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chvoswxtch · 2 years ago

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that Jon con story was 😳😳🫠 my soul woulda left my body on the spot 😮‍💨 tbh I dunno that I could survive being in the same room as him 🫣 but it’s funny cause ✨ hands ✨ was literally my Frankie request

Imagine you’re in a new relationship with Frankie, slowly testing the waters cause who ain’t a bit broken these days

and you got a thing for ✨ hands ✨ and you think you’re being discreet when you stare at his hands while they do pretty much anything BUT Frankie ain’t a dummy and has noticed and wants to test his theory that you really really like his hands

👀🙏🏻🫠😮‍💨

babes it's the way we literally share the same brain cell bc those HANDS, as soon as I saw this request I literally dropped everything and started working on it. thank you for requesting this and inspiring me to thirst over frankie's hands and helping me kick off this week of celebration. ✨ I adore YOU so MUCH. ❤️

warning: contain explicit sexual content. as always, minors please dni. btw the jon con story in reference can be found here. :) word count: 3.1k

everyone say thank you to my sweet angel baby @jwjeepers for this lovely request to start off this week of celebrating my 500 followers friends milestone! happy slutting over frankie! 🖤

don't hold back.

It was subtle at first. You had a habit of zoning out when you vanished into your thoughts, or were concentrating really hard on something. Frank had noticed it very early on. Sometimes you would disappear for a little bit, getting lost in your own stream of consciousness before finding your way back to him. Frank didn’t think much of it. He found it kind of endearing, actually. He always wondered though, what exactly was going through your head when you had that far off look in your eyes. He wondered what you daydreamed about, and where you went when you stared off into space, curious if he ever popped up in any of those scenes.

The first hint was a few weeks ago when you and Frank had met up with some of your friends for drinks. Frank was in the middle of telling a story, animatedly moving his hands around as he did so, when he caught your gaze out of the corner of his eye. Your eyes were following every single movement of his hands. He didn’t think much of it at first, figuring you were probably just trying to paint a clear picture in your head, so he brushed it off. But then he caught you doing it again. And again. And again. Everytime he used his hands to speak, your eyes were glued to them. Throughout the night as the alcohol dulled your inhibitions, you were more reckless with your lingering stares. Frank had even caught the way you trapped your bottom lip between your teeth when he wrapped his fingers around the neck of his beer bottle, and his curiosity peaked.

Your relationship was still very new, both of you trying to figure out how to navigate it as cautiously as possible. He was still healing from another lifetime of pain and loss, a piece of him knowing he always would be. You were hypervigilant with your heart due to your mother being an incurable romantic currently on husband number four. Sometimes he thought it was a marvel you two were even together. Frank never talked more than he had to, and you were more on the shy and quiet side. It had taken Frank just as long to get you to open up to him about your feelings as it had taken you to get him to open up about his. He never imagined he would even want to open his heart up to someone else again, but there was something special about you. Something in your soul that called out to his. He still remembers the day you first met, and the way you had smiled at him. He knew right then he was done for.

He didn’t know what you saw in him. Frank could never fully wrap his head around why the hell out of anyone, and oh you could have fucking have anyone, you chose him. Over and over again, day after day, you chose him. He waited for you to change your mind, break out of whatever trance you were under, and leave him. But you never did. He was constantly torn between wanting to show you his worst to see if you would stay, and wanting to prove to you that he was the man you believed he was so that you would stay.

Frank savored every part of your relationship, taking his time to enjoy every piece of it fully. He never went farther than what he was absolutely sure you were comfortable with. He let you set the pace, always following your lead, worrying that if he got carried away he would fuck everything up. The first time you let him kiss you, he felt dizzy with adoration and his lips tingled for hours afterwards. And the first time you let him make love to you? Frank fucking swore he believed in heaven, because he had found it inside your body. Little by little, your confidence blossomed, and Frank was able to coax more of what you liked out of you to make sure he was always doing everything exactly right. Nothing filled him with more pride than pleasing you.

He didn’t want to push you, or make you uncomfortable, but he was dying to know what you were hiding from him. Everytime he caught you staring at his hands, you would immediately redirect your eyes and blush profusely. Frank thought he had somewhat of an idea of what was going on, so he decided to test out his theory.

Frank used his hands as much as possible over the course of the next few days. If you were struggling to reach something, he would come up behind you and splay his large hand on your lower back, never once missing the way your lips parted and a flush crept onto your cheeks in response. Frank wasn’t a huge fan of PDA, but he made it a point to hold onto your hand every time you went somewhere together, or place his hand just high enough on your thigh to get a silent reaction out of you everytime you sat next to him or rode with him in his truck. He especially loved doing that when you wore dresses or skirts, brushing his calloused fingers along your soft skin in slow strokes. Frank would catch the way your eyes widened slightly, and a devious smirk would curl at the corner of his mouth. He even went as far as getting into a fight with some drunk asshole in a dive bar, cracking his fist roughly against the guy’s jaw, just to come home to let you assess the damage and fix him up. He didn’t need you to, his knuckles were barely even bruised, but he wanted to see the way you would react to getting to examine his hand up close. The hitch in your breath as he held it out for you and the way your eyes swelled with lust as you delicately grazed your fingertips over his angry knuckles had his cock thrashing against his jeans. He had figured you out, and now he just needed to find a way to get you to ask for what he knew you wanted.

Frank had you on his lap, one hand placed firmly on the middle of your back to hold you in place against him, and the other loosely wrapped around your throat as he gently grabbed your jaw in his fingers. He took his time kissing at that sensitive spot at the base of your neck he knew drove you crazy. He figured if he could get you worked up enough, needy and desperate for more, that you would open up and bloom for him. He just needed to guide you there. Frank could practically feel the thundering rhythm of your heart pounding against his own chest. He swallowed every breathless pant that escaped your lips. An impatient whine echoed off your tongue and he grinned. Frank had you exactly where he wanted you.

He purposefully kept his hands still in their places, focusing solely on his gentle assault on your neck with his lips and tongue, occasionally nipping at your collarbone. He could tell you were getting restless by the way your hips started to tenuously rock back and forth, your fingers once loosely threaded in his hair now tugging slightly.

“Frank…please…”

“Please what, darlin’? Hm?”

You huffed in response, earning a throaty chuckle from him, and grabbed a small fistfull of the collar of his shirt to tug him closer, even though there was hardly an inch of space between you two.

“Please.”

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

“Want you, Frank.”

“Nah, think you can do better than that. C’mon baby, tell me what you want.”

Frank tried not to laugh at the futile way you attempted to tear his lips away from your neck to bring his face closer to yours, your hips now picking up a more purposeful speed. Patience was not your virtue, and he knew it wouldn’t take much more teasing until you broke. He would wait.

“Fraaaaank. Please, I told you. I want you.”

“I think you’re lyin’ to me, baby.”

Frank pulled back just slightly to look into your eyes, taking in the furrow of confusion in your brows and the adorable pout on your lips. He tightened his hold on your throat, your chin firmly grasped between his thumb and index finger. He reveled in the way your eyes grew in bewilderment, and your hips stuttered to a stop.

“I think you want somethin’ in particular, but you’re too shy to ask. Yeah?”

Your lips parted slightly as a shuddering breath slipped past, and Frank took the opportunity to swipe the pad of his thumb deliberately across your bottom lip. Your hand flew up to grab onto his forearm, gripping onto it tightly. He stared at you silently for a second, searching your eyes for any hesitation. You gave his arm a gentle squeeze and he took that as a signal to experimentally push his thumb past your plump lips. You greedily accepted it in your mouth, closing your eyes for a moment as you swirled your tongue around it and sucked softly, even giving the tip a gentle bite. A small grunt sounded in the back of his throat and Frank found himself pathetically rock hard beneath you.

He swiftly retracted his thumb from your mouth with a pop, a twinge of embarrassment sparking in him that if he let you keep doing that, he’d no doubt come on the spot. Both of you stared at each other for a moment in silent astonishment. Frank cocked his head to the side slightly, a mischievous glint in his eye as that familiar cocky smirk appeared on his lips.

“Ain’t feelin’ so shy now, are ya?”

You bit down on your bottom lip hard, unable to tear your eyes away from Frank’s relentless stare. It made you feel even smaller than you already did with him. He clicked his tongue against his cheek, shaking his head slowly as his thumb pulled your bottom lip free from your teeth.

“Uh uh. If you’re feelin’ brave enough to take my thumb in your mouth like you do my cock, then you can be a big girl and use your words, yeah? You gonna tell me what you want now, sweetheart?”

Frank’s shameless words shot straight down to your core and you couldn’t stifle the pitiful whine that sounded from you. You closed your eyes for a moment to regain your composure, far too turned on to even be embarrassed that Frank had caught on to you. You weren’t sure why you even would be embarrassed. Frank always gave you everything you asked for without hesitation. But sex between the two of you so far had been gentle and loving, not that you didn’t adore or enjoy that, but you weren’t sure how to tell him that you wanted more. You weren’t sure what he would think of you if you told him what you really wanted him to do to you.

“Your hands.”

“What about ‘em, baby?”

“I think you kinda already know.”

“I do. Wanna hear you say it though.”

The smug grin on his mouth had you whining in agitation. It was no use putting up a fight. Frank wasn’t going to give up until you gave in, and his willpower was much stronger than yours. Swallowing your pride, you stared directly into his deep brown eyes, a wicked idea forming in your head. If he was going to play this game, so could you.

“I love your hands, Frank. I love how big they are, how long your fingers are. I know they can reach so much deeper than mine can. Your fingers could get me to come so much faster than mine ever could. I love the way it feels when you touch me. I want you to touch me more, Frank. I want you to grab me and not be afraid to leave marks. I want you to squeeze my throat when you fuck me. I want-”

Frank didn’t give you a chance to finish before he was pulling you in by your throat and crashing his lips onto yours. His other hand was already bunching your dress up around your hips, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties until his thumb found your clit. You moaned into his mouth and Frank had to channel all his self-control into not combusting right then and there because you were already so wet. He had never heard you talk like that but fuck did he want to hear more of it. He always felt like you were holding back with him, maybe just as much as he was with you, and he’d be damned if he let this side of you slip back into the shadows again.

One of his long fingers slipped easily into your entrance and he broke apart from your lips just in time to watch the way your face contorted in pleasure as a sigh of content filled the space between you. Frank was mesmerized by you, eyes fixated solely on your face as he began to fuck you slowly with his finger, his thumb grazing over your clit gently. You were practically begging for more already, breathless whimpers and pleas tumbling from your lips, your nails digging into his shoulder blades when he granted your request and pushed another finger past your entrance. Frank glanced down in awe to watch the way you moved your hips against his hand, wanting so badly for it to be his cock instead. He decided right then and there you were going to ride him for the first time tonight. You were so close to the edge already just from his fingers, and Frank’s ego soared at seeing how much of an effect he had on you.

“This what you wanted baby, hm? Just wanted me to fuck you with my fingers?”

“Yes Frank…God, please…don’t stop.”

“All you had to do was ask darlin’, you know I’d never say no to you. You know how much I love makin’ my pretty girl happy, don’t you?”

You couldn’t focus on anything other than the way Frank was plunging his fingers into you repeatedly, the sounds of your wetness squelching around his fingers quickly filling the living room. The faster you rocked your hips, the more brutal his pace became, and you loved it. You nodded your head quickly at his words, feeling dizzy at the way he said my pretty girl.

“You gonna tell me what you want from now on so I can give it to ya, hm? Give you whatever you want baby, just gotta ask. Or hell, you ain’t even gotta ask. You just take my hand and guide it where ya need it. If that’s what you want, you take it. You want my cock, take it. You take whatever the hell you want. It’s all yours, understand? You take what’s yours, yeah?”

All you could do was moan in response. Between Frank’s dangerously gruff voice and indelicate words, and the way he was curling his fingers and brushing along that spongy spot inside you that had you doubling over in indulgence, you couldn’t form any other word but his name.

“Attagirl. You gonna come for me now, sweetheart? Hm? Gonna soak my hand? Yeah you are, I can feel it. Look at you, already making a mess on my lap and you ain’t even there yet. Go on baby, come on my fingers. Don’t hold back, let me have it all, yeah? Go on, make a mess on me. Let me fuckin’ have it.”

A tsunami of rapture collided so hard into you that it knocked the breath completely out of your chest. You collapsed against Frank, barely able to hold yourself up on his lap as you meagerly tried to ride out the wave of pleasure. Frank’s deft fingers continued to work you over, wringing every single drop of pure bliss from you until he was certain there wasn’t an ounce of satisfaction he had missed. He wrapped his arm tightly around your waist to hold you against him, brushing his lips along the shell of your ear as he encouraged you through your orgasm.

“That’s it, there we go. That’s my girl. That’s my fuckin’ girl. Make me so proud baby, so fuckin’ proud. I got you, sweetheart.”

After a few minutes, you were finally able to get your breathing under control, your vision becoming less and less fuzzy as you fully regained coherency. Frank gazed down at you lovingly, brushing your hair away from your face and tucking a strand of it behind your ear. You blinked a few times as he came into focus, staring into his deep mahogany eyes. You blushed at the look he was giving you, a cheeky grin coupled with a quizzically arched brow.

“So, my girl’s a little kinky, hm? You been holdin’ back on me this whole time?”

You couldn’t help but burst into a fit of giggles, hiding your face into Frank’s chest to escape his taunting stare.

“I was nervous!”

“What the hell for? You think I wouldn’t like it or somethin’?”

“I didn’t know. You’re always so…gentle with me. You always take it slow, and touch me like I’m made of glass. Not that I mind that, I don’t at all. I like when you’re sweet to me. I just…I guess I wasn’t sure what you wanted, or what you would think of me if I told you what else I liked.”

Frank gently grabbed at your throat, holding your face in his fingers so that you couldn’t look away. There was a timid smile on his lips and an uncertain vulnerability floating around in his eyes.

“Baby, I take it slow because I don’t wanna push you. I never wanna do anythin’ that makes you uncomfortable. I’ve been lettin’ you call the shots this whole time, decidin’ what we do and when we do it, followin’ your lead, ya know? Look I…I just don’t wanna fuck this up. That’s all.”

“What if I don’t wanna call the shots? What if I want you to?”

Frank sucked in a deep breath at your words, unable to ignore the way they made his cock twitch in his jeans.

“If that’s what you want, sweetheart.”

“It is.”

“But-”

“Frank, I trust you, and I can take a lot more than you give me credit for. If I feel like I can’t handle something or don’t like it, I’ll tell you, and I trust that you’ll respect that. I promise I won’t hold back anymore if you don’t.”

“Alright, sweetheart. You got yourself a deal.”

#frank castle #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x you #frank castle x reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle smut #frank castle fic #frank castle request #the punisher #the punisher smut #the punisher fic #the punisher request

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jay4firefic · 3 years ago

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Enamor Me for Buck and Jay 💕

So babe asked me to write a ficlet and maybe some porn for a ship I don't even really ship and I plotted out a 50k fic with a complicated backstory, overlapping PTSD symptoms and a recovery arc while I was stuck in traffic. But, uh, here's the bit that fills the prompt? (Also Jay gets a full name because William vs Jay does not make sense to me as a naming scheme)

“I didn’t order this,” Jay says, eyeing the glass that has been plunked down in front of him unceremoniously with suspicion.

The bartender - his name starts with a B, Jay thinks, but he’s been coming here to get away from everyone who knows him, not make new friends - just smiles and pushes the sweating glass across the bartop. “I know, but you’ll like it.”

Jay’s suspicion doubles. “How do you know what I’ll like?”

“Dude, you prop up my bar at least three nights a week, you tip well, and you’ve got a jaw that looks like it could cut glass. Plus, I caught you checking out my ass the other night. Of course I remember what you drink, Jonathan Anthony.”

That surprises a laugh out of Jay. He didn’t realize he was being that obvious. Then again, he hasn’t realized a lot of things lately. He opens his mouth to apologize for staring at the guy’s ass and tell him he’s not interested, and instead what comes out is, “It’s just Jay.”

“Nice to meet you, Jay. I’m Buck.” The grin that spreads across Buck’s face is nearly blinding and more than a little smug. It’s an annoyingly good look on him. “You should try your beer.”

“You should tell me why I’m gonna like it,” Jay replies, surprising himself again. He hasn’t flirted with anyone in - months, actually. Even before Erin left without a word of farewell, things hadn’t exactly been lighthearted between them for a long time. It feels surprisingly freeing to lean his elbow on the bar, prop his chin on his hand, and give Buck an expectant half-smile. Like getting a little piece of himself back.

“Because you order red ales when you don’t order whiskey and this is the best of both worlds.” Buck points down the sparsely populated bar to the taps. “Just got it in from my favorite craft brewery. Irish red ale, whiskey barrel aged, fourteen percent alcohol which, no offense, it looks like you could use tonight. C’mon, give it a chance. For me?”

“Only because you asked so nice.” Jay tips the pint glass toward Buck before taking a sip, and then another. Buck was right. He could drown in this beer and die a happy man. But he is not, under any circumstances, going to admit that to the smug bastard on the other side of the bar whose smile keeps growing the longer Jay keeps drinking.

“So?”

“It’s not bad.”

“I told you so.”

Jay hides his laugh by draining the rest of the beer, rolling the empty glass between his hands when he’s finished. That’s about when his tipsy brain catches up with their introduction. “Wait, how did you know my full name?”

“It’s on the card you always pay with. Keep up, Officer.” Just as Jay is about to ask how Buck figured that out, already wondering if he’s somehow missed that this is a blue bar and whether he should find a new place to drink (again), Buck taps his own hip exactly where Jay’s gun and badge are hidden by the hem of his shirt.

“I’m that obvious, huh?” Jay sighs, leans back, runs a hand over his face. In his defense he’s not exactly functioning at full capacity lately. Actually, that just makes it worse. He can’t afford to slip like this, even on his own time. The familiar, skin-crawling feeling of needing to be aware of everything around him all the time that his therapist calls hypervigilance cuts through his tipsy haze between one breath and the next. When the door swings open a moment later to let in a group of young men it takes deliberate effort to keep his head from snapping around to watch them. He just watches them out of the corner of his eye instead.

“Maybe, or maybe I’m just that good a detective,” Buck’s voice calls him back to the present. Right, they were having a conversation. Buck doesn’t miss a beat or look at him with pity even though he very obviously tracks the way Jay’s eyes are darting around the room and his grip on the pint glass has turned white-knuckled. Later, Jay will appreciate that. Now he just bites back a sigh of relief when Buck glances down the bar and starts to turn away. “Duty calls. But hey, before I go - do you want another beer, or do you want to meet me in the back in ten minutes when my break starts?”

The pickup line should sound sleazy, but something about the combination of Buck’s dimpled smile and the way he ducks his head almost shyly makes it charming instead. Jay should still say no.

“Both,” he says, because it’s apparently a night for surprising himself.

Porny follow up to come?

#chicago pd fanfiction #9-1-1 fanfiction #evan buckley #jay halstead #evan buckley x jay halstead #jay gets my taste in beer #welcome to jay's crack ship hell #my fic #prompt fills #asks and answers

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 4 years ago

Text

I’m Ready

Summary: “I can’t...I can’t take my forever if you’re not in it.”

Picks up right where the show left off. Not technically a fix-it, as I didn’t change anything, but I promise it gets better.

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of (canon) child abuse and neglect, mentions of past trauma, working through trauma, denial, bit of pining (but, like, in a denial sort of way), some fluff, some angst (but not as much as there is fluff)

Author’s Note: So many thanks to @there-must-be-a-lock for endless suggestions, fixes, and beautiful images (header AND dividers!!!). Thanks to all my friends for cheering me on, especially @thoughtslikeaminefield ; I probably wouldn’t have kept going with the story without you.

This is my first Destiel story and my first time posting in a while. Please be kind.

Word Count: 7704

In case you missed it: ItMightHaveBeenintentional’s Masterlist

Dean isn’t sure how long he’s been in heaven, at least not by heaven’s timeframe. Probably years, maybe even a couple of decades. He doesn’t age in heaven, and time works differently, running fast and stretching slow.

For Dean, heaven is a chance to rest, catch up with his massive found family, and just breathe for the first time since he was a kid. No worrying about Sam, no waiting for the next monster to pop out, no prepping for the next apocalypse.

Nothing like heaven to give a guy time to kick his boots off and just relax.

Unfortunately, relaxing has never come easy to Dean. Sure, he can go through the motions (binge watching horror movies, binge drinking, hell, just bingeing in general), but relaxing is an entirely different matter.

Relaxing means letting his guard down. It means giving up his hypervigilance. It means sleeping hard and staying asleep until he wakes naturally and unassisted by attackers. It means spending long moments reminding himself the monster at the end of the book is really gone.

Sam is safe. Everyone he’s ever loved is safe and close, where he can reach them.

Almost everyone.

...

Jake Walker is born on the ninth of July at twenty-one seconds past 9:14 AM. His mother Samantha is exhausted after a two-weeks-early delivery, but both she and the baby are strong and steady. Her wife didn’t faint, none of the medical team ever sounded the least worried, and she heard her son’s first shocked wail as he came into the world. Exhausted, but definitely good.

His mom Betty, on the other hand, is an absolute wreck. She’s been anxious the entire pregnancy, despite good news from the doctor at every visit, and she is terrified that the unexpected early arrival of their son means her worst fears are just beginning.

Betty takes slow, calming breaths, focusing on not clamping down too hard on Sam’s hand. She has to stay strong, calm, for her new family. She has to keep her head on straight, in case—in case —

“Your son is absolutely fine, seems he just had a real particular time he wanted to arrive. Here he is.”

Betty opens her eyes to find a delivery nurse beaming at her, proffering a small, swaddled bundle.

“Never seen such a calm baby. Here, he’s been waiting for you.”

Betty looks down into the startlingly clear, mossy green eyes gazing up at her from the squashed, serene little face, and she feels something click into place in the middle of her chest. Samantha leans her head back against her pillow, letting out a long slow breath as she smiles, and Betty’s pulse slowly finds its way back to something like normal.

“We’ve been waiting for you, too, big guy.”

...

Trauma doesn’t heal in a day, not even in heaven. All the shit Dean remembers — all the shit he tried to forget — everything he ever managed to suppress — drives him from his bed at night, leaving him sleepless on his front porch, staring blankly into the night, or tinkering on Baby in the garage, digging into the perfect engine, determined to distract himself from his spiraling thoughts.

Dean has never been an idiot, no matter how many times he played the fool in life. The people he and Sam couldn’t save, the people he let down, none of those deaths are on him. Dean isn’t responsible for the pain and suffering, but he’s haunted by it all the same.

The problem is, haunts don’t go away on their own. Every hunter knows that.

It’s not that he wants forgiveness; how can he be forgiven for something he isn’t responsible for? He needs to see those people, though, see that they’re okay and at peace. He has to make sure everyone is where they should be, safe and at least content. And even if he ultimately isn’t their killer, didn’t want their deaths, would have done anything to prevent them, he still needs them to know...to know everything.

He needs absolution.

And if the person who needs to hear those things the most is MIA, well, they’ve got a history of not saying a lot of things face to face. There’s always prayer, right?

Dean starts by visiting a couple of people he hadn’t been able to save along the way, feeling strangely like someone following a twelve step program. Objectively, (ie, according to the people he talks to), he’s got nothing to apologize for. He did his best; he made tough decisions in situations forced upon him. They don’t blame him in the least, and most are truly and obviously thankful for his intervention.

Their words don’t make much of a dent in the mountain of guilt Dean carries on his shoulders, but it’s a start.

Once or twice, Dean finds himself looking up at the sky, so far from empty, opening his mouth to call out — an action so common on earth it nearly became reflex —but he stops himself both times. He’s not ready for that conversation.

But he needs to talk to someone closer to him, a deeper connection than the monster victims he’s been visiting.

He’s restless, needs to move a little, needs to talk to…

Someone. He needs to talk to someone. But he can’t. Hell, he can’t even say the name.

Pacing the garage turns to a wandering ramble down the road, past Sam and his family’s house, past Mom and Dad’s house (there’s a conversation or fifty that he’s not ready for), until he finds himself in front of what can only be described as a hobbit hole. He shakes his head, not for the first time, the corner of his mouth tilted up as he knocks on the circular front door.

He’s greeted by bright red hair, a surprisingly crushing hug, and one of the brightest smiles Dean has ever seen.

“Hey, Charlie. Can we, uh...You up for a walk? I was hopin we could talk for a while.”

...

Jake grows quickly and steadily, always near the top of all his growth charts but never alarmingly so. He’s bright, quick to anger and quick to laugh, and fiercely loving. He is both his mothers’ boy, always up for a cuddle or a wrestle, and he loves to build block towers and demolish them with equal abandon.

He makes his displeasure with vegetables known early on. On this particular morning, he introduces his strained peas to the kitchen wall with surprising velocity. Betty knows better than to encourage this attitude, so she hides her smile behind calm, controlled admonition as she offers another spoonful.

Jake looks her straight in the eyes, his smile dazzling and laughter bright, and she knows she hasn’t fooled him one bit. She sighs and lets her own smile match his. He won her over the day he was born; there’s not much point trying to fight it now.

“Come on, babe, eat your peas and we’ll see about some of those stewed apples left over from Mommy’s pie filling. Deal?”

She scrunches her nose and wiggles her eyebrows. Jake’s little eyes widen at her expression, and he tries to imitate it before dissolving into giggles. Betty takes the opportunity to poke a spoonful of peas into his open mouth.

She’s not spent much time around kids before this, but Betty swears she’s never seen a baby look so resigned and exasperated in real life. But she’s played her trump card. He’s too young for the crust, but a couple of spoonfuls of smashed up fruit (apple is his favorite), and Jake is guaranteed to eat just about anything she presents.

“Pie?” she asks.

Jake smiles and opens his mouth wider.

...

“SURPRISE!!!”

The last time he was shocked this badly, Sam didn’t let him forget that fucking cat for years. Or ever, really. Seems like everyone he ever knew is stuffed into his living room, barely leaving room for the balloon bouquets and a massive… That’s not a cake, it’s…

That’s the most beautiful apple pie Dean has ever seen in his entire life.

Dean is engulfed by arms, hugging and patting and slapping his back (was that a pinch on his ass?), everyone eager to get their turn with him, wishing him a happy birthday, saying they can’t wait until he opens his presents, it’s so good to see him, he’s looking so rested!

He manages to extract himself from the wellwishers, citing parental obligations, and finally makes his way over to Mary, smiling warmly and offering him a knife and a plate. His eyes flick anxious from his mom to the golden brown circle of perfection before him, but he can’t bring himself to ask. Mary’s smile widens.

“I didn’t lay a hand on it except to take it out of the box. Happy Birthday, Dean.”

Six plates of pie later, Dean reclines on his couch, letting the relaxed atmosphere of the party sink into his bones. The excitement and crowd of early have begun to wind down, leaving a double handful of family, both blood and found, all telling the most embarrassing, terrible Dean stories they can think of.

It’s possible Dean’s never laughed this hard in his entire life.

He heaves a deep sigh of contentment and props his feet ponderously on the coffee table, draping an arm across the back of the couch and surveying the room.

Donna, one of the apparent party conspirators, tosses him a sparkling grin over her shoulder before turning back to a rather animated conversation with Charlie about the length of Dean’s wig at the LARPing battle. Sam and Kevin are recounting Dean’s worst cooking disasters to Garth’s wife, and Bobby is entertaining Mary with Dean’s disastrous attempt to flirt with the pizza delivery girl who delivered to Bobby’s house most weekends when Sam and Dean would stay with him.

If Dean had to describe one perfect day, this would be just about it, down to the flakiness of the pie crust and the amazing collection of horror movies and original vinyls he’s been gifted. Almost every single person he could possibly want present is there, and since he isn’t dwelling on absence today, Dean decides to push his wandering thoughts out of his head and just soak it all in.

Every muscle in his body hums contentedly, and Dean feels strangely warm and peaceful, but excited, all at once. It’s weird, just sitting here and enjoying the moment, not worrying about the next minute or hour or day or even year. He’s full of pie, he’s got great tunes to look forward to, and there’s nothing to worry about.

He’s happy.

Naturally, that’s when the panic sets in. This won’t last; it never does. Happiness can’t last. He learned that a long time ago.

Sure, it’s heaven, but he doesn’t deserve to be here, so something is going to spoil it for him, for everyone. Probably Dean himself, he thinks as his eyes dart from his mom to his dad. Dean always seems to find a way to fuck things up, couldn’t take care of Sam, couldn’t keep himself alive, couldn’t even keep the Empty from—

“Hey, birthday boy.” Jody’s voice somehow reaches Dean through his darkening thoughts, and he comes back to himself in stages, focusing on the warmth of her hands on his shoulders. She stands behind the couch, leaning down to squeeze his shoulders. “Wanna get some air?”

He nods blindly and climbs numbly to his feet. Jody guides him efficiently out the door and points Dean in an arbitrary direction. They walk for what could be moments or hours as Dean plows through the morass in his mind.

“I get it,” Jody finally says.

Dean glances sharply at her.

“I still have random panic attacks sometimes, wondering if Alex is safe at the hospital, if this is going to be the hunt that gets Claire.” Her eyes are fixed on some point in the distance, and he gets the feeling she’s deliberately not meeting his eyes. “I check on Owen every thirty minutes on my bad nights, and I have to lay hands and eyes on Sean to convince myself he’s really there before I can calm down. It always takes me a minute or sixty to make myself remember where we are, where everyone is, and that there isn’t some big or even small bad waiting around the corner or under the bed.”

Dean stuffs his hands in his pockets, stuffing down his automatic reassurances. The first half of his life was spent avoiding conversations like this, and it took him a long time to unlearn the knee-jerk reaction to brush off people’s concerns with some variation of “Everything’s fine.”

Jody, with an awareness born of decades of hunting and parenthood, senses his discomfort. She slows her steps and catches Dean’s elbow, turning him gently to face her.

“That feeling in your gut when the happiness comes, the panic, that knowledge deep, deep down that everything good is bound to turn to shit.” Jody reaches out and wipes a trickle of moisture from Dean’s face.

It’s not raining, he thinks, frowning. Where the hell did that come from?

“You're going to unlearn it. You’re the toughest bastard I’ve ever met, Dean, and you've been through literal hell. If anyone has earned their happiness up here, it’s you. You’re allowed to be happy, and someday you’ll know it.”

Dean would love to reply right now, to contradict Jody. He’d love to remind her of all the bad calls he made, of all the torturing he did in hell, of all the lies he told...

But this knot in his throat is choking him. And still Jody persists.

“I know how goddamned stubborn you are, but you’re not stupid either. We have nothing to forgive you for. Maybe once you’ve talked to everyone on your list, you’ll see that, too. But in the meantime, take a deep breath, give me a hug, and at least say in your head that you’re allowed to enjoy yourself at your own damned birthday party, even if you can’t admit it out loud.”

And if the damp patch on Jody’s shoulder bothers her as they stroll back to Dean’s house to grab a couple of beers, at least she’s tactful enough to not mention it.

...

Jake takes care of his family. He’s a fairly serious, empathetic toddler, quick to kiss other’s ouchies. After receiving his first Elmo bandage, Jake insists on bandaging his stuffed puppy’s tail, his tyrannosaurus rex’s left eye (“He fight with stegosaurus,” Jake solemnly informs Samantha as he presses the adhesive strip in place), and then an old, almost-healed shaving cut on Betty’s left knee.

“Mama better now?” Jake asks, somehow managing to sound strictly professional and absurdly adorable at the same time. He looks up to Betty for approval, and she wonders how she manages to let him touch the ground at all with how much she just wants to hold him all day long.

“Mama so much better now,” she informs him, careful to stay serious. He rewards her with the golden smile that is the highlight of her days before rushing off to find someone else he can fix up.

Both Betty and Samantha marvel in his quickness to share his snacks. They never refuse an offered Cheerio from him, no matter how damp or sticky (though a few of those disappear quickly when Jake’s attention wanders).

The discussion over a first pet is fairly quick and decisive. Everyone agrees the pet must be something fluffy that can be cuddled. Betty vetoes anything smaller than a cantaloupe, citing her clumsiness and tendency to step on things that should never be trod upon. Jake vetoes cats, saying he just doesn’t trust them, and Mommy and Mama share one of their silent conversations before Samantha speaks up.

“A puppy it is, then, Jakey. Let’s go look up some good breeds.”

Their first pet is a rescue named Garth, at Jake’s adamant insistence, though they're still not sure where he learned that name in the first place. Garth is clumsy, awkward, easy-going, and the most spoiled and cared for pet in the neighborhood.

Jake’s little sister Tabitha comes along shortly before his fourth birthday, and he takes to big brotherhood with an authority and self-assurance that delights every stranger the family meets. When she eventually starts walking, Jake is right by her side, guiding each one of her toddling little steps while a beaming Mommy and Mama follow close behind.

No one is even a little surprised when Tabby’s first whole word is “Hake.” She masters the letter j eventually, but continues to refer to his big brother by the name she gave him for most of the rest of their lives. Jake doesn’t even pretend to be annoyed.

“It was just a matter of time,” Samantha says one night, as she and Betty are getting ready for bed one night not long after Tabby has given Jake his new moniker. “You know what I mean?”

Betty, who has known exactly what Sam means since the day she literally tripped over her future wife at university, smiles and turns down the covers on her side of the bed.

“That’s Jake,” she says. They’ve spent hours, discussing their son’s odd, charming quirks long into the night, offering up phrases like “old soul” and “wise,” and eventually realized nothing they said could ever completely encompass the loving little person they somehow managed to bring into the world.

“That’s Jake,” Sam agrees, and turns her version of Jake’s golden smile on her wife. Mischief sparkles in her eyes, and Betty wonders how she ended up with three people in her life that she absolutely cannot win against.

“Ready to get sweaty, Betty?”

Betty groans but can’t hold back her grin. “You are the absolute worst, and that is exactly why I love you.”

…

Sam manages to shock Dean when he insists on a big family Christmas. His extra years on earth apparently helped the younger Winchester warm to the idea of holidays, finally getting to enjoy them with his son as he never did during his own childhood.

Sam doesn’t have to try very hard to talk everyone into celebrating. Things have been calm and serene, more than a little on the uneventful side, and Dean figures it will add some variety to his afterlife. Something to plan, something to look forward to that won’t be crashed by murderous Elder Gods or various other supernatural entities.

Probably.

Dean secretly loves that feeling of finding the perfect present for someone, something he was never really in a position to do back on earth. He takes a deep breath, proactively reminding himself that this is okay, this is allowed, this is good, that everything is not only okay but actually kind of great, really.

He can be happy. He can. He can do this.

The shade of red Sam’s face turns before he finally dissolves into laughter is a thousand percent worth the degradation of actually gifting someone a signed vinyl copy of Celine Dion’s first solo album.

“It’s perfect, Dean. Thanks, man.” Sam pulls his brother into a hug, and his giant paw slapping Dean in the middle of the back literally knocks the panic right out of him. Deans huffs, at a loss for words, and hugs Sam back perhaps just a smidge too forcefully before letting him go.

“You’ll never top Sapphire Barbie for best Christmas present, but this runs a close second.” Sam shakes his head, still grinning as he reads over the back cover of the album while Mary and John look on, varying levels of confusion and amusement on their faces.

“What’s he talking about, Dean?” John asks. He takes a long drink of his whiskey. “Sapphire Barbie? Some kinda code word or something?”

Sam and Dean glance at each other, their shoulders tensing automatically. For a moment, Dean can actually feel the phantom hunger pains transposed over the current fullness of his belly, and he can see a tiny Sam (still way more hair than necessary), huddled despondent and hungry under a shitty, moth-eaten motel blanket, convinced there would be no Christmas.

“Dean, uh...accidentally got me a Barbie for Christmas one year, it was — a, uh — yeah, he wanted to make sure I got a present, so he grabbed it, and…” Sam trails off.

John huffs a confused laugh, and Dean’s hackles rise at the scoff, so like Sam’s and yet so much more...condescending. John rises from the couch and goes to refill his glass. Sam seems content to let the moment pass, but something in Dean’s gut, something latent and ignored since his heavenly ascension, sparks and smolders bitterly.

“How the hell do you ‘accidentally’ get somebody a Barbie?” John asks, still chuckling, and Dean suddenly realizes he’s real fucking tired of biting his tongue.

“I stole the Barbie. Stole a couple of other things, too. A Christmas tree, some decorations, a baton.”

Mary glances between her sons, confused, before turning to John. “Where were you while this happened?”

A parade of emotions march over John’s face: confusion is followed by slow recognition. Guilt makes a quick appearance only to be chased away by dull, ashamed anger.

Dean can practically see John’s mind flashing through the scenario, recalling more about the hunt than his own sons on that cold, nasty Christmas Eve. He knows the instant his dad reverts to default setting of laying the blame on his eldest son. Dean braces himself automatically, his body viscerally reacting to the familiar storm on his father’s face.

Dean has the fleeting thought that at least his dad is drinking from a glass now; ought to hurt a lot less than being hit with a whole bottle.

“You left your brother to go steal from somebody else’s home on Christmas? After what happened with the shtriga?”

Dean knows true anger, near rage, for the first time in heaven, and the bitter wash of it through him is cutting and all too familiar.

“Pretty stupid thing to do, I know, but I wasn’t even twelve yet, so I wasn’t making the wisest of decisions.”

“Not even twelve?” Mary cuts in. “Sam? Does anybody feel like explaining this to me?”

“What the hell were you thinking, Dean, anything could have—”

But Dean had a lifetime of being plowed under by his dad’s inability to take responsibility, has had way more than enough of shouldering the blame for shit he should never have been left with in the first place.

“I was thinking that somebody should get a seven-year-old something for Christmas, should make sure he has enough to eat. Where were you, Dad? What were you thinking? Because you sure as hell weren’t thinking about us.”

That knot starts up in Dean’s throat again, the muscles tightening against the fear that blossoms in his chest, echoed from decades of training. Sam’s hand finds Dean’s arm, and Dean looks to him. Instead of the caution or reproach he’s expecting, though, all Sam simply nods.

“Say it, Dean.”

Dean stands slowly, facing John Winchester with every bit of strength he’s built, every bit of courage he’s earned from a lifetime of terror, and realizes that the angry, bitter man before him is no more a threat to him anymore than Chuck is. And without looking, he knows Sam stands behind him, solid and resolute.

“I wasn’t even twelve. It was Christmas, and you abandoned us. Yeah, I stole Sam a Barbie doll. You know what I got for Christmas that year? The year before? Every fucking year before that for almost as long as I can remember?”

John opens his mouth, even now unable to admit his faults, but Dean barrels on before his dad can get a word out.

“Not a damn thing from you. Not one damn thing. Not presents, not food, not a warm place to sleep or a word of thanks or approval. Not even a fucking phone call to say Merry Goddamn Christmas.” Dean pauses one last time, and it suddenly feels like he’s towering over the man whose shadow always felt too dark, too large, too suffocating; the man whose respect he used to crave more than food and water.

“What about me, Dad? Huh? What about me?”

Dean doesn’t recall leaving his parents’ house, doesn’t remember driving home, but he finds himself on his own front porch, leaning forward in his rocking chair. He takes in a long, deep breath before scrubbing his hands through hair and leaning against the back of the chair.

A breeze rifles the leaves of a nearby tree, ruffling Dean’s hair. He taps his thumb against the arm of the chair and takes a long moment to breathe in the night air.

Dean lets his thoughts roll around for a while. The stars creep slowly across the black, the crickets chirp, and the breeze continues to tickle through Dean’s mussed hair.

“You and I could write the book on shitty dads, am I right, kid?”

He’s not sure why he decides to talk to Jack. Just nice to have someone to talk to, knowing they’re not going to talk right back.

“Could just cut him out. Dunno how that’d work in heaven.” He thinks a moment, then grins to himself. “Not sure Mom’d let me get away with that. Sam would back me up, though.” Dean grins into the somehow not-empty night. “I would be the guy that brings a family feud into paradise, huh?”

Dean takes in the wilderness around him, the empty house at his back, the extra rocking chair for...a visitor, he supposes. He has learned today that heaven, as perfect as it is, still holds anger and bitterness and loneliness, and he figures that’s to be expected.

“You still did good, kid. You and me, we did good even with our shitty old men in and outta our lives. Glad we cut yours out for good. Guess I’ll figure out how to deal with mine eventually. All I’ve got now is time, anyway.”

Dean pushes up slowly, still surprised at the lack of cricks, pops, and aches that accompanied the action his last couple of years on earth.

“Night, Jack,” he says into the wind. He glances over at the empty rocking chair one last time. “If you see him, tell him —just tell him—”

Dean frowns, shakes his head, and turns his back on the night.

…

Jake’s not a crier, not really. There are inevitable tears that come with bad falls, but Jake sheds tears like it’s a physical reaction that he’s getting out of the way so he can move on.

So when Betty goes to change the sheets in her son’s room, only to find him silently crying on the floor, she panics. Sheets flop forgotten to the side as she drops next to his, reaching instinctively for his still-plump cheeks.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? What happened?”

“Nothing happened, Mama, I’m sorry I scared you,” he sniffles, his eyebrows down low on his small forehead.

Jake has never lied in his entire young life, and Betty is torn because he is obviously upset about something, but his face is full of nothing but truth and confusion.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Jakey,” she says, settling on the floor next to him and opening her arms. He instantly climbs into her lap, hooking his own arms around her neck and nuzzling under her chin. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Can you tell me what made you cry?”

“I...I don’t know,” he says, his little voice quiet and heavily confused. “I was playing with Tabby, she was helping me build a tower with my blocks, and then Mommy came to get Tabby for her snack.”

Betty is stumped. Jake has never had any kind of separation anxiety, as far as she can tell. He’s spent nights with both sets of grandparents, even a couple of weekends with aunts, uncles, and cousins, and never shed so much as a single tear.

“You...are you crying because you miss Tabby? She’s right in the next room, baby, you can go with her for snack time, you know that.”

“No, Mama, I —I don’t know why I’m crying. Tabby hugged me, she said she loved me, then she went with Mommy, and I felt...really happy. Like —the happiest ever, and...it was too much happy?”

The last part comes out as a question, and honestly Betty isn’t sure how to answer it.

“Well, baby,” she starts hesitantly, not sure where to lead this particular discussion. “Can you explain what you mean when you say ‘too much happy’?”

He snuggles closer against her chest, his forehead pressing along her jaw. “I dunno. I think...maybe I’m not supposed to be that happy? Is that why the tears came out? Because I got more happy than I’m supposed to get? Was I wrong, Mama?”

Betty breathes slowly, tightening her hold on the little boy in her arms. “You weren’t wrong, Jake. You can be as happy as you want. There’s never too much happy, I promise.”

She feels him shift, and she looks down to meet his clear, green gaze. He studies her carefully, scrutinizing her expression, and she’s reminded why she’s always been so very careful to tell her children the truth, albeit on levels they can understand.

“You pinky promise?”

The proffered pinky is smudged, pudgy, and absolutely perfect. Betty hooks her pinky finger with her son’s, bumping his nose gently with her own.

“Jakey, you have my eternal permission to be as happy as you are capable of feeling. And no one is ever allowed to take that from you. Good?” He nods, and she carefully brushes the tear tracks from his cheeks. “Sometimes feelings are really big, and they’re just a little too big for your body. They have to find a way out, and that’s why the tears come out.”

“Is that why you cry when you watch the kissy movies?” he asks, suddenly smiling. “Your feelings are too big, too?”

“Yup. We’ve got big feelings in this family, Jakey. Better get used to it, kiddo.”

...

More time passes. Dean walks, he talks, he goes through the motions. He heals a little with every conversation, every time he reaches out, and even though some of the wounds feel as fresh as the day he got them, eventually all that’s left are faint scars. He’d never willingly erase the scars, anyway. He earned them, and he’ll be damned if something like a little death and talk therapy could just wipe them away.

Gradually — so gradually Dean doesn’t realize it until Donna makes a comment one night after their regular poker game — Dean learns to not only let his guard down but drop it entirely. He’s shocked to realize the loss of his emotional armor doesn’t even bother him.

Dean works on Baby, drinks with Bobby, teaches Mary how to make an apple pie from scratch, and even manages to have a couple of honest, semi-civil conversations with his father. They don’t exactly reach Andy and Opie levels of father-son bonding, but John does eventually manage to grudgingly admit he fucked up some (a lot). Dean supposes anyone can make progress in heaven if they try hard enough.

He’s talked to everyone he can think of, settled scores, smoothed ruffles, filled himself to bursting with absolution. Dean is so absolved he thinks he might punch the next person who pats him on the back and tells him how much good he’s done for the world.

And still, he comes home every night to that extra rocking chair.

He waits now, waits while he talks with Sam, waits while he walks through the woods, waits while he changes Baby’s oil. He can’t shake the feeling that something is coming. He can feel it around himself, like a suit of armor or a second skin. Nothing terrible, nothing ominous, but something. Which is weird because nothing ever seems to happen in heaven, not really.

Could be he’s just bored, but Dean doesn’t think that’s it. Not entirely.

He talks to Jack nightly now. It’s a habit, something to help Dean talk through and untangle his thoughts into something he can understand. He looks forward to their talks, being able to get his feelings out without being either validated or rebuffed. Just letting some steam off.

He’s done it for so long that he can barely remember the night he started. Dean knows Jack can hear him, but the kid’s been true to his word, stayed hands off and radio silent. He lets mortals deal with their own issues, keeping himself and the supernatural world well away. Even the angels leave people alone in heaven.

Especially the angels, Dean grudgingly admits to himself, late one night after leaving Sam’s house. Instead of going home to that extra rocking chair, he drives Baby slowly, aimlessly, yet somehow ends up back on that same bridge where he met up Sam all those years ago.

He parks right at the end (no traffic in heaven) and strolls out to the middle, scuffing his boots and sending little puffs of dust in the air. His hands are stuffed deep in his pockets, out of habit more than anything else, and he lifts his gaze from the ground up to the full moon in the sky.

“Hey, kid,” he says softly. “Hope it’s goin good for you.Things are pretty good here. I know you know, you’re everywhere and all that,” Dean waves his hand vaguely, then continues, “Just wanted to let you know, I guess. I didn’t tell you enough, but we—I —really appreciated you. Appreciate you. You, uh...you did real good, kid. Then and now.” He pauses, then takes a breath, standing straight and letting all pretense go.“Please tell Cas...he did good, and...I miss him. And I know you’re all taking the hands-off approach, but —I dunno, maybe...he could —stop by? Or…”

The silence around Dean is heavy, comforting like a thick blanket.

Or a tan trenchcoat, he thinks.

“Jack —“

He cuts himself off, though. He spent all this time in heaven working through rivers of bullshit, wearing down mountains of lies and self-loathing until he can finally be honest and open with everyone. And if he’s going to be honest with himself tonight, Jack isn’t who he needs to talk to.

“Sorry kid, I gotta put you on hold.”

Purgatory flashes before his eyes, that sense of loss and being lost, the desperation and certainty that he’d never see his best friend again.

I can’t do this anymore, he thinks. I can’t pretend anymore. And I’m done lying to myself.

“Cas. Castiel. I hope you can hear me. I miss you. I don’t know where you are. Bobby said you were here, that you helped remake this place into something pretty damned awesome, but I never see you. I can feel you sometimes, can tell some things are up here just because you put ‘em there. Someone will tell a story, and I swear I can feel you standing right beside me, can almost hear you frowning and not understanding the joke. I…”

He knows there’s something left —knows he hasn’t found the right words yet. He has no idea what that right thing is, or even what he’s still waiting for, but he figures if he just barrels on, it’ll come to him.

“There was too much in the way, back on earth, in Purgatory. Too much always coming after us, trying to kill us or worse. I got in my own damned way, never knew what to say or how to say it. Didn’t think I deserved...I should’ve…”

He’s not sure what’s more bizarre, that he’s praying to someone who probably won’t respond — probably can’t even hear him — or that he’s doing so in a place wildly opposite from that last time he prayed like this.

Dean isn’t sure how he keeps ending up in this situation, but here he is, gasping out his feelings to the night air, barely able to squeeze the words past that perpetual knot in his throat.

“It’s a lot clearer up here, more room to breathe and think. This heaven you and Jack made...it’s great. Hell, it’s damn near perfect. But there’s no you. And I just can’t see my heaven as right without you. I can’t...I can’t take my forever if you’re not in it.”

A wispy cloud, silver in the moonlight, drifts across an otherwise flawless sky. Dean stares upwards for several minutes, wondering if Cas can see the same stars tonight, wherever he is.

“Maybe...I don’t know if you can come back. Or if you even left. I don’t know how any of it works.”

He’s on the cusp. He can almost taste the next step.

Dean’s at a loss, though. He could be brave: he could say everything he should’ve said in that last moment, everything he should have told Cas.

Or he could take the comfortable path, revert to being a dick and tell Cas exactly how he feels about all this silent treatment, about the no-show in heaven or not telling him about his deal with the Empty until it was too late, about waiting until the last second so Dean would have no time—

Or he could do both.

Both is good.

Metal railings squeak under Dean’s punishing grip. He’s not sure when he grabbed hold of the bridge itself, but right now he needs all the support he can get.

“You left me! You should have told me, given me a chance. Another chance, just one more. I’m sorry, Cas, I knew but I didn’t. I— I should’ve told you, should’ve held you, I could have—“

The tears flow unimpeded, the air squeezed from his lungs in convulsive gasps, but Dean can’t stop now.

“I should have told you everything I felt, every day. I should have trusted you more, and I’m so sorry. You were always family, you were always there for me when I needed you. We both fucked up so many times, lost so much time together. I was so angry at you, at me, at everyone and everything, and I let it get in the way.”

The silence around him is maddening. Here he is, ripping his guts out in the middle of the bridge, and all he gets back is crickets and evening breezes. Dean shoves off the railing, too frantic to stay still.

“Gimme something, Cas, anything! I’m pouring my heart out! I fucked up, and I’m sorry, and I swear I’m gonna do better, but you’ve gotta give me the chance! Just...just give me some sort of answer, please? Let me know you’re there!”

The silence persists.

Just as quickly as Dean’s rage crescendos, it fizzles suddenly. He drops to the ground, back and head slamming hard against the side of the bridge as he lets out a roar of helpless rage. His fists grip his hair, teeth grinding against the wave of helplessness that threatens to overwhelm him.

“I missed my chance, I waited too long, I should’ve said— I should have—“

And then it comes to him.

His hands draw down from his hair, scrubbing his face before steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. He can’t believe it’s taken him this long to realize.

“I’m an idiot.” His voice is barely audible, even to his own ears, but he has no doubt his words will reach their intended destination. “This place you built, you and Jack, it’s as good as it gets. I deserve it, I earned it. I got my family, I got the easy life for a while. I got my family. I had my rest. There’s only one thing left in the universe I need, only one person I want.”

Dean stands, dusting himself off and turning his face back up to the stars.

“I’m ready, Cas. I— I love you. And I’m ready for the next thing. Whatever that is. However that is. As long as—”

One last pause.

“As long as you’re there, that’s all I need.”

...

The inevitable day of separation comes: Jake’s first day of kindergarten. Samantha is proud of her guardian warrior, knows he’s going to succeed at everything he puts his little bullheaded mind to. Betty hopes very hard that he won’t be too lonely without Tabitha there with him. Tabitha only knows that Jake’s finger tastes good and makes her gums feel better when she chews on it.

Jake, as always, approaches this monumental step with aplomb and logic.

“I’ll give it a shot,” he says casually as his little sister gnaws on his thumb. “An’ if I don’t like it, I’ll just stay here and take care of Tabby. You an’ Mommy can go to work, then, ‘kay, Mama? I can make nut butter n’ jelly sammiches. But I’ll try it out.”

...

School isn’t so bad, Jake decides on his second day. His teacher Mrs. Harris seems to know what she’s doing (she already knows who she can trust with scissors and glue), and the other kids are nice enough. There’s different toys (“learning tools”, Mrs. Harris calls them), so that’s interesting enough, but—

Something is missing.

“Can you tell me what you mean, Jakey?” Betty asks at dinner that night. “Are there supplies you need? We got everything on the list.” She wipes a smear of sweet potato off Tabitha’s face before looking back to her son. His mouth is turned down in a frown of concentration, like he’s trying to remember something.

“I don’t need anything, Mama, just...someone. I need someone. My friend hasn’t come to school yet.”

“It takes time to make friends, baby,” Samantha says. “It’s only the second day of school. Have you tried asking anyone to play yet?”

“Yeah, and they’re fun and all, but they aren’t my friend. My friend isn’t here yet,” Jake says. Then his frown vanishes with the sudden mood change of a five-year-old, and he turns beseeching eyes on Betty, aiming unerringly at the softer target. “I finished my green beans. That means dessert now, right, Mama?”

Jake decides on the third day that the best place to wait for his friend (he just knows he’s going to show up any day now) is the playground.

“My friend likes the playground,” he murmurs. “That’s good, I like the playground, too.” He eats his lunch slowly, watching the other kids wolf down their food so they can have extra playtime. He’s barely finished his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, though, when he’s distracted by movement on the other side of the play yard. The door to the school opens and the school secretary steps out. Then she turns and gently pulls someone out from behind her.

A small boy stands in the doorway, white shirt tucked neatly into black slacks. His blue tie is a little loose, as if he’s been tugging on it, and his tan jacket is a little too big, hanging loosely around his small frame. His hair looks like someone was in too much of a rush to comb it properly. He clutches a pink piece of paper in one hand and, in the other, a backpack inexplicably decorated with flying, winged slices of pizza.

“Late drop-off, parent had to run,” the secretary tells Mrs. Harris before tiptoeing out of the room.

With an anxious glance at the other children, the boy scuttles forward and immediately trips over his own untied shoelaces.

Jake is at the little boy’s side before anyone else can react, kneeling down to check on him. The prone child is too shocked to cry, both by the fall and by the sudden appearance of this unknown factor. Jake checks him over, then nudges him until he sits up.

“You gotta keep ‘em double tied,” Jake says seriously. “Or else that’ll happen all the time.” Without waiting for an answer, Jake sets about the laborious task of looping each set of laces in turn, rabbits chasing each other around trees and down holes until the shoes are secure.

Jake climbs to his feet and reaches down, gripping the other boy’s shoulders and helping him stand. A dark smear of jelly stains the shoulder of the coat in the shape of a smudged purple handprint.

“Thank...thank you,” the smaller boys whispers. He lifts his eyes hesitantly, and clear blue meets olive green for the first time. “I’m Chris.”

“I’m Jake.” He thinks for a long moment, frowning. Something is settling in his chest, something big and permanent and scary; at first he thinks it’s too much.

Then he thinks back to what Mama told him: you can be as happy as you want.

He smiles at Chris. “You’re with me. You’re the one I was waiting for.”

Hope and just a bit of delight flicker across Chris’s eager face.

“I am? You mean it?”

Jake nods and grabs his new friend’s hand. “Yep. Now you’re here, that’s all I need. And nobody's allowed to take you from me, Mama said so. C’mon, let’s play cars.”

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creacherkeeper · 4 years ago

Note

LOVR ur aelwyn and the bad kids series and can’t wait to see what you’ve got planned for the other three bad kids!! got any headcanons in general about them?

thank you so much!!!! <3 <3 ive REALLY enjoyed writing the series so far, and the comments and encouragement has been so lovely ;; fantasy high fandom my beloved <3

*slaps head* this babey can fit so much headcanons in it

okay ive talked about this with a few people but i totally think season 3 will have a siblings motif. we already know a few characters who are NOT only children (fabian, ayda) which hasn’t been explored, and have some characters who also have the potential to not be only children (they called fig ‘first born daughter’ in hell?? weird choice of wording for an only child) (also either set of gorgug’s parents could have more kids - adopted or bio). and i’d just really like to see more of kristen’s brothers and OF COURSE adaine and aelwyn. riz just has such strong only child vibes im sorry i dont see that changing

i REALLY HOPE we meet fabian’s siblings but my PERSONAL headcanon for them is that he has an older sister who is like. SUPER COOL and badass and can kick his ass in a second flat and literally everyone is in love with her. and also an older brother who lives in bastion city who is a completely normal and extremely boring accountant

(also fabian’s cool older sister and aelwyn become friends ok thx)

so adaine definitely has the potential to be a very physical person (like even early early s1 she’s throwing spells, punching, The Ladle) but obviously was raised in an environment where she was expected to be very self contained. i think as she gets used to mordred manor and living with jawbone and tracker and ragh especially, she gets VERY about physical affection. like, okay, one, the child is touch starved we all know this. but i think she goes from awkward fistbumps and pats on the shoulder to like. BIG bear hugs, hair ruffling, people sitting on her lap, etc etc pretty quickly. like just embracing that physicality she has in a positive way

also jawbone and tracker (in a safe way, we know they take measures to not spread lycanthropy) totally bite as affection. and adaine picks up on it and one day just sort of chomps aelwyn’s arm a little bit and aelwyn is like. hey. so what the hell was that. and adaine was like it was affection it means i love you. and aelwyn is just like. literally what the fuck is up with this house.

ALL the bad kids have trauma For Sure but (as i hinted at in the first fic) fabian definitely has ptsd from leviathan. i think his presents as less emotional stuff and more as like. a ton of hypervigilance and irritability/snappishness when he’s triggered

okay i could literally write an essay on all the bad kids mental stuff and neurodivergence and everything but 1) kristen is just a unit of cPTSD with freckles 2) adaine and aelwyn have the SUPER WEIRD combo of adaine being the externalizer and aelwyn being an internalizer and i think that’s the thing that like. yes DID fuck up aelwyn for a long time but ultimately is what saved both of them. like i believe very strongly that if this tendency had been flipped they’d both be completely screwed

okay speaking of aelwyn 1) claustrophobia now right?? like we can all agree on that ?? 2) this is NOT just me projecting (yes it is) but i think aelwyn has chronic pain/fatigue for a good while after s2. like you cant spend almost a YEAR at five levels of exhaustion doing one extremely restricted repetitive motion and not like ???? completely fuck up your body??? like yes she and fabian totally swordfight and duel and stuff but also i think it takes a WHILE before she can do any physical activity without getting completely wiped out. because spells do seem to take SOME level of energy or whatever from you (spell slots, otherwise you could just do them all the time) i think this probably includes spells

gorgug is like. extremely good with kids. toddlers especially. he talks to them like they can totally understand everything (great for development!) and is just very patient and kind and good but also does not mind being used as a jungle gym and WILL throw a child into a beanbag chair for two hours straight (ALSO great for development!). fabian also thinks babies are the cutest things on the planet but will NOT admit that so he mostly tags along when gorgug babysits because he’s “just SO bored he CANT find anything better to do UGH” and secretly is like. babies <3

let aelwyn MULTICLASS!!!! paladin and barbarian are my faves for her

i know this is a common hc but like. all the bad kids share clothes. for sure. literally the bugs bunny OUR closet meme

kristen has a total green thumb she’s GREAT with plants and tracker is just like <3 its because youre a lesbian <3 even though tracker will totally kill any plant she comes in contact with by accident

kristen and tracker are the academy’s GSA moms. theyll be like “hello my child” and the other kid will be like im four months older than you??? and theyre like “that does not matter <3″

adaine and aelwyn were DEF forced into like. piano and violin lessons growing up but when fig finds out shes VERY EXCITED they can play together and like. does piano and violin and bass sound good together?? dont worry about it. its the first time playing music is actually fun for the two of them

ayda, after more research and understanding, is totally the type of person who’d walk up to someone in the grocery store and be like “hello i believe you are autistic like me let me explain what that is” and fig is like. babe. babe. we were just here for fruit snacks. babe.

okay i will stop here for now because i super need to shower but also if people wanted more/specific headcanons i might be .....,, persuaded ...

#fantasy high #dimension 20 #upon rereading the ask i cant tell if this meant headcanons about aelwyn+the bad kids specifically #so if yes that is what you meant i will TOTALLY make another post becuase this one kind of became general headcanons #also yeah im totally gonna be thinking about bad kids neurodivergence and the adaine&aelwyn externalizer internalizer thing during my showe #sigh #Anonymous

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chickensarentcheap · 5 years ago

Text

Sanctuary -Chapter 47

Warnings: profanity

Tagging: @alievans007, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @thunderintheshadows, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @valkyrie-of-the-light

The text messages arrived shortly before one thirty in the afternoon. The rattle of the phone as it vibrates against the nightstand jarring Tyler from peaceful slumber. Hypervigilance the shrink had called it once. One of the many symptoms of his PTSD. He'd always attributed it to being on the job for so long; the ability to go from deep sleep to an almost extreme state of alertness in the blink of an eye. His brain and body on edge; always on the outlook for dangers; whether visible or not. It had always come in handy when out on a job; he was able to quickly detect any sort of threat and determine if it was valid or not. Within the last two years though, waking has often been a harrowing experience; everything and everyone around him a possible danger, anxiety already sitting on his chest and threatening to suffocate him, a cold sweat covering him from head to toe. Many times one of the kids has jumped a little too hard on the bed and he's bolted awake, a hand ready to grab whoever was next to him or a fist cocked ready to defend himself. It had never gotten that far, thankfully. Awareness settling in before anything horrible could happen.

He'd never forgive himself; if he hurts his own kids because his brain is fucked up and beyond repair.

Today it isn't bad. His reaction isn't extreme; no pounding heart, no sweats, no desire to rip somebody apart. There's more annoyance than anything. It had been one of the best -if not the best- sleep he'd had in weeks, if not months. Not demons to fight in his dreams, no memories of Dhaka, no replay of what he'd done only hours before. His body and his mind temporarily shutting down; flat on his back with his wife between his legs, fast asleep with her stomach pressed against him, her head on his chest. It had been intimacy in it's purest and most innocent form; long, slow, sweet kisses that didn't develop into anything more, whispered conversations about not just their worries and their fears, but future plans, declarations of love, promises that everything was going to be okay. That they were going to be okay. And he'd wrapped his arms around and held her as tight as her little body would allow him to, eyes closed as he relaxed in the warmth that radiated off of her, the scent that lingered in her hair.

He reaches for his phone, careful not to wake her. This pregnancy is already proving to be the most difficult one out of the three she's already been through; the all day sickness much more severe and accompanied by near crippling exhaustion. The stress isn't helping of course. The constant state of worry and panic that she always seems to be operating in. But for now she's peaceful. Her back rising and falling with each soft breath, hair falling over her eyes, a slight smile curving her lips. She's relaxed. Safe. Secure. Protected. And his mind is comforted by that. That despite all of their issues, all of the fights, all of the harsh words, all the ultimatums, she still is able to feel that with him.

He has to change. Staying the same isn't an option. And neither is losing his family.

We got trouble, Yaz' text reads. N is here. Pissed. Get here. ASAP.

“Fuck me,” Tyler mutters, and drops the phone onto the mattress. Yet he isn't filled with a sense of urgency. In no hurry to either respond to the text or get to the storage facility. There isn't much that Nik can do. Not even she will step on the toes of the IRA, and she knows that Tyler himself will be a force to be reckoned with if she even so as much -in the slightest- puts his children further at risk. And if she knows what's good for her, she'll just walk away entirely and pretend she never saw a damn thing.

He doesn't want to move. The mixture of the earlier Valium with the most recent pain meds he'd taken have his body at ease; the pain is minor, a dull yet bearable ache just under the shoulder blade, the right knee and back both stiff, but manageable. And he closes his eyes once more; a hand falling on the top of Esme's head, softly running his palm over her hair before it settles in the middle of her back. She stirs against him, mumbling in her sleep and rubbing her cheek against his t-shirt, yet eyes never opening. She looks even younger when she's asleep; ends of her eyelashes brushing against the tops of her cheeks, skin pale and soft -those freckles across her nose more noticeable thanusual-, a soft smile curving her lips. And she seems even smaller than normal; fragile even. Even though she's anything but. He'd made that mistake once. In Dhaka. Assuming she was weak and fragile and needed someone to handle her problems. And she'd quickly let him know just how badly he'd underestimated her.

His phone vibrates again and he groans in protest, scooping it up off of the mattress.

Put your dick back in your pants and get here now

He smirks at that, then sets the phone down once again and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, laying there for several more minutes, summoning up the energy and the desire to actually move. What he wouldn't give to just stay there; fall back asleep with her body tucked so securely against him, both of them temporarily at peace. No worry, no stress, no arguments brought on by the two. No raised voices or harsh words. No tension. No threat to their marriage. It's not the first time he's felt as if things are falling apart; he was certain during their six months apart that things were over and it was a waiting game when it came to win the divorce papers would arrive. But even then she'd given him a second chance. Or was it a third chance that time? Maybe even a fourth? This time he truly feels that he's all out of chances. That's he used up his last one and all that is left is true change. And the effort that has to go into it.

He runs both of his hands up and down her back and presses a kiss to the top of her head, reluctant to wake her up. “Baby...” he combs his fingers through her hair; clearing her bangs off of her forehead. “...Esme....baby....wake up....”

“No,” she pouts, voice childlike. “You can't make me.”

“Well I could make you. But I don't really want to have to resort to that.”

“I said no. I'm not moving. I'm not letting you leave.”

“Babe, I need you to wake up. Or at least get off me.”

“No,” she refuses once more, nuzzles her face even tighter into his chest, hands tightly gripping the sides of his t-shirt. “You're staying right here. Where you belong. With me. You're not allowed to go anywhere.”

“What if I have to take a leak?” he challenges.

“I heard your phone. I know you don't have to go the bathroom. So I'm not moving. I'm not letting you leave. I'm tired of you leaving all the time. Why can't you just stay? Why can't we just have this? These kinds of moments?”

“We'll have tons of these moments when this is all over.”

“When? We have four kids. And one on the way.”

“We'll find time to have them,” he assures her. “But right now? Right now I need you to get off me. Please.”

“You suck,” she mutters, and rolls off of him. “You're the worst.”

“But you love me.”

“Maybe,” she singsongs, and then yawns.

“Well, I love you,” he leans over her, places a kiss to her lips. “You don't get a say in that.”

She smiles, then reaches up and lays a hand on the side of his face, running her thumb over the scruffiness of his beard. “Is everything okay? Who was it?”

“There's some issues. With McMann.”

“And that's your problem how?”

“They need me to come help straighten him out.”

“They're Marines. They're more than capable of handling things.”

“Yeah, well he's scared of me, so....” he kisses her once last time, then gives her a wink and climbs off the bed.

“He should be,” she says, as she rolls over onto her stomach, frowning when he shoves his feet into a pair of flip flops. “Where's your boots?”

“In the closet. I have to clean them when I get back.”

“Why would you lock them in the closet?”

He shrugs, silently cursing himself for not taking care of things early. This all could have been avoided had he just cleaned the goddamn things when he'd first got back. “I dunno. I guess I just did it and wasn't thinking about it. I'll take care of them later.”

“I can do it if you want,” she offers. “As nasty as your boots smell, I've cleaned worse. I have three boys. It doesn't get any more nasty than those three.”

“Just leave them. They're gross. I've got shit all over them.”

She scrunches up her nose. “Like literally or figuratively?”

“Literally,” he lies. “So I'd rather you not deal with something like that, okay?”

“Okay,” she agrees. “Are you going to kick his ass?”

“If I have to.”

“Is it wrong that it makes me wet when I think about you beating the hell out of people? Or getting all aggressive and mean with someone?”

“Well, you like it when I get all aggressive and mean with you, so...”

“My hormones are all over the place. Just so you know. Even seeing your ass in those jeans does me in. Guess I'll just have to have some fun by myself while you're gone. A little solo studying time.”

He groans inwardly. “I'm going to have that stuck in my head now. The thought of you 'studying'.”

“Don't worry, baby. I promise I'll only think about you when I'm studying.”

“You're evil,” he declares, and stands at the side of the bed, pushing his hand through her hair and tightly gripping those soft, red tresses as he kisses her. Hard. Intense. A toe curling kind of kiss that he knows she'll feel for quite a while.

“And you call me evil,” she huffs, as he heads for the door. “I love you. And lust you. Just so you know.”

He grins. “I love you. And lust you, too.”

****

“What...the...fuck...”

That is how Nik greets him, already at the side of the SUV before he even climbs out. Hands on her hips, eyes blazing, mouth set in a grim line. Quite the contrast against the dreary, filthy backdrop of the industrial area in her wedge heels, well tailored black slacks, and low cut red blouse.

The look he gives her must speak volumes, as she takes three steps backwards, giving him both the space to throw open the door, and some breathing room.

“Hey to you, too, Nik,” he responds, and uses his hip to shut the door. “What's up?”

“You damn well know what's up,” she snarls. “What the hell is this?” her hand wildly gestures towards the building. “Just what the hell is this?!”

“It's none of your business is what it is,” he attempts to step past her, but she grabs a hold of his forearm, nails digging into his skin.

Scowling, he sighs heavily and glances down at the hold she has on him, then back up into her eyes.

She gets the message, quickly removing her hand, and she hurries to keep up with him as he heads through the front gate. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you do this? What would make you resort to something like this?”

“Go back to Colorado, Nik. This has nothing to do with you.”

“It has everything to do with me. You work for me. You're associated with me. With my business. You're mine and....”

“I'm yours?” he scoffs. “The ring on my finger says I belong to someone else. You don't own me. This job never belonged to you. You just took it upon yourself to get involved. Because for some reason you can't seem to leave me the fuck alone. What's your issue? Is it a crush? Love? Obsession?”

“Get over yourself, Tyler.”

“I'm not the one who turned you down. Several times. Or are you forgetting that? So you get over yourself. Leave me alone, Nik. This doesn't involve you. It never has.”

“It involved me the second you asked me for my help,” she reminds him. “When McMann showed up in Colorado and you were suspicious of him. You asked me to look into it. You asked me if I had someone tailing you and I said no and then you asked me for my help.”

“For your help. Not to just show up here and try and take things over. This? What's going on here? Has nothing to do with you? And why aren't you in Colorado? Why aren't you at my place, keeping an eye on things?”

“Maybe because you went behind my back and sent Ovi and Chloe away with the kids. You took it upon yourself to screw everything up and...”

No,” he snarls, and abruptly turns on his heel, fixing her in an steely gaze. “I took it upon myself to protect my family. Because you and your people couldn't do their goddamn job properly. Why did you lie to me, Nik? Every fucking time I asked you if things were okay at home, you told me that things were fine. That there was nothing to worry about. I had to find out through Ovi just what was going on. The phone calls, the pictures, the guys that came right to the house. Why didn't you tell me about any of that?'

“I didn't see a reason to.”

“You didn't see a reason to tell me that people were threatening my family? That people were out there watching my kids? That they were showing up at my house, where my kids live? You should have told me right when it started happening. So I could have...”

“So you could have what? Ditched everything and come home? And what could would that have done? The job wasn't finished.”

“Fuck the job!” Tyler snarls. “My family comes before the job, Nik.”

“Since when? You've been putting the job first for the last four years. It's always come first. The job. And if you say it hasn't, you're either in denial or you're a goddamn liar. You like to think you're all about the family life. That you're a family man first and mercenary second. But that's bullshit and you know it. You are who you are, Tyler. You can deny it all you want.”

He shakes his head, nostrils flaring. “You have no fucking clue what you're talking about.”

“You left your wife when she was pregnant with twins. When she was having problems. Serious problems. You left her for the job. When she needed you the most. But that's a theme in your life, isn't it. Leaving the people you love when they need you the most.”

“That is way of fucking line, Nik, and you know it.”

“I knew if I told you about what was happening in Colorado, you'd be on the next flight home. And I needed you to stay here. To get the job done. To find those kids. I also knew that if you came home, that target on your kids' backs would have gotten ever bigger. You being with them would have only made things worse. McMann is...was....after you. And if you went home to your kids, McMann would have followed you and you would have put your kids in even more danger.”

“They're safer with me than they are with complete strangers!”

“Tyler, these people are dangerous. More dangerous than anyone you have ever dealt with before. When they got to you...and they would have...they wouldn't have just killed you. They would have done horrible, horrible things to your kids. While you watched. And then they would have killed them. Right in front of you. And they wouldn't kill you until everyone else you loved was already dead.”

He sighs, then pushes his hands through his hair and leans back against the wall next to the storage locker, feet crossed, arms folded across his chest, eyes downcast.

“And then you sent Ovi away with those kids. Which was the worst thing you could have done. Because now I have no idea where they are. I can't send anyone to watch them.”

“They're safe,” he says. “In a different state.”

“Where? Where are they? Because they're not safe on their own. Ovi doesn't stand a chance and you know that. What the hell were you thinking? Wait, you weren't. Because you don't use your head anymore. You use your heart. Which is a big fucking mistake in the job and you know that.”

“My kids aren't a job, Nik. My kids are my heart. And maybe if you had kids of your own...”

Her eyes narrow. “You are not going there with this. You're not going to play dirty. Not with me.”

“You're going to lecture me about playing dirty? When you've been after me for the past five and half years to cheat on my wife with you? Now that's rich. You standing there trying to act like you have some moral superiority over me. I was never going to say yes, Nik. It was never going to happen. And you kept pushing and pushing. You never left me alone. You still don't. No matter how many times I tell you to back off.”

“That's not what this is about and you know it.”

“Now seems like as good as time as any, don't you think? You need to back off, Nik. You're my friend. That's it. You're never going to be anything more than that. That ship sailed a long time ago. You need to leave me alone. I don't want you texting me, I don't want you calling me, I don't want you showing up at my hotel when I'm on a job. I want you to stay away from me. Unless it's business.”

She blinks. “That seems a little....extreme.”

“I'm a married man, Nik. I've been married for five and a half years. And you act like it's nothing. Like it means nothing to me. It means everything to me. I'm trying to keep my family together and you're hell bent on tearing it apart. Back off. I don't know how much plainer I have to be. It's never going to happen.”

She inhales sharply. “If that's the way you want it...”

“That's exactly the way I want it. I'm trying to hold my marriage together. Desperately. This job is tearing Esme and I apart. All the goddamn promises that I made her. When I told her that this life was behind me and I'd never get back into it. I went back on everything single fucking promise I made. And she put up with it. She still kept giving me chance, after chance, after chance. I can't do that to her anymore. Because I keep doing this...the job...I'm going to lose her. I'm going to lose everything. And all the money in the world isn't worth that.”

“So you're walking away,” Nik concludes.

“When this job is over...when I find those kids.....that's it. I'm done. I can't do this anymore, Nik. This life. My family deserves better than this. I'm tired. Physically. Mentally. I'm fucking tired and I'm done.”

“So what is this then?” she nods towards the open door. “What you're doing here? What you're doing to McMann? What is this Tyler? You wanted to go out with a big bang?”

“I'm doing what I need to do. For my family.”

“You drugged, kidnapped, and tortured a man. You became one of the people you've always fought against. You've become of the people you used to save people from.”

“I'm nothing like any of those people and you know it.”

Nik stares at him pointedly. “You sliced a man's throat with a box cutter.”

“I barely broke the surface. Is he breathing? Did he bleed to death? Then I didn't slit his damn throat.”

“You pulled three of his teeth out with a pair of pliers.”

Tyler shrugs. “I was going to go for four, but it seemed a little overkill.”

“What is going on with you?” her voice is softer now. Concerned. “This isn't you. You've never been like this. You've never gotten yourself caught up in something like this. In revenge.”

“He threatened my family,” he vehemently reasons. “My kids, Nik. He was near my kids.”

“A bullet to the head would have been a better way to go. Why didn't you just do that? If you're just going to kill him anyway...”

“He deserves to suffer, Nik. Do you know what he was going to do Esme if he'd caught her at the house? Do you know what he told his people to do to Ovi and Chloe? To my kids? I do. He told me everything. Every sick and twisted thing that he and his people were going to do. A bullet in the head is too good for that guy. It's too easy. He deserves so much more than that.”

“This stops, Tyler. This stops now.”

He shakes his head.

“You need to get a grip on yourself,” she orders. “You're losing it. You've been losing it for a while now and I always gave you the benefit of the doubt that you'd pull yourself together. This has gone too far. You've gone too far.”

“You need to go, Nik. Just turn around and walk away.”

“And watch you destroy yourself? Watch you become someone I don't recognize anymore?”

“I'm not your problem. I never have been. Just go. Walk away now and you don't have to have this on your conscience.”

“But it's okay for you to have it on yours?” she counters. “Does Esme know about this? About what you're doing here?”

“No. And she doesn't need to know.”

“So you're not only lying to yourself, you're lying to her. About who you've become. And yet you have the nerve to accuse me of trying to tear your marriage apart.”

“You've been wanting to fuck me for five and a half years. Knowing I have a wife. So yeah. I am accusing you of that.”

“You're keeping something like this from her? What do you think is going to happen when she finds out? Not just that you lied, but what you did. What you're capable of.”

“She knows what I'm capable of. She saw it for herself in Dhaka. A job you dragged her into. You and some stupid fucking plan.”

“That stupid fucking plan worked. Until Mahajan Senior screwed us. And that stupid fucking plan gave you a second chance at life. It lead you to the love of your life. You have children because of that stupid fucking plan. It's because of that plan...because of me...that you have what you have.”

“And what? I'm supposed to show how grateful but fucking you on the down low? That's how you wanted me to repay you?”

“If you lose everything now, that's all on you, Tyler. If you go through with this...with what you're doing to McMann...she will find out and she will leave you. Because you'll be the man she's always feared you could become. She'll leave and she'll take those kids. And you'll be lucky if you ever see them again.”

“She's pregnant,” he blurts out, and Nik closes her eyes briefly and inhales sharply one again.

“Please tell me you're not serious right now,” she pleads.

“We just found out. A couple of days ago. We're not sure how far along she is. Probably a couple of months.”

“What is wrong with you two? Is that all you do with your spare time? Make babies? Is that all you know how to do? Get her pregnant?”

He smirks. “Maybe we just like to fuck.”

Her lips twitch with the hint of her own smirk. “You couldn't be more careful while you're fucking? I thought Declan was it? The last one?”

“We changed our minds. Figured one more wouldn't hurt.”

“Hell of a time for there to baby on the way, don't you think?”

“It happens when it happens, Nik. We didn't exactly plan it this way.”

She nods slowly, hands on her hips. “You send her back home. Tomorrow. First flight you can get.”

“That's not going to happen.”

“Tyler, this isn't a safe place for her to be. Especially now. You don't know how many people McMann has out there. And if you're going to be out looking for those kids....”

“And she's safe back home? With people I don't even know watching over her? Fuck that. She's safer with me than anyone else and you know it.”

“If you're out looking for those kids and eventually extracting them, you won't be around to protect her,” Nik points out.

“Mark's got someone watching her. A Marine.”

“Yet you won't trust the people I have?”

“With all due respect, Nik, but you hired Jason Andrews' brother without even knowing it and that's why McMann is after me in the first place. So no. I don't trust the people you have. She stays here. With me. And if I have to go to New Zealand...”

Nik arches an eyebrow. “New Zealand? What...?”

“...she'll come with me there, too. Where I go, she goes. That's just the way it is.”

“That's asking for trouble and you know it.”

“I'm the only one she trusts. I'm the only one that makes her feel safe. I'm not sending her home. There's no way. Go back to Colorado, Nik. Or better yet, go to Oklahoma. Find Ovi and my kids. You put them in this fucking situation when you hired Andrews' brother. You fucking get them out of it.”

“Tyler...” she attempts to stop him before he steps into the storage unit.

“Goodbye, Nik,” he says, and slams the door down behind him.

****

“Hey look who it is, Mike!” Nathan calls out as Tyler enters the storage unit. “Your favourite person!”

“Fuck you,” McMann mumbles, and then spits in Tyler's direction. “And fuck you too, Rake.”

“He's a little mad at you,” the young Marine grins, as he sits mere feet from the captive man, his long legs stretched out, hands behind his head. “I think he was really fond of those teeth you took.”

“You take care of things?” Yaz asks from the other side of the room, immersed in his laptop.

“I don't know how well I took care of them, but yeah, I took care of them. What's going Michael? You been a good boy? You been behaving yourself for my mates here? I know our date isn't planned for later tonight, but I missed you and thought I'd come see you. What happened here?” he roughly grabs a hold of McMann's chin and titls his head to the side. “That's a hell of a shiner you got there. Trip and fall on the way to take a piss again?”

Yaz chuckles.

McMann scowls. “That little asshole pushed me and he knows it!”

“Naw,” Tyler shakes his head. “Yaz wouldn't do that. Yaz is a pacifist.”

“Yeah,” the man in question snorts. “As in I'd like to pass a fist across his face.”

“I'd like to fucking see you try!” McMann snarls.

“Easy now...easy now...” Tyler lets go of the man's chin, then gives him a shot in the mouth with the back of his hand; the knuckles catching him in the top lip and easily splitting it. “...don't talk to my mates like that. So what have you boys been up to?” he asks, as he snags a bottle of water from one of the coolers and pulls up a plastic chair. “You been keeping Michael company? Keeping him out of trouble?”

“He's been a real fucking delight,” Nathan chuckles. “He speaks very highly of you.”

“I bet he does. We're close to being best mates now aren't we?” he kicks at McMann's shins, hard enough to make him wince.

“You're a prick,” McMann responds. “And when you're finally dead, I'll be the first one to come piss on your grave. Then go to your place and fuck your pretty little wife.”

“Bruh...” Yaz shakes his head. “...you should have just left it at 'spit on your grave'.”

“She'd probably like that, wouldn't she,” McMann continues. “Finally a real man showing her how things are done.”

Tyler smirks, then calmly places the bottle of water on the ground and stands up, slowly making his way over the restrained man. Then stands above him; a towering, intimidating figure. And when he sees that little glitter of fear in the other man's eyes, he snatches him by the throat, fingers firmly pressing into either side of his windpipe.

“Remember,” Yaz doesn't even look up from his laptop. “You can't kill him.”

“I'm not going to kill him. He's got a long way to go before anyone kills him,” Tyler tightens his grip on McMann's throat, until his face begins to turn a vivid shade of red and he's gasping for breath. “Don't you talk about my wife like that,” his voice is calm, yet his eyes give away the depth and the power of the rage that inhabits his body. “Don't you ever talk about her like that.”

“If you can't already tell, he's a little sensitive when it comes to his wife.” Yaz says. “But you just keep opening your goddamn mouth about her. Doesn't he Nathan?”

The young Marine nods. “Wouldn't shut up about her earlier.”

“Oh really?” Tyler looses his grip on McMann's throat, their eyes remaining locked on one another. “What was he saying?”

“I don't know if we should tell you,” Nathan says. “You might get upset. Well, more upset than you are right now.”

“Maybe he hasn't lost enough teeth yet,” Yaz suggests.

“I'll let keep his teeth. For now. So what were you saying, Michael? About my wife.”

“Nothing! They're fucking lying!”

“You blokes wouldn't lie to me about something like that, would you?” Tyler asks, looking between the other two men, both shaking their heads. “They definitely would not lie to me. Especially about something like that. So tell me. What did you say about her?”

“Thinks she's a nice piece of ass,” Nathan chimes in. “Say he wouldn't mind tying her up and having his way with her.”

“I did not fucking say that!” McMann exclaims. “I haven't said shit about her!”

“Said he wouldn't mind fucking her in all her holes.” Yaz adds. “And I wouldn't lie about that shit.”

“Michael...” Tyler shakes his head. “....you really don't know when to keep your mouth shut, do you. I thought we were mates. Buddies. Why would you say shit like that? About my wife? Unlike the psycho bitch you're married to, my wife is innocent in all of this.”

“How can anyone be innocent being married to a prick like you?” he retorts. “Must be something fucked up in her head in she stays with you! What's your secret? Beat the shit out of her to make her stay? Make her too scared too leave? No way someone like her is staying with someone like you.”

“See, I don't have to resort to shit like that. Maybe that's your way of doing things. You like to beat on women, don't you. Among other things. Which already makes me want to break your fucking neck. Now I find out you're saying things about my wife? This isn't going to be a good day for you, Michael. But I'll be nice. I'll let you keep the rest of your teeth. For now,” he heads over to the table holding the weapons. “You left handed or right handed?”

“What?”

“It's a simple goddamn question. Are you right handed or left handed?”

“Right. Why? What are you going to do? What...?” his eyes widen as Tyler returns with a hunting knife.

“That's a shame. I guess you're either going to have to learn with your left or you're going to have to improvise with the right. Yaz, you look busy. Maybe Nathan will help me out.”

“My pleasure,” the Marine says, and jumps to his feet. “What'cha need?”

Tyler smirks, then runs a finger along the sharp edge of the knife. “You ever hold a man down while someone cuts off a couple fingers?”

“No,” Nathan calmly rolls up his sleeves. “But I guess there's a first time for everything.”

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #sanctuary #chris hemsworth character #extraction

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holyfluck · 3 years ago

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Negative Media= Negative Mind 02/07/2022

Today was uncomfortable. I was ready to cry for most of it. I think I know how I got here, though, which is good. I met with a new girlfriend of mine for brunch yesterday. Brunch was fab. We’re still getting to know each other so there was a hint of awkwardness here and there but overall it was quite fluid and we engaged in some interesting conversations about both of our lives. We spent several hours together. We parted ways and I felt grateful for the new connection. As I made my way home though my anxiety sort of possessed me. I started reliving parts of our conversation and imagining all of the negative ways that I could have been perceived. Nitpicking this, dissecting that. I don’t remember ever being *this* insecure. Maybe when I was a young teenager but never as an adult. It’s a response that I acquired from my recently ceased relationship. He was not a kind lover in the beginning months. I suffered many forms of legitimate abuse from him. I was in survival mode and was hypervigilant to his perception of me, so as not to make a misstep and suffer the consequence. Curve ball! I now have some long term consequences. I have a tremendous amount of grief thinking about that time now. My heart goes out to that me. I never would have accepted his poor treatment if he didn’t have the financial position that he did. Covid stripped me of my workplace and I was desperate to keep afloat. Anyway, I’m insecure now. It’s a gross feeling. It is difficult to connect to my authenticity. Bleh. After brunch and the mental stoning I curled up into my couch and flipped on the television, longing for some kind of escape. I watched a couple mindless drama-comedies, dramadies. I’m cool with those every once in a while as long as they’re somewhat positive. But then Hulu hijacked me. It automatically began playing a new series, which I didn’t quite catch until I was about 15 minutes into it and already hooked on the story. It was a crime, drama, thriller kind of piece- called Cruel Summer. I knew I shouldn’t have watched it, but I did. Four 50 minute episodes or something. I stayed up well past my 12:00 bedtime. The show was psychologically disturbing. Fear porn. I have deliberately been trying to cut out things and media in my life that don’t generate positivity for me. Stressful television is number one. Not that I watch a lot of it, but god damn do the masses. Why do we want to be stressed for entertainment?! Why simulate upsetting, violent scenarios for fun? It’s backwards to me. That said, our brains are wired for drama and I continued to watch it even as I knew it was not a great idea for me. Sigh. I managed to shut it off around 2:00am and watch a couple episodes of New Girl in the hopes of flushing out the cortisol that was running through my veins. Went to bed. Still had nightmares. Woke up sweaty and consumed with stress and agitation. That can’t be good for you! Especially as you’re climbing from a nightmarish mental state in real life. I had to wake myself all the way up and watch silly prank videos on my phone to intercept my brain from compulsively simulating terrifying abduction scenes in my sleep. Needless to say, I did not sleep well.. I was just not primed for having a feel-good day. But hey, at least I know the culprit! I gotta cut down (or out) things that I know make me feel crumby. You are not helpful to me, negative media. Self love starts with doing things that are good for you and NOT doing things that are not good for you. Simple, babe. We are always learning.

#bleh #journal #television #stress #insecurity #abuse #diary #negativity #positivity #social anxiety #hypervigilance #unhealthy relationships #survival mode #media #drama #self reflection

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genogenocrazycatman · 8 years ago

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Meet the Bats - (Tim Drake x OC)

Some ages for the bat boys for this shit, because I do what I want, and I do not give a fuck about comic book timelines.

Damian 10-11

Tim 18-19

Jason 22-23

Dick 26-27

"Are you sure about this?"

Tim chuckled at the nervous individual in his passenger seat. "Yes, Sky. One-hundred percent."

"What if they don't like me?"

Tim reached over the center console and took younger’s hand into his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Damian doesn't like anyone, because he's a pretentious, spoiled brat, who believes that he was bread better than everyone else, so ignore him."

"Okay. Don't worry about Damian,” Sky repeated, trying to convince themselves of Tim’s words.

"Jason, is an asshole, so ignore him too."

"Timmy, this is your family," Skylar scolded.

"Yep, and that means I know better than anyone else how obnoxious they are. Well not better than Alfred." He kept going. "Dick will love you, and be super nice. Bruce will probably be polite, but cold. That’s just how he is. Don’t take it to heart. He’ll warm up eventually.”

Tim kept the ‘I hope,’ he tagged on to the end of that sentence in his mind.

"Anyone else I have to worry about?"

"Quit worrying. The only one left is Alfred and he already likes you."

Sky looked at Tim and then up at the estate that they were getting closer and closer to.

"I promise you, nothing will go wrong. They're all really eager to meet you."

"They are?"

"I've never brought anyone home to meet them officially."

"That totally helps my nerves,” Sky said, sarcastically, feeling their nerves spike.

Tim pulled up in front of the house and parked the car. Jason's motorcycle and Dick's Audi were both out front, signaling that neither of them had any intention of staying.

"Babe, look at me."

Sky looked away from the door to Tim. "Relax. Trust me. We're probably the most dysfunctional group you'll ever meet. No one's going to judge you. No one in there has room to judge." He pressed a quick kiss to Sky's lips. "Better now?"

Sky nodded. "Yeah. Better."

"Then let's go."

The pair exited the car and linking hands again entered the manor.

Sky looked around, in awe of the home. "I knew you were rich, but oh my God."

"My home away from home," Tim said. The manor made his apartment look like a closet. Despite the fact that it had been a while since he actually resided there, it still felt more like home than his current place.

"They're probably all in the dining room," Tim said, gently leading Sky through the house into the dining room.

Tim stopped neither amused nor surprised at the scene in front of him.

Jason and Damian were wrestling on the floor. Damian had a sleeper hold on Jason, who was on his hands and knees, trying to stand up.

"Really Jay? You're gonna get beat by the ten year old?" Dick laughed at Jason.

"Boys," Bruce scolded lightly, trying to hide his smile.

"Uh... guys?"

Everyone turned towards Tim and Skylar, Sky hiding slightly behind the brunette.

There was a moment of silence. Damian and Jason, still locked in their fighting positions both seemingly froze to observe the new comer. Damian's gaze was critical, Jason's more irritated than anything, with Damian still on his back. Dick's expression was pleasant, and Bruce's face portrayed very little. He looked nice enough, like he would for any of his business partners, but Tim could see past the smile. He could practically feel the calculations going on in Bruce's head.

"Guys, this is Skylar. Skylar, this is Damian, Jason, and Dick, my brothers, Bruce, my father, and Alfred, who you've already met."

"It is as always a pleasure."

"It's good to see you too Alfred," Skylar replied, before addressing the others. "Hello."

Bruce rose from his seat. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Skylar," he said, putting his hand out to shake.

"It's nice to meet you too, Mr. Wayne," Sky said, shaking Bruce's hand.

"Please, just call me Bruce."

"Someone get this little cretin off of me?" Jason said, finally making it to his feet.

Damian released Jason and walked over to Skylar. He eyed them up and down. "How old are you?"

Tim groaned.

Skylar was a bit taken aback by the youngest of the Wayne boys.

"Seventeen."

"How tall are you?"

"Five feet ten inches? What does-"

"Weight?"

"Damian," Bruce said in a warning tone.

"How many quarterings-"

Dick had gotten up out of his chair to greet the pair. He hooved a hand over Damian's mouth, ignoring the pain of small teeth biting into the flesh there. He wasn't breaking skin, so he would be fine.

"I'm Dick. It's a pleasure to meet you. Tim's never brought anyone to meet us before." Dick like Bruce, shook Skylar's hand, the one that wasn't currently locked in Damian's death bite.

"Can't say that I blame him, between you, the demon spawn and Bruce up there. I wouldn't bring anyone here either," Jason said, leaning back in his chair.

Bruce gave him a disapproving glare.

"That would involve someone wanting to go anywhere with you," Damian said, releasing his grip on Dick's hand to taunt Jason.

Dick tried not to laugh. Tried being the operative word.

"What are you laughing at Dickie?"

"I didn't say anything.”

“The only girls you ever brought around were Kori and Babs, and even then that wasn’t really your choice.”

That was true. Babs had already been around, and they met Kori as a result of titan business.

Dick went to retort, but Tim cut him off. "Alright!" He felt a migraine coming on. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Can we just have dinner, and you all not fight?" he asked. He knew that he was asking too much. Sure, on a mission or in the public eye, they could at least be subtle with their constant bickering, but at home there was no chance.

He led Skylar to a chair and like a gentleman pulled the seat out for them. The others all settled into, waiting for their meal.

"So Skylar, Tim says that you're really smart, that you skipped a couple grades," Dick said conversationally.

"Yeah. I'm actually in my first year of college."

"That's impressive. Where at?"

"Right now community college, but I plan on transferring. It's cheaper that way."

"That's smart," Bruce commended.

"What are you studying?"

"Journalism."

Tim knew that the calm and charming charade that the boys had been putting up was only partially sincere. He was well aware that they were all hypervigilant, looking for some sign that Sky couldn't be trusted, that they were a threat. It was almost as if they could feel their eyes, focusing in on the pair of them, every micro glance taken towards each move either of them made and for every possible expression.

"So how come Timmy hasn't brought you around before tonight?"

"You'd have to ask him," Sky said.

"Because you're a pain in the ass," he said to Jason. "And you," he looked at Damian, "are even worse."

Alfred entered, setting down plates in front of everyone, before retreating to the kitchen. The conversation flowed easily, a comfortable mix of memories, embarrassing stories, questions and banter.

Tim was pleasantly surprised. After a while, the hawk like eyes finally eased their searching and he found himself actually enjoying the evening, so much so that he found them all still at the table, long after their deserts had been finished.

Finally Tim looked at the time on his phone. "It's getting late. I should get Sky home."

"Yeah. I should probably get going. I have class in the morning. It was nice meeting you all. Thank you for dinner."

"It was no trouble. It was nice to meet you as well. I hope we get to see more of you around the manor," Bruce said.

"Yeah, don't be a stranger."

They said their goodbyes and headed to the car. Once inside, Tim looked at Skylar. "That wasn't so bad was it?"

"No. Your brothers are funny."

"They're not really funny. They're just idiots."

"Either way, I like them."

"Good, because they like you. Now let's get you home."

Inside, Jason was glaring at Dick, who was looking at him expectantly.

“You told him.”

"No I didn't."

“You bribed him.”

"Or you don’t give Damian enough credit. Doesn’t matter. You still lost.”

Jason shoved a twenty dollar bill in Dick's hand.

"Alfred?" Jason asked.

"While I did tell Master Damian to be on his best behavior, but it had nothing to do with the wager between you and Master Dick.”

“Can we discuss as to why you two placed a bet on whether or not I would be the one scar Drake’s significant other off? I simply was making sure that they were suitable, as a potential member of this family. You two were the one’s recounting embarrassing tales from Drake’s past.”

Bruce was happy with the evening’s events. His boys had a good time, and he was glad to see Tim with someone, who made him happy.

"Is Master Drake coming back?" Alfred asked.

"I don't know," Bruce replied. He checked his watch. "I'm sure if he does, he'll catch up."

"Last one to the cave is-"

"Gonna be you!" Damian said, using Jason to spring board over Dick and towards the cave.

"You little fucker!" Jason yelled chasing after him, Dick right beside him.

Bruce shook his head, with a small smile on his face.

Like this? If so, check out my other stories here.

#I'll get this posted everywhere else later #I have a paper to write #bats and birds #tim drake #tim drake fanfiction #tim drake x oc #red robin #red robin x oc #teroin writes

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