#but i think about the handprint so goddamn often its insane

[goodluckbabe2024]

do not leave me in this abyss | 1.4k | ao3

“You said I killed you-haunt me, then! [...] Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!”

A couple of weeks after Chuck’s defeat and Dean still hasn’t washed the handprint off the jacket. Instead, he prays.

The ice in Dean’s whiskey glass has long since melted but condensation still drips down, marking a path on the floor as he sets the glass down and picks it up over and over, never drinking but pretending he could.

Twenty days past Chuck’s defeat and Dean has nothing to show but empty spaces. At times it doesn't even feel like he’s free, like he managed to escape, and it's just the AuthorGod of his life knows that what he’s doing is too boring to present to the audience. The man never knew how to write about a lack of action.

Across from Dean’s perch on his bed and draped across a chair is the jacket, the one he’s mysteriously unable to find any time Sam comes in to do the laundry, but resurfaces the moment the door is closed. With nowhere else to go, his eyes drift to it.

The handprint. It stares at him; bright red against the green background and Dean may have never taken an art class but he’d passed through enough towns with Christmas as the main event to know how the colors pop. A faint ache in his left shoulder, the arm he’s been using to hold the glass. If he closes his eyes he could trace the faint white lines of the handprint even now, 12 years after it was burned more than skin-deep.

Once, when helping Sam study for a test, he’d read about a man who’d been in an accident—something happened to his brain—and that man lost the ability to make memories and so had to leave his family to be protected by strangers, scientists. He couldn’t remember anything about his new life, everything he had was from before, but he was able to form muscle memory despite having no knowledge of how.

That’s Dean. He’s stuck here, stuck with no ability to move on and become someone else, rooted in a past he clings on to as the present. Repeating this over and over again, going through the motions until he goes to sleep and hopes that maybe this time, when he wakes up, Cas will be back. That’s how it happened once before, right? Coming back from the dead and Cas’ number on his phone and sheer relief striking through Dean hot and quick that he had managed to survive.

He doesn’t know when it happened, but every move he makes turns to Cas, some habit that had snuck up on him. In the dead of night, he’d wake up, arm numb, and discover that he’d been laying on it in his sleep, right hand clutching the scar.

When that happens he never returns to his dreams, dark as they are, choosing instead to stumble once more to the Bunker library, searching for ways into the Empty. Sam’s found him more than once passed out over a book older than the country. He learned quickly not to wake Dean when he’s like that.

Setting the glass down, Dean closes his eyes, takes the end of the jacket in his hands—avoiding the handprint—and starts his prayer.

“Cas,” he begins, voice already thick. He speaks at no more than a whisper but feels every nerve alight like he’s screaming this to the world.

“It’s been a couple of weeks since you left me, and this world is still turning. Well, turning again, there have been some advancements in the plot since you last saw us. I’ll tell you all about them when I see you again.”

He thinks he may have just quoted something. Cas and his angel-granted pop culture encyclopedia would know, though he wouldn’t be able to use it right. Warmth blooms in Dean and he ducks his head, feeling the smile tugging at his lips. It doesn’t quite make it to launch, but Cas has always been able to bring one out of Dean, even in the darkest times of the darkest times, when the light at the end of the tunnel bled red.

“But we did it Cas, we won, like I’ve told you before. I’d say I couldn’t do it without you but I did because I had to, even though I wish I didn’t.”

No, really , he thinks, remembering what it was like to stand his own against Chuck. He may have fought for free will, for an ability to write his own script, but Dean’s words weren’t his own: they were Cas’, some of his last.

He doesn’t know if thought counts as part of the prayer—never got the courage to ask—but he hopes it does. From what he’s heard of the Empty, he doesn’t want Cas to be alone.

“And I—I know you get scared sometimes when we find something new,” Dean continues. “Believe me, I do too. Chuck may have monologued about how you’re a beacon of Free Will but I know you, and I know you’ve made some choices you regret. But when I get to you, when I manage to break into the Empty and rescue you for once, I need you to let me.”

He breathes hard, his chest burning. One, two. Somewhere in the Bunker Sam drops something, a crash followed by a muffled curse. So many rooms unused when it’s just the two of them; Dean hasn’t touched the Dean Cave in weeks. After a beat, he adds:

“Besides, I’ve made you sit through Star Wars enough times, you’ll know your lines.”

For all that Dean has been unable to think about anything but Cas since the handprint left on his shoulder, none of that thinking has gone into the future. His plan so far is this: research, find something (a spell, a tablet, a god, a witch, anything) that can reach into the Empty, and use it to save Cas. He moves past that point and it’s all static, a radio caught between frequencies.

But he thinks, in the quiet ways, in moments of sharing movies and music and a son and a life, it all proves that what comes next can’t be totally hopeless, that Cas couldn't have been totally hopeless. For twelve long years, Cas knew Dean before Dean knew himself, so why is this different?

Cas said he couldn’t have what he wanted, but Chuck is dead and free will hangs high in the air like laughter. And Dean says so.

“You told me that you couldn’t have what you wanted, the one thing you wanted. Me, right?” The words are hard to choke out, but he forces himself to be brave the way Cas was. “Well, when the world thrives, when the apocalypse is over and we have time to breathe, that’s when you get to move past needs, that’s when you get to have your wants. Do you hear me? I need you to hear me.

“You say I changed you? Prove it then. Come back. Be changed. You’ve saved me from gods and angels and monsters more times than I could count, but you also saved me from myself. I’m returning the favor, but don’t you dare think this is a quid pro quo.”

No response on the one-way street. He keeps his eyes closed, lets the darkness settle over him like a skin. The fabric is rough and sturdy underneath his fingertips and he imagines reaching up towards the shoulder and his hand coming away wet as if Cas only just cashed in on the deal that's left Dean breathless ever since. Dean could just grab his hand, still dripping blood, and bandage it even though angels don’t need it because taking care of Cas like this is the only way he knows how.

But he doesn’t risk it, doesn’t want to contaminate what he has left of Cas.

“I’ve told you before that I need you,” Dean says, rounding out the prayer. He should get up, check on Sam, wash the dishes piling up in his room. A million steps to take before he can truly, deeply sleep. Who knows who will be at his side when that happens. “But I never let you know that I want you. Never let you know a lot of things, I guess. But I do, Cas.

“I really, really do.”

[msmkcreates]

Twice a Month I Fall in Love (5/???)

Characters: US!Papyrus, Reader

[Back to the beginning]

This body-switching, love triangle fiasco continues to be inspired by @undertale-prompts and their body-switching prompts!

---------

“it doesn't snow where i live,” you said distractedly, gazing out the kitchen window while you helped Stretch with the lunch dishes.

“no?” He looked up as he handed you a dish, and you wonder, if you ever meet, if it would be weird how small you are.

You shook your head, bone clicking against the plate as you gripped it to dry it.

Mutt has a new chip in his hand, you observed. You wonder if it's permanent, or if the sparks of purple beneath it will fix it soon...and how he even got it. You glanced over your shoulder where Black “most definitely is not babysitting you” at the kitchen table, where he's pretending to be bored by bills. There was nobody else around.

“nah. one of the benefits for both of us was the snow underground for me, the sun up here for him. he always said it was an unfair trade.”

Stretch looked at you, but you don't think Mutt was right about that just being his face. You're sure he doesn't look at everyone like that.

“but, uh, i wasn't really allowed to play in the snow underground. safety required me to stay inside...had to act like i'd seen it before, and not being able to fight meant…” You trailed off, feeling Black's gaze on you. You sighed. You may sound like Mutt, but everything you say could give you away if the others walked in.

“but up here it's different,” Stretch said, moving to the other side of you to take the dishes from you and put them away. You took advantage of Mutt's height to help, having a good few inches on even Stretch. “you can play in the snow all day if you want. look at blue and pap.”

You looked out the window of the kitchen at the many snow sculptures in the yard and the skeletons in question throwing snowballs at each other.

“YES, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, GO OUTSIDE AND GET SOME GODDAMNED EXERCISE,” Black scoffed, and you looked back at him, but he wouldn't meet your eye. “I'VE NO FURTHER USE FOR YOU TODAY. JUST DON'T GET LOST AND DON'T GET IN A FIGHT.”

“i won't!” You said excitedly, hugging him before you could stop yourself. Black cried out in confusion as you pulled him up from his chair.

“ACK! UNHAND ME! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?!” He protested.

Before you could set him back down, he gripped your shirt and leaned in with a whisper.

“Wait!...please be careful.” He pleaded, before making a show of shoving you off of him and plopping back down in his seat, cheekbones glowing wine red.

You resisted the urge to kiss the top of his head like you do when you drop Zack off at school, instead settling for a quiet “thank you” as you moved to the back door to prepare for the snow.

---------

“i thought it'd be colder.”

“yeah?”

You nodded, taking off the purple mittens and squishing a bony handprint in the snow. “maybe he just has a higher tolerance. or skeletons don't get cold?”

“we get cold,” he chuckled, gripping your wrist to pull you further out and away from the others. “but yeah, been in snow our whole lives. probably can handle it better than you.”

You followed without hesitation, and it wasn't long before he was helping you build your first snowman.

“hehehe… 'i'm olaf, and i like warm hugs’!” You joked, swinging around the arm sticks. He shrugged, not understanding the joke, and you chuckled. “never seen frozen? we'll have to fix that.”

“if you say so,” Stretch laughed, patting the snow down slowly as he watched you stick the arms in.

That smile should be fucking illegal on Mutt's face, he thought. He realized that, like himself and Boss, Mutt must have smiled like that once upon a time. But knowing that it's you, he supposed it makes it almost worse, because he can't help but find your interest in the snow...adorable.

“do any of you skeletons have hair?” You asked suddenly, patting Mutt's head through his knit cap. “i wonder if mutt is as impressed by my hair as i am with his inability to feel cold.”

“i think he's likely impressed by more than your hair. honestly he probably touches you all over.”

You shrugged, flushing with Mutt's purple magic a little as you laughed nervously. “yeah. probably.”

Stretch raised a brow. “what, and you're okay with that?”

You waved a hand dismissively.

“it's fine. we talked about it. i said he could touch me and learn what human girls like if i could touch him and learn what skeleton monsters like.” You blushed a little more. “not that i...have plans to please any skeletons. just, y'know. in case i end up in him when he's in heat again.”

Great, and that made him blush. “...right.”

You squeaked as a rogue snowball splatter on the back of your skull, and Stretch whipped around to see Blue looking guilty and Papyrus waving.

“SORRY, MUTT, THAT WAS MEANT FOR MY BROTHER!” Blue wailed mournfully. “DON'T BE MAD!”

“would he be mad?” You asked and Stretch shrugged.

“probably throw one back. playfully. i think he sees a lot of black in blue.”

You nodded and grabbed a handful of snow, whirling around to toss it at Blue--

Only to slip and totally eat it with a strangled yelp, your own snowball falling on your head.

Stretch chuckled as he helped you up, and behind the both of you, Blue and Papyrus exchanged looks.

---------

“here we go, hot chocolate straight from the microwave.”

You accepted the mug with a smile, Mutt's long legs drawn up so you could hug them. “thanks. sorry i'm such a fuck up.”

Stretch shrugged. “not a fuck up. just clumsy. you're not used to having long, gangly skeleton legs in the snow.”

He plopped down next to you as the fire crackled, and you sighed, sipping the cocoa.

“do you and...do we hang out often or just when it's me?” You asked, a little worried he was making it weird and you were none the wiser.

“on and off. he knows i know so i think he makes an effort to be around me so the others don't think it's weird.” Stretch leaned back against the cushions. “...he really wants you to be happy."

“me, too, for him. which is why i'm glad he's here. that they both are.” You looked over at him with a smile. “they definitely seem happy here.”

“pfft. really? that's happy? i'd hate to see unhappy, then.” Stretch never would have described them as happy, or at least not Black. Mutt seemed indifferent, most of the time, but Black seemed to actively hate living here.

“you should see his journal. he really talks a lot now...it used to be one or two sentences and bust, now he has so much to share it's almost insane.” You paused and for a moment you looked really sad. “...i just wish he'd let me in a little more. a phone number, an address. i've written mine down, but...he doesn't use them. i wonder what's wrong with me that he doesn't want to be closer.”

“there's nothin’ wrong with you, honey--” Whoops, he let that slip, but chose not to dwell on it. Felt weird calling Mutt's face 'honey’. “--he's probably just...waiting for the right time. it's a big change, and he's probably just worried that you won't like him. i know that'd be my holdup.”

You made a little hum, and for a moment it didn't even sound like Mutt's voice. Your sockets were trained on the fire, and he could see you reach up to scratch absently at Mutt's jaw.

“...yeah. that's probably it.” You said dismissively, and his metaphorical heart sank.

It's true that being with you like this is nice on its own, but he'd somewhat forgotten you were a whole person somewhere else. Your relationship with Mutt is probably very complicated, and he can see how that might drag you down.

You jumped a little as his hand clicked against yours, and he squeezed it reassuringly.

“don't worry so much. there's a lot waiting for you here...when the time comes.”

To Be Continued...