#be that. but Cas here rendered this way can and does. so. it's probably not 'healthy' but like idk if either of them could be with

[mattodore]

birthday boy 🎂

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Eris' Tax Shelter

This one is both timely and a PSA for anyone wanting to make use of their Legendary Shards prior to the launch of TFS. So I give this to you here. Direct link to Ao3 if you prefer to read it there: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56339362

ACCESS: RESTRICTED DECRYPTION KEY:0GLVP1A437$IKO-006 REP#: 303-DERELICT-AUDIO AGENT(S): AUN-326 SUBJ: VIP#1316 AND ERI-223 INTERACTIONS - POTENTIAL BRIBERY, ILLEGAL LOBBYING & MANIPULATION OF TAX LAWS

[BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]

"Finally, someone I actually want to check up on me!"

"I am observing some very strange Guardian behaviour on Luna and believe it may fall under your area of expertise, Rat."

"My area of expertise? How so?"

"It seems financially motivated and of questionable legality."

"Ha! This doesn't sound like a conversation we should be having on Vanguard comms. Why don't you come over for lunch?"

"Hmmm... you are probably correct. Will you make... the sticky rice?"

"Sticky rice needs to soak for several hours before I cook it. How about sandwiches for today and you come over for sticky rice lunch tomorrow."

"I enjoy your sandwiches. Unfortunately, I will be on Mars tomorrow."

"I'll bring it to ya. You coming over now or what?"

"I will be there soon."

.

"So, do tell me what Guardian behaviour requires my... what'd you call it? Expertise?"

"They are lined up at my Lectern of Enchantment to purchase Phantasmal Fragments at a rate and volume that is... extreme. I cannot imagine why."

"Oh! I do know all about that, actually."

"You do?"

"So, city administration just passed a law. Tax law. Goes into effect Tuesday. War effort stuff."

"I knew they were doing... something... I had not paid attention to what."

"Course not. Doesn't affect ya on the Moon, but that is, in fact, why it is currently affecting ya on the Moon."

"How does city tax law have any impact on the Moon?"

"It's the fact that it don't that's the impact. You, oh beautiful, three-eyed, former god of vengeance, happen to live in a zone which has never been part of city or Vanguard taxation."

"I am well aware. At one point the Cryptarchy attempted to claim some sort of jurisdiction over Sanctuary on Luna. Thankfully Ikora was able to put a stop to... whatever that bureaucratic ridiculousness was."

"Good thing too. You know those bits of legendary weapons everyone gets from disassembling shit they find lying around?"

"The shards, yes. That's what they are using at the lectern. They are not generating fragments with glimmer."

"Right. Come Tuesday, all legendary shards become property of the city to help with the war. They need the components to help fight off the pyramid forces on the ground, shore up the ADU's, build weapons for civilians, generally help keep shit movin' an' functional."

"This makes sense, although would that not render the shards financially useless?"

"Exactly."

"I can understand why they would spend them now then, but why on the Moon?"

"In addition to bein' outside any city taxation zones, and therefore, not technically by the letter of the law evadin' anything, your Phantasmal Fragments take up very little space, Moondust. And several places will still exchange 'em for glimmer, in particular the Cryptarchy and our friend who likes us ever so much, Rahool."

"Rahool is terrified of me and he loathes you."

"He and I have a uh... complicated relationship. But yeah.  Because the Moon is where it is, legally-speakin' there ain't any laws being broken.  And your fragments are super portable."

"I would assume so. They are ethereal whisps of nightmares manifested from the Ascendent plane. Their corporeal instantiation is minimal. They are barely quantified concretions from the energies of phantoms which only manifest fully under specific circumstances."

"Pieces of ghosts. Not like... Guardian ghost-ghosts, but actual ghost-ghosts."

"That is one way of putting it."

"And ghosts don't take up much room."

"I do not follow."

"They use your table to turn the shards into Phantasmal Fragments and then they can keep the fragments and sell them for glimmer later, rendering the soon-to-be-useless shards, useful, long after they cease to be able to be used."

"Hmmm..."

"People've been calling it 'Eris' tax shelter' on Vannet."

"The Lectern of Enchantment is something I built and utilized to harness the vile magic of the Hive in order to transform the negative energies on the Moon into components which can be used to fight the forces of the Witness. It is not a tax shelter! I must inform Ikora."

"You can do that, sure. But they are still using it as intended. It's just that its current intended use for this specific purpose happens to currently be... profitable."

"Are you using it?"

"Me? Nah. Do I currently have several high-density containment units filled with your Phantasmal Fragments? Yeah. But I've had that for a while. I got components for everything. You've seen what's on my ship. I ain't currently buying any from ya right now, nor am I gettin' anyone to buy 'em for me as a favour, if that's what you're wonderin'. I do enough things of... questionable legality already. Tax evasion is such an easily proveable activity. And since I am not a Guardian, when I'm not on the Moon hangin' out with you, I am, technically, under the jurisdiction of the city and subject to its tax laws as a resident thereof. I run a business outta the tower after all. I got several shipping crates of legendary shards just waitin' to be turned over to city authorities. And all the paperwork for it prepared too. Ol' Drifter's gonna be on record for being among the biggest donors of legendary shards to assist with the Last City's war preparations. Can't do that if I convert 'em."

"Hmmm... You are not an altruist, Rat. Why aren't you using this... tax shelter?"

"I am an altruist on paper, Moondust. That's where it counts."

"Why?"

"Different aspect of city tax law. Thing called tax credits. You donate in certain approved ways, you get a credit to count against taxes you'd otherwise have to pay. Gambit's been making quite a lot of glimmer for me. The more tax credits I get, the less tax I pay. If this goes the way it's movin' now, city's gonna end up owing ol' Drifter quite a lot of cash. They won't be able to pay, of course, so they'll need to work it out with me some other way."

"The entire city is going to owe you favours?"

"Hypothetically, yeah. That's one of the reasons why I may have... hypothetically... suggested it to the council in the first place, yeah."

"Wait... You're on the city council?"

"Not officially. I'm a... what you'd call an unofficial adviser. Very unofficial. In theory, purely in theory, mind you, some of the higher ranking members of city council might, hypothetically, owe me some favours and every once in a while I might ask 'em to vote a certain way or put forth a specific idea. Hypothetically, of course."

"You're manipulating the socio-political structure of the Last City to your own ends."

"If I were, not sayin' I am, mind you, but if I were, I would not be doin' it in a harmful way, nor in any way that could be considered illegal on paper."

"How many city politicians do you own? Hypothetically."

"In theory, enough to swing a vote in my favour if I need one. Definitely enough to offer clemency or a pardon, if yours truly was ever caught doing something that might need to be pardoned. Not that I am in the habit of gettin' caught, mind you, but it's always nice to have a backup plan, just in case."

"So the reason all these Guardians are buying Phantasmal Fragments on the Moon right now is because they are about to become useless due to tax law you helped to put in place?"

"Hypothetically."

"And you did this because you needed to lose money on paper so that you can pay less taxes on your Gambit earnings?"

"Now, don't go spreading that theory around. Lotta people are pretty pissed about the whole devaluing of shards thing, especially Spider. Mithrax won't let him use your tax shelter."

"It isn't my tax shelter!"

"House of Light is hoping to be the number one group donating legendary shards to the war effort. Should give 'em very, very good optics in a very direct and undeniable way. Help 'em out quite a bit, politically, and will definitely soften quite a few people's hearts toward them as a whole. It's exceptionally good PR. Not the best for Spider's finances though. Although, what with all that money that up and disappeared for rebuilding the Eliksni quarter, it is kinda poetic that Spider's about to take a hit in the finance department. Strange, that. Couldn't see that coming. Spider sure is pissed over it. Can't imagine why."

"This has nothing to do with your taxes. You are helping the House of Light."

"Oh, it has everything to do with taxes, and anything pertaining to mine is pure conjecture, but if it does end up also helping the House of Light, why that's just another happy accident. And something it does help, undeniably and un-hypothetically, is the city. It's good for them. They need this."

"Fascinating."

"So... that's why everyone's lined up on Luna buyin' your fragments, Moondust. Eris' tax shelter is the talk of the town right now."

"I see."

"And you could pull in the Vanguard, tell Ikora about it, have her and Zavala put a stop to it, but you know how the Vanguard is with policies and procedures. By the time the bureaucrats and administrators actually manage to agree on something it'll be long past Tuesday. And, to be honest, preparing to go into the Traveler's probably a much higher priority for everyone right now. So what if some guardians end up making a bit of cash? Who does that hurt?"

"Aren't the shards they are spending something that could be used to improve the city's defenses?"

"I don't think you're aware of the scale involved in this one, Moondust. Guardian's don't have a lot of spare room in what they carry around. That's the whole reason why anyone has those legendary shards in the first place. Ya get 'em from disassembling guns and armour. They do that because they got no where else to put 'em. Whereas someone like yours truly or the House of Light, we've been able to stockpile some significant amounts. City's gonna be doing just fine for shards. Trust. What's goin' on over on Luna is just a drop in the ocean compared to what's about to be infused into the city infrastructure. It ain't hurtin' no one, except maybe Spider's pocket book, and he's been lining that with other people's glimmer for a while. 'Bout time he was required to be more... generous for a change."

"As usual, our conversations regarding your areas of influence never cease to be simultaneously both impressive and concerning."

"Any day I can manage to impress you is a good day in my books, Three-Eyes."

"Tsch."

[END TRANSCRIPT]

[hakka84]

^ Manipper here and I agree. I never actually had the chance to make a NC-17 manip so far (Tumblr censorship thought otherwise, though). And yes, it's the same thing. And I always hated those that policed manips, while saying nothing about explicit arts (even realistic ones). But the double standard is not the point. The point is that policing fandom is always wrong.

The discussion about the use of AI is one thing - one can be fine or not, although the use of voice AI doesn't replace any artist or writer (like AI rendering arts or text does). It's the reason why this post was made that rubs me the wrong way. It doesn't appeal to the ethics of AI as its whole but on a supposed consent of the actors. As @katherynefromphilly well pointed out, the actors didn't consent to anything fandom does with their images and jobs (=roles). Neither Bradley James nor Colin Morgan haven't consented to the Merlin/Arthur sex arts. They haven't consented to the fanfics depicting their characters having sex. And, if you remember well, Colin wasn't that much happy when Eoin mentioned the slash pair, and quickly shut Eoin up. Bradley said something ambiguous back then, but in the recent years I got the feeling he's not a fan himself - he just doesn't care, but isn't a Merthur fan (or perhaps he's just fed up with Merthur more vocal fandom and said vocal fans ruined Merthur for him) (I don't think Colin was annoyed, he just didn't want to get dragged in that hole - but he could be also annoyed, who knows: anyone could be legitimately annoyed at the thought of people pairing the characters him and his friend play. Anyone could be annoyed at think that they put all themselves into portraying a friendship and people come and slash that friendship into a sexual relationship)

Not all actors are like Zachary Quinto and Chris Pine who went "lol" at the Spirk slash, or the trolling that Shatner did in the last decades (and he likely changed his mind in the last years). Not all actors are Misha Collins, who probably is lurking in AO3 writing Dean/Cas slash in the year 2024. Anyone ever bothered to wonder how Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson might have felt when 50 Shades debuted and it became public that the story was originally a Twilight fanfic? They could be genuinely weirded out. What about actors who are asexual/sex-repulsed, who perhaps attempted to make their character on screen the more asexual they could (given the constraint of the character not belonging to them), and they see their characters in dom/sub tropes or in Omegaverse settings. What about actors with a past of abuse (sexual, drugs, whatever) who get their characters being raped or being drugs addicts in fanfictions? I know I will say something very political incorrect, but do anyone of us in fandom stop to ask if the actors are even LGBT-friendly, before turning their (canon-established) straight characters into queer? No. (And probably fandom would double up in the slash just to spite the actor) But wouldn't doing this mean we wouldn't care about the actor's consent in the first place?

If we want to discuss about "actors consent" than we better close up AO3 and write only original art.

Alright, I just saw a post using voice cloning of Colin Morgan and Bradley James for a smutty Arthur x Merlin fanfic scene and it’s not ok. I’m going to message the creator and the author of the fanfic and explain why it shouldn’t be on there, but please if you see it do not reblog it or endorse it.

AI voice cloning is not ok. AI has no business in art. The actors did not consent.

I truly don’t wish any hate to anyone, but this is not a topic that should be taken lightly. It’s not an issue of “oh it’s just not for me” it’s an issue of consent and what is morally ok to do.

[spnorwhatever]

The Bone Trilogy by apokteino... much to think about

[travissimblr]

Sims 3 Performance Guide

Lately I have found the direction of The Sims 4 to be rather lackluster.  Let’s face it.  The game is boring.  Still looking for that “Sims Fix” I found myself going back to playing The Sims 3.  The Sims 3 can be tricky to get running correctly on modern computers so I figured I would share what I learned over the years.  I made this guide a few years ago for another forum so I’m always open to new suggestions/edits etc.  Some things may work well for others while some may not make a difference at all.  I have applied all of these fixes in my own game and I still experience lag so this is by no means a guide to completely eliminate the lag in the game but a guide to perhaps help your game run a little bit smoother.  All of these tips have been gathered from all over the internet and also some things I have picked up on my own over the years.  I own a legit copy of the Sims 3 and have never owned a pirated version so I can't say whether or not these settings will work with a pirated version of the game.  I also only have a PC so I don't know if any of these settings will effect the Mac version of the game.  If anything I hope this guide brings people back to The Sims 3 or allows people to give the game another chance.  The guide will be pretty extensive and I take no responsibility if you mess up your game  :P

Limit Game FPS - This one has been a godsend.  I was experiencing major lag especially in build/Buy mode.  My computer is way over spec for this game much like most computers today.  What would happen is that while in Build/Buy Mode my FPS would spike into the 200's!  During these spikes the game would almost be un-playable.

To fix this issue:

Download this file:  https://rd.nexusmods.com/skyrim/mods/34]https://rd.nexusmods.com/skyrim/mods/34

 I know it says it's for Skyrim but it will also work for The Sims 3.  After downloading it unzip the antilag.cfg and d3d9.dll into  X: > Program Files (x86) > Origin Games > The Sims 3 > Game > Bin if using Origin.   If you have the steam version of the game use :   X: > Program Files (x86) > Steam > steamapps > common > The Sims 3 > Game > Bin .  By default it is set to limit the game to 30FPS.  I have been using this and it works fine.  You can change it to 60FPS if you want by opening the antilag.cfg using notepad.  I haven't had a chance to test the game at 60FPS but its not like The Sims 3 is a First person shooter or anything so IMO its probably not necessary.  Run the game and your FPS should be capped at 30.  

Alternately you can try turning on Vsync in either Nvidia Control Panel or AMD Catalyst software however I wasn't able to get it working.  I'm using a Geforce 1080 and the latest Nvidia drivers.  When I turned it on in the control panel it did nothing in the game.

After installing this fix I no longer experience massive lag spikes while in Build/Buy Mode the whole game also seems to be running a little bit smoother as well.  Unfortunately there isn't much we can do about EA's terrible coding of the game so there will still be lag but this one has helped my game more then any of the other fixes as of yet.

**It also must be noted that FPS fix uses the same file as Reshade, d3d9.dll.  I haven’t tested if this works using the d3d9.dll file from Reshade but I can assume it probably doesn’t.  I do however believe there is a frame limiter built into reshade which should accomplish this same thing as this mod.

In Game Settings

1. Graphics

Resolution - You should always play at the native resolution for your monitor.  Most monitors today use a native resolution of 1680x1050 or 1920x1080.  If your game is struggling at this resolution you should always lower the graphics settings not the resolution.

Windowed? or Fullscreen? - This one is something that you will have to test.  Some people say that the game runs better for them in Fullscreen and some say it runs better in Windowed Mode.  My personal game runs better in Windowed Mode.

Object Hiding -  Enabling this can help to increase performance especially if you have a large house.  Essentially what this does is that the game renders every object on the lot you are in even if you aren't on that floor.  So if you are playing on the first floor the game is using resources to render the items on the second/third floor etc.

Reflection Quality - Setting it to Mirrors and Water will work well for most people but adjusting this lower can offer a slight performance increase.

Edge Smoothing - I personally have not noticed much of a difference in performance adjusting this setting but this is the Anti Aliasing settings for the game.  Try lowering it and see if it makes a difference in your game.

Visual Effects - According to the game "Controls the quality of particle effects on objects, Sims, and the town"   Medium would be the recommended setting for Visual effects.  It offers a happy medium between performance and visual quality.

Lighting and Shadows - Adjusts the shadow quality in the game.  I run this on high in my game as there isn't a noticeable difference in performance between medium and high settings.  Turning it to low will give a slight boost in performance but the shadows will be ugly.

Tree Detail - Keep this setting on high as there really is no difference in performance between settings.  All you end up with are some ugly trees and no real boost in performance.

Enable Animation Smoothing & Enable Advanced Rendering - Both of these items should always be checked.  Enable Animation smoothing makes no difference in performance and Turning off Enable Advanced Rendering can actually decrease performance.

Draw Distance - Keep this on high as it does not effect performance.

High Detailed Lots - With this turned up all the way I noticed a fair bit of stuttering in my game.  I have mine set to 4 lots but this is a setting that should be tested to see what works for you.

Texture Detail and Sim Detail - Most computers should be able to handle both of these settings maxed for a small boost in performance you can lower the texture detail to medium.  Sim Detail should always be set at Very High as lower this setting has only a very small boost in performance that probably wouldn't even be noticeable.

2. General Settings

Enable Shop Mode - This will disable the Sims 3 Shop from In-Game.  Turning this off can help with stuttering.

Enable Lessons - Turning this off can possibly help with performance.  I haven't noticed a difference but at this point we all know how to play The Sims.

Memories - Disabling Memories can offer a boost to performance and reduce in game stuttering.

**Alternately you can try using this mod if you don’t want to completely disable the memory system in The Sims 3

No (or fewer) automatic memories by velocitygrass on Mod The Sims

https://modthesims.info/d/446281

Enable Interactive Loading Screens - Turning this off has been said to reduce some in game stuttering.  Besides nobody wants to play that stupid game anyway.

3. Online

Keep Me Logged In & Enable Online Notifications - Turning off both of these settings will help game performance and reduce stuttering.

4. Advanced Demographics Options

Enable Story Progression - Turning this off will reduce stuttering in the game.  If you like this setting you can use the NRASS Story Progression explained further in this guide.

Advanced Settings

I will try to guide as best as I can with these but always MAKE BACKUPS of every file modified in this section.

In order to make this process easier be sure that "Hide extensions for known file types" is unchecked in the Windows Folder Options.  In Windows 10   Click on View > Options > Change folder and search options.  Switch to the view tab and under Files and Folders uncheck "Hide extensions for known file types"

Edit GraphicsRules.sgr - This setting will help the game run smoother and make for faster clothing changes.

1. Got to X:\Program Files (x86)\Origin Games\The Sims 3\Game\Bin

2. Copy the GraphicsRules.sgr file and back it up in either in a safe location or even in the same directory just name it GraphicsRules.sgr.orig.  Click yes when prompted with the rename.

3.  Now Open GraphicsRules.sgr with notepad (not the copied version)

4.  You will see four lines that look like this: seti cpuLevelUber 4

seti cpuLevelHigh 3

seti cpuLevelMedium 2

seti cpuLevelLow 1

5. Change the four lines to this: seti cpuLevelUber 4

seti cpuLevelHigh 3

seti cpuLevelMedium 3

seti cpuLevelLow 3

6. Save in Notepad and close Notepad.

Edit Sims3.ini - This is how you force the game to use more then 2GB of RAM.  I noticed a massive improvement in both CAS and Build/Buy mode with this.  Clothing,Objects etc load almost instantly when this is changed.  The Origin version of the game has already been patched to use 4GB of RAM  however adjusting this value to reflect your systems total ram amount if above 4GB can be beneficial.  If you currently have 4GB total of RAM and are using the Origin version of the game you can skip this step.  It’s questionable whether or not this makes a difference in the game as The Sims 3 is a 32 bit game that only uses 4GB to begin with but it seems to actually make a difference in my own game.

1. Go to X:\Program Files (x86)\Origin Games\The Sims 3\Game\Bin (same as GraphicsRules.sgr)

2. Backup the Sims3.ini in the same method as the GraphicsRules.sgr

3. Open Sims3.ini in Notepad

4. Under [ResourceSystem] you will see this:

MemoryUsageLimit = 20000000 (  10000000 for legacy/disc versions)

5.  Ignoring the zeros this is showing that the Sims 3 is only using 4GB of ram (2gb for Legacy/Disc versions of the game).  Depending on the amount of ram in your system you should change it to half of your total amount of ram. Examples:

8GB Total Ram  MemoryUsageLimit = 40000000

16GB Total Ram MemoryUsageLimit = 80000000

32GB Total Ram MemoryUsageLimit = 16000000

**Be Sure to only change the first number not any zeros.  For 32GB+ its the first 2 numbers.  Putting this too high could cause your system lock up or crash and possibly do damage**

Modding

First go here and follow the instructions on this page to set up your Mods folder: https://www.carls-sims-4-guide.com/forum/index.php?topic=9187.0

1.  Must Have Mods - Even if you don't plan on putting any CC in your game these Mod is highly recommended if not needed in order to keep the game running Smoothly.

NRAAS Master Controller - 

https://www.nraas.net/community/MasterController

This mod is a must have.  It fixes many of the errors in the game and helps immensely with game lag and stuttering.

Under Modules Download: (Not Required but useful)

MasterController Cheats - Adds "cheaty" functions to Master Controller.

MasterController Expanded Tatttoo - Expands the number of locations provided in Tattoo CAS

MasterController Progression - This mod adds progression related interactions to the "Master Controller" menu.   Addition to Story Progression (below)

MasterController Integration -  (Must have if you install a lot of sliders)  This mod replaces all the CAS interactions in the game with the one managed by MasterController, including the "Create-A-Sim" button in "Edit Town".

Now go to this Page and download these other “Must Have Mods” by NRAAS

https://www.nraas.net/community/Mods-List

Overwatch - (Important) Contains error correction and periodic game maintenance/clean up to reduce issues and improve game longevity.

Error Trap - (Important) Core-Mod that performs save-game corruption cleanup, while catching and reporting unhandled script errors.

Traffic- (Important) Controls autonomous vehicular traffic such as the Food/Ice Cream Trucks, and provides some minor vehicle routing settings.

Saver - (Important) Adds autosave function to the game.

Register -  (Important) Replaces the EA Role Manager with a custom version that corrects several bugs and allows for greater flexibility.

Other Useful Mods at NRAAS (Optional) Same page as above:

Story Progression - Basically a less buggy, less performance heavy replacement for the EA story progression in the game.  Be sure to tick off “Story Progression” in the In Game options as stated above.  (Install all the optional modules as well)

Decensor - We all know what this does

Dresser - Adds automated outfit control for inactive sims, adding accessories, and restricting CAS parts.

WooHooer - Alters the romance and woohoo interactions, provides greater flexibility and attraction scoring.

Retuner - Provides fine tuning of many settings in game like autonomous settings, pricing etc.  This one can seem daunting at first but there are plenty of Returner settings to be found out there and its really isn’t that difficult to change the settings in game albeit time consuming. 

Be sure to look over the other mods if you see something you like download it.  Any of these mods should be safe to add to your game with little to no performance impact.

After that extract the files you just downloaded into \Documents\Electronic Arts\The Sims 3\Mods\Packages\Overrides If you don't have an Overrides folder create one.  The “Overrides Folder”  is essentially a priority folder.  Mods put into this folder will be loaded before any other package files you may add to the game.

In-Game NRASS Settings 

These are just some settings to change to improve game stability.  This is by far not comprehensive.  For Retuner settings I would suggest a Google search of other users settings or consulting the NRASS help section for explanations of how to use this mod.

Click on the Town Hall in Map View Under NRASS

Traffic

Ice Cream Truck - I hate that creepy Ice cream truck so I change everything to false and set Max Ice Cream Trucks to 0.  If you like having it around still change the Max Ice Cream Trucks to 1

Routing

Allow Performance Career Limos - False (Limos create a lot of lag in the game)

Allow Use of Cars During General Routing - True (if disabled your sims will only use cars when you tell them to)

Always Use Taxis for Inactives Lacking Vehicles - False (Townies will no longer use Taxis)

Register

Allow Immigration - False (Random Townies wont move into your town keeping the population down and helping to keep performance from decreasing as sims move in.

Animal Control - Change the settings below for a performance boost

Maximum Deer - 2

Maximum Raccoon - 2

Maximum Stray Cats - 3

Maximum Stray Dogs - 3

Maximum Unicorns - 0  (Sorry Wild Horses and Unicorns add a good deal of lag to the game)

Maximum Horses - 0

Custom Content (CC)

Much like any other Sims game moderation is key.  The more CC you download and put in you game the slower your game will perform.  I'm not going to go into detail about how to install CC in The Sims 3 in this guide.  These are just a few important tips to take into account when installing CC,

Try to install Sims3Pack files as much as you can.  Sims 3 automatically merges these files and this leads to better game stability.

Merge you package files. Girl Meets Pixels made a great guide here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jIZ2LdoT-HY]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jIZ2LdoT-HY

Keep an eye on the size of your Sims 3 Folder in /Documents.  It may seem crazy to imagine but massive CC shopping sprees can lead to a massive folder to the tune of 30GB+.  Skins and Hairs are a killer.  These files are usually rather large sometimes in excess of 80 - 100mb.  My suggestion would be to find a default skin you like and just use that.  Don’t install any non default skins.  Also go easy on the hair.  You don’t need 20 different variations of the same ponytail in the game.  Clothing is usually fine but pay attention to the size of the CC.  That cute dress you found on Tumblr that’s 65mb more then likely has way too high of a poly count and will just lag and be slow to render in the game.  Sure it looks great in screenshots but it wont be practical in game.  I’m not sure of the exact cut-off for CC but eventually the folder gets too large for the game to handle and it will lead to issues like save corruption or in some cases not being able to save the game at all because the game has run out of memory.   Sadly if  this happens there is no fix for this and you will lose all of your progress and possibly your save file as well.

Advanced

World Fixes EA left many routing issues in a lot of their worlds that are known to cause lag and often times crashing as Sims bunch up in broken routing areas on the map.

All the World Fixes can be found on Ellacharmed's Wordpress page.  Follow the instructions very carefully and install the fixes for all the worlds you have installed in your game.

https://ellacharmed.wordpress.com

Other Useful Tips

Delete your cache!!  This one can't be stressed enough.  I delete mine before every game play and never have issues starting the game up.  A guide can be found here: http://simswiki.info/wiki.php?title=Game_Help:Sims_3_Delete_Cache_Files

Turn off Origin In Game - This will give a noticeable improvement.

Close all other programs running in the background.  

Turn on Game Mode or Silent Mode on your Antivirus

Useful Sims 3 Programs

s3pe http://www.simlogical.com/ContentUploadsRemote/uploads/189/

Sims 3 Dashboard Tool http://modthesims.info/download.php?t=387006]http://modthesims.info/download.php?t=387006

CC Magic http://modthesims.info/download.php?t=461888]http://modthesims.info/download.php?t=461888

Delphy's Sims 3 Pack Multi-Extractor http://modthesims.info/download.php?t=364038]http://modthesims.info/download.php?t=364038

Save Cleaner by Kuree http://www.simlogical.com/ContentUploadsRemote/uploads/1532/

[katsidhe]

15.20 Final Thoughts

Supernatural is over, and somehow, despite itself, it did the very best it could to please me. That was always going to be an impossible task. But truly, sincerely, that finale was as close to my desires as the show could ever bring itself to come, and so, so much closer than I ever dreamed it would dare.

I am so, so glad that no other regular characters were involved (Bobby aside, but he was brief). How better to encapsulate their own emptiness? How fundamentally fitting, than in the epilogue to their final battle, wherein the entire world beyond them was erased, the wider universe is merely set dressing for them to move through. And it was so quiet this way. This finale wasn’t overcrowded or rushed. It kept its own peace. And it preserved the tangible claustrophobia that 15.19 invoked: that tangled, lovely, solipsistic, toxic conviction that these are the only two people on earth that matter.

It’s unclear exactly how much time passed between 15.19 and 15.20. I like to think it’s been at least a year, given that they’ve settled into routine and that their grief seems less fresh. (Although yes, the concept of Dean dying on his very first hunt without a resurrection available is hilarious, I must confess.) Their calm domesticity, their peace, was lovely to watch (Sam kicking the laundry machine! Sam with wet hair! Sam running! Sam cooking, Sam looking a little less bulky than usual, and happy!) But man, it really is Dean’s world, isn’t it? Even the DOG, which really, really, really could reasonably have been primarily Sam’s, was Dean’s dog first and foremost. Then on Dean’s say-so, they get in Dean’s car to drive to a pie festival for Dean. Sam is perfectly content to go along with all of it.

As if we hadn’t gotten enough delightful fanservice, we also got one last scene of Sam threatening to torture someone to death. :) what a king.

I love that Dean died to an OSHA violation while fighting a random loose end from season 1 (which, by the way, I CALLED IT, I am so proud of myself). It’s perfectly mundane. I truly and deeply do not understand anyone complaining that Dean should have gone out in a way that’s more epic. He’s been there, done that, guys, and remember how miserable it was? Now there’s no cosmic safety net. Dean died in a broken down old barn, saving some kids. Moments like these are when Dean is at his best, at his most fundamentally sympathetic: when he’s not trying to control the shape of the universe or dictate righteousness or let his anger drive himself down into a destructive spiral. He’s just putting his money where his mouth is. He’s not making a broad moral statement. He’s simply putting his life on the line to defend someone who needs defending. It is not an unworthy end. It’s so much better than going out to, god forbid, God.

Did Dean earn a lifetime of peace? The concept of just desserts is fraught. But I also don’t think it’s something Dean wanted. He wanted to keep killing things in tetanus-infested barns until he died. He got what he wanted. And while the arc of his wants has adapted over the years, MOTW hunting is fulfilling for him.

Dean’s deathbed speech was, oh man. It got me good. Like many of the things I loved in this episode, it was quiet. No desperation, no revising history (or not too much, anyway). Just, “stay with me, please. I love you. Tell me it’s okay.”

The quiet of Sam’s grief, alone in the bunker. How still his face is, until for a little bit it crumples again, and then it comes back and goes still. He’s not trying to control his reactions or press back against his sorrow. There is no work to do, nothing to avenge, no one to find, nothing to defeat. He is alone, and the washes of visible grief simply come and go in waves that he doesn’t try to fight or force.

I need the gif of him flinching at the toaster. His startle reactions are my favorite thing. He’s alone underground, there is not a living soul for miles and miles, he’s just buried his brother, not for the first time, but this time, he knows, for the last. And the goddamn toaster goes off and he cannot control the way his heart leaps up into his throat and the way every one of his muscles tightens.

Sam grows old. Sam. Grows old. Sam grows old! SAM GROWS OLD.

Ohhh my God, Sam grows old. Without Dean! Without hunting! Without Cas! With people outside that claustrophobic world, beyond the four tight walls of SPN, beyond the people approved by Dean and by Fandom, who give him peace and love and fulfillment! SAM GOT OUT. Even with the truly terrible wig the image brings me to actual tears. I cannot believe SPN would allow him to have this. I cannot believe that the show let him be happy without Dean. I want to read the set of novelizations about Sam’s recovery.

Of course this was the only way for Sam to get unwound, and of course it had to happen offscreen in flashes. Thank god for the ambiguity. There’s so much potential there, years and years, we were simply told: and at some point Sam’s life gets better, at some point his mental health improves and he feels safe enough to start a family, with someone, and at some point he has a child, and he dies peacefully, he dies loved and with people who love him, and dammit I’m getting weepy again.

Sam quit hunting. Not in a sudden jolt. We see him leaving the bunker on another job. But when he leaves the bunker, he leaves for good. He has so much knowledge, but he does not preserve the Men of Letters. He does not honor their legacy of extermination and experimentation. Maybe he gives someone else the keys, for the books. Or maybe he’s digitized it all, and maybe it’s done.

Maybe his wife is Eileen, or maybe it’s Amelia, or maybe it’s Piper or Cara or maybe it’s someone new. Maybe it’s not even a woman. And maybe she’s a hunter, but I hope she isn’t, and when Sam tells her, haltingly, in fits and starts, the bare outline of the truth, she looks at him and she believes him. And she understands the shape of the trauma he carries, even if Sam can’t quite speak the details, and maybe Sam goes to therapy. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he wakes in pain and fear for many years, but over time, it dulls.

Sam’s son is still a young man when Sam is on his deathbed, probably in at least his eighties. Think about the mountain Sam had to climb to reach that point. How many years and years of work did it take before Sam felt safe enough to want a child? How long for him to gently conquer his terror at the legacy his blood might carry: Lucifer and Azazel are dead, he knows this, but how long before he lets himself believe it enough to permit the risk? And then he raises his child, not in fear and loneliness, but with love and support and care. And he makes sure his son is protected, that he knows to salt his thresholds and ward against demons, but his son will not suffer the way he suffered.

Maybe he untangles his thoughts about Dean, maybe he learns that to feel angry with his brother is not to betray him or to dishonor his memory, maybe he comes to a more complex understanding of their relationship. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he simply enshrines Dean, and Dean’s memory becomes ever more golden and untarnished, and the Impala becomes truly an altar. The details of how Sam carries Dean with him—the watch, the car, the absurdly large photos, his son’s name—perhaps these are played straight, and perhaps Sam never finds a more nuanced love. In the meta sense I think we are certainly meant to think this. We are meant to see Dean deified here, canonized into a saint. We are meant to view Sam’s fifty more years of life as worship, as a dedication and an offering.

This is the long shadow of the finale. These are the things untouched by necessity and by design: this is Dean’s apology in 15.18, this is Sam not wanting an apology, and not wanting to hear Dean offer one. This difficult work was always and inevitably going to be elided. But there is so much time, decades and decades, offscreen, for Sam to come to a quieter peace.

I think he can do it.

I think Sam can do anything.

I’m crying again.

I really didn’t think I would cry much about the finale. I thought I would cry at the concept of the show ending, but not at what the ending was. I didn’t think any details would actually affect me. But then Sam got old. I am truly and genuinely hung up on the canonical image of Sam finding peace. Good god. He had GLASSES. Help.

My chief complaint (aside from that absolutely awful Carry On cover, why oh why, they should have just played the original again), if I felt at all like complaining at the moment, would be how happy this ending is. But I can’t begrudge Sam that. I can’t even get too mad at the scene that I was SO SURE I would despise: that of Sam and Dean content in a Heaven that is now apparently Great, Actually (even though a prison dimension with an open floor plan is still a prison dimension, but hey, I guess we humans can’t leave earth either). Supernatural clearly wanted Sam and Dean to not be facing down an abyssally bleak afterlife, and I think I’d be complaining about the lack of bleakness a whole lot more if it didn’t have the (perhaps unintended??) side effect of giving Sam even more freedom from Dean than SPN already deigned to give him. Sam isn’t in a shared cell with Dean. He can be with his friends and his wife and his son.

One of the fundamental questions of SPN is, would Dean ever let Sam go? And it’s a question that the bulk of s13-15 has rendered moot with Sam’s growing passivity, and one that 15.20 neatly dodged. And I’m glad it did, because I wouldn’t have liked whatever 15.20 had to say on the matter. This deflection feels true to the spirit of what the show has become.

It was impossible for Sam to find peace while Dean was still alive. And on its own that kind of says everything, doesn’t it? And Sam is still forever denied the peace he truly longed for. Sam didn’t want death to force Dean’s hand. Sam wanted Dean to want to let him go. But the only way Sam and Dean could heal is apart. The potential of their relationship on earth becoming untangled is forever precluded, explictly. And yet Sam’s freedom is validated, Sam is allowed what he sought in season 1 and season 8, Sam is something beyond a hunter and Dean’s brother, and the show let him be, the show let him grow.

Supernatural said Sam Rights, and the world shook.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

so are we just not going to address that Sue didn’t even TRY to save Carrie

like, this drives my anatomy-nerd self up the wall, so i’m going to evaluate a lot of the different Carrie: The Musical death scenes and see if they would actually be as fatal as they were shown to be and if Sue could have saved Carrie if she hadn’t been a bumbling idiot

(i’m not doing the movies because in 1976 she dies from the house collapsing, in 2002 she’s actually saved, and in 2013 Sue couldn’t really do anything with Carrie using her powers on her)

also i’m not saying any of this is completely accurate. i’m not a med student, i just did a lot of research and am in an anatomy class. i could be wrong BUT here’s my shot at it

Broadway Kids

okay, so, at first glance, this one looks like it could be very much fatal. you can see that Carrie gets stabbed near her spine, on the (if i did my directions correctly) left side, which is where the heart is located. HOWEVER, she is stabbed in the upper part of the back instead of the center, so it would have missed her heart.

in return, the uppermost part of the left trapezius would have sustained the most damage. the trapezius’ main function is to support the weight of the arm and control the movement of the scapulae, so a puncture wound would have most likely caused it to seize up in the reaction to the pain, resulting in the inability to lift the left arm above the shoulder. a stab to the upper part of the back would also most likely puncture the left dorsal scapular nerve, which provides motor innervation to muscles, allowing them to move the scapula.

additionally, underneath all that muscle and tissue, we come to the skeleton.

depending on exact location, Carrie most likely would have been hit around the second to fifth rib. these upper ribs are incredibly tough. to cause actual damage to the organs they protect, you would need to go between the ribs. however, you can see that Margaret stabs vertically, not horizontally, so the knife would not go in all the way. that bone is going to do its job and protect the lungs and heart by blocking it from entry. the most that could have happened is that maybe the tip got through and nicked one of the lungs, but not nearly enough to be fatal. damage would lie mainly in the flesh, muscle, and tissue.

for example:

i don’t think Carrie would be able to prop herself up on her arms like that. all her weight is going onto that injury and causing it to bleed even more, which could have been the thing that actually killed her, but not as quickly as it did.

and then we see here that she shifts all of her weight onto that injured side, which would only deepen her pain. though it is more realistic than her using the left arm to stop Margaret, as she most likely would have not been able to lift it with her injury.

BK Carrie should have survived, but dumbass Sue didn’t think to do ANYTHING, even though Carrie TELLS HER she’s hurt.

like the most she’s doing, MAYBE, is that with the way Carrie is positioned, Sue’s leg may be pressing against the wound, which would help stem the bleeding, but that’s a huge “maybe.”

but yeah, Carrie should have survived this wound.

Seattle!

it’s a little hard to see because it’s so dark, but Carrie is stabbed in the center of her back on what looks like the left side. furthermore, and what makes this version more lethal than BK, is that Margaret stabs Carrie horizontally, meaning the blade would have gone between the ribs and punctured her lung or maybe even her heart. but realistically, it would have been the lung, and this would result in something called a “sucking wound”, which is when holes are opened up in the wall of the lung and cause air to leak into the thoracic cavity instead of the lungs. despite this, they are actually rarely life-threatening. while there may be blood leaking into her lung, Carrie still has another lung to keep her breathing.

unfortunately, it’s most likely her reaction that made the stab so lethal.

i don’t know if it was done on purpose or completely on accident, but the way Carrie doesn’t scream is very much accurate to what it’s like to be stabbed. a lot of times, you aren’t going to feel the knife going in. that rush of adrenaline is going to completely numb your body for several moments. what she is going to feel, however, is her punctured lung beginning to fill with blood and her body grasping for air as breathing is reduced. this causes her to gasp, wheeze, and make strangled noises instead of an actual scream or anything verbal.

whether or not she would be able to prop herself up like that is debatable, as her trapezius was also stabbed and we’ve learned that that restricts arm movement, but it’s that panic that really does a number on her. her heart is going to start beating faster and faster, which is going to increase blood flow. so while her platelets are trying to form a clot over the wound to stop the bleeding as quickly as possible, the blood is just going to keep gushing out and disrupt that process. and to make things worse, she’s breathing very rapidly. that’s going to put a strain on the lung trying to make up for the loss of the other, while also straining that injured lung filling with blood. it’s also just harder to get air when you’re panicking, so she’s not getting nearly as much oxygen as she needs, especially when she direly needs it.

here we see a loss of limb control from the way she lies down, most likely from shock, but also potentially from the crushing pain of her lung collapsing on itself. because while a sucking wound isn’t as lethal as it may seem, panicking is going to increase that level of danger. shock will be actively working against her, but if she kept herself calm, she would be able to stay awake longer. but because she’s panicking, she’s not getting enough air to her brain, thus causing her to begin to lose control of her body.

another big “maybe” if she would be able to life the arm on the side she got stabbed in, but i’ll let it slide.

now, i think Carrie could have survived this wound, even with her panic. the thing that killed her? fucking Sue.

there’s so many things wrong about the way Sue reacted. i mean, they always react badly, but this one especially.

first of all, punctured lung. i know that Sue can’t tell that Carrie’s lung is damaged, but she should have guessed something was wrong with the way Carrie was breathing abnormally. like, the girl could barely even speak without sounding choked up.

and speaking of choking! one of her lungs is bleeding! laying her down is going to make it easier for her to inhale that blood and begin to choke. and just in general, she shouldn’t be laying down. maybe it’s more comfortable for her, but laying down is only going to decrease the room in her chest for her lungs to expand and get air. she should be sitting up.

but most of all,  Sue should have APPLIED PRESSURE TO THE FUCKING WOUND. SHE SHOULD HAVE CALLED FOR HELP. she can’t expect the victim of the injury to do all that for her- she should be smart enough to know to stop the bleeding instead of just sitting there like a useless idiot.

you wanna know what i think? i don’t think Carrie died. not in that moment. i think she just passed out from the shock, but Sue thought she had died and left her there to suffocate, even though she could have been saved.

2012 Revival

really shitty quality because the boot sucks and Marin stabs FAST, but Carrie is stabbed in the lower back, close to her waist, on what i believe is her left side because it looks like the knife is pulled out from the area closest to the audience.

so, Carrie is going to get stabbed somewhere in the left latissimus dorsi, specifically in the middle-to-lower area if i’m correct, but it’s kinda hard to tell exactly in the video. the latissimus dorsi controls several different movements for the upper body and the arms, so being stabbed in that area will most likely cause those muscles to seize up in reaction. it’s probably going to be hard for Carrie to sit up, move her arms, and even potentially move her legs.

in terms of lethality, i think this may be the most fatal blow so far if i tracked the projection of the knife correctly because i’m pretty sure it went straight into where her kidney would be. and the kidneys are essentially blood sponges.

have you ever had a kidney stone before? women who have given birth and had kidney stones say that the stones hurt worse. the first time i had one, it put me on the floor, weeping like a little baby until my mom took me to the ER at one in the morning. they’re even worse than period cramps. so if these tiny, grain-of-sand-sized chunks can cause this much pain, imagine what a knife to the kidneys could do.

the kidneys are full of nerve endings and have a lot of blood flow throughout them. they are also highly sensitive to pain. if you’ve ever been punched in the kidney before, it feels like getting the wind knocked out of you, except it’s not your lungs, it’s your whole body. and if Carrie had been stabbed here, she’s not getting up from it. certainly not as easily as she does in the show.

a shot to the kidney is going to put Carrie into immediate shock. i don’t think she would be able to scream they was she does because a blow to such a sensitive place is going to wind her. the pain would completely render her stunned for several moments. nor do i think she would be able to crawl away as she also does in the show. she should have crumpled straight to the ground after taking the hit and her body probably would have seized up for a moment because of how much pain she would be in.

the way she sits up after killing Margaret isn’t very realistic, either. she wouldn’t be able to get up after taking a knife to her kidney- not that quickly. i don’t think she would have even been able to kill Margaret in the first place. the pain had to be excruciating.

even though Sue still should have called 911 and tried to stop the bleeding, really the only thing she could do for Carrie at that point was make her comfortable. Carrie was bleeding out. so i do think this stab was realistic in how fatal it was, they just need to teach Molly how to properly act with a punctured kidney.

Branching Out!

also hard to see because of the angling, but Carrie does grab at the wound

and it looks like she had been stabbed somewhere in the center of her middle back, close to her spine and sort of where her ribs end, which means it probably struck a kidney. but not only that- the average kitchen knife tends to be eight inches in length. so that’s eight inches down to the handle going into this girl’s back, not only piercing her kidney, but also potentially a part of her large intestines and even maybe her small intestines. the result would be extremely painful, so much so that it would probably send her into shock instantly, as it should have done for 2012. but instead she screams and crawls away, which would not have been possible with such a lethal wound. the more realistic thing would be for her to crumple to the floor and open her mouth to scream and cry, but not actually be able to make any noise.

once again, Sue should have done more to save her life, but the wound was really bad. Carrie was rapidly bleeding out. it was nice that Sue soothed her, but she could have at least TRIED. like, CARRIE is the only putting the pressure on the wound. Sue should be doing that, not the victim.

Off-West End

you can’t see the knife because Margaret actually slashes Carrie’s throat instead of stabbing her, but this actually has to be the most realistic version of Carrie’s death, even though you would think neck wounds would be complicated.

so, Carrie gets her throat slit. the simplest damage she’s going to sustain is injury to her platysma, which serves to produce different facial expressions such as surprise, sadness, and horror, and also helps open the mouth from where it’s attached to the mandible. this would most likely make it painful for her to speak.

even further than her platysma, there’s damage to her sternocleidomastoid, which connects the sternum and clavicle to the skull. this is the muscle that allows the head to turn and nod, so when that gets cut through, she’s going to have some problems turning her head, if she is even capable of doing so in the first place.

and then even deeper and more severe than that are all of the organs in her neck. the most at risk are her larynx and trachea. but most importantly are the two major vessels in her throat: the jugular and the cartoid.

upon getting her throat slashed, Carrie immediately begins to sputter and cough as her jugular was most likely cut through and her lungs begin to fill with blood. despite this, she would actually be able to still talk, as there are many stories of people talking even after they got their throat slashed.

props to them for the realism in making Carrie HOLD THE DAMN WOUND SHUT. when it comes to something that is bleeding or just spilling in general, especially a throat wound, your first instinct is to COVER IT UP and STOP THE FLOW.

even further: THEY HAVE SUE HOLD THE WOUND.

FINALLY.

not only is Sue’s hand over it, but Carrie’s is, too, meaning even more pressure on that wound. this is a good thing because not only will the jugular and cartoid bleed a ton, they will also spray blood like a high pressure hose. of course, this isn’t possible onstage, so i’ll let them slide, but MAJOR points on not having Sue be completely useless. she still should have called an ambulance, especially for a slit throat, but i can give her a pass because she is having to hold the wound shut and hold Carrie’s body up.

speaking of: that’s a good position she’s in. Carrie is slouched at an angle with her head downwards, meaning the blood will fall out of her mouth instead of going back in if she were to cough it up. lying her down or cradling her on her back with her head tipped up will only make it easier for her to choke.

as the scene goes on, we hear Carrie start to gasp and wheeze as she drowns in her blood. very realistic. that’s going to cause a panic, but she probably doesn’t have the energy or blood to even do that.

despite all of these injuries, i don’t think Carrie would have died from them if Sue had just done something more to help her.

here’s my running theory: Sue let Carrie die. she knew she could have done something, she just chose not to. there was a chance for Carrie to live, but she didn’t let that happen. perhaps out of revenge for the massacre? maybe Sue was darker than we all thought...

extreme tldr: Miss Gardener should have gone to Carrie’s house instead of Sue because she would have actually done something

[expectingtofly]

Morning Confessions (or, Waking Up Next to An Angel)

~1.3k dean/cas fic

also posted on ao3

Dean woke first in a haze of warmth and contentment, then in a slow realization of where he was and who he was with. Opening his eyes, he looked at the angel pressed up against him. Castiel’s head was half-buried in the sheets, his arm wrapped around Dean’s waist, and the sight caused a warmth in Dean's chest, an instinct to pull Castiel closer.

Along with the instinct, however, came a flush of guilt at how much he enjoyed these quiet moments, enjoyed them as much as the flurry of kisses and clutches and gasps that preceded them.

“We can’t do this again,” he’d said two months ago, the morning after their first night together. After their second, he’d amended the statement: “This doesn’t mean anything, alright? We can hook up every once in a while, but that’s it. That’s all this is.” Castiel had nodded and that was the last they spoke of it.

Castiel’s eyes were closed in faux sleep; he always stayed the whole night—a fact which created a mixture of emotions in Dean, none of them in keeping with the cool, unattached manner he tried so hard to maintain around Castiel. He’d even mentioned it, told Castiel, “You don’t sleep, you don’t have to lie here all night.”

Seeming to blush—though Dean doubted angels could be embarrassed—Castiel had said, “I don’t mind. I want to watch over you.”

And Dean didn’t want to admit how much he enjoyed the warmth of Castiel’s body against his all night, how much he relished waking up to the angel still next to him.

In the quiet of this morning, before he rose and left the motel room, spent the day trying to pretend nothing had happened between them, Dean studied Castiel: his soft, dark eyelashes, the curl of hair around the curve of his ear. The eyelashes fluttered, then blue eyes gazed up at him.

Dean’s breath hitched and he hastily looked away. He stared up at the ceiling, pretending to be engrossed by the dark water stain above their heads.

Whoosh.

Dean startled at the sudden absence of the heat of Castiel’s body against his. He looked to see the blankets settling down in the spot where Castiel lay a moment ago.

Damn flighty angels, Dean thought. Then the sound of water running made him realize the bathroom door was closed, light coming through the gap at the bottom. Frowning, he sat up to get out of bed, then swore. Castiel stood by the bed in his way, naked.

That sight, as always, was enough to render Dean speechless for a long second. He glanced back at the bathroom, the door now open and the light off, and back at Castiel. Only Castiel wasn’t standing in the same spot anymore.

The sound of wings made him turn to see Castiel standing at the foot of the bed, now almost fully dressed, pulling on his trench coat.

“What the fuck?” Dean managed.

“I, umm,” Castiel tapped his fingers on the bedspread, then pulled his hand away and smiled at Dean. “Do you want food? I can get you breakfast.” With another whoosh, he was gone, leaving Dean staring at the opposite wall.

Then Castiel was dropping a takeout bag on the table with a thump. Dean blinked and Castiel was standing by the bed again saying, “I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I grabbed five different varieties of bagels and—”

“Woah, woah, Cas.” Dean grabbed his arm. “You’re giving me whiplash. What the hell’s going on? Why’re you flying around everywhere?”

“I, um... I suppose I’m… nervous.”

“Nervous?” He didn’t know Castiel, “stoic angel of the Lord,” could get nervous. “And your wings are going haywire?”

“They’re not haywire,” Castiel replied, sounding annoyed. He straightened his shoulders. “I need to tell you something.”

Dean took a deep breath. In his line of business, that was never a good thing to hear. Angel or demon problems? A new apocalypse? Steadying himself for the inevitably bad news, he said, “Alright. What?”

Another whoosh, and Castiel was sitting on the bed next to him. “Fuck! Cas!” Dean exclaimed, nearly falling out of bed. Castiel grabbed his arm to steady him. “You wanna give me a warning next time?”

“Sorry."

Dean huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. Castiel traced the floral pattern on the comforter. The serious furrow in his brows should’ve made Dean nervous, but he found himself studying Castiel’s profile instead. His jawline, his dark hair tousled from all his flying around, probably. He had the sudden urge to touch Castiel’s face, the nape of his neck, to run his fingers through Castiel’s hair, but he kept his arms crossed and studied the comforter himself.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Castiel said quietly and Dean’s heart sunk. He had known this shaky thing between him and Castiel couldn’t last. Castiel was an angel; he had the world at his fingertips. Why would he ever be content with Dean?

Castiel continued, “I think this, our sexual relations, means more to me than it does to you.”

It took a few seconds for those unexpected words to register. Dean blinked. So... Castiel had caught feelings. Another apocalypse seemed easier to deal with than the way that realization made him feel.

In a rush, Castiel touched his arm and angled his body to look at him.  “I know that wasn’t part of our agreement. You said no strings attached. And I thought I could do that, and if not, I could hide my true feelings, but it seems I can’t, after all. I thought… I thought you should know.” He dropped his hands into his lap and Dean’s heart thumped in his chest. He wondered if Castiel could hear it.

“You want more,” he said slowly. “Like a relationship.”

Castiel nodded sadly.

“Maybe,” Dean started, then stopped. He didn’t know how he planned on ending that sentence. But the look Castiel turned on him, the wide hope in his eyes, urged him to say what had been building up in him since the first time he woke up next to Castiel. “Maybe we can have more than just..." He gestured to the crappy motel room, themselves, trying to encompass the transience of their hook ups. “This,” he finished lamely.

“Really?” Castiel asked, studying him. “You want that?”

More than anything. To hold Castiel's hand, to feel his arms around him every night, to wake up to him every morning. Everything he wanted to say got caught in his throat; the words seemed too heavy, too great to say aloud.

“Yeah, yeah, I do," he managed.

A smile spread on Castiel’s face and Dean hastened to add, “But no one can know, alright? I mean, maybe Sam can know, but no one else.” No, that wasn’t what he wanted. What he wanted: to call Castiel his, to let everyone know this angel had chosen him. “This can’t be public knowledge. Dean Winchester doesn’t date, much less have a boyfriend.”

“I’m your boyfriend now?” The excitement in Castiel’s voice made Dean’s heart jump.

“Oh, um.” He cleared his throat. “Do you want to be?”

"Yes." Castiel took Dean's hand in his own and held his gaze, his eyes serious. "I would like that very much.”

"I would like that very much too," Dean echoed since words were still escaping him, then Castiel leaned forward and kissed him, and there was that warmth again filling Dean's chest, perfect comfort and ease overwhelming him. He lifted a hand to Castiel's face, hoped he could press onto Castiel's lips everything he couldn't put into words.

When they slowly pulled away, Dean was breathless and Castiel was smiling at him. Nestling closer, Castiel leaned his head on Dean’s shoulder. It didn’t make sense, Dean thought, the way this angel felt towards him. He was half-convinced this sudden, new relationship was all a dream. But even if it was, even if he did suddenly wake, he knew he’d wake to Castiel watching over him.

The thought made him smile and, looking down at their hands, he intertwined his fingers with Castiel’s. The happy sigh Castiel made said it all.

Tagging: 

@spnwaywardone @good-things-do-happen-dean @becky-srs @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @xojo

Let me know (message, ask, comment) if you’d like to be tagged in future destiel fics :)

[aloha-cowgirl]

The Color of Free Will

This was written for the SPN Stay-at-Home Challenge. @bend-me-shape-me @helianthus21 @pray4jensen   

Monday 1: Feather (Read it on AO3) 

[1915 words - Hurt/Comfort, Wingfic, First Kiss]

From the library, Dean heard the slam of the heavy bunker door. It was late in the evening and he hadn’t been expecting anyone, however, the groan and crashing stumble made him hurry from his chair.

When he crossed into the war room, he froze. At the top of the staircase, was a crumpled creature. Black feathers stood at odd angles as the creature’s wings curled around its body. Dean reached for the gun he kept tucked beneath the map table as he cautiously approached the stairs.

But when he reached the bottom step, he shoved the gun back into his waistband before running up the stairs two at a time.

“Cas!”

The angel’s wings shifted. Beneath them, Cas lay unconscious on the floor, battered and bruised. Dean wasn’t sure what to do; Sam had taken Jack on a simple salt and burn case in St. Louis for some field experience, so Dean was on his own.

He wasn’t sure how to approach the delicate black wings, so he was forced to wrap one arm under his back and the other beneath his knees in a bridal carry.

“Man, you’re heavy,” Dean grunted as he carefully took the steps one-by-one.

When he reached the bottom, he hauled Cas into a chair, wings drooping out to either side. It didn’t look very comfortable, Dean thought, but there were more important things to focus on right now. He bent over him, cupping his face with one hand and patting the opposite cheek with the other hand.

“C’mon, Cas... C’mon, dammit,” he pleaded under his breath, “wake up. Wake up.”

Cas groaned and Dean let go of a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He kneeled on the floor so Cas wouldn’t have to lift his head.

“Jesus, Cas! Hey, wake up, buddy. What the hell happened to you?”

He could see Cas’s eyes struggling to open and mentally cheered when he finally saw impossibly blue eyes gazing down at him.

“Angels,” Cas croaked. “I—they—I don’t—”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright.” Dean shook his head consolingly. “We’ll figure it out later. We gotta get you put back together, though. Think you can make it to a bed?”

Cas nodded.

Dean pulled one of Cas’s arms around his neck and tucked his own arm around his back and beneath his wings.

“Does—does that hurt? I mean, is this okay?” Dean asked as he positioned himself to support Cas’s weight.

“It’s fine,” Cas answered weakly.

Dean’s room was the closest with a clean bed, so they traipsed through the library and down the hall. Cas leaned heavily on Dean’s side, but at least he was awake now. When he was safely perched on the edge of the bed, Dean took the opportunity to grab a med kit and a few towels.

He rolled his desk chair in front of Cas, bracketing his legs between his own knees as he laid the open kit on the bed. Cas stared somberly at the floor.

“So… I have a few questions, obviously,” Dean said, trying to lighten the mood as he dabbed at a cut over Cas’s eyebrow. “First off, where were you?”

Cas sighed. “I was in Heaven. I was trying to come back home, but there were three angels and...”

He trailed off, so Dean worked quietly, anger building as he butterfly-stitched the cut and let Cas work out the details in his head.

“They attacked you?” Dean finally asked, a sharp edge to his voice.

Cas shook his head and looked up from the floor, locking eyes with Dean. “I attacked them.”

Dean took a deep breath, letting his hands slide from Cas’s face to his neck, checking for injuries. Cas let his eyes close.

“Is that why you couldn’t, y’know,” he gestured at the bruised and bloody mess, “mojo yourself back together?”

“I suppose,” he answered, flexing his wings out behind himself. The glimmer of deep purples and greens as the black feathers moved caught Dean’s attention.

“And, uh… the wings?” he asked.

“The wings,” Cas sighed again.

He stretched them and the tips of the longest feathers brushed the wall behind him. This time, however, among the iridescent black feathers, Dean spotted dark red.

“You’re bleeding,” he said, automatically moving from the chair to the edge of the bed beside him. He reached for the wing but stopped halfway, realizing what he was about to do.

Dean reminded himself that these were wings. Not like the tie or the trench coat that Dean had come to know as an extension of Cas. No, these wings—these gorgeous wings—were an actual part of him.

“Can I…?”

The air in the room seemed to thicken. He’d figured that touching an angel’s wings, usually unseen and untouched in the ethereal plane for all of eternity, was probably a pretty intimate thing. From Cas’s reaction he thought he may have been right.

Cas nodded, a slightly anxious look on his face. “Um. Yes, you can—you can touch me.”

When his wings appeared in this plane of existence, they seemed to have burst through his clothing, leaving it shredded on his back. Dean helped him shrug off his ruined coat, using the knife he had tucked in his boot to cut the fabric until they could pull it off over each wing. They repeated the process with his jacket and shirt.

“You wear too many layers,” Dean groused, earning himself a quiet chuckle from Cas.

When the shredded clothes had been tossed aside and Cas was left bare-chested, wings spread out behind them, now unencumbered, Dean’s breath caught at the sight. 

He grabbed a pillow and tossed it toward the foot of the bed as Cas positioned himself, laying on his front, wrapping his arms around the pillow. Dean approached slowly, then carefully reached out. As soon as his fingertips touched the soft feathers, Cas flinched. Dean pulled back.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I won’t—”

Cas shook his head, looking up at Dean. “No, it’s—it’s okay. It’s just… no one has ever touched them before.” His cheeks flushed.

Dean nodded and reached out again. This time the flinch was much more subdued, followed by a slow exhale. Dean absently stroked the smooth feathers as he looked for injuries. Cas let his head fall forward onto his arms, eyes closed.

Dean traced the edge of the right wing. It was mesmerizing. When he finally came across the blood again, he carefully moved the undamaged feathers aside to assess the damage.

“Looks like a puncture,” Dean said.

Cas hummed in agreement. “Angel blade.”

“Attacking a bunch of angels on your own probably wasn’t your best move,” Dean grumbled as he tore open a package of alcohol wipes.

Cas turned around to face him, eyes bright under a furrowed brow. “You don’t understand.”

“Well, enlighten me, Cas,” Dean challenged, staring back. “Why would you—”

“They didn’t want me to come back,” Cas barked, cutting Dean off. “They think I’m interfering in God’s grand plan. They were trying to keep me in heaven. Keep me away from—from you.”

Dean was rendered mute.

“I think that’s why they fixed my wings,” Cas continued, his voice faltering as he turned back toward the pillow. “They fixed my wings in hopes I’d stay. But when I refused, something… happened. I can’t hide them. I can’t heal myself. I—I don’t know what to do now.”

He held his face in his hands, leaning on his elbows. His wings resumed their relaxed position so Dean could reach the inky black feathers again.

Dean stroked them gently, smoothing where they’d become ruffled.

“We’re gonna make it work,” Dean promised, carefully cleaning the wound that had thankfully stopped bleeding. He tossed the alcohol wipe aside and returned to combing his fingers soothingly through the feathers. Cas let his head fall forward again, breathing deeply.

“I, uh—I’m just glad you decided to come back.”

Cas’s wings lifted and fell as he blew out a deep breath.

Dean admired the way the feathers changed color as they moved in the light. “So, black wings, huh? I thought all you angels had those fluffy white wings with matching halos.”

“They weren’t always black,” Cas said reminiscently. “As a loyal soldier of God, they were white. They began to gray when I first defied orders. It was the first sign that I was ‘broken,’ as they called it. And, well, now—”

“They’re perfect,” interjected Dean.

Dean could feel the tension releasing as he ran his fingers through the feathers. Cas’s head dropped back down onto the pillow with a sinful groan. The corner of Dean’s mouth flickered up into a smirk as he lightly scratched at the wing beneath his fingers.

“That feel good?” he asked.

“Very much so,” Cas said into the pillow.

He repositioned himself, straddling over Cas’s hips, holding himself up on his knees. Like this, he could reach both wings at once and there was no one here to judge him anyway. Dean noticed some of the bruises on Cas’s back and shoulders were already beginning to improve in color. Whatever the angels had done that had zapped all Cas’s grace was wearing off, he thought.

He started at the center of Cas’s back, running his hands gently over the base of the wings. Cas arched into the touch and Dean felt a rush of adrenaline. He traced his fingers along the bony edges, sliding them down into the small, soft feathers underneath, careful to avoid his wounds.

Cas shivered beneath him. Dean would be lying if he said this whole scene hadn’t spiraled into something completely different than what he had told himself it was—that he was just soothing an injured friend. But the energy in the room had evolved. There was static in the air now. Cas had taken on Heaven and the angels to be here with him—to stay here, maybe permanently.

He let himself slowly slide lower on Cas’s back, now half sitting, half kneeling over him. He stretched his arms wide, leaning forward to reach as far as his fingers could. He was nearly laying on top of Cas now, close enough to feel the pull of his gravity. Cas tilted his head back. Dean responded by angling his own head forward to feel the warmth of Cas’s scalp against his forehead. They stayed that way for a minute before Dean spoke in a low tone.

“Cas… why? Why come back?”

His strength clearly returning, Cas turned, nearly dumping Dean right off his back. They were now sitting on the bed facing one another. Cas’s bruises had definitely healed more, though Dean’s attention was locked on the blue eyes boring into his own.

“Dean,” he said in a near-whisper, “you know why.”

Dean swallowed, his eyes burning with the potential magnitude of the moment.

“Is it worth it?” he asked, wringing his hands.

Cas reached forward, taking Dean’s hands in his own.

“Yes.”

Dean wasn’t sure who moved first, but they met somewhere in the space between them. Their bodies crashed into one another, lips against lips, arms wrapping around one another. There was a flicker of lights, and then they were lost in the darkness, enveloped in glossy black feathers, surrounded by the color of Castiel’s free will. In this world where Heaven and Hell were out to tear them apart, here in the void of Castiel’s wings, it was only them.

And it felt like home.

@rauko-is-a-free-elf @petrichoravellichor @crack--attack @katekarnage7 @ladygotsoul @all-or-nothing-baby @moderatelypanickedbiromantic @dammitsammy

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

hey if it's not too much difficulty you're the only person i trust with this so would you mind writing me a super angsty fic based on 15x09 Dean burying MOC!Cas in a Ma'lak box?

Of course I don’t mind. It came out angsty, alright. Tell me what you think, Dean. Here you go:

***

Dean remembers how it used to be.

He remembers the warmth enveloping all of him, and the room imploding with such power that glass shatters, and the wind roars. The sky gets dark, but the seraph brings forth his wings and lights up the world, for a second right there - like a star in its death; a star breathing its last.

Squinting, cowering and incredibly alive, Dean’s been a witness to the all-powerful grace of the angel of the lord, before.

All of those times, he’s been terrified - yes, but never afraid. When Castiel had declared he could throw Dean back to Hell, that night, Dean didn’t doubt it. Of course he could. But he wouldn’t. For some strange reason, still undeciphered, he’d never meant to hurt Dean.

There was something in the air, whenever they were together. Respect, and a sliver of misplaced faith. Reassurance. A tug at his chest which just screamed Safe. Strength, from Cas’s end - and love.

He remembers how Castiel used to make him feel.

*

“There’s no other way.” Sam lets out, head bowed, in a voice more miserable than his stare focused on the book suggests. The lights in the bunker are dim; it’s just a little past midnight, and Dean has his head in his hands.

“Sam, we can’t -”

“I know.” He sounds like he’s trying to scrape the bottom of his soul-shaped barrel for the courage to say it out loud - hoping that’ll make it easier. “But we have to do something, Dean.”

There’s silence.

“I don’t care.” Dean mutters, but everything except his words claims that he does.

Sam knows he does.

“Nobody else’s around.” He says, instead. “No God, or hell, gods. No angel or reaper will help us with this.” He breathes in shakily. “They’re all afraid of him.”

He’s a Seraph of Heaven carrying the Mark of Cain. An Angel of the Lord, now claimed by Hell. Of course, everybody’s terrified, and rightly so.

There’s probably no one in their world right now, who’s stronger.

“But the Ma'lak box?” Dean cries out, lifting his head. Sam meets his eyes, looking pained. “Locked away in a living grave, for eternity?” Neither of them blink. “It’s Cas, Sammy! We can’t just -” His voice breaks mid-sentence, lips pursed and twisted to a side, eyes screwed shut. He takes in a breath, with some effort.

Sam waits. His brother clearly isn’t done yet.

Finally, Dean exhales - with a shudder. “Why does it have to be me?”

Sam’s face contorts in sympathy, and anguish. In a hoarse, earnest whisper, he answers Dean’s question as truthfully as he could ever.

“Because it’s him.”

*

Dean remembers the first time he saw Castiel, after he ran away from home.

They hadn’t needed a tip, so much as a peek at the internet to come to know of a pissed-off-looking middle-aged man was singlehandedly finishing off the members of a now-uncovered human-sacrificial cult.

And he wore a trenchcoat.

Sam and he were on the road, in minutes. All through the drive, his heart thudded in his chest - hoping, begging, praying that it wasn’t as bad as it sounded.

It had turned out worse.

When Sam set off for the police station, hurrying into a disguise, Dean started scoping out churches and barns. And sure enough, he found Castiel - and the twelve dead men, with their eyes scorched out of gaping, black sockets.

The air was still seething with remnants of a smiting - but the heat wasn’t the kind which used to gloved him whole, and render awestruck. Instead, it wanted to melt the skin off of his bones, and make him want to tear out his insides.

“Hello Dean.” Castiel slowly turned towards him. The wind howled, and the barn was slowly falling to pieces. Dean’s world, and his heart with it, was falling apart. This wasn’t the Cas he knew - not with the empty blue eyes, and a blank thin-lipped smile.

When Castiel’s eyes met his - it was nothing like before. Fear thrummed in his veins - and his neck felt constricted. Dean wondered if that had something to do with Cas, as he involuntarily backed a step.

Every fibre of his being had begged him to run.

*

“What if the box can’t contain him?”

Dean drags himself to Sam, doubt weighing on his shoulders, and lands in the kitchen chair opposite his brother’s.

“I did think about that.” Sam confesses, frowning. “But do you really think he’ll try to get out?”

Dean stops.

Cas might not try to get out.

Maybe he won’t fight it. Maybe he won’t even try to get back to Dean -

He scrubs his face with a hand. After all the hours Dean’s spent, beating himself up over it, there’s a real chance that Cas wouldn’t be against the idea of being locked away by eternity as much as he’s being.

It’s a sadder thought than many.

“Dean?” Sam calls, uncertainly.

“Y-yeah.” Dean gathers himself in his head, returning to the present. “Sorry. You were saying?”

“I was saying,” Sam restarts, eyebrows furrowed, and eyes concerned. Dean hates that look on his brother’s face. “That’s half of the reason that the plan’s to drop the box in the Pacific.” Sam rambles on, not realizing the change of colors on Dean’s face. “I mean, Cas is an angel too; we know for sure he won’t drown, but I’m guessing it’ll hold his powers back -”

“The box isn’t going anywhere.” Dean declares, cutting him off. The glare in his eyes is definite. “No oceans, no nothing.”

“You want it to stay here?” Sam straightens, clearly taken aback.

Dean has no idea why. “I want him to stay here.” Sam opens his mouth in protest, albeit it’s a decidedly weak attempt, but Dean interrupts again. “This isn’t open for debate, Sammy.”

Sam shifts in his seat, not resigned to the idea of arguing, but trying to convince himself. “I suppose we could construct a permanent ring of holy oil in the dungeon, or -”

“Okay.” Dean lets out a breath he doesn’t know when he started to hold. “Yeah, good. See? We’ll figure something out. We’ll do that.”

An uncomfortable silence ensues, which irritates him because Sam still seems to be deep in thought. He doesn’t blame him - the underwater-forever idea had been his own, but that was Michael - and Dean. This is Cas.

He tries to speed up Sam’s processing of the new plan. “I’ll put up containment sigils. I’ll even read the containment-sigil book, Sam, I -”

“Dean.” Sam blinks at him. “Aside from that, how can we be sure that we won’t go get him out if he calls? Will you be able to ignore it if he cries out for help, since he’s right here?”

Dean knows Sam’s trying to go for a general ‘you’, but that feels extremely pointed at him.

If he calls out for help - if he as much as says my name, I’ll go to him.

Sam’s patient, as a rule, when it comes to Dean these days - but even his cool is running thin. His point makes more and more sense, as seconds pass, and before it can get too final, Dean knows he has to interject.

“If that happens?” Dean clenches his jaw, stubbornly. “Then so be it.”

Sam leans back in his chair, rolling his eyes. But under his breath, just barely loud enough, he says, “Fine. So be it.”

*

Dean remembers the last time he saw Castiel’s wings.

They were looking for him, and it wasn’t hard. When the aliases couldn’t help any further, the atrocious skies led the way to him.

Dean had guessed that the Mark would have been replenishing his grace, but bringing back his wings? He’d had no idea - right up until he and Sam stumbled onto a scene of impending crime and witnessed it themselves - for the grand display always preceded the blast of grace; Castiel’s apparent go-to move.

“Down!” Sam yelled, pushing Dean down with a hand on his back, as he too fell to the ground. “Close your eyes!”

Dean did - but before that, he looked.

They were huge, no longer sparse - and nothing less than magnificent. When Castiel glowered at the evildoers, the shadowed feathers flexed, and threatened as well. When he pulled himself to his full height, they arched, glorious and full of life - creating a perfect sight. Castiel was the embodiment of powerful, and his black wings, overpowering devices of conquer. In that moment, it felt ridiculous to ever have doubted Castiel could fly - his wings mighty, boundless and free.

And Dean Winchester was set out to convince him, to trap himself in a box.

*

Dean doesn’t know where he finds the courage to step ahead - but he associates it mostly with Sam moving forwards, because he’s immediately pushing him back and walking himself.

Castiel looks at him, just fucking looks at him. “Dean.”

“Hey Cas,” Dean clears his throat, and keeps on walking until his feet carry him - ending up inches away from the angel. “Uh -”

He hesitates.

“The last time,” Castiel fills the silence, speaking in a disappointed tone. “You left, Dean. I wondered for ages why you didn’t talk to me.”

“Well, we need to talk, alright.” Dean swallows, trying to avoid Castiel’s eyes. “Cas, uh. Can we talk?”

“Of course.”

That’s all the warning he gets, before he feels his eyes close like he’s feeling himself blink and when he opens his eyes, they’re no longer in the abandoned shack with his brother on the sidelines, or the bodies.

The first thought that comes to Dean’s head isn’t fear, since now he’s just by himself - and he’s grateful for that. But it is concern for his own stomach, though he thinks he feel alright despite the being zapped.

Castiel is sitting, with his arms folded on the table, on a red seat. In front of him is an unimportant Biggerson’s menu. Dean’s still standing in the same stance as before.

“Sit down.” Castiel suggests, and he does.

“Cas.” Dean lets out, putting his own elbows on the table as well. “I need to -” He stops, and exhales frustratedly.

He’s planned this out. He knows what he’s going to say; he’s practised this in front of the mirror - Hell, he’s practised this with Sam. He should at least be saying words that aren’t Cas.

“What is it?” The angel frowns - and he still doesn’t feel like himself to Dean, but at least now he looks like it. The squint, the pursed lips, the jutted out chin.

He looks so much like Cas, that it hurts even as Dean forces the words - any words he finds in himself, to come out.

“There’s no other way,” Dean blurts, in his brother’s words, and as the words sink in, Castiel’s brow clears. As Dean’s head hurts - Castiel smiles smally at him.

“I was wondering when you’d ask.” The smile spreads on the angel’s face, divine.

“You what?”

“I knew this would happen, Dean. You have something that’ll rid the World of me - it was only a matter of time before you gave in to the fact that there’s nothing else you can do, but use it.” Castiel answers, and there’s a tinge of sadness in his voice Dean hates. But his tone is detached.

Dean clears his throat again. “There isn’t.”

Tell me you want us to keep looking.

“Tell me.” As Dean’s tongue battles to get the truth out with his mind, Castiel takes off on a tangent. “How many have I killed?”

“Low hundreds.”

“And that’s just the people.” Castiel shakes his head sadly, looking so dejected that Dean wishes he can put an arm around him. Of course, he’s too far away, and probably doesn’t want that.

“Cas -” Dean tries, but Castiel cuts him off.

“Does it help that they’d all done very wrong things?” Castiel asks, a little hope in his eyes.

Dean hates himself. “It always starts off like that, buddy. I wasn’t killing innocent people either, but -”

“I know.”

There’s a pause - a heavy one, and at least the words were in his mouth before. Now they don’t make it out of his heart. And Castiel’s painfully quiet - looking thoughtful.

“I’m sorry I let you take the Mark.” Dean crumbles, finally, putting his hand on Castiel’s - because it’s right there, just right there.

“There wasn’t a choice.” Castiel sighs, and looks down at their hands. Dean wonders if he wants him to undo that reckless, impatient move - he’s already regretting it. Castiel’s hand is warm under his, and only serves to remind him of his wrath from before, and the searing heat.

This looks like Cas and sounds like Cas, but he’s not completely Cas.

Or even if he were now - sated, after the killings, as Dean remembers being - he isn’t always going to remain like his pensive, understanding friend. Dean knows he should make use of this window, but he just can’t do it.

So Castiel, like all the other times, sprinkled across their life together, helps. “And just so, there isn’t a choice now.”

Dean stares at him.

“So, alright.” Castiel declares, steady of manner. “You win. I’ll go into the Ma'lak box, Dean.”

Dean’s never lost more.

Fight this, Cas! We won’t push you if you resist this - we’d never force you in the box, so tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you wouldn’t leave me.

Tell me to go away - fuck off and leave you alone.

“Take me with you.” Cas stands up, blankly, and decides to proclaim. And all of Dean’s most obscure hopes drift away, as he struggles to even plaster the false grin on his face.

“After you, feathers.”

*

Dean remembers the day Castiel got into the goddamn box.

Nothing mattered, as he stared at a wooden-faced Castiel hug Sam, except for the fact that he was next, and this was it. This was the last time he’d get to be this close to Castiel - ever.

When he pulled away from Sam, Dean noticed he sported a twitchy, nervous smile. Kid was trying not to break down - and that was brave, because Dean had given up.

“I - fuck, Cas. I’m sorry.” Tears pricked his eyes, as Castiel draped himself over him, arms crossed around Dean’s shoulders. Dean’s hands lay still on his back - holding him there. “Sorry.” He choked, closing his eyes and holding on.

Castiel clung on too, though not uttering a word. For him, this was the last touch he’d get - from Dean, from anyone, until the end of time. The thought seemed to strike him hard, and he held on tighter.

Dean, in return, pulled him closer.

He could feel Castiel’s heart beat - and he could feel his grace right there. He couldn’t feel a trace of the darkness of the Mark, and for the millionth time, he argued in his head that they were making a mistake.

“It’s risky keeping me out.” Cas muttered, pulling away, somehow knowing exactly what Dean needed to hear. He always did.

“You’re going in willingly, for the good of the world. For it’s safety or whatever.” Dean threw back. “The Mark’s clearly not gotten to you that bad. Maybe it never -”

“No, Dean.” Castiel shook his head, and a tear fell from his left eye. Dean’s brain stuttered into the realization that Cas, in spite of all his pretense, wasn’t doing this willingly. And then he made it even clearer.

He stared into Dean’s eyes - and for the last time, Dean fixed his own stare on those unbelievably blue eyes, blinking through the tears. And then, not looking away for a single moment, Cas confessed.

“I’m doing this for you.”

Don’t.

Please.

Dean’s mouth fell open, but he had no words.

Castiel didn’t wait for any, either. He stepped back from Dean, for good - for he’d never be in Dean’s personal space like that, crowding up against him like he always did - and glanced at Sam. And then again at Dean.

“It’s been a privilege to be family, Winchesters.” He utters, slowly, grandly - and Sam lets out an injured sound. Tears are streaming down Dean’s face now.

And with that, he turned to his eternal prison. Sam shuffled forward to give him a hand - now crying silent tears as well - and Castiel lay down inside.

Dean scrambled ahead, gripping the edges of the box. There was so much left to say. There was so much left to clear, and clarify, and reason through and object to - but Castiel would not return.

Cas would never return.

“Goodbye Sam. Goodbye, Dean.”

The lid fell.

*

The first few days were the hardest. Dean would wander around the bunker, feeling nothing but loss, grieving into expensive bottles of Men-Of-Letters whiskey and cheap glasses of rundown beer.

Then, one evening, there’s a knock on his door. Dean alerts immediately - eyes darting around, before he realizes where the sound came from. Instantly, his heart sings in a harsh, disdainful key of hope, and he pays attention.

“Dean?”

It’s Sam.

“Uh-huh?” He grunts back, failing to keep the unjustified disappointment out of his voice.

“I’m coming in.” Sam declares, and he does. He finds his brother buried on the right side of the bed, bottle in hand, and more of them around. Sam scrunches his nose in disapproval. “Dude.” He starts, only a hint of humor in his tone. “Your room stinks.”

“Your face stinks.” Dean returns, eloquently, and Sam lets out a breath shortly.

“No, I meant it like - your room smells.”

“Your face -”

“Shut up, jerk.” Sam chastises, cutting him off. “I, uh.” The impatience fades to worry, within moments. “I’ve been thinking, Dean.”

Dean keeps quiet, though he could easily have pointed out that his face has been thinking.

“We should start hunting again.” Sam finishes, sounding like he’s run these words over in his head a lot.

“What?” Dean sits up.

“You know, like we always did. Salt and burns at the start, maybe. We work our way to full-fledged hubs or nests again.” Sam explains, earnestly. “We’re hunters, Dean. And it’ll only do us good.”

Dean wonders how long he can hold in the prize question, but then gives up. “And you just want to leave Cas here?”

“Hey, it was your idea to keep him in the bunker.” Sam defends. “And I’m all for it now, but did you assume we’d never go out again?”

“Hunting’s different, Sammy.” Dean sighs, because of course Sam doesn’t get it. “What if - I mean, what if we don’t make it? Who tells Cas?”

Sam nets his eyebrows together in a frown. “Worst case scenario, he understands when we stop showing up.” He suggests, looking a little unconvinced himself, but Dean swears out loud, startling him mid-sentence.

“What the fuck does that mean?” He glares, standing up - or trying to. He feels a rush of dizziness hit him, and falls back to sitting position.

“So,” Sam frowns. “You haven’t been talking to him?” He looks genuinely confused, and Dean doesn’t know if he wants to clock him one, or hug him.

“I -” Dean’s positively aghast, and completely speechless.

Sam waits for his senses to return, arms folded across his chest.

“No!”

*

Dean remembers the day he moved a kitchen chair to the dungeon.

Longer talks, he reasoned.

It had been hard for him to listen to Cas’s replies from outside the ring of oil, so now he sits right next to him. Every night, he drags the chair past the ring, and settles next to where Cas’s head must be.

And every morning, he returns it to where it was.

They talk about useless things, in the beginning. It’s easier. Dean describes dinner once, and proceeds to thoughtlessly tell Cas that he’d be proud of Dean if he just tasted the burger. There’s a pause, and then Castiel answers that he’s sure he would, he doesn’t even need to taste it - and everything returns to normal.

Then, unspeakably, they move towards heavier topics. Dean tells Cas about hunts. In a reassuring way, it feels like the past. Cas asks questions and manages to make him feel heard, even through a wooden box with a breathe-hole in it - but Dean tries not to think about that bit.

There’s always a lot to think about, when Cas is involved, so it works out.

One time, after a particularly long hunt, Dean returns home to Cas. Even though he calls for him, loud, Cas doesn’t respond. With each passing moment, Dean worries more.

Finally, in a whim of panic, he raps his knuckles on the lid.

“Dean?” Cas’s voice rumbles through then, deep as always, but roughened with what Dean’s first guess is, sleep. “Sam?”

“You got it right in one.” Dean relaxes a little, but remains mostly tensed because Cas isn’t even supposed to sleep. “What have you been doing, Cas?”

“I’ve been asleep.” His voice sounds heavy. “I’m tired, Dean.”

“Tired?” Dean repeats, surprised.

“I can’t come up with more words for this feeling, so yeah. I’m tired.” Cas lets out, breathy and broken - and Dean wants to unlatch the box and wrap his arms around Cas and tell him it’s okay.

But he can’t, so instead he listens to Cas telling him about his life - all of those billions of years he’s lived, and never gotten to talk about.

Cas talks about his garrison, and their battles, and his brothers and sisters. He talks about archangels and demons and Hell and the Cage and Lucifer and God.

When he talks about the Mark, there’s a shiver down Dean’s spine. He talks about the exhausting thirst for violence, and unsuppressible hunger for killing - and he talks like he’s scared of it, and Dean hangs onto every word.

“Sometimes it gets so overpowering,” Castiel admits, quietly. “And this box so ridiculously limiting, that I must claw at my own hands so my fingertips at least touch blood.”

“Cas!” Dean cries out, shocked. Cas hurts himself in there? The thought’s so disturbing, Dean’s head reels. “You can’t -”

“It’s the only way I can keep myself under control.” Cas states, complacently. And his detached tone just further provokes the bile rising in Dean’s gut - at the idea of Castiel making himself bleed so he doesn’t try to break out of the box. “Don’t forget, I can heal myself too.”

Dean puts his hand on the box, still shivering.

“Since I’ll never have any use for it again,” Cas adds, dryly. “I might as well use up my grace doing this.”

He puts his forehead on it too.

“Maybe then I could die.”

He knows Cas can hear him breathe like this - which is the only way he can tell that Dean’s there, because he doesn’t have anything else in himself that night. He feels empty and awful and guilty.

When he sleeps, he sees Castiel inside the Ma'lak Box, burying his fingernails in his sides and tearing himself apart, to quench the horrific bloodlust the Mark causes.

He wakes up to Castiel snoring softly, and almost loses it all over again.

*

To be fair, things are better than what he’d imagined, because he gets to actually speak with Cas. Be it about Jack, from before, or Claire - Cas thinks about the kids a lot these days - or about millenia-old battles he lead, or week-old skirmishes Dean was involved in, at least they’re talking.

But ironically, it’s still too good to be true.

As the nights pass by, Cas gets more withdrawn. It’s not just the sleep in his voice - it’s the way he speaks. Like it hurts him to. Like everything hurts, and Dean knows how that feels, because he’s been there; he knows how it feels when the Mark takes over, slow but unpreventable, despite your better judgement - which dulls too, by the day.

Dean can feel Cas go through it all - try to suppress the constant anger, the need for action, and urges to harm. He wants to believe that his being there helps, his checking-in matters, but he knows he had had people who’d have listened to him too.

Because he hadn’t been in a goddamn box, in the first place.

One night, Dean tells Sam to get his overworked ass to bed because it’s been a long fucking hunt, and trudges along to the dungeon.

There’s an eerie kind of quiet, but Dean forgets his worries when he’s coming to Cas. He just carries them on his back when he’s going back.

At the scrape of the legs of Dean’s chair against the floor, Cas breaks down.

“I’m lonely.”

It’s a couple of fairly simple, untwisted words - but Cas sounds so pathetic and frightened and devastated, that Dean’s stomach falls to the ground.

“I’m so lonely, Dean.” Cas repeats, and he sounds like he’s crying silently.

Dean’s heart breaks in a million pieces and he hopes they seep in through the horrible fucking lid of his own creation, this Ma'lak box, so that Cas knows.

In a wrecked voice, he pushes out. “Cas, I’m right here.”

There’s a sound - a thud of something falling inside the box, and it feels like Castiel’s hand. Which means he’d been trying to push the lid before, and Dean has no idea what that means.

Get me out.

“You won’t always be,” Cas cries out.

They’ve talked about this before.

“I know you think that cause I’m a hunter - and cause I’ve always been, I’m going to keep running after these monsters forever. But I’m not.” Dean forces out, closing his eyes because this is hard enough without him having to address the angel’s grave. “I swear, I’m going to take this up with Sammy soon - it’s just been a lot of hunts lately. I just want to be done, for fuck’s sake. I want it all to stop. Cas, I want to be here.”

Cas doesn’t say a thing.

Dean braves on, his voice shaking shamefully with promises. “And after I’ve quit, trust me, I’ll be around so much more - don’t you dare tell me to get a life after, because -”

You’re it.

You’re my life.

“I wasn’t talking about that.” Cas says, painfully, and Dean freezes. “I’m immortal - every day should be a blink of an eye for me, though it isn’t because I’m weak and too attached.” Dean wants to protest, but Cas doesn’t give him a chance. “But you’re human, Dean. You won’t live, with me or without, forever.”

Time stops.

And it’s a goddamn good thing it does, because Cas just reminded him he’s dying, and it feels like it’s happening already.

It’s happening right here.

“Cas, I -”

There’s a thudding sound again, accompanied by a breathless sob from within which pierces through Dean, impaling him with guilt. His own tears start to fall.

“No, Dean. What will I do?” Cas keeps going. “What about me after you’re gone?”

*

Dean wakes up, sweating.

It’s three am.

He grunts, getting out of bed, and travels to the door on socked feet. The cold seems to completely disregard the woollen socks, and shoots straight to his head - weirder still, because he basically sweated himself awake, a minute ago.

Dean slowly moves to the kitchen, and pulls a beer from the fridge. His mind lands inevitably on Castiel.

He’d started visiting less after that night - for it’d more or less been an instruction for him, to stop. Didn’t Cas call it getting attached? And it makes sense too. If he spends the next - what, twenty years or so, next to Cas, he’d just be getting him up before the fall.

Because of course he’d be gone, and of course Cas would not, and of course it made perfect sense to visit Cas less until it started feeling off and they didn’t have things to talk about and then he visited even less, and now of course it’s been weeks that he’s not been there, with him, at the one place it all felt okay, and of course -

Dean’s crying into a bottle, at three in the night.

Everything hurts - every angle of this mishappening, but what’s overpowering most of the time is how much he misses his best friend, and his angel, and the love of his life, and Cas. All of him.

There’s too many tears clouding his vision, so he closes his eyes.

He’s lost Cas before - but it’s never been like this. He’s never felt so directly causatory, and fuck that feeling which shatters him inside - he’s the reason Cas took on the Mark, and he’s the reason Cas got in the box.

He’s the entire fucking reason Cas suffers, every time, and he’s the reason Cas was crying that day.

And yet - Dean can’t hold back the loud gasp, as he inhales forcefully - yet, more than guilty, as be should, he feels lost.

Because he’s not just lost somebody. He’s lost something he believes in, and the destination of all his prayers.

He’s lost his faith.

And for the first time in a very long time, Dean feels utterly, terrifyingly alone.

*

Sam’s woken by the sounds in the kitchen, and a foreboding of something awful tugging at his soul - and he dashes out of bed to see what’s wrong.

Immediately, when he sees Dean on the floor, shivering and breathing erratically through uncontrollable sobs, he wraps his his shirt around him and pulls him up on the first stool he finds.

“He’s not okay, Sammy!” Dean whimpers, clutching onto the shirt. Sam’s trying not to freak out himself, because it’s been a while since Dean’s had such a bad panic attack. “I can feel it - Cas is hurting -”

“Dean,” Sam pleads. “Stop thinking about him for a moment. Stop thinking about -”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Dean lets out, anguished. “When I had the Mark, Cas promised that after all that I’d do, after everyone that I’d kill, he’d still be there. He swore he’d always be there - but I cannot even say the same, and -”

“Calm down, Dean!” Sam repeats, anxiously. His brother doesn’t seem to be doing any better. “Just, please, don’t think -”

“You know I can’t stop thinking about him!” Dean throws back, frustratedly. “I need to - fuck, I need him, and I -”

Sam takes Dean’s hand in his, to stop Dean from rambling, and stares him straight in his eyes. “Do you want me to remind you that he can probably hear you right now?”

Dean shortcircuits for a second time.

Of course, Cas was an angel. Was Dean thinking about this, and thinking out loud, all going to make Cas hurt more? Was Dean adding to his pain and suffering again by -

“No.” Sam interjects, sounding sure. He’s always somehow been able to know exactly where Dean’s head’s at, in situations like this. “But I guarantee, he wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself like this.”

“Sam, I -”

“It’s okay.” Sam cuts him off, and helps hoist Dean up to his feet. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. You’re putting the beer away right now, and going back to sleep.”

Once he’s steadier, Dean immediately pulls his brother in for a hug, grabbing the back of his neck. There’s no words for how grateful he is for him. But even more so, he needs to confess something - for both their sakes.

“I want to start hunting again, Sammy.”

Because if he’s not ending up next to Cas, if he isn’t getting his happy ending or peace, why would he hang the gloves up? Screw tired - he’s going to hunt to his last breath.

Fuck quitting.

And Sam smiles back - knowing it’s probably going to take more convincing in the morning, but Dean’s in again. Like Sam, he’ll keep on hunting until he can’t - take down every monster before it, even though God’s gone and it keeps feeling like they can’t win.

They have to keep trying - because now there’s nothing for either of them to come back to.

“Well, so be it.”

[kippykasey]

Laser Focus

Paring: Bucky x F!Reader

Word Count: 1595

Summary: It's AJ Wilson's birthday and Cas just wants to win one round of Laser tag.

Warnings: None just some fluff?

Authors Note: I've been sitting on this for like two weeks but in honor of Sebastian's birthday decided to finally post it. Enjoy! The gif was found on google.

Sam had invited Bucky to AJ’s birthday party at an arcade over a month ago. The soldier was still getting used to modern environments and an arcade was definitely not one he was used to. After getting the okay from Sam, Bucky decided to drag along his comfort human, you. The two entered the arcade and were instantly welcomed by Cass, Sam’s youngest nephew. “Bucky! AJ already claimed Uncle Sam as a partner for Laser Tag, will you be mine?” Cass asked with wide eyes.

Bucky leaned just slightly over to you who was standing next to him holding the birthday present he picked up, “What’s laser tag?” He inquired under his breath. You leaned up with a smile to give him an answer, “A game where you shoot opponents with laser guns for points.” Bucky looked back at Cass who was patiently awaiting for an answer. Just as the man opened his mouth AJ objected, “No! Bucky counts as cheating!” Cass’ face scrunched up as he turned towards his brother. “How is he cheating?!” AJ walks over his arms crossed in front of his chest, “He’s a sniper. He could probably shoot with his eyes closed.”

You let out a small laugh at the young boys bickering. Sam finally noticed the two of you still stuck at the entrance with the two boys. Wilson walked over his hands on his hips. “Guys let them through. What are you two arguing about now?” Both boys moved out of the way. “Cass was trying to get Bucky on his team but that’s cheating.” AJ explained as You looked over Sam’s shoulder to Sarah who waved you over. Bucky watched as you stepped away to go put the present with the others and talk with Sarah.

“He’s right Cass, Bucky would be an unfair partner.” Sam agreed with a comforting smile. Cass pouts and Sam patted AJ’s back telling them both to go play some games. Bucky turned to Cass who was sulking. “‘Ey Cass.” The boy turned at the sound of his name. The soldier leaned down to the boy and talked softly so not even Sam, who was still there, could hear him. “I may not be able to play but Y/n can.” He stood shooting the boy a wink before turning towards Sam. “Isn’t it unfair if you play birdbrain?” Sam scoffs rolling his eyes, “I wasn’t an assassin or sniper like your metal ass.”

Sarah and You took a seat at one of the tables to talk for a while and catch up. She explained how Cass was determined to win against his brother for the first time. Sarah had just finished talking about the bragging AJ had done earlier once Sam agreed to be on his team when Cass approached the table. “What is it bud?” Sarah asked, looking at her youngest who looked between the two before leaning towards you and talking in a hushed tone. “Bucky suggested I ask you to be my partner. Would you?” You gave the boy a smile and nodded. “Come find me when it’s time to play.” You answer which made him smile and run off to play one of the arcade games.

Sarah lifted her cup to her mouth with a sly smile. “Why would Bucky suggest you?” You shrug your shoulders. “Might have to be the fact that I beat him in a nerf war last week.” The nonchalant tone in your voice made her laugh. “Sam doesn’t know does he?” Sarah held back a grin as you shook your head. “Not at all. He’s only seen me fight.” The two of you erupted in a fit of giggles.

“I don’t trust the laughter coming from you two.” Sam comments as he takes a seat next to his sister, Bucky taking a seat next to you. As Bucky took his seat he gave her a soft pat on her back as a way to let her know he was doing okay. “What were you two talking about?” Buck asked, looking between you and Sarah. “(Y/n) here was just telling me about her training.” Sarah explained, making her brother’s eyebrows raise. “Why would you talk about that?” You shrug your shoulders innocently and take a sip of the cola in your cup. “Cass asked me to be his partner.” Out of the corner of your eye you glance at Bucky who was resisting a laugh, his tongue poking out to lick his bottom lip as he looked around. Sam had this cocky look in his eye that you just ignored while looking over at Bucky, nudging his metal arm enough that he would feel it. Blue eyes looked down at you in wonder. “I spotted Skee-ball, what do you say we take some tokens and go play?”

Bucky and you went to play a few arcade games starting with Skee-ball. The two of you were looking at the prizes available when Cass ran over telling you it was time. You grin and look up at Bucky. “Can I borrow your jacket?” Bucky shook his head in confusion before you pointed at the light colored shirt you had chosen to wear. Yeah that would definitely stick out in a dark room. Barnes shrugged out of the jacket and slid off the sweatshirt he was wearing under it for you. He followed you over to the laser tag room where there was a tv set up outside to watch people playing inside. Bucky watched the current 3v3 in the room play as you slipped on his sweatshirt and made sure your hair would stay out of your face. Cass excitedly waited at your side while Sam and AJ looked at you two both standing back with their arms crossed.

The doors opened allowing the four of you into the equipment rooms to get ready. Luckily the two teams went into different rooms to prepare. Along the wall there was an array of different types of laser guns to choose from along with the headband that keeps track of your hits. Cass picked out his favorite and you went for the rifle looking one, something you were familiar with. Before exiting the room you and Cass went over a plan. When prompted you both exited the room and got into positions behind obstacles.

“Welcome to Laser Focus. Rounds last for 10 minutes. If you are shot you have a ten second wait before you can shoot again.” The automated voice went over the rules before a countdown went off. As the round began you focused in on any little movement you caught in the darkened room, eyes focused in for a glimpse or a red light from Sam or AJ’s headband. As soon as you spotted a glimpse of red the trigger was pulled knocking out whoever's red light was spotted. With their light now out for ten seconds you silently move to another location. You could hear a few laughs and groans every once in a while. Halfway through the round the automated voice announced that there was 5 minutes left. You could see Cass moving ahead of you, his blue headband lights giving his location away. Right on the other side of one of the barriers was someone from the red team waiting for Cass to pass them. You moved in for the shot effectively rendering them unable to get Cass just as the boy passed.

“Dang it Angel you’re not supposed to be this good!” Sam’s complaint let you know it was him who you just took out. You let out a soft laugh as you moved yet again making sure they can’t find you based off where the shot could come from. AJ and Sam threw whatever plan they may have had out the window as they quickly tried to get more points. You and Cass passed each other giving a quick high five before moving on. The automated voice came over once again announcing the end of the round and the lights raised enough to see your way back towards your team exit.

Exiting the room with Cass and watching the excitement over fill the boy once he seen the score that nearly doubled what his brother and uncle had. Cass jumped for joy and ran over to where his mom and Bucky stood watching the screen. “Did you see that?! We won! We beat AJ and Uncle Sam!” Cass exclaimed. “Good job kid. I told you she would be good.”

Sam and Aj walked out sulking. You turned towards Sam who raised his arm pointing an accusing finger at you. “You. Where did you learn to shoot like that?” The whine in his voice caused you to laugh as you pulled Bucky’s sweatshirt off. Barnes himself chuckles proudly. “What’s wrong, hotshot? Forget that Angel was a field medic?” The dry yet teasing inquiry that the soldier sent his way caused Wilson to groan dramatically. “You know what? Fine. I can accept that. Now how about a real competition?”

“What are you talking about Samuel?” Sarah looked at her brother like he was talking nonsense. Sam pointed between you and Bucky. “You two. One v one.” You smiled looking at Buck who was already looking at you. Blue eyes left your face to look at Sam. “Not even a competition I would win.” You let out an offended gasp and hit his right shoulder with the palm of your hand. “Hey!

“Don’t forget who took you out with nerf guns a week ago, soldier boy.”

“That’s it, you're on, sugar.”

[snizabelle]

Alright, finally got to a point where I’m happy enough with this fic to actually post it. I’ll probably be putting any further chapters on AO3, enjoy.

------

It took exactly 148 steps from the sandy base of the ruins to get to its former grand lobby, Castis had counted every one meticulously. Barely anything stood of the ancient skyscraper but its pillars. The roof had long been destroyed, or caved in with time, allowing the light and sweltering heat of the desert sun to cover most of the floor. Crouched in the shadows by the weathered railing was a figure, aiming a rifle into the sandy valley below.

Cas aimed his pistol. “Freeze!!" 

It wasn't an unusual sight, the ruins were usually crawling with bounty hunters, vagrants, and thieves.

The suspect remained still, as they hadn't been moving in the first place. I told an unmoving person to 'freeze', he thought. Spirits, I am a fool. He tried again. "Stay where you are!" That's even worse. I wish I was dead.

This was hardly his first arrest, but he was still rattled by confrontation. Everything was so much simpler on paper; doing the actual dirty work was too nerve-wracking. He had already spent 6 months on this crappy planet and dealt with his fair share of riffraff. Nolvion may have been a dwarf planet in the back end of the terminus systems but you wouldn't think it with the amount of scum it collected. The small security outpost he was a part of was the only thing driving it back, though the real objective was considered classified. He tried to keep his hands from shaking as his thoughts continued to scream through his head. "Look, just get up-no stay where you, uh, raise your-" (aaaAAAAUUUGH!!) Finally, the suspect stirred. They were wearing thick, but shoddy, ill-fitting armor, head obscured by a large standard-issue helmet. Without turning, they raised a single finger, indicating whatever Castis was spouting could wait. Wait....what? "I - excuse me!!", he sputtered, "I am an officer of Fort Audax!" There was a brief pause. Then, the suspect stood, and slumped forward with an exaggerated sigh. This intrusion seemed to leave them put out. 

Castis was getting impatient. "I demand you turn around slowly with your hands in the air now!!"

After what seemed like an eternity, the suspect turned and- There was a deafening sound and the floor flew up to meet Castis' head. His jaw cracked on the ground and tasted blood in his mouth. He could feel a bruise forming where the kick had landed on his mandible. Enraged, he scrambled to his feet, head pounding. The culprit stood there, seemingly baffled. "Did you just ..." Castis felt only anger now. "...assault me?!” He heard something that sounded like an 'uh oh' noise muffled in the helmet. Castis barred his teeth. You're goddamn right 'uh oh'. He may have been a terrible negotiator but he was pretty damn good at hand-to-hand combat. Before the offender had a chance to do anything else, Castis had lunged forward and grabbed their wrist, twisting it, forcing their knees to buckle. Before they could react, he headbutted them on the bridge of their helmet, causing the cheap material to crack. As the assailant fell backward, Cas swept their right leg, hearing a distinct crack as they fell backward, helmeted head thudding on the ground. Panting, Castis steadied himself and surveyed the assailant. There was no movement. He walked carefully around the body and pushed their discarded rifle away with his foot. "Vakarian! Come in Vakarian!" A voice crackled onto the communicator on his omni-tool. Cas answered the comm, still trying to catch his breath. "This is Vakarian." "Status report." "Sir,” he panted "Suspect attacked me, but I have rendered them unconscious. Sustained minor injuries. Suspect is unarmed and incapacitated."

There was a pause. The voice cracked again. "Just shoot them."

Cas clenched his jaw. "I repeat: the suspect is unarmed and incapaci-" "I heard what you said." There was a shuffling sound as though the person speaking was shifting, agitated. "Do it." Cas swallowed hard, fingers clenching and unclenching. He chose his next words carefully. "Sir...It would be more...prudent... to bring in the suspect for questioning and proces-”

"Damn you Vakarian!!" Cas jerked his head back so violently it smacked the stone wall lightly behind him, "Do we have to go through this every time?! Do we have to spend hours of paperwork for every infraction!? Just shoot the f -"

He disconnected without thinking.

Damn. Gonna pay for that later.

He glanced over at the motionless figure. ‘Just shoot them.’

***

Well, crap. Marcella was in incredible pain. Hopefully, her leg wasn't broken but it certainly felt like it was. Damn it all. Usually, one kick to the face made rent-a-cops drop like drunk elcor. Should've sized this one up better. You're getting sloppy. The crackle of the cop’s comm echoed over to her. "Just shoot them." Spirits..... If I had known it was my last day alive I would've....would've... She struggled to think of something meaningful one could do in their last hours while the comm screeched. There was abrupt silence and she heard the scraping of boots as the officer turned around. 

Shit. Shit! Not like this! 

More silence. From inside the helmet, she peeked open her eyes for a second to see what he was doing. He was leaning in close. Inspecting her? There was a hunting knife on her hip. Maybe if he leaned in close enough she could get him in the neck. It was her only shot. She felt her helmet jostle and snapped her eyes shut again. Hot air rushed her face as her helmet was removed. Just play dead. Don't move...! She heard a thunk as her helmet was tossed aside. Her hand was laying under her back by her left side. She could feel the shape of the knife pressing against the back of her thigh. He had straightened up again. Her fingers inched toward the knife, touching the hilt. I could just go for it... maybe he'll be so surprised he won't react? Or I'll just get shot in the face. Well, I'm dead either way. There was another loud crackle as his comm buzzed. and almost made her jerk. "Female. No facial markings." She heard the cop say. "Taking into custody. Will report at 0500." What..? She relaxed her fingers, retreating them from the hilt. Interesting.

***

Faldos can flay me for all I care. Castis holstered his gun and submitted his report verbally in his comm. "Female. No facial markings." Do things right or not at all. He walked over to his bag, laying where he had set it by an old pillar. He shuffled through it for a bit, though as usual, it was perfectly organized. He retrieved his handcuffs and turned. The suspect already had one leg up on the ledge and was in the process of climbing over. "Hey-! You- F-FREEZE!!" He dropped the cuffs, awkwardly grabbed for his holstered gun, and pointed it at her back. She froze accordingly. "Ugh, come on!" Slowly, she turned, hands begrudgingly in the air. She starred at him, seizing him up.

The first thing Cas noticed was her eyes. They were a piercing blue. He felt a strange pulling in his chest. She had no clan markings but had slight scarring on her left mandible. The way it traced up the side of her face was almost memorizing. She was tall, even for a turian, and her waist was - “Well?” she said suddenly, shaking him out of his thoughts  She sounded slightly amused.

Cas blinked and shook his head. What the hell was that!?  

"S...state your name!" He could feel his face grow hot in embarrassment.

She smirked and said nothing.

Castis blinked nervously but didn't relent. “You are trespassing. You are not authorized to be here. Show me identification now or I will take you into custody."

She shrugged her shoulders, the universal sign of indifference.

"Are you aware you attacked an officer of Fort Audax?" Cas said.

"Well yeah,' She shrugged again. 'I figured the uniform wasn't for show.”

Castis felt himself burn, "Excuse me?!"

She smirked again, seemingly excited she was able to get under his skin. He exploded, "Get on the ground now!!" Her smile faded. 'Well, I'll try." She visibly struggled to kneel on her left leg, glaring at him all the while. Castis felt a brief bout of shame wash over him. "Hey, uh...I'm sorry if I was too rough. it's okay, I have medi-gel if you need it.” She continued to glare "I’m fine." She tried to lean on one leg and winced.

"No, you're not. You're hurt." Castis stepped forward.

'Really? You kick my ass then offer to clean me up?" The suspect's eyes flashed. "Go ahead and give me two pops in the back of my head when I kneel, make it quick okay?"

Castis slowly lowered his gun to the ground. He took a few more steps forward and raised his hands. "I promise I'm not gonna hurt you."

The perp raised her eyebrow plates but said nothing.

"Do you...would you mind if I...?" Cas took a few more cautious steps forward. She paused for a second then extended her leg almost dramatically. 'By all means, admire your handiwork." He shuffled close to her and knelt by her outstretched leg. Dispensing some medi-gel, he began to apply a numbing agent to her upper thigh. He was uncomfortably close. Look forward, look forward look forward, don't be weird don't be weird - "Enjoying yourself?" His head snapped up to meet her gaze. "NO!" She was smirking again. His face burned as he hastily rubbed the rest of the medi-gel on her thigh as quickly as possible. He staggered to his feet rubbing the excess off his hands. "Alright, how does it feel now?" The suspect leaned on her leg gently, then gave a few light stomps. "Hrm, not bad." She took a few light steps toward him. "Do you make a habit of sensually patching up every girl you brutalize?"

Castis felt his face burn even hotter. "Y-you attacked me first!"

She shrugged, "Eh details...' Details?! "Either way, since you refuse to provide any form of identification - and you attacked me -” Castis glared, “ - I'm going to have to take you in." There was a long pause. She sighed then extended her wrists. Castis blinked. "Really?" "It's only fair, you patched me up." She looked off in the distance as though not wishing to engage in the situation. "Well....good!” Cas huffed a small sigh of relief. Finally, things are gonna stop being needlessly difficult. He approached her warily. "Now please extend your-" She's already doing that you WORTHLESS- "YEP just like that, uh, let me just-" He lifted his noticibly empty hands. Cuffs. YOU NEED CUFFS AAAAA- "Just.....one...second," Cas mumbled awkwardly. The suspect blinked lazily at him, seemingly bored. Castis ran awkwardly back to the pillar where the cuffs lay. He grabbed them and whirled around. "Okay! Now let me just-" She was gone. "HEY!!"

[whitewitchdani]

Laters, Baby: Chapter 8

Read Chapter 7 Here

Word Count: 1874

Pairing: Winchester!Sister x Lucifer

Warnings: angst, language, description of injury

A/N: Chapter 8! Let me know what you think and if you’d like to be tagged.

Laters, Baby Masterlist

Crowley took a deep breath before running through his rescue plan again. It consisted of teleporting into where he thought Y/N might be and kind of just winging it from there. Why was he doing this again? Oh right, to weaken Lucifer and save a Winchester. 

Bollocks, this was a terrible plan.

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley teleported into the part of Hell he assumed Y/N was being kept. Turns out he was right; the chambers had been redecorated, however, and as he walked into the bedroom the youngest Winchester was fast asleep in the bed. He observed the red accents the room was covered in and smirked. How cliché of the devil, he thought to himself. 

As he approached the huntress, he saw she had a black eye and a split lip, finger shaped bruises were also forming around her throat. “Bloody hope the Winchesters don’t blame me for this.” he whispered out loud. He felt a twinge of sympathy for the girl, spending quality time in Hell with Lucifer was probably no vacation. 

He pulled the covers off the bed back and scooped the huntress into his arms when the room suddenly dropped ten degrees. “Bollocks.”

“You know Crowley, you must be a special kind of stupid to pop into Hell these days. May I ask why you have the baby Winchester in your arms?” Lucifer sneered as he waltzed into the bedroom.

“I was sent to retrieve her. Plus, if it pisses you off it tends to top my list of things to do these days.”

Lucifer’s eyes flashed red, “I suggest you put her down, demon. If you hurt her or even wake her up, you’ll have me to deal with. She belongs here with me.”

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up at his concern for her, but he remained focused. “Touching, really. But I’ve got two hunters and an angel who beg to differ, so I really must be going. Ta-ta now.” And with a snap of his fingers, Crowley and Y/N were gone. The roar Lucifer unleashed as a result shook the walls throughout all of Hell.

“Sam, I swear to God if you don’t stop pacing, I’m gonna break both your damn legs.”

Sam rolled his eyes and sighed at his brother but sat down next to him at the table. “Crowley should be back by now. Maybe you were right, this was a bad idea. We shouldn’t have trusted him.”

“Marvelous Moose, I should just return this to where I found it then?” The men turned to glare at the demon as he gestured to the unconscious woman in his arms. Sam and Dean scrambled from the table to approach their sister, Dean taking Y/N from Crowley’s arms. They moved to one of the beds in the motel room and laid her down. 

Sam squinted at the wounds littering his sister’s face and neck, “What the hell happened, Crowley? She looks terrible.”

“That Moose, I do not know. She was like that when I arrived in Hell. I’m assuming spending quality time with Lucifer in his domain is no spa trip. However, I’m not sure Lucifer did that to her.”

Dean looked at the crossroads demon incredulously, “What are you talking about?”

“Lucifer seemed extremely protective when I showed up. He said she belonged with him”

“It’s beginning,” Castiel marveled.

Dean stood from his sister’s bedside and approached the angel, “What do you mean? What’s beginning Cas?”

Cas sighed, “The soulmate connection. Lucifer has spent time with Y/N and as a result does not want to be separated from her. It’s possible that she will feel similarly when she wakes. It’s not conscious thought, but a physical need to be near one another. I agree with Crowley, it is unlikely Lucifer caused those injuries.”

Dean moved to question Castiel further when a groan came from the bed. He turned and made it to his sister in two large steps, “Y/N/N? Hey are you okay?”

You groaned and slowly opened your eyes. You were shocked when, instead of Lucifer’s face, you were met with Sam on your right and Dean on your left. “Sam? Dean? What happened? How did I get here?”

“Hey are you alright?” Sam checked the bruises forming on your neck and grazed your split lip with his thumb.

You rolled your shoulders and sat up on the bed, “Yeah I think so. My throat hurts a little and I have a headache but I’ve had worse. How did I get here?”

“We’ll get to that in a second. What the hell happened, Y/N? You look like crap.”

You rolled your eyes, “Thanks for that Dean. And nothing really, I pissed off a demon and this was the aftermath. You know, typical Winchester things.”

Crowley laughed from across the room and Dean shot him a dirty look. “Yeah, okay, that I get but you should look much worse. You were in Hell and had no weapons; you should be a bloody pulp or dead. Why are you basically fine?”

You looked down and picked at your thumbnail, “Well I pissed off a demon and he decided to choke me to death, making up for losing one Winchester in Hell by killing another.” Dean cringed at the implication that his Hell-break was the reason for his sister’s suffering. “Well, right before I lost consciousness someone pulled him off of me. When I finally regained my senses and looked up, turns out it was Lucifer. And he was pissed. Dusted the demon right there.”  

Dean tilted his head at you as a small smile appeared on your face when you talked about Lucifer. He looked at Sam and had one of their silent conversations about it. Cas was right; it was starting. 

“So, is someone gonna tell me who busted me out of Hell? Because I know it wasn’t you two dopes and Cas can’t just waltz into Hell on his own,” you paused as you glanced to the crossroads demon in the corner of the room. “I’m guessing that’s where you come in?”

Crowley nodded and waltzed toward them, “Right you are Moosette. You were snoozing away in my former quarters when I popped in. Love what you’ve done with the place by the way.”

You rolled your eyes, “I didn’t exactly get a choice in décor Crowley. Red isn’t my color anyways.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up, “You were sleeping in quarters? That were decorated in red? Y/N, what the hell happened while you were down there?”

You paused and contemplated how to answer your twin’s question. There was no way in hell you were going to tell them how you were feeling about the devil currently, that would get you immediate and permanent residency in Bobby’s panic room. So, you decided to tell the truth, mostly. 

“Well, honestly? He treated me really well. He healed me when I first got there from Meg’s assault and then put me in that apartment-type thing. Which had no food in it, which is why I interacted with the demon and pissed him off, which resulted in the lovely array of bruises you see before you. Lucifer saved my life.”

You looked up to see four pairs of eyes staring back at you in disbelief. Sam looked confused while Dean looked flat out pissed, “Alright, we’re going to Bobby’s. We can do more research about this crap and the warding in the panic room should keep Lucifer and his lackeys from finding Y/N.” Dean stood and began packing everything back into the various duffel bags.

Your eyes widened, “What?? Dean I’m not going to let you lock me up in the panic room.” You stood and walked over to your older brother, “What happened in the park was a fluke and I know you guys were worried but I’m fine. I am not going to hide in Bobby’s basement while you all act like my white knights. I’ll be alright.” Crowley took the impending argument as his cue and blinked from the room.

Dean took a step back in an attempt to calm himself some, “Y/N we can’t risk him finding you. I mean look at you; I can’t take the chance of you getting hurt again. In the panic room you will be safe and Lucifer won’t be able to hurt you anymore.”

“Lucifer didn’t hurt me in the first place! The opposite actually! He healed me AND saved my life-”

“Why are you defending him? He’s the devil! You aren’t thinking clearly and while it’s not your fault I’m not taking any chances. We are going to Bobby’s where you can hang out in the panic room until we can figure out what to do about this soulmate bullshit.”

You were fuming. You weren’t thinking clearly? You knew what was happening to you, but that didn’t mean you were helpless. You took a deep breath, “Do you think I don’t know that something is happening to me? Do you think that it doesn’t scare the absolute hell out of me? Because it does. Did you ever stop and think that this is why I was brought into your family? That fate brought me to you, the vessels of Michael and Lucifer, in order to maybe have a chance at stopping the apocalypse? Maybe if Lucifer and I-”

“There is no Lucifer and you! He’s not getting near you again Y/N, and that’s a promise. We will stop the apocalypse, but not like that.” Dean looked at Cas and sent him a silent prayer. 

The angel looked at him like he was insane, “No. I will not render your sister unconscious to make your life easier.” Cas walked over and placed two fingers to your forehead and, instead of doing what Dean asked, healed your wounds. “I agree with what Y/N was saying; Father made her Lucifer’s soulmate for a reason and I do not believe we should interfere.”  

“Yeah? What if it backfires Cas? What if Lucifer makes her go darkside?” Dean pointed to you, “That’s my baby sister and I’m not taking that chance. I will do whatever it takes to keep her safe.”

While your brother argued with the angel, you changed out of the clothes you’d been wearing for two days and into fresh jeans and a flannel, sitting to pull on your boots. When you stood, you went and returned your weapons to their rightful places on your person: knife in boot, gun at your back. You sighed as you finally felt like yourself after days of absolute craziness.

With no warning, Dean stomped over and picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder. He made his way out to the Impala as you punched and kicked against him.“Dammit Dean, put me down!” you continued your assault on your brother, “I’m serious! PUT ME THE FUCK DOWN NOW!”

He ignored your protests and made his way to the back passenger-side door, pulling you from his shoulder to toss you into the back seat. 

Before you could argue, Dean grabbed your right wrist and handcuffed you to the car, “This is for your own good Y/N/N.”

As he slammed the door, he made his way to the front of the car where Sam was standing. Sam’s eyes were wide as he read your lips, watching you let out a stream of expletives that’d make Dean blush.

“Was that really necessary?”

“Being with Lucifer changed her, Sam. I can’t risk him finding her again. Dad gave me one job our whole lives, and it was to watch out for you and Y/N. This is me doing that. Now let’s go.”

Read Chapter 9 Here

Tag List: @lovesamwinchester​ @tomhiddleston-is-mischief​ @loco-latte​ @stuckinsaudi1​ @sugar-nico​ @potato-extra-pot​ @humbledarkness​

[caranfindel]

Fic: Nothing to win and nothing left to lose

gen, s10 | about 2000 words | R for violence and language | characters: dean winchester, sam winchester, castiel | 

Written for the following anonymous prompt in the Sam Winchester Prompt-a-thon: Sam: “Please, Dean… Please, just… Just hit me.” This probably isn’t what you had in mind, Nonny, and I kind of hate posting it as a fill for this prompt because it became so Dean-centric. And honestly, even I think it’s a bit much. But here you go. Pure whump without plot, hurt without comfort. Takes place during the end of season 10, when the Mark of Cain is ramping up Dean’s violent tendencies.

+++

Sam has been standing in Dean’s doorway for five minutes. Dean has been ignoring him for five minutes. He’s aware Sam is there, of course. Hyperaware. The Mark on his arm is like an extra set of eyes and ears, an enhanced version of his consciousness of Sam’s location that normally only kicks in when he’s in full-on hunting mode. But nothing is normal now. The Mark wants to know where Sam is at all times. Dean does not know why the Mark cares so much. He does not question it. He upends the whiskey bottle with a trembling hand, drains the last of it, and does not ask Sam what he wants.

“Talk to me,” Sam finally says. Soft. Tentative. “Tell me what’s going on.”

The thing is, there are things Dean can't tell his brother.

He cannot tell Sam that when he looks at him like that, with the puppy dog eyes full of sympathy and concern and a bit of fear, Dean cannot tell him he has a vivid sense memory of putting his hands on the sides of that face and pressing his thumbs into those sad eyes, pushing until he feels the pop, rendering Sam incapable of giving him that look. He cannot tell him Alastair used to bring him boys who looked like Sam, boys he’d made to look like Sam, and laugh with glee when that was the first thing Dean did to them, every time. No, he cannot tell him that.

What he can say is “Sam, you need to not be here.”

“Where else do I need to be?”

Dean runs one hand down his face. The other clenches into a fist. “Just not here, okay? You don’t know what’s going on.”

“I do, Dean. I know more than you think.” Sam steps closer, still tentative. He’s not quite within Dean’s reach. The Mark is very aware of the distance. “I know that whatever the Mark is doing to you, it builds up. I see the shaking, and the drinking. I know that after a hunt, after you kill something, after you… after you hurt something, you’re better for a while. And I know… I know you shouldn’t be hunting right now. Not the way you are right now.”

Something hot flares up behind Dean’s eyes at that, because hunting is the only thing that helps the way he is right now, and Sam knows that, and here he is saying don’t. The Mark throbs its angry assent.

“So I was thinking,” Sam continues. “If you need to hit something, if that’s what helps. Hit me.”

Oh. The Mark’s reaction is orgasmic. Yes, yes, yes.

It’s an effort of will to tamp it down. “No, Sam. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do, Dean.” Sam’s wearing his earnest face now. “I do know. This would let you release some pressure, or whatever you want to call it. And no one else needs to be involved. No one else will get hurt.”

But Sam doesn’t know anything. He doesn’t know that if Dean starts hitting him, he might never stop. Dean stands, as much to distract himself from the Mark’s bloodlust as anything else. “This is crazy. I would hurt you. Bad.” And… he wants it.

Yes, the Mark shouts. We will hurt you. Bad. And it will feel so fucking good.

Sam takes one step closer. “Cas will be back soon. Whatever you do, he can fix it. Please, Dean… please, just… just hit me.” He takes another step. He’s in striking range now. As Dean’s shaky hands clench and unclench, seemingly of their own free will, Sam takes a deep breath, plants a hand on Dean’s chest, and gives him a shove.

The reaction is half Dean and half Mark, and it’s instantaneous. Sam’s head snaps back, hair flying, as Dean slams a fist into him again and again and again. His jaw, his shoulder, his abdomen, his ribs. Sam manages to stay upright, staggering backward until he’s backed into the wall. He doesn’t raise a hand, not to shield himself, not in self-defense. He flattens his palms against the wall as Dean relentlessly pummels him. The Mark hums in pleasure at the blood dribbling from the corner of Sam’s mouth, at the satisfying crack of his ribs, at each wordless grunt of pain. Another blow to the face makes Sam’s head bounce off the wall, leaving him glassy-eyed and wobbly.

Dean grabs Sam by the collar and drags him to the desk on the other side of the room. He clutches a fistful of hair and slam’s Sam’s head onto the desk. The delicious crunch of his brother’s nose breaking doesn’t satisfy him, though. It only makes him want more. He yanks Sam’s arm behind him, pulling until he feels the shoulder pop out of its joint. Sam cries out in pain but remains limp, pinned to the desk.

Dean flips him over, keeping him bent backward at an almost impossible angle against the desk. Sam scrabbles for a foothold. Blood flows freely from his mouth and nose. It’s beautiful. The Mark wants more. Dean wants more. He picks up the empty whiskey bottle and smashes it into the wall. Sam flinches at the spray of shattered glass, and his eyes widen in fear when Dean puts the broken edge against his throat, but he still doesn’t try to save himself. It’s infuriating. The Mark wants a fight, not a punching bag. Dean grabs Sam’s hair again, pulling his head back to expose his throat. “Is this what you wanted, Sammy?” He presses the jagged glass against his brother’s throat, breaking the skin. “Are you happy now? Think you fixed me?”

Sam stares, still glassy-eyed, looking for something in Dean’s face and not finding it. He sighs and closes his eyes. Like a lamb to the fucking slaughter. But then he kicks out, sweeping Dean’s feet out from under him. Dean laughs even as he falls to his knees. Yes, the little shit is finally fighting back. This is good.

Sam stands up with a groan of pain. Not completely upright; he’s hunched over a little, favoring his cracked ribs, cradling his useless left arm against his chest. Still, in this position, he could easily kick Dean in the face. He could make a run for the door. Instead he stands there, bleeding, wheezing, watching like Dean’s gonna smile and say thanks, that was good, I’m done now.

But Dean is not done. He gets up slowly, watching for a reaction that never comes, moving between Sam and the door. If his brother had any sense at all, any instinct for self-preservation, he wouldn’t let Dean block his exit. But then, if he had any instinct for self-preservation, he wouldn’t have thrown himself at the Mark, would he?

Dean moves forward. Sam retreats, one step for each of Dean’s, until his back is against the wall again. Dean doesn’t even know what he’s going to do next until he realizes he’s still holding the broken whiskey bottle. He pins Sam to the wall with a forearm to the throat. The broken glass makes a quick jagged slash across his already bruised cheekbone. Sam’s only reaction is a hiss of pain. In fact, he looks like he’s struggling to remain conscious. He is heavy on Dean’s arm, as if the arm against his throat is the only thing holding him up. His breaths are quick and shallow. His blood-spattered lips are starting to turn blue. His broken ribs have probably punctured a lung, and in another life Dean would have to do something about that. In another life, nothing would be more important.

But in this life, oh, in this life Dean sees the pain and sorrow in those glassy eyes. Those fucking puppy dog eyes. And he wants it to stop. He could take care of it now, could make sure he never has to see that look of fear and pity again. He rests the edge of the broken glass against Sam’s temple and slowly carves a path toward his left eye. Slowly, because he wants Sam to have time to catch his breath, to realize what’s going on, to put up a fucking fight. “Sammy?” he says, grinning as he inches the glass forward. “Aren’t you even gonna try to stop me?”

But the horrified cry of Dean! comes from behind him, not from his brother. It’s Cas. Looks like the fucking cavalry has arrived. The angel grabs his arm, forcing him to drop the whiskey bottle. Dean is shoved across the room before he has a chance to fight back.

Now that Sam is no longer pinned upright by Dean’s arm, he slides down the wall and hits the floor with a quiet gasp of pain. Cas drops to kneel at his side. “Why would you do this?” he murmurs, pushing a clump of bloody hair out of Sam’s face. “I told you what would happen. I told you it was an insane plan.” He turns to flick cold blue eyes briefly in Dean’s direction. “Leave us alone, please.”

“It’s my room,” Dean growls.

Cas turns back toward him, furious and somehow even colder. “I will remove your brother from your room once I have healed him to the point that he can walk. Until then, leave us.”

Dean’s tempted to scribble a banishing sigil. God knows there’s enough blood on the floor and on his hands to do it. But, well. He’s out of whiskey anyway; may as well go find a refill. He looks down on his broken brother, slumped on the floor, barely conscious, surrounded by blood drops and sparkling shards of glass. Sam’s a fucking wreck. And it’s his own goddamn fault.

“Don’t do that again, Sam.”

Dean leaves before Sam can respond.

...

Cas finds him in the library, half a bottle of whiskey later. He stands silently, angrily, waiting for Dean to speak.

“He okay?” Dean says. He knows Sam is okay. Cas wouldn’t be out here if Sam weren’t okay. But it feels like he ought to ask.

“He’s resting,” Cas answers. “I healed his concussion. And his fractured nose and cheekbone. His orbital fracture. His broken ribs, his internal bleeding, his dislocated shoulder. Oh, and his punctured lung. He’s fully oxygenated now. I thought you’d want to know that.”

“Okay, Cas,” Dean sighs. “I get it.”

“Do you? Do you really? Because you almost killed him, Dean. I knew it was a stupid idea. I told him it was a stupid idea. But I still never believed you’d go so far. I’m sure he didn’t imagine you’d be willing to beat him to death!”

(Dean cannot tell Sam that in his dreams, he chases him through the bunker with a hammer in his hand. That in his dreams, no one comes to the rescue. That in his dreams, Sam drops the knife because he thinks there's something in Dean that will stop him, and that the despair in his eyes when he realizes he’s wrong makes the sensation of swinging the hammer against his skull that much sweeter. That he’s had these dreams ever since Sam thrust the demon cure onto him, but the difference is that he no longer considers them nightmares. No, he cannot tell him that.)

Tomorrow, or the next day, the guilt will set in. Tomorrow or the next day he will remember the way Sam’s bones cracked under his fists, remember Sam’s cry of pain when his shoulder was forced out of its socket, and he’ll want to vomit. But right now he wants to enjoy the afterglow. He picks up the bottle and heads for his room.

He makes one stop on the way. Sam’s door is partially open. Dean stands inside the doorway for a few minutes and watches his brother pretend to sleep.

“I mean it, Sam,” he says quietly. “Don’t ever do that again.”

Sam doesn’t respond.

(Dean cannot tell his brother that he never stopped thinking about ripping his throat out with his teeth, feeling the hot arterial spray against the roof of his mouth as Sam gurgles and chokes and gasps and grabs for him as if he could still save him, as if he would still save him. No, Dean cannot stand over Sam with Sam’s blood in his teeth and Sam’s hands weakly clutching at him and tell him that; he absolutely cannot.

But oh, dear God, he wants to.

And if Sam’s not careful, he’s gonna find out anyway.)

...

(The title is from “With or Without You” by U2.)

[mrsmess]

Faves and fails of SPN (season 15, finally):

Favorite episodes (in chronological order):

15:4 Atomic Monsters - Demon!Sam flashbacks! Dean in a beard! Some old fashioned banter! Meatman! Beaverdale! Love how Sam starts arguing w the parents in the parking lot - Me too, Sam, me too. Loving the self-aware monster. I know Becky is problematique™, but I dig her, so, all kinds of fuck Chuck. He must die, and when he does this is the episode I’ll think about.

15:6 Golden Time - Badass protection spells. Dean in a robe and a hot dog pyjamas. Cas going by Clarence. Jogging Sam. Eileen! God I ship her and Sam, and I’d like to take this opportunity to remind you that I don’t ship him w anyone. Liking this ep a lot, every little side plot. Nice. And Eileen is back and I know it won’t last but like, that was awesome.

15:10 The Heroes’ Journey - Pretty neat intro. Monster on monster violence to the sound of Clair the Lune. Oh, and excellent casting of Garth’s kids. Regular people trouble... Awesome! Brilliant! This is the kind of meta storylines this show should deal in, exclusively. Oh my Garth! Explosives! Why isn’t every episode like this?

15:11 The Gamblers - Oh, is this another lucky coin episode? In that case yes please! More inconsequential bullshit kindly! Loving Sam staying in touch w Eileen. Hey guys, remember when you did the gambling thing w your years? And the rabbit’s foot? Good times. Will this be an equally good time? I hope so. A god! Excellent. ”Lady, I’m Tolstoy.” Yeah ya are, and i’m dead. The guys and Fortuna bashing god. And I'm equally delighted and distraught over the lore that god created man, man imagined gods and god decided to create the other gods to play into man’s ideas, or as a distraction.

15:13 Destiny’s Child - Omg the intro! Savage garden! I’m dead. Jack w the sandwich, why is that so funny? Cas is a gem this episode! ”’Sexually intimate’?” Lol. That’s what you get for trying to speak plainly, Cas! Hunter Corp. I’m dead, again. Keep the different Deans and Sams coming! I’m digging this! Why would they send ‘em to Rio? They could be your buffy-bots!

15:14 Last Holiday - Weird people popping up in the hq is awesome. And Dean’s immediate instinct to yell for Sam reminds me of me calling mr mess for everything! ”Shouldnt you be in the woods? Nymfing?” Monster radar? Oh, oh this is excellent. So mrs Butters is capable of murder when home and family are threatened, good for her. They better not kill her. I can accept them returning her to the wild. Yes! Did I call it or did I call it? Good Supernatural, good boy! And Dean making a cake for Jack! My heart.

Fail episodes (in chronological order):

15:2 Raising Hell - Rowena! Instant win. Ketch. Instant lose. Ketch undressing Rowena with his eyes = rating plummeting. Jeez. A bit dangerous even joking about the GoT finale, don’t you think? Rowena and Ketch full on flirting... this is hell, I'm being punished.

15:3 The Rupture - Don’t call him god! His name is Sucky-Chucky. The shock of Cas! “You’ve been playing us the whole time!” This is how it works Cas, where have you been? They're always solving problems like Jason Mendoza. In-Dean-angry-voice: “Anytime I had a problem and I threw a Molotov cocktail, boom! Right away, I had a different problem.” Rowena! And Sam! No!

15:5 Proverbs 17:3 - Listen, spn, it’s your last season and if you like just wanna stop writing and casting women completely rn i won't stop you or hold it against you (also why are these ladies identical?). We’ve had a terrible run but lets just let bygones be bygones.

15:8 Our father, who aren’t in heaven - Gosh, having Eileen in the show is painful, I’m just constantly expecting a piano to fall on her head. *Ugh* Sucky-yucky-Chucky. But hey, at least everybody else looks better alongside him. Case and point: I never rly cared that much for Donatello, but it’s great to see him, and Michael’s back, sure is nice to see him too.

15:9 The trap - Ugh. Main plot shit and Sucky-yucky-fucking-Chucky. Fail. Although the flashforward to jan 6th 2021 was a hoot (but probably not meant like one, huh?) Dean’s monologue in purgatory though... gosh. This show would be nothing w/o Jensen Ackles. Omg the kiss! Nice. However, the show at this point has lost the ability to offer any sort of pleasure. Because like Sam, we know which way this will go. They used to have some hedonism working for the characters but now they don’t even have that.

15:20 Carry on - You know what? I’m not gonna make this post longer than it already is talking about the last episode of Supernatural, that has been done better by people w real grievances w the show. The kindest thing you can say about the finale is that it just as well could’ve been jammed into a few extra minutes added to the previous episode.

Mediocre mentions:

Drag me away (from you) - what is this ugly cell interface? The opposite of product placement. Yay! Retro episode! And they got the same actor to play Dean, neato! Dean admitting he had a hard time handling hunting, that always gets me. Woah! That scream effect without reverb was kinda startling. And the camera zooming in on the little porcelain clown even though Sam is nowhere n- oh shit. This was an interesting episode

Inherit the earth - Goooood I hate Chucky. Barefoot Sam is okay though. Digging this soundtrack too. Very un-Supernatural. Nice to meet ya Betty, but I wouldn’t pull up a chair if I were you. Always a fan of the shiteating grin. Jack, stripping god of his power, that’s so hot. And again: kudos to the soundtrack! The Youngbloods and then Jackson freakin’ Browne! And you know, it’s clichéd and kinda vacant, but also kinda nice. I’m cool with the story ending like this. Why did they have to do another one? Supernatural has never known when to quit, and this is the very real backside of this.

Honorable mentions:

I don’t know who this Ardat chick is but killing Ketch puts her instantly in my win column.

Winchester-dumb, new household term.

”Feels like were taking a big, probably stupid risk. Feels good.” That made me feel good too.

I’m vastly enjoying this dark-art hippie couple in Unity and Jack’s interaction w them.

Cas launching straight into his dramatic I-will-not-let-you-end-your-own-life-speech when Sam casually mentions he’d like to talk to death in Unity, that angel has seen some things, and he has learned.

Those are some pretty pretty death effects on Jack in Despair/The Truth.

Obviously Misha Collins

Things that makes you go hmm:

Which of the clowns is this supposed to be in Back and to the Future? Because the one from season 2 was a monster, right? So he would’ve gone to purgatory. You know what? I’m not an expert. I try to not pay too much attention ’cause it makes me funny in the head. But just, y’know, a general objection.

Here’s my deal w death as a looming threat in this show: it holds no weight. And even if it did it has been painted as the ultimate relief, unless you go to hell, these characters know for a fact that there’s a potentially blissful afterlife, so their attitude towards death should be, what? More pragmatic, I think. And it’s partly why Ackles is wasted on this show; That man can deliver a death monologue like it’s nobody’s business, too bad all those words have been rendered meaningless after 15 seasons of this shit!

Summing up:

So, I did not go into or leave this season happy, I knew how it would end and I was sad for everyone the show screwed over (more than it already had). Which really meant that I always had to force myself to watch another episode, knowing what was coming. But I had to see it through. I did, so I’ll give myself a pat on the back and get to work on my own personal selection of episodes that will henceforth represent spn to me. A selection I’ll enjoy all the way through. All in all I think the most frustrating thing about the show is how it insists on taking itself so freakin’ seriously. It has always done horror *and* humor best and this whole heaven and hell aspect has never sat right w me, and in any case they should’ve leaned more on “supernatural” narrative tropes (if you will) getting out of their plot problems, gambled some more and thought a bit more outside genre conventions *especially* in their main arcs, they opened up so many opportunities that they never even used. They could’ve been more like Buffy, or Doctor Who. That said, I’ll always get that spn-itch, and when I do, I’ll be happy to have seen all the episodes so I’ll know which ones to avoid.

[specialmindz]

“dad?”

CLATTER!

CRASH!

“UGH! DAMNIT!”

“Nyeh hee hee hee!”

“IT’S NOT FUNNY PAPYRUS!”

CA-THUMP!

The scientist continued to fumble about the lab, searching for the appropriate parts to fix the generator.

“Ki-et down Daddy, you wake up Boo Boo!”

“Oh no, don’t mind me…I’m just happy to be here…” The little spirit monster shifted a bit in Sans’ grasp, having been mistaken for a pillow in the dark.

“You aren’t SUPPOSED to be here! NO ONE is to visit the lab at this hour!” replied Gaster, still searching for a flashlight. He didn’t approve of his littlest scavenging at the Dump, but every once in a while, Papyrus would bring home something he could use and the flashlight was one of them.

Figures he couldn’t find it now of all times.

What on earth could have happened? The magic crystals still have power in them and the generator itself is in perfect repair! This blackout makes no sense!

He wasn’t used to something being broken without Papyrus having some sort of hand in it.

“Just in case however, did you touch the generator Papyrus?”

The baby bones nodded vigorously, “Yep! We’s out of ghost food, so I decided to make snacks for Boo Boo, but we was out of the veggie oil.”

“Veggie oil?”

A few moments went by before the elder skeleton jumped suddenly in alarm and rushed out of the workshop, running downstairs into the True Lab’s living quarters, apparently heading for their kitchen.

“hey uh bro? you didn’t use the oil from the generator-”

“YOU DUMB LITTLE SHIT!”

“Oh nooo…”

Hiding his face in Sans’ shirt, Napstablook shook in terror, unused to the family’s quarrels. Though the scientist’s anger was nostalgic and reminded him of one of his cousins, it had been awhile since he’d heard any yelling and he had heard from Papyrus that Gaster wasn’t the easiest person to get along with. The fact that this was probably the spirit’s fault, made things even worse as he had been hoping to make a good impression on the family.

So much for that.

“I’m sorry, this is all my fault…”

“naw, forget about it. you’re a guest, right? guests are supposed to get snacks. pap just made a mistake is all.”

“Heh heh heh…”

“hm? what’s so funny?”

“I like your accent.”

Papyrus looked up, grinning. “Me too, Snas from Boston, so he say stuff like 'fuhgeddaboudit' and ‘I’s hittin’ da’ bricks’ and ‘here’s lookin’ at you kid!”

“i don’t spell it like that! and what does that last one even mean?”

SHHHEERRAA!

Before the infant could answer, the elevator door opened and Gaster came rushing out. He didn’t stop to say anything to the children, he merely grabbed a vial of…something…and ran back in, keeping the door open with his wingdings.

Not that this was a good idea mind you, as he soon realized all too late that he wasn’t alone, just as the elevator closed and began its second descent.  

“I do hope you’s not planning on ruining mah new firepace stink Daddy,” said the baby, still wearing his smile from before.

“Huh? What the hell? How’d you get in here?!”

“I cuwalled.”

“Well when we get to the living quarters, you can CRAWL your miniature ass to your room! Do you know how difficult it is to put out an oil fire?”

“How this ellyvator work without da’ tricity? You learn Snas’ witchcraft?”

“Of course not. I’ve a second generator hidden downstairs…just in case you break the first one. Unfortunately, it doesn’t reach-”

“THERE A CWOSER BABY MASSAGER?!”

“Wh-what? ‘Baby Massager?’ Are you laying on the generator?”

“Yep! Is fun. I likes it better than the washy machine cause’ it always on. It feel nice on mah bones and it make me go UHUHUHUHUH…then I falls off.”

Gaster shook his head.

“What? What I do?”

“Though vibrations are good for bones and newborns alike, the generator is NOT the best tool to use because of the oil within it. THIS generator especially. This one, connected to the lab, is custom designed to keep running indefinitely…not something a normal generator should ever do. I haven’t a choice however, if I want to keep Mt. Ebott from erupting. The oil I use comes from a reservoir that’s FAR too close to the surface of Hotland. It needs to be depleted less there be an explosion, but no matter how much is used, there seems to be no end to it.”

“That sound like a solution to da’ power problem we gots dough. Why you not use it?” asked Papyrus curiously. He didn’t know much about oil, he assumed it was discovered and researched sometime after he was born. He hadn’t heard anyone else mention it before either…unless it had something to do with cooking. The stuff he had poured out of generator upstairs was a liquid, but liquids were supposed to put OUT fires, weren’t they? “The yellow made the oven a firepace. It cook mah food too good and now no one gets noms. It do other bad stuffs?”

“Yes it does…and that wasn’t vegetable oil Papyrus, it simply had the same color. That was generator oil and a result of refinement on my part. Unrefined oil, or Crude Oil, is a thick, black, eldritch sludge that kills all it touches. It’s made from the deceased bodies of creatures no one in recorded history has ever seen alive and has lied in wait within the earth’s crust for literally millions of years. That being said, it is unfortunately naturally occurring, and everyone aware of its existence is infatuated with it BECAUSE it’s such a huge power source. That’s why I’ve kept it a secret from the public and use it in my experiments as little as possible. It may grant us advanced technology almost immediately, but the things created with it also kill, albeit slowly, meaning you don’t have to come into contact with oil itself in order to become a victim. It’s not evil, but it will take some time before we can figure out a way to use it safely…and keep others from using it poorly.”

Gaster shuddered upon imagining the horror and chaos that would no doubt ensue if ever the monsters were to find out about his discovery. One small mistake is all it would take for Mt Ebott to erupt and annihilate everyone. Even the fire elementals would be destroyed, either drowned in lava or pushed into the barrier and rendered to dust.

“Papyrus, you must promise me that you will keep this a secret. I know it isn’t in your nature to do such a thing, but your life is at stake, along with everyone else’s. That includes Sans, you hear me? I don’t want him knowing about this reservoir less he be tempted to experiment with-PAPYRUS GET OFF THE GENERATOR! WHAT DID I JUST TELL YOU?!”

“UHUHUHUHUHUH!”

SHHHEERRAA!

“dad?”

CLACK!

The baby bones fell to the floor and crawled over to Sans.

“Hey Snas! SNAS!”

“hm?”

“DADDY FOUND OIL!”

“You son of a bitch.”

“cool. don’t play with it.”

“Why?”

“it’s like tar. it’ll make you smell bad and ruin your jammies.”

“Kay’.”

Papyrus used his wingdings to lay, once again, atop the generator.

“Sans, I must ask you to keep this oil reservoir a secret. Despite how desperate the power situation is, oil is not the answer for a civilization living within a volcano.”

“yeah i know about oil dad, i’m not dumb. i read more than space books ya’ know…”

“UHUHUHUHUHUHUH!”

“I’m well aware you know what oil is, I’m just SAYING-”

“NYEAH!”

CLACK!        

Gaster knocked Papyrus off the generator.

“I’m just saying, the temptation is there and it targets both the money-poisoned AND the lazy. There may come a time during an experiment where you feel oil will solve a particular problem, I assure you, it will cause more than it solves. We aren’t the only intelligent beings in the Underground, if you use oil to create something, it’s quite possible an individual will discover the usage through reverse engineering and in turn, wonder where exactly the oil CAME from.”

“NYEHHHHAAAHH!! SUCK-ASS DADDY! SEE THAT BOO BOO? DAT’S THAT BABY ABUSE I’S TALKIN’ BOUT’!”

“I-I didn’t s-see anything…also, what’s ‘oil?”

“ehh, don’t worry about it,” said Sans, thinking quickly. “you don’t eat our food right?”

“Oh, cooking oil…I remember that. It’s made from seeds…”

“Yep! I’s gonna make you something delicious, but I’s out of the cooking oil and baby oil be for baby food, so-”

“Baby oil is for skin,” said Gaster, rubbing his temples.

“Nyeh?”

“Baby oil. It’s for skin. It’s called baby oil because it supposedly makes your skin feel soft like an infant’s.”

What exactly is Sans DOING while I’m busy working? He’s not telling him this stuff as a joke, is he...?

“Nuh-uh Daddy, daz baby lotion! You confused. BABY OIL be for cooking, like baby powder and-”

“Baby powder is also for skin. It is not a type of baking powder NOR is it a baking soda of any sort. You have no business in the kitchen Papyrus.”

“What Baby’s Breath then?”

“Not parsley.”

“Baby spice?”

“That’s a person.”

“Baby fat?”

“Well it’s lard, but-”

“why don’t you just stick with baby potatoes and baby carrots bro?”

“Why don’t you just stay out of the kitchen period? The oven is not a toy and I believe I’ve told you as such already.”

“NO!” cried the baby bones indignantly. “I’s a genius baby and I deserves the best of edgy-cations! LOOK! Look what dis baby has right here!” Papyrus pulled a page, seemingly torn from an old magazine, out of his onesie and presented it to his family. It showed a young human in overalls, a toddler by the looks of it, pretending to cook on a toy kitchen set, plastic spatula in hand.

“aww, duude!”

That human’s so cute! Is that really a baby one? I wanna pet it soo bad! It’d probably bite the shit out of me though…

“hey, napstablook! c’mere and look at this human!”

Shyly, Napstablook floated over to the group and peered over Sans’ shoulder.

“Heh…”

“cute right?”

“It’s got a spatula…it thinks it’s cooking…”

“They not cooking, they’s modeling. They saying ‘look what I has and you doesn’t! Don’t you wish you had a nice baby-kitchen like me?’ They’s mocking!”

“nobody’s mocking you pappy.”

“THEY’S LAUGHING AT ME!”

“i guarantee this baby doesn’t know you exist.”

“Your brother’s right. What’s happening here is you’ve created a personal fantasy out of boredom and forgotten it was a fantasy. Something you need to learn not to do while you’re daydreaming-”

“All I needs to do is show dis baby that I’S the superior bae! Imma be the best cook ever and I’ll use the big people oven to do it! I don’t need their stink rainbow kitchen!”

“…Or perhaps you merely want an excuse to use the oven even though I JUST said no.”  

I asked him to stay out of the Parent magazines to begin with…

Papyrus had an annoying habit of using those particular publications to come up with ideas for “brother-time” with Sans. A time where he would (sometimes quite literally) pick Sans up out of bed and have him do an arts and crafts activity with him, usually involving copious amounts of glue and chemicals Gaster wasn’t sure how he even got ahold of.

Not that the messes were the most obnoxious thing about it, THOSE he could handle. He was used to his smallest making messes.

No, no It was the MIMICRY that the scientist couldn’t stand. Those magazines were to inform parents of why their babies behaved the way they did, but Papyrus would use them as guidelines on “how to be a better baby.”

 “Give me the markers Papyrus!”

“NO! These are MY paint-sticks! I keeps the markers cause’ I saw them first.”

“That’s not how that works, where did you even get that ide-no. Do not. Do not pull out that magazine again, god-DAMNIT Papyrus!”

“It say right here, ‘baes between two and four beweave that da’ person who gets an object first is the rightful owner, even if someone else gets hold of it later’ This be what babies do and I’s a baby, so these markers are mine now.”

“Give me that FUCKING magazine.”

“Is my ucking maggy-zeen.”

“Papyrus…”

“I sawed it first. Is the law.”

Gaster reached for the hated literature, causing the infant to quickly shove it back into his onesie. He then clacked his teeth together twice, a signal that meant any further attempts to get closer would result in a bite.

Because that’s what babies did.

They bit people.

“SANS, WHERE ARE YOU?! COME GET YOUR BROTHER!

“You’re not using the oven Papyrus.”

“*Sigh* Fine, I gots a solution for dis.” Crawling out of the kitchen, Papyrus headed into the Nursery and towards his toybox. He didn’t have to rummage long, as he was a very organized baby, and soon he found what he was looking for; an only slightly grimy multicolored maraca. He didn’t know why such a gem had been thrown away, but it made the most wonderful sound…

“What is that?” asked Gaster upon seeing his two-year-old reenter the room. The baby held the maraca by the handle with both hands and shook it.

CHACA-CHACA!

“…”

“Is a big-person rattle! I finded it at the Dump and is the bestest treasure ever! I’s gonna save it for when I does something really bad, but I needs that oven, so we trade. I gets to use the oven and you can pay wit mah rattle!”  

“I don’t-”

“Pay not keep.”

“…I don’t need a rattle Papyrus.”

CHACA-CHACA!

CHACA-CHACA!

“Heh heh, your brother swings it like a sledgehammer…”

“well yeah, he’s small.”

CHACA-CHACA!

CHACA-CHACA!

“Stop that.”

“Be mesmerized.”

“I’m not interested Papyrus.”

“HOW YOU NOT INTERESTED IN DIS BIG PERSON RATTLE?” yelled Papyrus, completely baffled. “YOUR BRAIN BROKE!”

“not everyone likes rattles pappy.”

“Your brain broke…or maybe you’s planning to steal mah treasure while I’s napping so you doesn’t have to give up da’ oven!”

“No.”

“I bet you are! You’s gonna wait till I’s asweep in my widdle cwib and then you gonna take my toy and blame it on Snas!”

“No.”

“I bets you’s lying about the oil too! Baby oil be a cooking ingredient for babies, but you don’t likes it when I’s better at things than you, so you try to get baby to use fake cwap like ‘sugar’ and ‘spice.” The infant glared at the wall, remembering the disappointment he felt when he tried to get free sugar from Undyne. He had heard girls were made from sugar and spice, but what he managed to collect (along with a few new cracks in his skull) were scales.

Not delicious.

“You know full well I’m not lying…or you would if you were paying attention-”

“YOU DOESN’T LET ME EAT AT DA’ DUMP AND YOU DOESN’T LET ME EAT WITH THE OVEN! HOW I SUPPOSED TO GET NUTRIENTS?”

“Just drink your formula, it has everything you need.”

“NO! I needs solids…like these fintstone yummies.” Papyrus pulled out a bottle labeled Flintstone Vitamins. “They looks like rocks, but they shaped like peoples!”

“hmm…” curiously, Sans popped one into his mouth and began to chew. “this one tastes like an orange.”

“Nyeh hee hee hee! Silly Snas, orange be a color, not a food!”

Silly Sans.

“Hmph, It’s a condensed version of Vitamin C most likely. Vitamin C is essential to the formation of collagen, so it should increase one’s bone density, but I doubt you’ll get much out of them.”

“it says vitamin d on it.”

“What? Vitamin D? Give me that bottle!”

“NYEH!”

Gaster snatched up the bottle in one quick motion and studied the label. If Sans hadn’t misread anything, then this was an extraordinary find indeed. Very few foods in nature contained Vitamin D and nature was what everyone depended on in the Underground. The people’s only source of it was found in fish and within the eggs of birds who had accidently flown into Mt. Ebott. Because they were so rare and important as a food source, the security around the areas in which they were bred was even tighter than at the castle. It was rationed carefully and NO ONE got special privileges that allowed more than their fair share due to overpopulation. That meant Gaster couldn’t add as much Vitamin D into Papyrus’s baby formula as he would like.

Eventually something’s going to go wrong and we’ll end up eating nothing but magic supplements.

Magic food wasn’t particularly healthy, not for Horror Fonts anyway. If there was any problem that breed of skeleton had, it was finding the right balance of magic AND basic nutrients. The magic kept their ectoplasm as strong as human muscle so their bones would stay together, but they needed the same vitamins as humans in order to keep those bones from cracking and splintering in the first place. Normal Fonts like he and Sans weren’t fighters, so it wasn’t as important for their bones to be sturdy, but Papyrus was a hunter, which meant tough fights awaited the baby bones when he got older.

He needs more than magic, and we’ve a limited supply as is. Perhaps though, with these, I can find a supplement for the vitamin itself and a way to reproduce it effectively.

“I trade the rock-peoples for da’ oven.”

“N-”    

“And some more baby oil. I’s out of greedy-ants.”

“No. No more using the oven and no more ‘baby ingredients.’ You’re going to destroy this lab along with our kitchen!”

“I dis-gree.”

“bro-”

“You know what I needs? What every baby needs? Ah-structions. I needs a cookie-book. Fetch me a cookie-book, THEN I will succeeds in life.”

Gaster was about to say something, but quickly decided against it. An idea began to form in his mind as he reread the ingredients on the vitamin bottle.

Perhaps this request is a blessing in disguise...

“Papyrus, if I found you a cookbook would you follow the instructions to the letter?” “Course I would!” said the baby bones confidently. “What’s da’ point of ah-structions if I doesn’t follow them? I follow the ah-structions and make good food that Snas will eat.” Papyrus smiled at Napstablook. “You too Boo Boo! I make yummies for eryone!”

The scientist put the bottle in his coat. “Alright then, I will provide for you, a cookbook.”

“YAAAASS!”

“uhh dad, that sounds like a terrible idea,” said Sans, eyeing the ruined oven. “papyrus tends to-”

“Shu up Snas. I happily agwee to yo’ terms, beloved father figure!”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Baby will reward your rare act of rationality.”

“Please don’t.”

“I assist! I learned in one of the maggyzines that if you rewards good be-have-ior, peoples will repeat it. This time I find you REAL booger sugar, not baby powder.”

“papyrus-”

“Actually, that would be great. My experiment with the ‘cocaine’ you originally gave me was a complete disaster. Had it worked, I could have created something to reduce hunger in the Underground’s citizens months ago, but you ruined that for everyone. This time I’d like to succeed.”

“ohhh, so that’s what it was for.”

“Of course child, why else would I purchase it? Drugs are for science and science alone!”

“Um…” Napstablook looked behind him nervously.

Should I tell someone about this?

“Remember Papyrus, if you can’t follow a recipe, then you can’t cook that recipe, otherwise it will come out wrong.”

“Kay’.”

Gaster handed a cookbook to his youngest who took it with both hands excitedly and began to flip through it.

“Waz ‘pepper?”

“It’s a type of spice. We don’t have it.”

“What’s ‘vinny-ger?”

“It doesn’t matter, we don’t have that either.”

“i think that’s in urine pa-”

“Really Sans?”

“Ewww, I not using that! Waz ‘rice?”

“It’s a type of grain, we don’t have it in the Underground.”

The baby bones glared at the scientist who was now busy flipping through the pages of his clipboard; the situation beginning to dawn on him.

“We gots onion?”

“No, unfortunately.”

“We gots yeast?”

“*pfft!* i think that’s an infection pappy, are you sure you’re reading that right?”

“I want to see your books Sans.”

“We gots gween beans?”

“Nope, it’s too cold up where they’d need to fall into Mt. Ebott. They need a temperature of at least 50 degrees Fahrenheit to grow.”

“Does we has ANYTHING?”

“If you can’t find a recipe with ingredients we have, perhaps you should search for another cookbook?”

“NYEH!”

Papyrus threw the book.

“…Scu you stink Daddy.”

SHEERRAHH!

Reentering the elevator, Gaster headed up to the main floor. Hopefully he had some refined oil in reserve at the workshop…

“…”

“mm…this may not be a good time bro, but about that cocaine thing. earlier, you called it ‘booger sugar.”

“…”

“you don’t…actually think it’s sugar do you? you didn’t put any in our food?”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…pap?”

“Oh noooo…”

Sorry for the wait, I’m renovating my house to move if you recall.