder.

Baz

Simon still isn’t shivering.

I’m bloody freezing, and it’s getting more difficult to remember all the bits about survival he’d rattled off from memory when the storm took a turn for the worse.

I know he mentioned something about skin-to-skin contact because I nearly went into cardiac arrest.

Not that I can go into cardiac arrest.

I think.

If anything is going to give me a heart attack, though, it’s definitely the idea of being pressed together with Simon Snow in nothing but our pants.

I’m too worried to really enjoy his proximity at the moment, but I can’t imagine I’ll have any real composure if I’m forced to strip down as well.

Idiot. Of course he couldn’t have dressed for the weather. My layers are relatively dry, but Snow walked out into a blizzard in his usual brand of street urchin chic and fucking trainers.

And now I’ve got a lapful if Chosen One freezing to death in my arms.

I used the last of my magical reserves to dry enough kindling to keep the fire going and cast Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

I’m spent.

I’m out of options.

And then Simon sniffles.

Fuck.

Okay, sure, this is fucking happening.

This is what my fucking ridiculous life has come to.

I can’t help my frustrated snarl as I yank my tie loose and unbutton my sweater.

Bundling the coat more securely around Snow, I push him away just long enough to finish removing my own clothes.

Once I’m basically starkers, I drag him back into my lap and fold him against my chest. He’s compliant, like a limpet, and I hate it because usually he’s sparking with life and energy. Literally .

I wrap my clothing over both of us and rub my hands up and down Snow’s arms, hoping to create some friction and generate some warmth.

I tuck his frozen feet underneath my bare thigh and suck in a suffering breath through my nose because fuck, those are fucking cold.

And then I try to ignore that fact that I’m in my pants, pressed up against Simon, who is also in his pants.

He doesn’t make a single comment about our predicament, which only serves to make me more anxious.

Okay. I need to keep him awake, like he said; I’ll keep him talking.

“Snow,” I nudge him with my shoulder, “How d-did you get l-locked out?” He doesn’t respond, so I jar him a little more forcefully.

He grumbles weakly, but he finally says, “Was... late.”

“Late?”

“Care... home,” he says, like it explains anything. “Locked... out.”

“You w-were late,” I puzzle out aloud, lowly, “so they locked y-you out?”

Simon nods.

“Use your words, you n-nightmare,” I chastise, but there’s no real best to it. It’s just habit, an automated response.

Because right now I’m sticking on the implication of his words.

Who the fuck locks a child outside for being late?

Even a child as annoying as Simon Snow.

I had assumed that a number of the care homes had left something to be desired: Every year Simon came back underfed, his blue eyes too big in his face, and sometimes he ended up sicking up in the bathroom after the first few meals if he overcompensated.

Truthfully, he’d come back to Watford bruised up some years, but I had assumed it was related to the Mage or the Humdrum, or that Simon had just gotten into a row with some other boys their age.

I curl more protectively over Simon without realizing what I’m doing.

What if there were no summer excursions with the Mage? What if it was more than a few tussles with peers?

Suddenly, the sickening image of a faceless man towering over a too thin Simon Snow fills my mind.

I’m shaking now, but it’s not cold anymore: It’s rage.

Simon

“Baz?” I ask. He’s gone strangely rigid, tensed like he’s angry, like a snake coiled to spring.

His shivering feels more like fine trembling, and I can sense a shift in his mood.

Baz is pissed off.

I hope he’s not about to shove me off him and back into the blizzard. I don’t think I’d last long, especially in my pants.

I’ve actually started to warm up, I think. I might just be imagining it, though. I guess that’s what happens when you’re too cold for too long. You don’t even realize you’re cold anymore, and that’s what kills you.

I really don’t want to die out here.

It’s too anticlimactic for the Mage’s heir.

Baz shifts, and somehow I’m snuggled even closer to his bare chest. My cheek rests on his shoulder, and my lips are pressed against the skin just above his collarbone.

It’s intimate.

I can feel the heat creeping into my face.

“Baz?”

He flinches when I repeat his name, but then he abruptly settles. His voice is emotionless when he asks, “What h-happened next?”

Talking is exhausting, so I try to keep it brief. Even I know that’s counterproductive, but I’m so fucking tired.

“S’long night. Rainy,” I try not to think about the way my lips brush over his skin, like a kiss.

I like it.

I want to do it again.

I stop that train of thought before it can gain any more traction.

This is survival. This is purely platonic.

We’re just cuddling platonically for survival, like I told Baz earlier.

I’ve always found Baz to be pretty fit, though, and feeling him up close like this is doing things to me.

I don’t know where the urge to snog my roommate is coming from right now, but I can’t let myself make this weird.

And then Baz buries his nose in my hair and inhales.

I shiver. Baz’s fingers flex.

He whispers, “They l-locked you out all n-night?”

It’s so strange to hear him stuttering, so unlike the carefully composed Baz that I’m used to.

He must be freezing.

“Mhmm,” I answer. “Welfare... c-came a few days... la-later. Moved all.. all of us.” I close my eyes and picture her face, “Sometimes... I still... look for her?”

“Who?”

“The girl,” I say. I don’t know why I’m telling him of all people. I’ve never told anyone. “She ran... away. Said... sometimes it was better... on the streets.”

A chill pierces me to the core. Sometimes I worried it was my fault. The police questioned me and everything once they found out she’d run off, but I couldn’t tell them anything useful.

I cuddle closer to Baz before I share the next bit, the fate I hoped she’d avoided, “She... saw a guy freeze... to death once... Said he went to sleep... and he never woke... up.”

I’m seeking comfort more than warmth at the moment, but I hope he can’t tell the difference.

Thankfully, he does comment on the fact that I’ve wiggled even closer, nestled snugly into his chest. Instead, he asks, “H-how old w-were you?”

I purse my lips, think, and answer, “Seven? Probably.”

Baz curses under his breath and spits something about a prize for fucked up childhoods.

“S’fine... I think... they felt b-bad,” I recall. “I got an... extra serving at breakfast the next... morning.”

I’m not sure I’m making sense anymore, honestly.

Baz seems to follow my train of thought, thiufh, as he darkly drawls, “How nice of them to feed you .” He huffs, “I can’t believe this is how we’re going to die.”

“You’re already dead,” I remind him, and then I frown because it seems sort of cruel, “Kind of.”

Baz snorts, and I like the sound.

But I’m tired, so I yawn, my eyelashes flutter, and Baz twitches before he softens, “Stay awake. It’s my destiny to kill you. I won’t be upstaged by a snowstorm.” I can feel his lips quirk against my forehead, “The irony would be insufferable.”

“Mmm,” I agree. “Do... you still want to...kill me?”

“Of c-course,” he responds without missing a beat, and somehow this makes me sad.

Most of the time I think he’s joking now, but if I’m going to die of hypothermia, I don’t want to take any chances or leave anything unsaid.

“Oh.”

The cold is really starting to get to me, making me emotional, because I want to make sure he understands. He needs to know.

I need him to know.

I swallow, “I don’t... want... to kill you.”

“How noble,” he lilts, and I know he’s not taking me seriously.

Fine.

I’ll make him listen.

My limbs feel heavy and clumsy, but I sit up even though Baz makes a sound of confusion and tries to pull me back, but I’m on a mission.

He’s staring at me in the relative darkness of our clothing fort like I’ve gone round the bind, but it doesn’t matter.

I take his perfect face in my hands and try to ignore the softness of his skin.

I force him to look me in the eye, and now our faces are probably too close together.

Close enough to kiss.

“I don’t want... to kill... you,” I repeat. “I haven’t... for a long... t-time.”

Baz

Snow is driving me mad.

I’m sick with worry over how quickly he’s deteriorating, but I’m also completely distracted by him.

Every tiny shift, the brush of his lips against my clavicle when he speaks, his eyelashes on my skin, his breath against the column of my throat, the soft little noises he makes when he leans more firmly against me, it’s going to be the death of me.

I knew Snow would kill me.

Proper noun, common noun, fuck it all, this is my life.

Now he’s cupping my face between his palms like I’m something precious, important, and pinning me with the intensity of those vibrant blue eyes.

I think my heart is going to beat out of my chest.

I love this stupid, noble idiot.

His speech is slurred, but he fights to make his point.

“I’m... glad the Crucible... put us together.”

Oh, fuck no.

My blood sours in my veins.

This is not goodbye.

I am not doing this right now.

My hands drop to his shoulders and I shake him, “Shut up.” I’m growling, which would be embarrassing if weren’t so fucking scared right now. “Shut up.”

He shakes his head, “I... mean it.” He tilts forward until our foreheads are touching, “I mean... it, Baz.”

He shudders abruptly, and his eyes roll, like he’s used the last of his strength to say this to me, like my name is the last word he’ll ever say, like I would want him to waste his fucking breath on me right now.

He collapses against me.

Fuck.

“Simon,” I shake him. Nothing. “Simon. Wake up.”

The panic I’ve managed to contain begins to grip my body like a vice. “Simon,” I implore. “Simon. Please.”

The silence stretches.

The whiteout rages around us.

We may as well be the only two people in the universe.

I pat his face insistently, trying to wake him, “Simon, love, please.”

Fuck.

His heart rate is so slow, and his nails are turning blue.

And I can’t watch him die.

So I smack my numb hands against my thigh until I get some feeling back.

And then I slap him.

Hard.

“Ngh,” he groans pathetically, but his eyes blink open. “Stay awake,” I demand. I clear my throat, suck in a breath, and confess, “I don’t want to kill you either, okay? So stay awake.”

He sighs, “S’good. T’nks.”

And then then he reaches for me.

I’m hovering over him, so I lean forward. When I’m close enough, he grabs my shoulders and pulls at me until I lie beside him. He’s too weak to make me do anything, but I go willingly.

I rearrange our cocoon, and Simon tucks himself against my side until there’s no space between us.

My arm comes around him, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I run a hand over his back, and he makes a pleased humming sound that makes my heart hammer in my chest and my face flush.

He whispers, “Hey, Baz?”

“What, Snow?”

He waits, like he’s thinking of something, “I like... this better than... k-killing each other.”

My fingers still for a moment before I admit, “Me too.”

I smile humorlessly, “Though I could do without the threat of frostbite.”

“Mm,” Simon agrees.

The fire snaps and pops, merry and indifferent to our predicament, and if I close his eyes, I can almost imagine that we’re anywhere else.

It’s a stolen moment, where I can’t help but dream that this is something that I can have, keep.

The wind howls, Simon shudders, and I weave my fingers through his matted bronze curls.

It’s indulgent.

I can’t even justify it by claiming that I’m trying to keep Simon warm.

No, this is just affection and desire, the desire to bring comfort, the desire to be something more if only for a little while.

Simon

Baz slaps me two more times before he announces that the worst of the storm seems to have passed.

He crawls out of the mess of clothing.

When I peek our, he snarls at me, “You’re g-going to freeze.”

And then he pulls his coat back over my head.

The next time I try to look, he’s fully dressed and somehow still looks poised and posh in spite of the last few hours.

It’s unfair.

When he doesn’t scold me, I make a grab for my discarded shirt, but it’s cold and stiff and damp.

Baz flowers. “I didn’t save your l-life just for you to c-catch your death now.”

He punctuates his sentence by tossing his sweater to me.

I catch it out of reflex and blink, “But won’t y-you be c-cold?”

Baz barely looks up from primly straightening his bloody tie and quips, “I’m considerably more durable than you, Snow.”

“S-Simon,” I say automatically.

“Hmm?” he asks absently. He takes the jumper from my numb, fumbling hands and pulls it over my head. He does up the buttons in a snap.

Sputtering, I say, “You c-called me S-Simon. Earlier. I h-heard you.”

“You’re h-hallucinating,” Baz contradicts firmly, but the shivering ruins the effect.

He turns and hands me my trousers, which had been drying by the fire. I try not to combust when his fingertips graze my hips as he helps me pull them on.

I make a point not to look at him again until I’m mostly dressed.

“You d-did. You c-called me S-Simon.” I pause and consider my next admission, “I l-liked it.”

Baz whips away to grab his coat before I can see his reaction, and then he throws it over my shoulders with a flourish. It’s so long on me it nearly drags the ground.

“B-Baz,” I protest.

He presses a long, thin finger against my lips, and I’m suddenly thankful for the cold because I’m sure I would be crimson now.

I want to kiss his finger.

What the fuck.

“Be q-quiet, S-Simon.”

And I am.

Quiet, I mean. Stunned into silence while my heart tries to beat out of my chest.

His stormy gray eyes drop to my mouth, I swear, and then he turns away, brandishes his wand, and casts, “Follow the yellow brick road. ”

And maybe I am a bit delirious because I laugh when I hear the spell.

A yellow brick road rolls out in front of us before it disappears under the small hills of snow.

Baz steps out into it and kicks a mound aside to reveal more of the brick. He squints against the light.

I’m practically snowblind, but of course he adjusts quickly.

“It’s n-not far,” he says, and then he smirks, “You w-were leading us in the right d-direction after all.”

I’m glad because I don’t think I’m up for a long jaunt back to Watford. I have trouble just trying to stand up, and my feet feel like lead weights.

And then Baz is there with his hand outstretched.

I take it and slump unsteadily into his side.

I wait for a comment about my deficits of grace, but it never comes. Instead, he smoothly wraps my arms around his neck, twists, and lifts me onto his back with the sort of fluidity that’s both enviable and annoying.

His hands slide under my thighs.

“I can walk,” I lie.

“Don’t be stupid,” he replies.

He carries me like I weigh nothing, even if he teases me a few times and complains, and something about it all makes me feel lighter.

When we finally make it back to the gate, the yard is thankfully empty.

I’m already daydreaming of my bed and maybe a shower.

I’m sure Penny will come by later, and I’m sure I she would be happy to bring breakfast and cast a few warming charms.

But Baz doesn’t walk toward Mummer’s House.

I groan, “Can’t we j-just go to b-bed. Where c-could you possibly need to go r-right now?”

Baz hitches me a little higher on his back, and I yelp, which is embarrassing.

“The infirmary, obviously.”

My brow furrows. Is Baz sick? Is he hurt? Is he worse than he let on?

I squirm a little to get a better look at him and ask, “What’s w-wrong? Are y-you okay?”

He makes a put upon sound, “I’m fine.”

“Then w-why...?”

“You’re r-ridiculous,” he announces as he enters the main building.

A gust of heat rushes up to greet us, and I sigh.

He makes a left, and then we’re in the infirmary. He settles me on an empty bed with a gentleness I wouldn’t have thought him capable of before last night, and then he runs a hand through my hair before he disappears into the office.

“Dithering about in this weather,” Olga chastises as she emerges alongside him a minute later. “You’re lucky Basilton found you.”

I shoot him a look, and he shakes his head imperceptibly. Apparently we’re here for me, and he’s getting off scot free.

Olga jams a thermometer in my mouth and tuts when she reads the numbers, “Going to need warm saline.” She makes a note on a chart that seems to have appeared out of thin air and instructs, “But first you need to be dry. Take those wet things off.”

When she opens the supply closet to rifle for supplies, I start removing my clothes again , which is stupid. Really, I’m not that wet. Just my pants, my trousers, my shoes. Baz’s fancy designer jumper and coat kept me dry on the walk back to the school.

He’s the one she should be fussing over.

A button on the jumper catches on my hair, and I’m

about to tear it loose when Baz stills my hands and untangles the knot.

“This really isn’t necessary,” I tell him once I’m free of the thing. “And w-why aren’t you up on one of t-these beds getting l-looked over?”

Baz eyes me like I’m insane.

“You’re t-temperature is 35 degrees,” he says. He fixes me with a hard look and whispers, “I don’t think anyone needs to know m-mine.”

Oh. That’s a pretty good point, actually.

“Isn’t there a s-s-spell or s-something for this?” I ask him.

But it’s Olga who replies as she bumbles back over with an IV drip and a needle, “Sometimes the Normal way is best.” She jams the needle into the crook of my elbow, and I cringe.

A few droplets of blood well up around the puncture, and I glance to Baz, who looks wholly indifferent.

He must’ve fed sometime before we left last night.

Before I can think on it anymore, Olga bustles back over and holds out a few pills in a little paper cup and a glass of water.

I eye them warily. I’m not really in any kind of pain, or at least any I can’t handle. Dubiously, I insist, “I’m f-ine. Really.”

Olga isn’t having it. She rolls her eyes, “Basilton, please fill this tub with warm water. Warm, not hot.” Then she waves her wand at the bed until I’m sitting up in a reclined position. “Sit it here, please.”

Baz frowns thoughtfully, “Does he have frostbite?”

“Near enough,” she explains. “Mild though.”

She gestures for me to put my feet in the tub.

Once she’s finished prattling around me, she announces that she’s going to put the kettle on for tea in her quarters and insists it’ll do us both a world of good.

And then we’re alone.

Baz

I’m not sure what to do with myself once Olga vanishes back into to her rooms. While Snow and I have shared a room ourselves for years, there’s no real precedent for this moment.

Something between us has shifted, and I don’t know how to proceed.

I know what I want, but that’s a fantasy.

I’ll settle for whatever this is now, a truce, a tenuous friendship at best?

I’ll take what I can get.

I won’t ask for more.

I’m relieved when Olga pronounces his frostbite to be mild, and I’m amused by the way he pouts once her back is turned.

Honestly, this idiot came in here insisting he was fine. He thought there was something wrong with me , which is as endearing as it is ridiculous. I’m the vampire, as he has pointed out all these years. I didn’t even bother to correct him when he brought it up earlier. Why is he worried about me when he is the one who actually has frostbite?

Frankly, I’m already feeling marginally better now that we’re back inside, and I’m looking forward to the promise of tea.

I’m wondering if Olga will bring enough sugar and trying to figure out how to approach the change in our relationship when Simon suddenly hisses a breath through his clenched teeth.

I snap into focus and almost bask, “What?” His face scrunches up. “Do you need...?”

“No,” he gasps. “Shit that h-hurts.”

Oh. My eyes drift to the tub of water. Yes, re-warming is probably pretty miserable, like when a limb has fallen asleep too long, pins and needles.

Simon groans and his head drops back.

And I grab his hand.

Because I’m an idiot, and I can’t help myself.

The last several hours have been endless, and my overtaxed stronghold on my emotions is starting to fray.

But he doesn’t pull away.

He squeezes my hand and flashes me a grateful smile that soon becomes a grimace of pain

I brush my thumb over his knuckles, and he relaxes minutely, so I do it again.

The door opens, and I pull away before we’re seen.

Olga strides back into the room with two cups of tea that I accept gratefully. The warmth surges through me.

Meanwhile, Olga takes one look at Simon’s gray face and gives him a sympathetic pat, “The medicine should be working soon. You’ll likely sleep through most of the morning.”

I’m glad because his constant wincing is hard to watch.

“I’ll be back to give your feet a rest in half an hour,” she remarks. “Knock if you need me.”

And then she’s off.

I study the door and consider her for a moment as I take a second sip of my tea.

While everyone knows we don’t get along, Olga believes in the Crucible. Even if we were the reason the other was in the infirmary, she always still insisted on treating us like we were friendly.

And I’m grateful for it now because I don’t have to explain why I don’t want to leave.

Shakily, Simon sets his cup on the bedside table.

“You should s-sit,” he nods toward the chair next to his bed. “You h-have to be t-tired. I’m kn-knackered.”

I mock him lightly, but do as he asks, and he looks pleased.

We lapse into relative silence, save for the soft, pitiful noises he makes when the pain spikes. I hear him suck in a breath through his nose and see him squeeze his eyes shut against the pain.

And then he takes me by surprise because he suddenly grabs my hand, laces our fingers together like he’s done it a thousand times.

Stunned, I gaze at our joined hands a little too long before I look up to search his face.

Merlin, he’s blushing .

The color is hot in his cheeks, and I swallow.

He averts his blue eyes before he looks at me firmly, presses his lips together, stammers, “Is... Is this all r-right? I... kind of f-feel better, uh, f-felt better. When y-you were... um, holding me? I mean, when y-you were holding m-my hand, you know?”

Crowley. It’s too easy to remember the way he felt, pressed against my naked side. It’s too easy to picture him in my jumper, just a bit too long, and wrapped in my coat, like lovers sharing clothing.

And I imagine it.

I imagine waking up in the mornings with his head on my chest, his lips against my collar, my name on his tongue, a soft, sleepy smile just for me.

I see him in my football jersey, Pitch spelled out across his back like a declaration.

We hold hands just because we feel like it, just because it feels right .

And I love it.

Now that we’re out of the literal woods, it’s like an uncontrolled fire has been set alight inside of me.

Love, warming me from the inside out, too hot, too fast, too bright.

It’s blinding.

I can’t answer him.

I don’t trust myself.

But I don’t let go.

And I hope that’s enough.

11 notes · View notes

luckyspike · 5 years ago

Text

Adventures in America, Ch. 11 - The Ribs are Probably Symbolic, or Maybe Just Delicious

In which Adam and Lucky have a serious Discussion about The Past

it’s a lot of emotions and talking, and also a low key ode to barbecue ribs

Start with chapter 1 here

Refresh on chapter 10 here

or check out my fic tag for all kinds of stuff

---

Adam waited for the waiter to drop off two sodas and leave with their food orders before he dropped the opener. “I’m the Antichrist.”

It didn’t get the reaction he’d been afraid of. In fact, it hardly garnered any reaction at all. Lucky watched him for a long minute, then slowly reached across the table, picked up his soda, and sipped through the straw. He looked pensive. After a while, he swallowed, and said, “Go on.”

“Any questions about that?”

“Yes, but I want to hear you out first. I think …” He looked around. Leaned forward, wove his fingers through his hair, and stared fixedly at the table. “I think this is going to answer a lot of weird questions I’ve had about my life.”

Adam frowned. “So you don’t think I’m crazy?” It wasn’t a question of validation, for Adam, but for confirmation. Lucky nodded. “You don’t want me to like … prove it, or anything?”

“The haunted doll was plenty, but I mean, if you want to get us a free meal and no one has to die or anything …”

Adam shook his head firmly and said, “No, no messing around. I don’t do that. I try not to do any of it, anymore. Not unless I really have to. And … and you know, the longer I go without using the powers …”

Lucky nodded. “You don’t use it, you lose it. Heard that all my life.” He nodded to Adam. “So … explain stuff. Please.”

Adam sighed, folded his hands. “I didn’t know ‘til I was eleven. An’ then it kind of just … happened overnight. My Dog showed up - he’s a hellhound, or he used to be, I dunno if he still is - an’ I thought he was just a regular stray dog. But then I started hearing these voices, tellin’ me to change things an’ take over the world an’ I kind of … lost it? For a little while, anyway.” He stopped to gauge Lucky’s expression, but the other boy just nodded again, encouragingly, urging him on. “An’ then, uh, this is gonna sound crazy, but I guess, um. Well, me an’ my friends met the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse an’ like, defeated them or something, an’ my godfathers were there, plus some other people, Anathema and Madam Tracy and Newt and Mister Shadwell, and I thought I did it? Like told ‘em to stuff the whole Armageddon thing.”

“Uh-huh.” Lucky was wide-eyed, and he took a long sip of soda as Adam continued to talk.

“But I didn’t.” He swallowed. “‘Cause then this angel and this demon showed up - not Aziraphale and Crowley, two other ones - to try to convince me to re-start it, but I didn’t. I told ‘em off, and they left and said they’d tell … um. You know.”

“Lucifer? And, wait … Francis and Nanny are an angel and a demon?”

“I guess,” Adam said wretchedly. He groaned. “Anyway, then he got angry and was gonna come and tell me off for not starting Armageddon, but Crowley stopped time for a minute -”

Lucky held up a hand. “Which one is Crowley? Demon or angel?”

“Your Nanny. I’m pretty sure. But definitely a demon.”

Lucky grinned. “Oh, kick ass.”

“Yeah, it was. Anyway, that gave me time to think about what to do, ‘cause at that moment I had literally all the power in the world, ‘an so we came back to the present and I told the devil to piss off because he wasn’t my dad. An’ then my dad showed up,” he finished, a little lamely. Lucky’s mouth was open.

“You told Satan to fuck off? Piss off,” he amended. “Actually those words? And you were eleven?”

“Not exactly those words.” Adam sighed. “I actually yelled ‘you’re not my dad’ at him like ten times and then he like dissolved into a cloud.”

“Dude that’s still awesome.” Lucky sat back. “Holy shit. Fuck. I … I dunno what to say. Then what?”

“What? What do you mean, then what?” He shrugged. “I dunno? The world didn’t end?”

“I mean clearly. But like, you gave up that evil stuff and whatever, and then you just … went home? Went back to school?”

Adam considered it. He’d never really focused much on the afterwards part. “I got grounded. For being on a restricted military air base and uh, being out when I was supposed to be in bed.”

“You rebel,” said Lucky, faintly. “But you still know - Crowley? Nanny? Shit, I still call her - him, ugh, what …” He rested his forehead on his hand. “She’s still Nanny.”

“I always knew him as Crowley.” Adam shrugged. Cautiously, he took a drink, taking a minute to glance around the restaurant. Nobody seemed to be paying them any attention, and he didn’t see anyone he recognized. “Yeah, after the whole thing I found a paper with his number on it in my jacket pocket. For if I had questions, it said. So I called him up one day and I guess he had handed in his retirement papers to Hell or whatever, I never really found out, but after that we just … we started meeting like once every month to talk about stuff, and I think he wanted to keep an eye on me, but then like, him an’ Aziraphale - I’m 99% sure that’s Brother Francis - just sort of kept hanging around even when I didn’t have that many questions left an’, you know how it is.” He shrugged again. “I dunno. They’re cool. An’ I learned at church that back in the day your godparents were supposed to be the ones to teach you about religion so I figured godfathers worked as well as any name for them.”

“I’d say so, yeah.” Lucky blinked. “Wow. Okay. That explains … like in some ways that explains nothing, but then in other ways that explains literally everything, so I don’t know how to take it.”

Adam sipped his own soda. “Well, you haven’t called the cops to have me committed to a mental hospital yet, so I’d say you’re doing better than I expected.” That got a laugh. “Right, so that’s me. Tell me your side. Because uh, I think that’s gonna answer a lot of questions for me, too.”

Lucky shrugged. “It’s not as dramatic. But basically, growing up until I was seven I always had Brother Francis and Nanny. And they were always like ‘do good unconditionally’ - that was Francis - or ‘crush your enemies to bloody pulp beneath your shoes when you assume your throne’.”

“Nanny.” Adam nodded knowingly. “Which is really funny, actually, if you get to know Crowley, ‘cause - sorry, never mind. Go on.”

“Well no, you’re right, because she was mostly all talk. She was actually a super good Nanny. And, like, she was always encouraging me to get into mischief but like I think the worst thing we ever did was vandalize museum plaques and cut down literally all the hedges on the property because she said they were pathetic excuses for plants. The rest of the stuff was like, just kind of goofy pranks.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s definitely Crowley.”

“But she left! Her and Francis.” He looked sad then, and as a basket of dinner rolls arrived he seized one and started ripping it in half, scowling at it the whole time. “When I was seven. Said I was too old to have a Nanny anymore and I’d have tutors or whatever. But I thought I might still see her since she and Francis were always together, but he handed in his resignation the same day.” He sighed and jammed half of the roll into his mouth. “Pfufthed.”

“Uh …”

Lucky swallowed. “It sucked,” he clarified. “Sorry. But she did leave me her email address. So I started writing her then and I’ve pretty much written her twice a week ever since.” His eyes widened. “Wait a minute, I have her phone number! She just told me never to just call, because she doesn’t have good reception, but I can text her and if we want to talk we set up a time. She always calls on my birthday.” He held out a hand. “Lemme see your phone.”

Adam had already seen where this was headed, and he had his phone on the table in a blink. He pulled up Crowley’s contact information, and Lucky pulled up Nanny’s. They checked the numbers once, twice, and three more times, and then Lucky swore. “It really is her!”

“And I’m sure Francis is really Aziraphale.” He crossed his arms and considered the phones. “Wonder if I can convince ‘em to video chat later. I want to ask them about the doll, anyway.”

“Oh, good idea.” He consumed the second half of the dinner roll, and went on. “Anyway, so I never actually saw them after that, just talked and wrote and stuff, but then when I was eleven, the other weird thing that happened was the whole trip to Israel.” He shook his head. “So my dad gets this memo from the White House, right, that we’re expected right away in Tel Megido, Israel, for some kind of diplomatic meeting with a field researcher. Or something. Anyway, we all three go - me and my parents, plus all the bodyguards - and we meet this professor guy there that looked super weird. And he stank. Like, literally, smelled like a dirty public toilet. But he kept asking me about the voices in my head, and the dog, and all this stuff I didn’t understand but he freaked me out so I was trying to play along. But then when I didn’t like, know the answers because I wasn’t you, I guess, he straight up bit his finger off and ran into the avocado grove and then it exploded.” He shrugged. “Honestly I thought he died.”

“He was probably a demon or something.” Adam swallowed. “Did he have a name?”

Lucky thought about it, brow furrowed and then, unexpectedly, he laughed. “Yeah, actually! He said is name was Dr. Hastur La Vista.”

“Oh God.” Adam winced. “Hastur.”

“You know him?”

“Never met him, thank you very much, no. But Crowley’s told me about him. He’s a Duke of Hell. I think … I think you got really lucky, Lucky.”

The other boy, under his mop of dark hair and his increasingly-shaggy beard, paled. “Duke … of Hell.”

“Yeah.”

“So what confuses me -” he stopped short, because the waiter arrived with two plates of ribs, which were each deposited in front of the boys. They said their thank yous, smiled politely, and then Lucky lunged forward, stuffing a french fry into his mouth, deadly serious. “How did they think I was you?”

Adam looked down at his food, and started pulling the ribs apart. “All I know,” he said slowly, “was there was a mistake. The only person supposed to be giving birth that night was your mum, but my mum went into labor early. So they both must have given birth at the same hospital, with the Satanic Nuns.” He leaned in, lowered his voice. “Crowley delivered me in a basket, and they were supposed to switch me with whichever baby your mom had. But with three babies I guess things got mixed up, and I ended up with my parents.”

Lucky blinked and, slowly, set down the french fry he had been holding. “Are you … are you saying my parents aren’t really my parents?” He looked lost, suddenly, eyes wide and shiny. “But … but I look so much like my mom …”

“I don’t know,” Adam replied hurriedly. “I’m sorry. Sorry. I don’t know. Everything got so mixed-up, I guess, and Crowley assumed they’d got it right and put me with your parents so when they took you home they thought …” he trailed off. Lucky wasn’t talking, wasn’t even looking at him. He was staring at his food, hands limply resting on either side of the plate. “Your parents might be -”

“They’re not,” he snapped, before Adam had a chance to finish. “They might have fucked up but they wouldn’t have fucked up that bad. They would have swapped me and the baby my mom actually had.” His eyes watered. “Shit. Oh, shit.” And then he was crying, all at once, tears and snot and all. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry,” Adam said softly, because he was. “I wish it hadn’t happened.” He let the other boy cry, for as long as he needed. No one noticed, Adam made sure, because he felt like he owed it to the other guy to keep him from becoming a barbecue restaurant spectacle in the middle of a total breakdown. He picked at his food - suddenly, he was not very hungry at all - and waited, while around them the diners came and went, their own food got cold, and Lucky kept crying.

He petered out eventually. “I bet your parents are my actual parents,” he said, voice shaking and hitching as he spoke. “That’s what happened. Bet you anything.”

Adam shifted uncomfortably. “Probably.”

“What happened to my mom’s baby?”

“I don’t know. He’s … he’s okay,” Adam finished, because he knew that was true, somehow. He’d felt it in his soul back at the airfield, although he hadn’t known what it was at the time, and he felt it now, too. In a way, it was a relief to finally be able to label that feeling of ‘okay’. “I just know. I don’t know how, but I know.”

Lucky took a shaky breath. “My parents … the people that raised me … fuck, even that’s not right, that was always Nanny and Brother Francis.” He sobbed again. “God damn it. My dad - Thaddeus - always thought I was weird, my mom - Harriet - never wanted anything to do with me if I wasn’t interested in exactly what she wanted to do.” He sniffled. “This whole trip … they don’t give a shit. Oh, they acted like they were worried or whatever, but they haven’t called. Haven’t texted. I think when I’m not home they forget I exist.” He sobbed. “And you talked to your parents. They’re good parents.”

Adam didn’t deny it. He was surprised to find that he too had tears running down his cheeks. “Yeah. I’m so sorry, Lucky, I’m really sorry, but I … I don’t know what to say.” He sagged, swiped his sleeve across his face. “I can’t fix it anymore.”

Lucky bit back another sob, and took a deep breath. Swallowed. “Can I meet them?”

“Absolutely,” he replied without hesitation. “Whenever you want, any time you want. Any time.”

“Thanks.” He didn’t cry again, at least not audibly. Tears ran down his face for a little while longer. He prodded at his fries. “God, and it was Nanny’s fault … I thought she loved me.”

“I bet she does.” Adam was surprised with the conviction with which he said it. “You know if Crowley likes you. If Crowley likes you, he … like, okay, he has literally run into a burning building at least twice to save someone he likes.”

Lucky laughed wetly at that. “Doesn’t sound like she’s a very good demon.”

“No, terrible demon. That’s why he retired. Aziraphale’s kind of a shit angel too, to be honest. I think if he had his way he’d be a hermit and live in a hollowed-out mountain full of books. He retired too,” he added. And then, because he felt he had to defend Crowley a little bit, “I don’t think there was much of a choice. I don’t think any of us - definitely not you or me or our parents, or Aziraphale, and I don’t think even Crowley - had much choice.”

“He could have not dropped you off at all,” Lucky challenged. “Just taken you somewhere else and …” he swallowed.

Adam didn’t need to hear him finish the sentence. “He doesn’t kill kids,” he replied. “It’s kind of one of his things.”

“Wow, he really is a shitty demon.”

“Totally.” He sighed. “I’m so sorry, man. Maybe … I probably should have kept all that to myself, huh?”

The answer didn’t come right away. It didn’t come after a minute, after Lucky sipped his soda full of melted ice and thought it over. “No,” he said finally. “No, I’m … I’m gonna be glad you did, eventually. I kind of hate you right now, but you were a baby when everything went down initially, and you didn’t know, and then when you did know you told the actual devil to fuck off and stopped the Apocalypse, so I guess that counts for a lot.”

“All sounds pretty fair,” Adam agreed.

“I think we should find the other guy. The third baby.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do too. But he is okay.”

Lucky looked at Adam warily. “Yeah. Yeah, I … believe you. And maybe we don’t tell him. But I just want to make sure.”

“I’m in. It’s a deal.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Bet he’s in England.”

“Probably.”

“We can find him.”

“We have to.” He took a deep breath, and then, as if realizing his mostly-untouched food was still there, blinked down at it. “Ugh … I was really looking forward to those.”

“I can warm them up.”

Lucky glanced at him slightly askance. “You’re not gonna like … start breathing fire or something, are you?”

“No, I can just …” he waved a hand and made a vague noise he’d probably picked up from Crowley at some point. “I can just make them warm again. It’s just a little thing, I can still do those.”

“... Alright. But only ‘cause I’m curious.”

Adam shrugged. “Okay. There you go. Warm and fresh.” And indeed, when Lucky held his hand cautiously over the ribs, they were as warm as they’d been when they first came out of the kitchen, the red ochre-colored sauce glistening and sweet-smelling.

“Jesus.”

“No I’m like … the exact opposite of him.”

Lucky stared at him and then laughed again. “Yeah. Yeah, you are, dude.” He tore a rib from the rack and bit into it. “Ugh, these are good. You didn’t do that too, did you?”

“Literally just reheated them. Like an infernal microwave oven.” That did it. Oftentimes, when someone has received terrible news, and they’ve cried over it, or begun to mourn, or even just compartmentalized the whole thing away for the time being, the first even vaguely-funny thing that is said afterwards is like a piece of flotsam big enough to grab during a shipwreck. And like a sailor stranded in a sea of confusing history and misunderstandings, Lucky clutched onto Adam’s bad joke and started to giggle. And then to laugh, hard, leaning forward with his forehead resting on the back of his hand, his hair dropping into his barbecue-sauce-coated fingers. Adam laughed too, mostly at how hard Lucky was laughing, and before they realized it the two of them were cackling like hyenas over a plate of ribs and a newly-discovered bond that had tied them together their whole lives, whether they’d known it or not.

“God, that wasn’t even that funny.” Lucky wiped his eyes. “Oh, man. Oh … God.” He looked up, no longer laughing, but definitely curious. “You don’t think … do you think it was a coincidence, us meeting up like this?”

“It’s ineffable.”

“Definitely un-fuckable, you have that right.”

Adam laughed again, and shook his head. “No, no, ineffable. Aziraphale’s always saying that. “Oh, it’s ineffable, God’s plan. Means it can’t be discerned, known, or understood.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

“Don’t think about it too much,” Adam advised, with all the experience of someone who had been thinking about it off-and-on for the past seven years. “You think about it too much and you get a headache and a panic attack. My conclusion is always: I dunno, but here I am and so what am I gonna do about it?”

Lucky gnawed at another rib. “Yeah,” he said, around the bone. “Yeah, you’re right. Man, I’m sorry for falling apart like that, but it was kind of a lot.”

“Do not apologize for that.” Adam shook his head vehemently. “Absolutely not. And if you want to be cross with me or upset or whatever, do it. You deserve to. It sucks, what happened.”

“Well, yeah, but I mean look at you.” His face softened a little. “Do you know who -”

“Nope.” Another firm head shake. “Here I am and so what am I gonna do about it,” he repeated like a mantra.

“Yeah.” He stared at the rubs. “What are we gonna do about it?”

Adam sucked on one of the ribs, savored the sauce, and then shrugged. “I think step one: figure out what the doll was about.”

“Cool, yeah, agreed.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and streaked sauce across his cheek. Adam elected not to say anything.

“Step two: uh … chase more tornadoes? I mean, it’s what we came here for, right?”

Lucky looked a little less certain about that. “Yeah. Yeah, it was but now I … I dunno. It feels weird to keep doing whatever I was doing. Like. My whole life …” He frowned. “Should my life be different?”

Adam finished the rib he was working on, partially because it was really good, but also partially because he wanted to be sure that he said the thing he wanted to say next right. “Okay.” He set the bone down, and looked at the other boy very seriously. “Don’t take this the wrong way. Because I’m not tryin’ to minimize anything we talked about here. But … this whole new information, right. Is it gonna change your day-to-day?”

Lucky bristled. “Maybe. I mean, it’s sure as fuck gonna affect my relationship with my parents.”

“Not what I meant.” Adam shook his head. “You’re right, it absolutely will. An’ that’s gonna take a lot of time, believe me. I’m still …” he sighed. “It’s still weird, even though I’ve known for a long time. It gets less weird, though.” He squared up his shoulders. “But no, what I’m talking about is, does it change the stuff you like to do? Are you gonna like the weather less, is what I’m saying,” he finished lamely, while Lucky stared at him. “‘Cause if the answer is yes, then I think your step two is gonna be different from mine. I’m gonna keep chasing tornadoes for the next three weeks.”

“I … argh.” Lucky took a bite of his rib with a little more feral energy than was strictly necessary. “This is heavy shit, man. I dunno.” He swallowed the meat. “How are you so chill about all this? Just had a ton of time to deal with it?”

“Partially.” He shrugged. “Also I’ve had like an on-call angel and demon for the past seven years who’ve always been available to talk to me during a personal crisis.” He sighed. “They’re actually super helpful to talk to when you don’t know what to do, because at this point I’m pretty sure they’ve literally seen it all.”

“You’re gonna call them tonight, right?” Lucky looked worried again, a little pale. “About the doll, at least?”

“Yeah. And, uh.” Adam thought it over. “I think you should talk to them too. If you want to. I think it’d be good.”

The answer came fast, and Adam suspected Lucky had just been waiting for the offer. “I want to. I really want to.”

“Alright. So amended plan.” He pushed one of the rib bones off to the side of the others as he spoke. “One: call Aziraphale and Crowley and figure out what the doll was about. Two: figure out what we want to do for step two.” He raised his eyebrows. “Sound better?”

“Can I add something before step one?”

“Sure.”

“Step pre-one: finish these ribs because holy shit, man.” He had another, and then said, “Life’s fucked up right now, but at least these are really good.”

Now with chapter 12!

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #adam young #warlock dowling #the one where they go to america #i wish i didn't enjoy fanfiction so much

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dsmadmin · 3 years ago

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#reunion

Written by @MidnightRiderDW @King_D_Crowley and @SammyWDSM

Sammy -Hey Bro, it been a long time since I've seen you Midnight. When did my bro get so many clones? Just working out my life here in this world. What's happening with you? With the mention and appearance of @King_D_Crowley on my brother's shoulder.

Midnight - Thru that rift. More importantly, where the hell have you been?

-Midnight looks back seeing Crowley behind him. He rolls his eyes looking back at his brother and shrugs.-

He's like a bad cold, annoying and hard to get rid of.

Crowley - And still you called me to find a way to get to your Moose.

I feel so used right now. [He sighed loudly]

Sammy - [ Sam stood tall looking over at his brother and Crowley]

Just one day you were right here next to me and the next you were gone, Dean. What happened to you. I've looked for you for months. Just to find you here with no word. Me my life is just peachy Dean.

- Shaking his head at the thought of losing you for good. Stepping away from his brother when he could smell the pastries and coffee. His stomach was grumbling moving over to pick up a glass and filling it with Milk. When he turned to see a face he knows but was different from the one from In his world. -

What's there a Crowley on this world too? Does he follow you everywhere Dean, Like a little puppy dog?

Midnight - Midnight rolls his eyes looking back at Crowley.-

You say you feel so used hm? Funny cuz when I called you your ass was here in seconds.

-Running his fingers thru his hair Dean shakes his head. Does Sam honestly think he didn't do or wasn't still doing anything and everything in his power, and even not within his power to get him here. Now it's Dean who has a look of hurt in his eyes.-

Seriously? You're fuckin' with me right now, right? You don't think I haven't been lookin' for a way to get you here? You think I planned on coming here, leaving you behind? I called this ass for help, that should tell you how damn desperate I've been. I was driving, one second I'm looking out at a sunset next I'm being sucked thru this damn rift and I couldn't stop it. Oh, and FYI, you're not the only Sam Winchester in this world.

Crowley - [Winchesters drama would always be Winchesters drama. A broken record. Getting in the middle of it wouldn't do him any good but he made a mental note to remind Dean he was no ass later]

Sammy - Sam took a drink of his milk downing it in one. Listening to Dean talking. Swiping his mouth with his sleeve before talking.

“Yeah yeah, right now I don't know what to believe Because all I know you had left, I was hoping for some kind of sign and something but there was nothing. Dean his kind in Crowley took over our world, with the hunter's numbers were limited. The months had passed when I found my way to a strange lighting storm, When everyone was dead or gone Dean, I even thought you were dead Dean. It took everything of me to leave our world. To the unknowing to what or where I was going. Now I find you here with you murdering arse friend in Crowley beside you. Did you make a deal with him? “

-He watched his brother closely. Moving his eyes in the direction of Crowley. -

“I should have known you would crawl your way into being in Dean's good graces and life again. Wishful thinking Dean, there would be a world without your bromance Crowley following your ass. Just look at him always keeping an eye on you as normal. What do you mean there's are more Sams here too? what is this world, that you seem to call home. Clone’s world? “

Midnight - Jake and Cowboy who literally saved my sanity, saved me so hate me all you want but don't you dare accuse me of leaving you behind on purpose.

Crowley - [Ok he was fed up of all this]

ENOUGH BOYS!

First Dean stop calling me an ass, I’ve been kind enough to help, AGAIN, I’ve answered when you called, AGAIN.

As for you Moose, don’t ct like a child, do you think Dean wouldn’t have looked for you? Where has your brain gone? He’d blow up the moon for you and you know it.

You don’t like me, good, I don’t like you either but can you for one second just ask the right questions?

What caused that rift? Why, who and where, and who do you have to pay a visit to so it will never happen AGAIN!

Sammy - Just them with Crowley and his empty threats that Sam never took seriously at first.

Dean, I never received anything message from you. All I know you were out in baby and you never came back home, You were gone.

*He shrugs his shoulders not knowing how a better way to Answer Dean question about him leaving him behind. Without being an ass*

Sam was just going on his facts of the truth over the past year. Sam had many questions about Dean life here. Who was this Cowboy and Jake he spoke of?

*Sam stepped back and listened to Crowley putting

His two cents in. Raising an eyebrow to him*

"You are an ass, Crowley, you will never change always looking after number one. What were you hoping to get from Dean if you managed to help him? Answer me this Crowley. " He asked.

He wasn't wrong about me not likely him as he was one of my least favourite people in any world as he wanted to find a way to get rid of Crowley for good.

Sam never knew anything about this rift until he had reached it. Dean seemed to know everything as it seems to me what Dean is saying we aren't the only ones that came through this? Does this world want to keep this rift open for more people to come through Dean?

Midnight - -Midnight first turns and looks at Crowley, the Demon of Hell being the logical one and actually what he's saying, or rather ranting about is true. He rubs the back of his neck.-

Thank you Dr Lecter

-He puts his focus back on his brother.-

The call must've not gone thru, Sam I was literally driving down the street tapping my fingers to Highway to Hell, go figure, anyway within a split second Sam it just appeared. I felt it drawing me in, i grabbed my cell and called you but it sucked me in and before i could even blink i was thru it. I swear to you the second i seen it i tried to call you, Sammy. As far as the rift and Blackwater go, they have been trying to find a way to close that decades. Sam, Colt and Jake have been here for over 20 years. That's how long it's been open that we know of, it could be longer.

-Sighing Dean rubs the back of his neck.-

There is no way to close it, there is no way to turn it around. It's always being monitored in case something that shouldn't come thru comes thru but closing it just isn't possible. Now, instead of fighting, will you com'er for a second?

Sammy - -Sam stood head over his brother, watching and reading his body language listening to him talking. He listened to everything Dean was saying some of it may be right. His expression on Dean's face wasn't a lie as he knew his brother better than himself at times. When he relaxed a little knowing the elephant in the room was still here in Crowley. -

I don't know anything about this rift in our world. As you said it pulled you in Dean? The rift was on the top of the cliffs just outside of Oregan, as I looked night and day between every high and low ground looking for you. Damn Dean even in every little dive Pub and fast food place for you. Now I found you just sitting here with a whole new life.

-Sam walked past

Dean glares a look in the direction of Crowley before turning back to Dean gather his thoughts-

there are others from a different world here too? There are multi Winchester's here too. Who is this Colt? Twenty years. Are you positive there is no way back to try and save some of our worlds? I don't know if I can accept giving up. Looks right now what you are saying I don't have a choice.

Crowley - If I may darlings, let me give you my two cents on this.

[He noticed how Sam looked at him, he was more than unwelcome but he didn’t care, he wasn’t here to be loved, he was here because he was fucking Crowley]

Are you even one bit accounted with the parallel universes theory? Sam… you must know about that. Every choice yo make open a fork, you pick one road but the other one stays open and there’s a parallel universe when you’ve chose the other path. That creates a zillion of different universes where you could be someone or something else… Seem like it’s no that much of a theory for you’ve been in different universes with many other Sams and Deans making different choices.

Midnight -Dean rubs his hand down his face. He can imagine was his brother is thinking seeing him in the new life. He's now married, for all intent and purpose, to two guys, opening a brewery, working at a company called Blackwater, but what he doesn't seem to understand is the fact that he's been here for over a year.

He's settled into life but not a day or a minute in a day has he not thought of Sam, not a day he hasn't worked on trying to get him here, or reverse that rift which is completely impossible.

The eldest hunter looks over at Crowley, actually, what he says makes sense.-

First off, I haven't 'Settled' into life without you, Sam, and second, what ass here -He looks at Crowley- says has a lot of value behind it. We can fight about 5his till the day we die but the facts are this, I got sucked into that rift, I couldn't get back, I've never stopped trying to get to you, yeah I've made a life here but it's been over a year Sam, and that doesn't mean I've been happy without you here.

As far as the other...us...'es or whatever, yeah there are. We're working on figuring the reason behind this but I can assure you, we sure could use that genius brain of yours. As for Crowley, no, I'm not making any kind of deals with him, believe or not, he's actually been helpful in the task of trying to get to you.

-Dean turns to Crowley.-

And don't say anything smart assed either.

Sammy - *Sam looked over to the small demon in the room with his eyes rolled back and forth. Typically Crowley always got something to say. Two cents. Knowing this might cost Dean and himself more If I needed to listen to this I need a stronger drink than Milk. *

Where is the booze in this place Dean, I know I'm not talking for the both of us, with you having a brewery now. I haven't had a decent

drink in ages?

*Looking back at Crowley*

What is this Mr helpful information Crowley trying to give us the in and out of the universe to suck up until you get whatever it is you want. Crowley answer me this What are you after?

*Sam moved around the room trying to find some beers*

Dean and Sam haven't seen each other for over a year and the Dean standing in front of him was certainly different from the one he was with a year ago plus. Maybe this world might not be as bad after all after a few characters were dealing with, especially one in black coat standing not too far away. Sam was intrigued over this black waters, Sam never thought he or Dean would settle down but Dean has found his place here with two others and a business. Sam had a dream like a zillion years ago not being in the life. This was the life he knew and he wouldn't change to what he is.

Sam found two beers. Picking up two bottles and taking the lid off them and passing one to Dean and the other to himself. Clink his beer against Dean's bottle. *

To Living your dream, Dean. Sorry, Crowley next time I’ll get you one. When you aren't sniffing around Dean so much.

Dean, what is the gig like here with hunters like us? Are you still hunting as much as you being a business and that now? I would like to get on this rift thing. Can you pull some strings for me, like old times.

*Sam jumped up on the tabletop and sat taking a swig of his beer*

Crowley - [Every question you asked seemed to need no answers, you had always disliked him, but it was worst now. Whatever he’d say you wouldn’t listen… he had offered the best of explanation and you didn’t even listen. You didn’t want to think, you just wanted your brother back, brother who had a life now and a good one… and it was really hard for you. Dear dear Sam… whining Sam…]

Midnight- I'll call up Colt and let him know you came thru and that you want in with all this.

-Looking over at Crowley Dean sighs.-

Don't be pissed at Crowley Sam, he hasn't asked for anything in return for his help.

Crowley - [Indeed he hadn’t asked for anything in return and oddly enough didn’t intend to. He had a soft spot for Dean, he was a determined man, clever sometimes, wild pretty much all the time… well, he liked him, and without Sam around he had been pretty glad to be treated as a friend It’s not as if he had many… or at all. So yeah he hanged around more than he should, but never had he been what Sam remembered he was… oh he was a demon alright, did his demon stuff and wasn’t a boy scout… but to Dean,

he was as good a friend he could be. With you the younger Winchester back on the map he sort of feared he’d lose that]

Midnight - -Dean plops down in a chair looking between Crowley and his brother. Extremely grateful that he is here. He knows he has to figure a way to let Sam know Crowley is no longer a threat to them of any kind. Of course thinking this and proving this is two different things.-

Sam trust me when i tell you he isn't the same ass he used to be. I'm not tell you that you should or need to trust him but what i am telling you is that i do.

trust me when i tell you he isn't the same ass he used to be. I'm not tell you that you should or need to trust him but what i am telling you is that i do.

* Sam embraced his brother with a big hug before letting go*

I'm Sorry Dean for jumping down your throat over when I thought you forgot about me. Can we just move on and get back to being brothers somehow, with this new life you have here. You look happy here. like being back home. I would like that very much to get back on the road and get working on the rift thing and saving people. Our family business.

*Sam rolled his eyes at Crowley with the whiny Sam comment as he took another gulp of his beer. *

The demon wasn't doing himself any favors to get on Sam’s good side. Indeed he didn't trust Crowley as he wanted to find a way to kill him once and for all, because a lot had happened in his world after Dean fell into this world. No way Sam wasn't ever going to let it go, he was unsure if this if this was the Crowley from this world or his, but he wasn't going to let his guard down. Indeed Sam wanted his brother back as he was the only family he had not like Crowley had any family, more likes slaves.

* in the past few months Sam even came across a red-haired witch in Rowena who was Crowley's mother and she never wanted him. They were just the same always after number one. When he study and learned all about Cowley and everything he had done in the past. Looking over to Dean, he didn't say a word over the full subject of Crowley, to Dean Over the new concerns with Him and his mother. There might be a soft spot in Crowley as somehow Dean had Crowley under his little finger. *Letting out a small smirk as he pulled up a seat to sit next to Dean. *

he hasn't asked anything at all from you Dean, What’s your secret?

Midnight- To me how you got thru that rift. Maybe if we can figure out how it's working, we can figure out why it's happening. Oh, and here, they call me Midnight. Easier to keep track of all of us Dean's.

Crowley -[The brothers needed time to bond again. Dean had pleaded Crowley’s case pretty well and more than enough for now. The “talking too much, I love the sound of my own voice” demon knew when to shut up and now was the time to close his mouth. It didn’t mean he’d leave them be, he had every intention to be there, with them. He’d act like a man trying to tame a wild animal, being around, letting them come closer and closer with time. Sam was that wild animal. He could be patient from time to time. And… he had Dean on his side. That “rift situation” would have to be investigated though, it was a real problem]

Sammy - Sam took another swig of his beer. With one of his feet resting over the other knee. Scratching his knee over what Dean was saying about the full relationship with the slimy Crowley. Indeed Sam never wanted to hurt Dean but to protect him over the things he had learned over the past year. Right now he would brush over the crumbs over the idea of Crowley has now changed. He would always keep an eye on him for the sake of his brother. Turning back to look over to midnight a name that would certainly different to him as Dean was just Dean to him but with many clones of his older brother. He would try to remember that. Making a mental note of the Deans that his brother had told him already in. One called Colt, cowboy, and his brother. That's not too many to list three he thought. -

Cheers Dean would be good to get working in the family business.

-Resting his beer on his groin and he stretches out his long arms to lift the cuff on his flannel shirt. Rolling up the cuffs to under his elbow. -

For me to get here, your car had a flat tyre in oregan. When I was on a hunt for one of the horsemen. War had set our world to make the humans fight with each other when they were killing each other thinking some were demons. *Sam looked over at Crowley and then back to his brother before continuing * In the last town over. I was following in his tracks when this storm came out of nowhere with the lightning strikes were certainly unusual for sure. I don't know what it was was make me go and have a look after I managed to change the tyre of when you taught me how. After getting back on the road I follow the strikes always beginning release from one spot over the cliffs. In the wake of the storm hitting some homes and destroying buildings, I made my way up to the top of the cliffs, and there it was. It's only lighting bubbles sending small waves every minute. I took some time to leave baby as I was working Pattern of the strike when some were violent and some weren't. After I found the perfect pattern I step out of baby with my bag on my shoulder after trying to send you one last message to where I was and I am across the lightning thing. I made myself towards it and now I landed here. In this city feeling lost. To know where I was. Now everyone and everything feels normal here. With your new friends too in a Crowley too. Is there anything else changed in your life here Dean? *Crowley was very quietly as Sam rambled on* Are any of the horsemen here? I would like to try and settle a score with war someday too.

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bazypitchandsimonsnow · 7 years ago

Text

Rough Day

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 3055

Summary: After a hard day at work, Baz comes home to one more wonderful disaster. Based on "playful kiss" request on Tumblr.

Read on AO3

AN: Another done! This is so fluffy and cheesy I love it. Thank you to @carryonmylovelies for helping with this fic and so many others. Enjoy :D

Baz

Today has been a nightmare. My boss decided to be a total wanker and make me rewrite all my reports. I had to stay for an extra two hours. My bones ache and my brain is foggy. Being a responsible adult with a job really sucks sometimes. I told Snow to order in since I wouldn’t be home to make dinner. All I want to do is eat some disgustingly greasy take out food, then maybe that ice cream sitting in the freezer for desert. A dream come true.

I walk in through the front door of our apartment. I violently kick off my oxfords and drop my briefcase on the ground with a thud.

“I’m home!’ I announce. There’s a faint smell of tomato in the air. Snow must’ve ordered pasta or pizza. Both sound good right now.

Little feet pad down the hallway closer and closer. Tasha nearly slides into the wall with her fuzzy princess socks. She runs up to me with big happy 5 year old smile. My mood immediately improves.

“Hi Papa,” she says.

“Hello, Tasha,” I reply, ruffling her curly black hair.

She lifts up her arms. “Can I have a hug?”

My arms are tired beyond belief, but who can say no to that freckle covered face? I sigh and pick her up in a big swooshing spin. I can lift her over my head even at her age (vampire strength has it’s benefits.) She squeals and giggles gleefully, little feet kicking in delight. When I slow, she wraps her arms around my neck. I rest her on my hip and hug her fiercely.

I remember the idea of being a parent scaring me when I was younger. How could a monster like me care for a child? But when I see the way Tasha looks at me, I realise she doesn’t care what I am. All she sees is her Papa.

“How was your day, little puff?” I say.

“It was great! Ms. Taylor gave me a gold star for reading.”

“Oh that’s wonderful. Good job, sweetie. You’ve been working hard at that.”

She puts her hands on her hips and smiles smugly. (Snow says she gets the pompousness from me.) “I have. Soon I’ll be reading all your grown up books.”

I tickle her stomach, making her writhe and giggle. “I bet you will, love. You certainly did very well today. I think you deserve an extra slice of pizza.”

Her face scrunches up in childish confusion. “What pizza?”

“Well, from the sauce smell I assume your Daddy got us pizza. Hopefully it’s at least the mildly good stuff.”

“Oh, that reminds me. Daddy said you aren’t allowed in the kitchen.”

My heart stops. I stare at her very seriously. “Tasha, why am I not allowed in the kitchen?”

“Because Daddy destroyed it. But he said that I’m not supposed to tell you that.”

“Natasha Penelope Snow-Pitch, you are a rotten rat!” Snow’s loud voice carries down the hall with ease.

Tasha frowns and leans in closer to me. “What’s a rotten rat?”

“It’s nothing, sweetie. Daddy’s being silly. Now go play with your toys.”

She smiles brightly. “Okay!”

She slides down out of my embrace and is off like a little rocket. With calm but brisk pace, I walk to our kitchen. I freeze wide eyed in the doorway. Destroyed is an... apt description.

There’s about ten different pots out, all filthy with various substances. The counter is covered in dirty cooking utensils and different foods and spices. Spaghetti covered in tomato sauce clings to the wall. Baby Ebb is just playing with his blocks in the corner, blissfully unaware of the destruction around him. (He's as oblivious as his Daddy.) Snow stands in the centre of the room like the eye of a hurricane. He looks just as tired as me, tomato sauce on his face and in his hair. Crowley, I think there’s even some on his wings.

“Good evening, love,” I say as calmly as possible. “Did the Tasmanian Devil come to visit?”

Snow scowls slightly. “Our daughter is a betrayer. She gets it from your side.”

“Yes, Bunce.” I receive a steely blue glare. “But I’m very glad she did tell me. What in Merlin’s name happened here?”

He groans and rubs his forehead, getting more sauce on it. “I got your text, and decided to try to make fancy all homemade spaghetti. You know, to surprise you. But I’ve never done it before. And uh... I probably should’ve read the recipe more closely.”

“You are terrible at following instructions.”

“I know.” He sighs heavily. “I’m sorry, darling. I wanted to make you a nice meal after such a stressful day. But all I’ve done is make more stress. Ugh, I’m a disaster.”

Two long strides later, I’m standing right in front of him. With one finger, I knock up his chin so we’re eye to eye.

“Yes, you are certainly a mess, Simon Snow,” I say quietly.

He frowns (it’s scary how similar his is to Tasha’s). “Gee, thanks, I-”

“Shut up, I’m not done yet.” He closes his mouth. “You are a mess. But you’re a wonderful, kind, thoughtful mess. Who I am proud to call my husband and father to our children.”

His face turns more red than the tomato sauce. “Oh. You should’ve lead with that, you jerk.”

I chuckle and lean forward to lightly kiss him. We both smile between every press of lips. I trail my mouth over to kiss the sauce off his cheek. He laughs heartily, throwing his arms around my neck. I playfully peck every tomato splattered part of his face. It’s like we’re careless teenagers all over again. I hold his lower back and press him to me. He’s comfortably warm like always. How lucky I am to be able to know that. With one head tilt, he crushes his mouth against mine. I groan and hold him tighter. He runs a hand through my hair. My stress melts under his lips.

“Ew! Daddy and Papa are snogging!”

We both pull away and sigh. I turn to see a little girl standing in the doorway, her tongue sticking out very far.

“And where did you learn that word, Tasha?” I say flatly.

“From school.”

Snow leans in close my ear. “I think we need to have a talk with our daughter about appropriate language.”

“Agreed.” I scan the disaster zone that was once a kitchen. “There is no way we can eat in here. How about we order a pizza and camp out in front of the TV?”

“Yeah!” Tasha throws her arm up for effect.

I turn to Simon with a half smile. “Tasha seems to approve of my plan.”

Snow rolls his eyes like their two footballs in a tumble dryer. “Of course she does. She’s five. Pizza and telly are her two favourite words.”

“Well what do you think?”

“Well,” he sighs, observing his destruction, “I don’t think we have any other choice.”

“There’s the sensible man I married.” I pat his cheek.

His eyes narrow at me. “You’re mocking me, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been mocking you since we were 11 years old, Snow. Keep up.”

He frowns again. But with one peck from me it turns into a soft smile. We reluctantly pull away from each other. I realise there’s a sauce stain on my shirt now.

“I think I need to go change before the rest of my clothing is desecrated.”

“And I will order the food! But...” Snow walks over to Ebb and scoops him up. “While you’re getting changed, I think someone else needs a change too.”

Snow holds our 1 year old in front of me like he’s a teddy bear. Ebb gurgles and grabs my tie, immediately sticking it in his dirty baby mouth. (Having nice clothing and young children is absolutely impossible.) I sigh and take him in my arms.

“Very well. C'mon Ebenezer, let's both get cleaned up.”

Ebb coos and keeps gumming my tie. Tasha runs over to Snow and starts tugging on his trouser leg. “Daddy, can we get a pizza with pepperoni? And sausage? And olives?”

Snow scoops her up this time, resting her on his hip. They walk off towards the undestroyed living room. “You, my darling, have the weirdest taste buds.”

I chuckle as I move in the opposite direction. Ebb has now abandoned my tie and chosen instead to gnaw on my collar. Over my years as a parent, I’ve realised many things. One being that no matter how bad your day may have been, it's impossible to stay cross when your adorable child is trying to eat your shirt. Today is no exception.

“And then,” I say, “with their magic combined, the two princes defeated the dragon, sending it back home. The great castle was saved!”

Tasha squeals and claps her hands. I sit on the edge of her bed, bouncing a giggling Ebb on one knee. She leans forward with wide eyes. “What happened to the princes after?”

I just look at Tasha's sweet innocent face for a moment. Someday, I'll tell her and Ebb the hard parts of this story. What happened to both their namesakes, why I drink “tomato juice” all the time, and why Snow has wings and a tail. But for now, they don’t need to know all that. I'll save those stories for when they can understand them better.

“Well, by working together, the princes realised they had more in common than they thought. They became friends, and eventually fell in love.”

“Like Anna and Kristoff?”

I sigh under my breath. Currently everything for Tasha is somehow related to Frozen. I slightly regret showing her that movie. “Yes. Just like Anna and Kristoff.”

“Did they live happily ever after?”

I smile at her softly. “Yes, most certainly.”

She grins. “Good. I like happy endings.”

I cup her face, running a thumb over her cheek. Damn right I got my happy ending. I’m looking at it. “Me too, sweetheart, me too.” I stand up, practically looming over her small bed. “Now, it's time for this little princess to go to bed.”

“I’m not tired,” she literally yawns. She’s adorable in her stubbornness.

“Well, you can just put your head down. You don’t have to sleep. That's up to you.”

“Okay.” She lays down, snuggling into her blue pillow.

I kneel next to Tasha, brushing some stray hairs out of her face. She’s already almost asleep. (Tiredness always wins out over stubbornness.) I kiss her forehead. “Goodnight, little puff. Love you lots.”

She smiles, humming happily under her breath. “Love you too, Papa.”

I turn off the light as I leave, sneaking one last look before I shut the door.

Ebb’s crib is in our room. Partially because our London apartment isn’t huge, and mostly because he has a habit of waking up in the middle of the night in need of feeding. I lay him down. With his own big yawn, he stretches out and falls asleep. I pray to Merlin and Morgana he’ll stay that way for at least a few hours.

As I’m reading the Times, I hear the characteristic thumping of a dragon man trudging down the hall. He arrives at our door triumphantly, hands on his hips and grin nearly splitting his face in two. There’s still spaghetti remains on his hands and face.

“It is done!” he shouts.

“Snow!” I hiss. “Erratically sleeping baby, remember?”

He looks at the crib, expression immediately falling. “Oh right. Sorry.”

I shake my head with a chuckle. “Come here, you big idiot.”

Snow crawls up onto our bed and I open my arms, wrapping them around his shoulders. He holds my torso and snuggles into the crook of my neck. His warmth makes me sigh happily under my breath.

“You know I could’ve helped with the kitchen,” I whisper.

He shakes his head, hair tickling my skin. “We always tell Tasha she has to clean up her own messes. And I think parents are supposed to practice what we preach. Besides, I wanted to impress you. The kitchen is sparkling like always.”

I look down at him with one raised eyebrow. “Snow, we have two small children. That kitchen hasn’t ‘sparkled’ in five years.”

He sighs and nods. “Okay true. But it’s mostly sparkling now.”

“Good job, darling.” I kiss his head. He holds me tighter, nuzzling against my shirt.

“So your boss was a jerk today, huh?” he mumbles into the material.

I grumble slightly. “M-hm. Selfish jackass made me rewrite four reports. The wanker doesn’t seem to understand we have lives outside of work.”

“I’m sorry, love.”

“No need to apologize. It’s not your fault I work for an asshole.”

“No.” He pulls away to look right at me. His blue eyes are round and caring, but his mouth is a determined thin line. “I mean that you had a shit day and I made it even more stressful. I’m truly sorry about that.” He looks to the side, obviously embarrassed.

I sigh and turn his head to face me. “Simon, I meant what I said earlier. What you tried to do was lovely. You’re an incredibly thoughtful person. You just messed up a bit. We all do sometimes.” I tap our foreheads together. “You didn’t add to my stress at all, love. Seeing you and Tasha and Ebb always makes me feel better. No matter what.”

Snow smiles and closes the small distance between us. I can feel the love behind his kiss, which I gladly reciprocate. If I could stay here forever, I’d be in heaven.

He hugs me again, squeezing me tight. “How did I get someone as amazing as you?”

I shrug. “Hm. Good question. I think you seduced me with all that raucous snoring and ravenous scone eating.”

He gapes at me with his mouth hanging open. “I do not snore!”

“I’ve slept near or next to you for over two decades, Snow. You snore.”

He pouts like our daughter when she doesn’t get ice cream. “Well, your nose whistles.”

I pull him back to me. He doesn’t resist. “Then I guess we’re made for each other.”

“Duh.” He nuzzles closer. His tail wraps around my leg protectively. “Like you always say, we match.”

“That we do.”

We silently hold each other, contentment hanging in the air. He’s right, we do match. And we’ve created an amazing life together. It’s the kind of calm, domestic, easy life I never thought I’d get. Neither of us did, really. We just bask in the wonderful reality of it all.

“I should take a shower,” Snow says quietly. “I smell like oregano and spaghetti.”

“No,” I grumble. “I’m never letting you go. Till death do us part.”

“I don’t think that’s what that means.”

“Too bad. You’re never leaving this bed again.”

I roll him onto his back and use my legs to pin him down. “Hey!”

I shut him up easily with a bruising kiss. He groans and arches up towards me. I grip his shoulders tightly. Strong fingers weave into my hair. His wings stretch out beside us. My head is swimming. And... it feels wet.

I pull away and feel my hair. My fingers come back red and goopy with tomato sauce. Snow smiles sheepishly.

“Well, I told you I needed a shower.”

“That you did.” I release his torso and stand next to him with my hands on my hip “And now we both do. Your kitchen disaster is contagious.”

He stretches out with his thin arms behind his head. “You can go first, if you like.”

“I was thinking we could, save on water?” I dance two fingers up his thigh.

Snow nods vigorously. “Good plan. Gotta save the environment and all.”

My arms fall limp at my side. Sometimes I cannot believe him. Age has not improved his ability to pick up on subtlety at all. I just keep staring at him blankly until he looks over.

“What?” He says.

I raise an eyebrow. The realisation slowly dawns on him, his eyes widening and his dumb perfect mouth falling open.

“Oooh. You're trying to be sexy.”

I chuckle and shake my head. “Yes, you lovable moron. Crowley you are thick sometimes.”

He kneels on the mattress and tosses his arms lazily around my neck. With one flash of that gorgeous Simon Snow patent smile, my heart stutters out of control.

“You love me,” he whispers playfully.

I sigh, running my hands up and down his stomach. “That I do. Despite your thick headedness.”

“And I love you despite your smugness. Fair is fair.”

He leans in to kiss me, but I pull back, almost making him fall over. His arms flail about wildly. Luckily those wings are good for balancing. Snow stares daggers at me.

“You’re such an arsehole,” he grumbles.

“And you married me anyways. Now,” I saunter towards the door with a swing in my hips, “I’m still a bit stressed from today. Care to fix that, Snow?”

I walk down the hall without looking back. But I don’t need to. I can hear Snow’s fast, incredibly eager feet following me.

Afterwards, we lay silently in darkness on our bed. There’s no sound except for our breathing and Ebb’s, (still sleeping, thank Merlin). Snow is on his stomach. His wings lay flat on his bare back in total relaxation. I hold his left hand, touch lingering over the gold ring on his finger. He chuckles under his breath.

“Checking to make sure it’s still there?” he mumbles.

“Nope. Just admiring it.”

“Hm, understandable. It’s very pretty. So’s your’s.”

“Of course. I picked them.”

Snow sighs and throws his arm over me, pulling us closer. I press a feather light kiss to his band, making him giggle. He takes my hand and intertwines our fingers over my stomach. He touches my wedding ring, spinning it slowly.

“I love you, Baz,” he whispers sleepily.

I squeeze his hand and play with his soft curls. “I love you too, Simon.”

He smiles as he drifts off into slumber. I can hear our son and daughter both sleeping peacefully. And I know now more than ever, no matter how tough the day to day can get, this life has all I could ever ask for.

AN: Hope y'all liked that future domestic fluff.

Sidenote: I'm starting university in less than a week, and there are three more kiss requests left. I will try to do them, but uni is going to kick my ass so they probably won't be published until Christmas break. So sorry. Life gets in the way sometimes. But I shall do my best! :D

#snowbaz #carry on #carry on fanfiction #simon snow #baz pitch #fluff #future #mysnowbazfic

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