#deducting one step from my coffee routine

[notreyev]

Hi, this is anon again! I, for one, am very excited for some insanity to be added to my life because my enclosure has been lacking enrichment for far too long and I crave it.

dw big dawg i got u. i haven’t been normal since 1983

i do post good omens spoilers tho so if u want to be saved just. just go watch the show

[studies-in-the-art-of-deduction]

I really enjoyed the way you shape more information from the given clue

Can you tell me more about it?

(i ask you before in in a older post, apologize for not responding as soon as i can, well i challenge you to know why)

This is a great question, for more context, here's the original comment you left on my post!

So in this particular post the cigarette ash example went like this:

"I may not know 243 types of tobacco ash but I do know tobacco ash means someone's been smoking, I do know smokers take regular breaks from activities to go smoke, I do know smokers can have nicotine stains on their fingers, I know smokers carry packs of cigarettes and lighters, that their smoking gets more intense under stress, and that they can develop an intense, dry cough, all of that is information I know about an individual without ever having a knowledge bank about cigarettes in my head."

Now i have a post about this in the works, but you've caught me on one of my ranting moods so we're diving into this. How do we break down (or branch out, depending on how you wanna see it) from a given piece of information into multiple new facts without using a knowledge bank like a mind palace would be? Well it all connects to the idea of Cause and Effect!

You see, different deductionists visualise this differently, but essentially every deduction we make is simply following a line from an effect to it's cause, we see the world after events have happened and trace them back to how and why they happened, we can also reverse this to find what events will probably happen and work with that information. The entire breakdown of how to find a smoker rests on the idea that cigarette ash mean that cigarettes exist and were smoked, and the act of smoking cigarettes has a set of effects that we don't necessarily have learned to think of, because we usually go through life learning to see things and not think past the present moment

It's very much easier said than done, but the only secret behind this is thinking deeply about how and why things are the way they are, why is there cigarette ash on the floor of the apartment? why is there mud on the calves of someone's pants, why are someone's fingers full of wounds around the tips? The answers to these questions are incredibly obvious, but the key is to not take the obvious for granted, and to not stop at the obvious.

Yeah, a coffee stain exists because someone drank coffee and spilled a bit, that's obvious enough, but what does that mean? it means someone carved out a little moment of their day to get coffee, which means money was probably spent, which means change was probably exchanged, so they may have loose change in their pockets, it also means in whatever pocket that change is might indicate their handedness, it also means they either had the time to sit down and have coffee, so they weren't in a rush, or they were in a rush (maybe walking with the coffee) and that's how they spilled it, we now have a binary choice (either they were in a rush or they weren't, there's not much of an in-between) and here's when other pieces of evidence come along and start discarding options and narrowing down the possibilities that you cave branched out from this little nugget of information:

Do they have some sauce or grease stains on their sleeves? if so chances are they sat down, if they did sit down that means they had coffee and some other food and were not in a rush, are they dressed for work? is it morning time? if so we're now understanding what this person's morning looked like, and since morning routines are that, routines, we may be able to start charting an idea of what most mornings look like for this person, and so on and so forth we start unravelling the threat, but it all comes from very simple jumps in a logical stream of cause and effect.

Now, as a disclaimer it's important to realise that these small logical steps have their own complexity to them. It's important to learn to balance out what's the most likely explanation in any given situation, there are a million factors that contribute to each one of these little steps, and learning how to navigate these and make deductions taking them into account is very important, since your deductions hinge on these steps being accurate. But that being said it's just as important to learn that deduction requires a deep understanding of cause and effect, specially when it comes to the small, simple steps that make up a train of thought. If you think about it, all of these conclusions are fairly obvious, but that's what they should be, there's a reason why deductionists (and even Sherlock Holmes in essentially any of his interpretations) describe things as "obvious" or "elementary"

So with all of this in mind, try to start thinking of what cluster of effects different actions have, so actions like laying in bed, sitting at a desk for a long time, or drinking at a bar. And on the flip side, try to start thinking of what causes different "clues" have, and don't be afraid to follow that string of cause and effect that might start up, so for example toothpaste stains on someone's pants, indentation marks on someone's shoelaces, a small happy face drawing on their left hand, or small wounds on their fingers around their short nails

If you (or anyone) have any other questions just send it over and i'll be glad to answer

Happy Observing!

-DV

[cacoetheswriting]

a saturday ritual

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Warnings: mild swearing, a single parent home, mentions of death (death of a parent & a significant other), mentions of alcohol consumption, and a lil pining, but mainly just FLUFF Word Count: 5.6k Request: anonymous: “I love your Spencer Reid fics! I was wondering if you could write something with Spencer and a single mom reader?? Thanks”

A/N: a very brief summary: spencer is infatuated by his new neighbour, a single mom to a five year old boy who likes to wreak havoc in their shared corridor. also, this one turned out to be a lot A LOT longer than i initially thought it would be but honestly i had so much fun writing this fic, it really could have gone on foreverrrrr ENJOY and as always let me know what you think ! 

-

For about a week after you moved into the apartment across from his, Spencer wondered what would be an acceptable excuse to go introduce himself.

Having been away on a case those first couple of days, he missed the initial opportunity. Later, his colleagues told him that was enough of a justification. Much later. Too late. Now the moment has passed, and he wondered whether pretending he needed salt or sugar was a good enough pretext. Lame.

He's caught glimpses of you out in the shared hall returning from the grocery store, or by the post box downstairs collecting your mail. Glimpses. Passing fleeting seconds. Never enough time to say hello, however enough to notice you were really beautiful.

Also enough to notice the little boy constantly tugging at your clothes. From what he could see, the resemblance was uncanny. The boy was your son no doubt. And given that Spencer hasn’t seen another adult around, he came to a conclusion you were a single mom.

It was now Saturday morning. Saturday. A day he usually spent grading papers and preparing class materials for the week ahead. And this weekend began no differently.

With a cup of coffee, he sat at his desk and began working away when an odd droning sound caught his attention. Buzzing. Yet it wasn’t mechanical, no. The peculiar hum echoing outside seemed more manmade. Childlike.

Yes, the brunette doctor deducted, the buzzing sounds he was currently hearing were most definitely airplane noises made by a kid.

At first, he decided to pay no attention to what was going on outside his door. He felt bad enough for not going to introduce himself, so he wasn't about to become the mean man from across the hall who gave out about playing children.

After taking a sip of his coffee, he proceeded to bury his head in the papers scattered across his desk. The sound wasn’t too loud meaning it wasn't a big distraction. He could continue to get his work done despite the clatter.

It was then he heard your voice for the first time. The melodic tone drew him in even more than the buzzing echo. 

Dropping his pen, he instantly got to his feet and ambled towards the front door - now was his chance. 

His hand hovered over the knob, but before he got a chance to do anything, he heard a slam. The noises stopped. Silence once again filled the hall outside.

The hazel-eyed doctor felt slightly foolish. He didn't really know what he wanted to accomplish by springing up so fast. Even if he managed to catch you, what was he going to say? I heard your voice, and wanted to see you. Stupid. You would think he's absolutely clinically insane. I heard you out here, and wanted to finally introduce myself. Better. Although still a little weird.

With a sigh, he sunk back in his seat and continued with his usual Saturday routine. Hoping he would get another chance.

Sunday he heard the buzzing again. Only this time he was walking up the stairs, returning from a late afternoon stroll. 

Once he reached his floor he came face to face with the source of the airplane noises currently echoing throughout the building.

Spencer thought the young boy couldn't be more than five. He was wearing a jumper that was clearly too big on him. Probably one of yours, Spencer thought. Arms spread out by his side, the oversized garment covering his hands in full, the kid ran circles up and down the corridor. A wide grin on his face. The hoodie dragging on the floor collecting dustballs.

Mixed with the noises was the sound of your laughter, coming from inside your apartment. The honey-like harmony was like music to Spencer's ears. A small smile crept up on his features; what the hell was going on with him? How could he possibly feel an attraction to someone he’s never met, held a conversation with.

The boy stopped abruptly when he noticed Spencer. His arms fell, and he ran into your apartment. Vanished as if he’d seen a ghost. Although, he must have been waiting, looking out for when the coast was clear again, because as soon as Spencer closed his own door the buzzing resumed.

It continued on for hours.

Having spent time with JJ’s boys, Spencer was no stranger to the amount of energy little kids possessed. Often when playing he would be the one to grow tired first. He would be the one that needed a break while they continued to wreak havoc. Therefore the noises didn't bother him. He went about his evening, subconsciously listening out for your voice.

The next few days were quiet.

Not like he spent a lot of time at home anyway. Between his classes and his unpredictable work hours with the FBI, he only went back to his apartment to sleep. And that was usually really late at night.

Thursday evening, after a surprisingly short day, he was fumbling through his bag in search for his key when the sudden urge to go and finally say hello came over him. He knocked on your door and instantly heard shuffling inside. There was no turning back now.

Soon you were standing in front of him. Subtly, he looked you up and down. His grip on the strap of his bag tightening. Wow, you were even more beautiful than the glimpses he caught. 

That came off rather stalker-ish, he took a mental note.

“Hello. Can I help you?” You asked while leaning against the frame, one hand holding the door so not let the brunette stranger see inside.

“Hi, I’m Spencer. I live across the hall.” He introduced himself, examining your face for any sort of reaction. Completely blank. “Can I help you?” You repeated. The brunette doctor was slightly taken aback by your cold shoulder. He pursed his lips into a thin smile. “No. I just wanted to introduce myself and say that if you needed anything-” “Thanks.” You cut him off and closed the door in his face.

Spencer took a step back. That definitely didn’t go as he thought it would. He rationalised your behaviour as a response to his tardiness with regards to greeting you and your son in the building. Although he still couldn’t believe you were so, for lack of a better word, bitchy.

Glancing one last time at your door, he unlocked his own and stepped inside. At least now he could say he tried introducing himself. He tried being the friendly neighbour.

Saturday arrived once again in the blink of an eye. This particular morning, the hazel-eyed doctor had an abundance of papers to grade. He made himself comfortable and got to work.

Unlike last week, when the airplane noises didn't bother him, today he found them to be quite irritating. He would reread the same sentences at least twice before he even began to understand them. Not ideal.

Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his already messy curls and let out a deep sigh. He really needed to concentrate, but he also didn't want to be a dick about it. Possibly making the already tense situation even worse.

Quickly, and rather impulsively, he gathered his things. He put on his shoes, threw his bag over his shoulder, and walked out into the hall.

This time the little boy was sitting on the floor in the middle of the corridor. In his hands he gripped two toy planes, flying them around in the air. The boy looked up at Spencer and smiled, but continued to play. Spencer smiled back while locking his door, and proceeded to make his way down the stairs.

Yes. He felt good about his decision to work somewhere else for the day.

That evening, as he was about to reheat some leftovers, there was a knock on the door. It was faint. So faint in fact he wasn't sure if he heard it at first. For a split second he hesitated, his attention now focused solely on the door. Another knock. Louder this time. He hurried over and opened it to greet the mysterious guest.

You.

Dressed in an oversized band t-shirt, one Spencer didn't recognise, and a pair of biker shorts - all covered in spatters of colourful paint. Your hair was up in a bun with loose strands escaping by your face. Spencer also noticed a yellow paint smudge on your left cheek, and white speckles on your forehead. Despite the dishevelled attire, you looked considerably more relaxed than the day he went to introduce himself.

“I guess I should start off by apologising.” You began in that melodic tone he first heard last week. “When you came by, I was really rude. I'm not usually like that, I swear. It’s just I have a lot on my plate right now. Benny’s grandparents, from his dad’s side, are giving me grief for moving so far away from them. Even though it’s only an extra twenty minute drive. But you know, they are Benny’s grandparents and I love them. They’re family. Anyway, minutes before you knocked I was on the phone with them, again about the same thing, and the conversation put me in a foul mood. Which really isn’t an excuse for the way I acted towards you so, yeah, inexcusable. I’m sorry.”

The hazel-eyed doctor couldn't help but lightly smirk. He’s never met anyone that rambled nearly as much as him. He’s learned more about you in the last ten seconds than he did the whole time you lived across from him.

“Okay. Okay, you’re smiling. That’s a good sign, right?” You brought your hands to your face, gently pressing your fingertips to the corners of your mouth as if to cover the embarrassment you were no doubtly feeling right now. “Because I did actually come here to invite you over for pizza. A truly lame attempt to try show you that I am in fact a good person and not that bitch you met.”

“I love pizza.” Spencer simply stated causing a sigh of relief to escape your lips.

“Great. That’s great.” A warm expression graced your facial features. “Oh, I’m Y/N by the way.” You were about to reach out your hand when you noticed the colourful paint covering your fingers. “Mom life.” You joked, cheeks flushing a soft pink, and let your arms fell back down to your side.

You patiently waited for Spencer to grab his keys and phone before making your way across the hall.

Your apartment was slightly larger than his, two bedrooms, and the decor also couldn’t have been more different to his own. Colourful, vibrant, homey. Those would be the words he’d use to describe what he was witnessing.

In the middle of the living space stood a dark green couch. Draped over it were numerous blankets, hiding underneath them were mismatched throw pillows. On the coffee table lay a stack of books, surrounded by children’s toys. The wall behind the television was decorated from corner to corner with various sized frames. Inside those frames were different movie posters, photos, random prints, and what he speculated was some of Benny’s artwork.

He was in awe as to how fast you managed to make this place feel like your own.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’m gonna quickly wash my hands to try get this pesky paint off, and then we can order food.” With that you disappeared leaving Spencer alone to examine the rest of your place.

His attention was caught by a not so white bedsheet, opposite end of the living space. It was covered in paint. On top of the sheet, stood an old pickle jar that was filled with water. It held numerous brushes. Next to it was a plastic box with tubes of acrylic paint with every colour a person could possibly dream of.

Spencer took a couple of steps towards the bedsheet. He didn't want to seem nosey, he just wanted to get a better look at the currently drying canvases. A distinct pitter of small feet caused him to stand up straight, frozen, as if he was caught doing something illegal.

“A-are, are you the pizza guy?” Benny asked curiously, tilting his little head to one side.

“No uhm, I’m Spencer. I live across the hall.” He explained. “Your mom invited me.” That felt like an important thing to add.

Benny sized him up. His eyes narrowed, lips pursed into a serious pout, nose scrunched. He crossed his little arms as if he was daring Spencer. It was rather silly, this five year old trying to intimidate a grown man, and yet the brunette doctor began to feel nervous. He didn't understand why. He was usually really good with kids.

“Benny, bunny, quit trying to scare our guest.” You returned, grabbing your sons attention and breaking the odd charade. Benny’s gaze traveled to you. “Go do a little clean up of your toys please. I saw those planes your pops bought you in the bathtub. That’s not their place, is it?” Benny shook his head and ran off with a loud chuckle.

You glanced at Spencer and shot him a kind smile.

“Sorry about that. He gets the whole intimidation thing after his dad.” “That’s okay.” Spencer replied. You could tell he was being nice, just like he could tell Benny’s dad was a touchy subject. Spencer wasn’t about to make it worse. It wasn’t his place. And you didn't know him well enough yet to spill the secrets of your past relationship. Therefore, the two of you stood completely still for an awkward second just looking at one another.

“Would you like anything to drink?” You asked, breaking the silence. “We have orange juice, water, or mom juice.” “Mom juice?” Spencer raised an intrigued brow. “Wine.” You explained giggling. Spencer nodded his head with a smile. “I’ll have some mom juice then.” “Good choice.”

As he sat down on the couch, you receded into the kitchen, returning shortly with two plastic cups in hand. “I forgot to ask which you’d prefer, red or white, so I brought a glass of each. Whatever you won’t have, I’ll drink.” You reached out your hands. Spencer took the cup with red wine, his fingers brushing gently against yours in the process. Spark. No, he thought. He was imagining things.

Unknown to the brunette doctor, you felt it too. The blood rushed to your face for a split second as you nervously cleared your throat before taking a sip of your wine.

“You have to forgive the plastic cups. One of Benny’s latest favourite activities is pretending to be an airplane and breaking everything in sight, so I locked all my nicer glassware away.” You explained while elegantly plopping down next to Spencer. “Plastic cups are nice. It’s like a picnic.” God, how dumb. He mentally smacked himself. Idiot.

However, your light giggle indicated you didn’t seem to mind. Your eyes widened a little, and he could have sworn they were glistening. “Well thank you Spencer. You’re the first person to say something nice rather than commenting on my parenting style.”

It was the first time you said his name out loud. And in that melodic tone of yours, it echoed inside his brain like a song. Leaving a permanent mark.

“My mom thinks I need to discipline him more, but no-one ever said it would be this hard alone.” You babbled on, completely oblivious to the silent commotion currently going on inside Spencer’s mind. “Benny’s dad was the bad cop per se, I’m no good at it. My son can cause all the trouble in the world, and still all it would take is for him to look up at me with those bunny eyes and all is good again. Probably because he has his dad’s eyes...” You stopped yourself, and chewed down on your bottom lip.

“Sorry.” You fluttered your lashes at the man sitting next to you. “I’ve been told I talk too much.”

Spencer brought the cup to the brim of his mouth and chuckled. “Don’t be. I’ve been told the exact same thing.” He took a sip of his wine.

“I find that hard to believe. You’ve barely squeezed in four full sentences these last fifteen minutes, while I just go on and on and on.”

“Give it time. I guarantee you’ll be sick of me by the end of the night, and I will never get invited over for pizza again.”

Without thinking, you reached out and placed your hand on his forearm. The air hitched in Spencer’s throat as his eyes briefly traveled down to where you were gently grasping. “Consider this your weekly invite.” You said in a silvery tone and proceeded to give his arm a gentle squeeze.

Just like that, Spencer’s Saturday routine was richer by one more item. Perhaps the most important item on the list. Pizza at the apartment across from his.

Truthfully, it was his favourite time of the week. 

During those weekly visits, Spencer quickly learned a lot about you. Where you grew up, any likes and dislikes, hobbies, facts about your family. He learned that you used to teach art at a high school; a job you loved but ultimately decided to leave after you became a single parent. Now, you work at an art gallery only a few blocks from here.

Spencer evened out the scale by sharing his own stories and fables. You were quite surprised to hear about the numerous doctorates he possessed, the work he did, some of the shit he went through, and honestly just how smart he actually was.

Each time you met, you each discovered something new about one another. Something that made you seem even more interesting in the other persons eyes. 

Although, an unspoken agreement was in place, the topic of Benny’s dad was off limits. For now.

When Benny got comfortable having Spencer around, the weekly pizza routine evolved into other activities involving you and your son. Movie nights. Walks to the park. Playground visits. Home-cooked dinners at yours. Puzzle afternoons at his. Spencer taught Benny and you magic tricks, while you taught Spencer how to paint.

Soon enough you were exchanging keys and before either of you even realised, six months passed.

Spencer spent Saturday morning preparing class materials for the week ahead, as usual. Through the thin walls he could hear unmistakable airplane noises and patter of feet running up and down the corridor. He smiled to himself. The echo was a pleasant reminder it was only a few hours until he would see you for pizza.

See during these last few months, Spencer fell head over heels for you. He fell hard. The ever present smile on circling your already perfect features when he was around, your honey-like laughter, your lavender scent, the way you were with Benny, the way you always watched the hazel-eyed doctor with such great interest whenever he broke out into an obscure fact.

The more time he spent with you, the more his love grew.

Spencer knew that he could never act on it. If he was a selfish man perhaps, but he wasn’t. He would never put his own needs ahead of your friendship as it wasn’t just you and him in this scenario. He had to consider Benny. What if the relationship went south and he was just another man to break both of your hearts? No. He’d never act on his feelings. There was way too much at stake.

Though he still considered himself lucky. Having a place in your life, being your friend. That’s lucky.

“Right on time as always.” You beamed as Spencer stumbled inside, closing your apartment door behind him. He ambled towards the coach and sat in his now usual spot - the left corner, with you in the right.

“Where’s Benny?” He asked, looking around for the little monster. “Benny is tucked away in his bed. He kindly requested a slice of pizza to be brought to him once it arrives so it’s really just you and me tonight. Hope that’s still okay with you.” “I mean, yeah, I guess that’s fine.” Spencer teased, shrugging his shoulders.

You rolled your eyes at him, but didn't say anything else on the matter. Odd, the brunette doctor thought. You always had a witty comeback. It was one of the many things he loved about you.

“I’m sure you could tell me how many pizza nights we had exactly, so I took the liberty of ordering our food already.” You said with a small smile.

“Thirty-two pizza nights.” Spencer stated simply. You furrowed your brows. “That doesn't right.” “Taking into account every Saturday we spent together, plus pizza on your birthday, Memorial Day, and the other few evenings we didn't feel like cooking, it adds up to thirty-two.”

“Holy shit. Maybe we should start ordering salads.” Spencer chuckled at your response. “Pizza is a lot better.” He pointed out and you couldn't argue with that logic.

Food arrived shortly after. You briskly took two slices over to Benny on a plastic plate, checking up on him in the process. While you were gone Spencer chose a movie. One that you would both equally enjoy.

You sat down again, only this time you sat beside him in what is usually Benny’s spot. Shoulder to shoulder. Spencer froze completely. Thinking if he’d move even an inch, it would scare you off and you’d shift away. You reached for a blanket and draped it over the two of you before glancing up at the hazel-eyed doctor.

“Is this okay?” Contrary to the usual melodic tone of your voice, the question came out quite croaky. Nervous. He met your gaze, losing himself completely in the colour of your eyes, and slowly nodded his head.

He’s thought about kissing you before and always managed to fight the urge. Although, in all the time the two of you spent together he was never situated this close to you. Your face was a mere few inches away from his. Oh fuck. 

The moment lasted only about half a second, but to Spencer it felt like time stood still. Honestly, if you hadn’t turned away to start the movie, he probably would have lost the inner battle. He wouldn't have been able to hold himself back. He would have kissed you. Maybe he was a selfish man after all.

Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, Spencer also turned his attention to the tv. Without breaking your eyes from the screen ahead, you handed him a slice of pizza which he took gratefully. The two of you ate in silence. Enjoying the movie, but mainly each other’s presence.

The brunette man couldn't place the exact moment you cuddled yourself up to him. One minute he peeked to ask you a question about something that now seemed unimportant and you were just there, your head resting against his chest.

A smile circled his lips. He could definitely get used to this.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m completely lost.” You mumbled. “And that says a lot considering I’ve seen this movie before. I didn’t understand it then, I still don’t understand it now.”

“If you've seen this before, why did you let me choose it?” Spencer asked. You tilted to look up at him. “Because I thought you’d be able to explain it to me. You know, using that big genius brain of yours.”

Spencer chuckled. He lifted his hand and began to gently caress the top of your head. “What if I tell you my theory and it ruins the movie for you?” He asked, but you waved your hand dismissing his question. “What if you tell me and it improves the movie?”

“That’s a fair point I guess. Okay.” He continued to run his fingers through your hair as he began to explain. “The movie seems confusing because it’s actually reverse order storytelling. It kind of works its way from the end to the beginning through a series of flashbacks and flash-forwards. Therefore, as you’re watching, you get a view into Lenny’s diminishing state of mind.”

You raised a brow. “Are you sure you haven't seen ‘Memento’ before?”

He raised his hands palms up. “I swear this is my first time.” He pledged, corners of his mouth twisting into a smile. “Hmm...” “I’m just extremely observant. Plus you know I love puzzles, and this movie is like one giant puzzle.” He continued. 

“Let’s pretend I believe you Spencer.” You said squinting at him, before turning back to look at the tv. The brunette man smirked under his breath. His hand once again tangling itself in your hair.

The sound of a delicate tiptoe approaching the living room caused you to sit up and reach for the remote. Although to Spencer’s surprise you didn't move away from him. Instead, you leaned your body into his side so that if you wanted, you could place your head back on his shoulder.

“Mommy.” Benny muttered. With a little hoist from you, he scrambled into your lap. “Mommy.” “What’s up bunny? Mommy was just finishing a movie, and then I would have come check on you.”

Benny shook his head. He gripped onto the collar of your t-shirt with one hand, the other travelled to your face. He pushed himself into you, angling your head so that he could whisper something in your ear.

Spencer watched as the smile on your face widened at whatever it was Benny said. The young boy pulled away, and waited for your response. “I don’t know kiddo. Would you like me to ask him?” Benny nodded, also now grinning.

“Spencer?” You turned to address the brunette man. “What is your opinion on pillow forts?” He saw the sparkle in your eyes and he couldn't help but smile. “I love pillow forts.”

Within the hour, the living space was completely transformed into a squashy soft kingdom. Benny joyfully screamed that this was the best pillow fort ever as he crawled inside, teddybear in hand.

You nudged Spencer’s arm before staring up at him. “Thank you.” Your eyes locked as your hand slid into his with ease. Fingers instantly intertwining together like magnets. 

“We haven't done this since his dad passed. I’ve suggested it many many times, but he uhm, Benny never wanted to.” Pause. The expression on your face dulled. Mouth quivering as you spoke. “Ehm, his dad was a pilot hence my little guys obsession with planes. He died really suddenly nineteen months ago. Benny was so so small. And I don’t really know how much he remembers of his dad, I mean I tell him stories all the time and so do his grandparents, it’s just hard to tell sometimes if uhm... Pillow forts were like their thing, so after his dad I think they were too painful for Benny.”

Spencer gave your hand a gentle squeeze. You were both now standing toe to toe, facing each other fully.

“I guess Benny just needed to feel ready again. Happy even. So what I’m trying to say is, Spencer, thank you. Truly. Thank you for brining joy back into his life.” You hesitated, biting down on your bottom lip.

“Thank you for brining joy back into both of our lives.” 

It meant a lot to Spencer that you finally felt comfortable enough to share more details about Benny’s dad. He never wanted to replace the man, he wouldn't dream of it. All he really wanted since the day he met you was to make you a little bit happier, and to hear he was succeeding warmed his heart.

You immediately noticed how his face lit up ever so slightly. A miniature smile circled your lips. “I just hope we didn't obscure your life too much these last few months.”

Using his free hand, he placed the loose strands of your hair behind your ear. Gently caressing your cheek with his thumb in the process. “Are you kidding? There is nothing I would rather be doing. I love spending time with you guys.”

Your eyes sparked with admiration.

“I love our pizza nights, overanalysing different movies with you, listening to Benny’s rendition of ‘In Summer’ from ‘Frozen’. Heck, I love that I now know what ‘Frozen’ is.” You chuckled as he carried on. “I love painting with you, and how you tell me I’ve gotten a lot better at it even though we both know that’s not true. I love that you get a long with my friends. I love that I can take you and Benny over to JJ’s for playdates. Surprisingly, I love playdates. I love how you let me read to Benny when you’re cooking. I love that he loves when I read to him. And of course I love your cooking.”

Tears formed in your eyes, blurring your vision. Tears of happiness. Tears of joy. The man standing in front of you was saying all of the right things, and he didn't even know it. Or maybe he did. You couldn't really tell. The intense emotions circling through your mind right now made it hard to think.

Spencer continued. Now that he started, he couldn't stop. He wanted you to know all of these things. He wanted you to know how he felt. 

“I love when we go grocery shopping all together, and how you give out to me for my bad diet habits. I love how that always makes Benny laugh. I love how you framed a photo of the three of us and hung it up on your wall, don’t think I didn't notice. I love building lego sets with Benny. I love how the two of you call me when I’m away on a case to make sure I’m okay and tell me about your day. I love the sound of your voice. I love... I love Benny.”

He paused for a split second.

“And I especially love you.”

Tiny salty droplets trailed down your cheeks as you fluttered your lashes. “You love me?” You asked quietly. Spencer nodded his head. “I do. I’m in love with you Y/N.”

You didn't say anything. 

Spencer thought he was done for when you let go of his hand. He thought he ruined it. His nose twitched. His stomach dropped. He was about to apologise, say that if you didn't feel the same way it was definitely more than okay. He just wanted you in his life. But he didn't get a chance too.

Instead, your hand was now holding his face. Your lips attached themselves to his in one breath. He instantly noted how they were softer than he could have ever possibly imagined.

You tasted like coconut chapstick. Like bliss, delight. Instinctively, Spencer’s arm wrapped itself around your waist pulling you as close as humanely possible. He could feel your heart beating in rhythm with his. As your hand tangled itself in his curly hair, he wished this moment could last forever.

When you pulled away breathless, your cheeks were flushed pink. You briefly bit down on your bottom lip before once again meeting Spencer’s inviting gaze - his arm still holding you in a tight embrace. 

“Tell me again.” You whispered. Spencer’s lips circled into a warm smile. “I love you.” He declared. You slowly traced along his jawline with your fingertips. A bright bream circling your features. “I love you too Spencer.”

The second those words filled the air, he picked you up by the waist and spun you around. A carefree shriek slipped out from your mouth. He set you down and gently grabbing your face, he hauled you in for another kiss.

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to tell you all of those things.” He muttered against your lips. His stubble grazing your chin.“How long I’ve been wanting to kiss you.” You giggled.

“Maybe one day you can enlighten me, but I think now we better crawl into that fort as it is way too quiet in there. Suspiciously quiet.” 

Spencer laughed. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” The two of you broke apart. Hand in hand, you joined Benny inside the pillow kingdom. 

The boy was tangled up in a fuzzy blanket, slowly drifting asleep. He cuddled himself up to you the second your back hit the ground. You kissed the top of his head before turning to Spencer.

“Do you want to finish the movie?” You asked quietly.

“It’s okay.” He effortlessly squeezed his arm behind your neck. This allowed you to snuggle in closer and rest against him. “We can just lay here.” “What a perfect plan.”

The smile on your face caused Spencer's heart to skip a beat. He placed a kiss to your temple feeling 100% content.

It was Saturday morning. Saturday. A day Spencer used to spend grading papers and preparing class materials for the week ahead. Now, thanks to the woman sleeping peacefully beside him, his Saturdays looked much different.

Gradually, you stirred next to him. Eyes fluttering open as a yawn escaped your mouth. “Mhmm, good morning.” “Good morning beautiful.”

“How much time do you think we have?” You asked while stretching. “I would say,” Spencer glanced at the imaginary watch on his wrist. “, about five minutes.” He looked down at you and began slowly leaning in. You couldn't help but let out a soft giggle. “Let’s make ‘em count.”

A clatter of fast approaching feet caused you to halt right as your lips were about to touch. Spencer groaned knocking his head back against the wooden headboard. 

“Your calculations were a little off Dr. Reid.” You teased sitting up as he ran his fingers through his ruffled hair. He looked at you once again with the kindest smile. You loved that smile. 

“My apologies Mrs. Reid.” He pecked your lips just as the door flew open, your kids bursting through.

-

masterlist

spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no​, @calm-and-doctor​, @idroppedmygourd​​

[reidecorating]

Not Just Today, but Forever

A/N: This absolutely was not requested, I was just watching 14 x 06 and the only thing my eyes could focus on was Matthew Gubler looking like he forgot he was needed for filming that day and shaved that morning with a ridged cucumber, in the dark (spoiler: patchy ass beard) but I guess we can thank him in a way because this came out of it <3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.6k-ish words of pure fluff

Summary: Stalling on going to work because prioritising your pretty boyfriend and sleeping in is far more inviting - along with shaving his face for him.

Warnings: None, just some steamy smooches

It was the far from languid tone of his alarm that hooked through his ears and, from a blanket navy darkness, reeled Spencer Reid into the waking realm as if he were a flounder found floating too close to a fisherman’s pier in a high morning tide. He hastily reached a stiff hand to meet his eyes, joints inharmoniously clicking, forcing them open - only after he had rubbed them hard enough to see invisible neon swirls painting his eyelids. He let out a yawn and reached for the buzzing clock. It was an old thing he’d found while antiquing once, having picked it up thinking its faded sage green would bring life to the mahogany catacomb of his room. He never thought the body occupying the right side of his bed, no doubt buried in a larger portion of sheets than he currently was, would do exactly that, instead. Slowly turning onto an aching shoulder, he faced the woman sprawled out beside him, clearly unbothered by the racket of alarm bells. He admired her for a moment, watching her chest rise and fall, the shadow of her smile chasing away the dark of night. Spencer’s heart grew fonder than he thought was possible at the way she stirred, leaning in his direction, yearning to be closer to him even when they were separated by sleep. Fingers parting the tangle of hair splayed across silk pillowcases - some of which he was sure had reached his mouth - he tucked it behind her ears, noticing the slight twitching of her nose subside as the tickling strands were now out of the way. Finally, Spencer planted a kiss on the apple of her cheek, fondly letting his lips linger just long enough so as to not wake her too soon.

Routine was something Spencer never kept to. The unpredictability of his life, which primarily haunted him from the second he strapped a gun to his hip and walked out the door, never left much space for it; the badge only showed that he was a protector - not protected. So, the hum of an electric toothbrush, and the grumble of a coffee machine sandwiching his simple morning cycle had become a convention he’d come to adore. Tiptoeing to shut the bathroom door, now half dressed in an incorrectly buttoned dress shirt, some boxers and one green sock, Spencer smiled to himself at the way her forehead was the only thing he could now make out beneath the sheets. Lifting the blanket, he lay back down beside her, feeling indifferent towards the creases he was aware were forming on the ironed fabric on his shoulders. He nudged her jaw with his nose. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty, it’s time to get up,” Spencer giggled as she let out a groan in annoyance at his attempt to get her out of bed. “Aurora was awoken with a kiss, you need to step up your game, doctor,” she opened one eye briefly to squint at him, shutting it again and pointing her nose along with comically puckered lips in the air. “Aurora was also asleep for a hundred years, and last time I checked, you were not,” he reasoned, deliberately avoiding her request. “She was lucky, ‘m so tired,” she nuzzled her head into his chest, sighing softly as she basked in the warmth he provided, ignoring the strength of his newly applied cologne. Spencer’s hands were nearly gravitating towards his phone, fully prepared to dial in sick, and convince her to do the same. “I let you snooze for a few extra minutes,” he spoke lowly, almost believing if he spoke too loud the rest of the world would wake up, interrupting what momentarily belonged to the two of them. “You were smiling in your sleep, I didn’t want to wake you,”

“Mhm, but y’should’ve,” the upturned heel of her hand stretched away from her and into the air, words jumbling together as they left her mouth, “you’re much better than’ny dream I’ve ever had,” she reached out to tousle his hair. “Oh! I’m so sorry, you’ve already done your hair,” her eyes widened before she grimaced and attempted to pat it all back down. Spencer couldn’t help himself, his smile reaching hers before their lips melded together. The hand that his head wasn’t propped on, dug through the heavy duvet to find the bone of her hip, tracing it lightly as his lips trailed along the column of her throat, careful not to leave marks.

Knowing they both had places to be, she stopped him before they travelled past a point of no return. “You hate morning breath?”

“My love for you outweighs it,” his lips hovered over hers, fluttering against them as he spoke. “Mm, poetic,” she finally caught them between hers again, the soft heat of his mouth on hers waking her up more efficiently than a shower. “Did you know that if you snore or breathe through your mouth at night, you’re more likely-“

“To have bad breath in the morning than those who don’t? Yes, Spencer, you’ve told me this before… Once or twice.” He kissed her again. “But did you know that one in two people sleep with their mouth open? All I’m saying is that I do not, so I’ll leave the rest of the deductions up to you, my genius boy.” He let out a huff of laughter, tongue pushing at the inside of his cheek as he shook his head. He hoped his eyes could say the things he couldn’t quite communicate out loud. Brown, she observed. The green in them would be brought back when the sun fully rose, only for its brightness to be put to shame by his smile. Her fingernails delicately raked along his jaw, eventually gathering at his chin, cautiously tilting his confused head from side to side. “What’re you up to?” He asked, face scrunching up in curiosity. Examining it as well as she could in the early light, she trailed her thumb away from the corner of his mouth, unshaven stubble its compass. “You missed a spot,” she noted, unabashedly examining his celestial features. Spencer raised a brow, “I may have been distracted by the beautiful girl in my bed,”

“You may be smooth, lover boy, but this beard of yours certainly isn’t,” she teased, blushing slightly. He brought up his own hand to feel at the light bristles. Defeated, he stood up in the direction of the bathroom.

Repining for the warmth of his body, having used up all her wild cards in coaxing him back into bed, she followed him to the sink. “Let me get it, please?” She politely asked as he rummaged through the cabinet for some shaving cream. Understanding how he felt about people prodding at him, like vultures to a carcass, she knew she was treading ice of a frozen Spring lake. “Considering I would’ve gone to work looking like this if it weren’t for you,” he motioned to his face with a razor, “Okay,” he nodded. She perched herself on the counter, gasping at the cool marble hitting her exposed thighs. Spencer gave her a look, cheeks red. “I can see the gears turning in your head,” she bit back a grin, pointing a finger at him. “I’m just making sure I can reach your pretty face,”

“I see,” he raised his eyebrows, the supple skin of his hands reaching to spread her knees in order for him to take his place between them. “I just don’t want you to be late to work,” he mumbled, handing you a silver razor. “Don’t worry, I’m always early. It’ll be good to let everyone think I have a life, for once,”

“I know what you mean, there was once a rumour that I actually slept beneath the BAU round table.” She laughed at that, and it was the sweetest sound to ever reach Spencer’s ears. She swirled the foam between her hands and lathered it onto his face with a feather touch, smitten with a smile at the way he crinkled his nose when his eyes flew shut. “That feels nice,” he hummed, forgetting that the cream tastes unpleasant. “Shh, shaving foam isn’t a good substitute for breakfast,” she hushed. Spencer’s hands played with the hem of her rumpled shirt, before sliding along her torso, while she tentatively worked her way through the small patches of stubble, paying close attention to the underside of his chin. Distractedly, her fingers ran along the scar tissue splayed on his neck. She kissed his temple before her mind travelled to a shadowy place. Every wrong turn had somehow led him right to her, and she needed to remind herself of that. Soon enough, she dabbed a warm cloth across his face, fawning over his beauty under the ruse of admiring her handiwork. Unable to practise self control, she littered small kisses across his cheeks before, once again, painting stamps of love over his smooth jaw, and tugging at his lips with her own, leaving them swollen when he pulled away. “Thank you,” he whispered as his forehead rested against hers, her eyes illuminated in the bathroom light. “I never tell you this enough, but I love you,”

“You’re very welcome, Spencer, and you remind me everyday, even without saying it,” Spencer gently nodded against her, his head having moved to rest against her chest. “I love you to Pluto, Spencer,” she toyed with his scalp, feeling his smile, “but you have to be in by eight, so you need to run,” she informed. He nipped at her clavicle, completely enamoured by the angel sitting on his sink, ignoring time. “I’ll be here when you get back, mister,” she gently squeezed his shoulders. Spencer gazed up at her, a silent ‘Do you promise?’ to which her eyes told him, ‘Not just today, but forever’.

[charming-2d-boys]

May I get a sort of part two to Chrollo and Hisokas twin where Chrollo encounters them doing hot girl clown twin shit and his S/O is matching with Hiso and commiting crimes against humanity a la sibling bonding time- if that makes sense!

Oh my god, poor baby... he's gonna go bald because of the twins mostly Hisoka 😂

Thank you and I hope you’ll like it! 🙇

And yes, this is now a series 😂

A/N: couldn’t really come up with something where Hisoka’s twin would do something as crazy as him and hurt people just for fun, so I had to think of something more... fun and innocent that would still count as sibling bonding time 😂

Word count: 2080

Parts: One, Three ...

Taglist: @some-weeb-chick

   It had barely been two days since Hisoka’s arrival and due to some so-called “business in town”, he couldn’t – or wouldn’t - leave yet. He actually seemed to be settling in quite nicely.

   Much to yours and Chrollo’s chagrin.

   While he wasn’t staying with you, Hisoka was still a pain in the ass almost 24/7. He’d tried to convince you to stay with you, as your guest, even being okay with sleeping on the couch. And Chrollo was, honestly, terrified of the idea of you accepting and what Hisoka staying with the two of you - for who knows how long - would mean: no way of getting some privacy, the bathroom being occupied for longer because of Hisoka’s rigorous beauty routine, the food being eaten at a faster rate, Hisoka’s whining and complaining, plus his silent threats and glares whenever you and Chrollo would do anything other than stay away from one another (preferably in other rooms).

   Luckily, even you knew that what Hisoka wanted was something you weren’t willing to accept, so you told him (nicely) that he’d have to go to the nearest hotel. He could afford it, it wasn’t very far away from you and he could call if he ever needed anything. Of course, Hisoka complained loudly and you rolled your eyes as Chrollo was on the couch, reading, while you and your twin brother were in the kitchen, trying to discuss quietly and rationally. Keyword being “trying”.

   “Hiso, I know you better than anyone else. And I know exactly how it would be to have you stay here. You’re my brother and I love you, but if I find your make-up over my vanity one more time or I find my favourite sweets gone, I think I’ll smother you with a pillow in your sleep.”

   “I won’t leave my make-up there then~ ♦️”

   “But you’ll keep eating my sweets. Anyway, that wouldn’t matter much. I know what you’re trying to do and believe me, it won’t work.” You smiled as you raised an eyebrow, waiting for his comeback. Chrollo smiled as he heard you. Well, if he thought Hisoka was annoying, then you were an amazing person for putting up with him and knowing exactly what to do and say to put him in his place.

   “But I’m not trying to do anything~ ♠️”

   “Yeah, sure, and I’m the Second Queen Duazul. You’re not fooling me, Hiso, you know that~” You winked before patting his cheek as if he was a child. “Call me if you need anything~” You said as you picked your intact sweets and taking a seat next to Chrollo, whose arm went around you as he continued reading and you watched TV, resting your head on his shoulder and munching on your treats. Hisoka felt like grinding his teeth at the display, but sighed in an aggravated manner and left to pack the things he’d slowly (and purposely) laid around your place to wordlessly establish that he’d be staying with you.

   A few hours later, Hisoka, reluctantly, left your place, with you and Chrollo, who was holding you from behind, bidding him farewell for the night. You swore he moved and packed everything slowly, just trying to stall until it was too late and to make you take pity on him and let him stay the night. A deduction, which was actually correct, and that made your boyfriend chuckle. You were great at detecting and intuiting what your twin’s plans and thoughts were. And you were definitely the better one (in pretty much every way) if Chrollo was honest.

   He was honestly glad that he got to spend time with you without being interrupted by Hisoka’s immaturity. Despite the ongoing plan of finding a Nen Exorcist, with your twin still around, Chrollo was getting just a little bit restless. He couldn’t use his Nen, he was worried about the Spiders and he was still grieving for those he’d lost. Hisoka dilly-dallying wasn’t making it any better.

   Almost a week later, Chrollo was just coming out of a bookstore, a bag, with a fresh batch of books (most of them bought) for the two of you, slightly dangling as he kept walking. You were out with Hisoka, spending your time together since you’d told him about how fussy he could get if he didn’t receive his dose of attention from you. Again, another thing about Hisoka that seemed so natural to you and that amused Chrollo greatly. Hisoka certainly didn’t look like the type who would listen to you, yet some things are never what they seem to be.

   At the sight of one of your favourite coffee shops, Chrollo entered with the intention of surprising you with one of your favourite desserts after dinner that night. You were always so adorable in his eyes when you’d hug him tightly while thanking him for doing something like that for you. And he appreciated whenever you’d share it with him, despite Chrollo not having much of a sweet tooth. But you were too cute when you were so happy sharing something you liked with him.

   Chrollo left, already a bit excited for the night from his little daydreaming session, before he stopped and looked to his right, where one of the biggest parks in the city was situated. That bloodlust couldn’t be anyone else’s.

   “Take this!” Your boyfriend heard your voice, his eyes widening a bit as he saw Hisoka jump, a smile on his face. The water balloon hit the spot where he’d been just a second before. Another series of them followed, some exploding from Hisoka’s cards, letting the water fall over other people, while some were grabbed by his Bungee Gum and thrown at you. One hit you in the side and you laughed as you prepared more ammunition. Some people were cursing and grumbling while others were amused. The kids around the two of you seemed to be having fun, at least. You were only targeting Hisoka and wanted to make the kids laugh whenever you hit him. Hisoka, on the other hand, kept dodging, letting some of your water balloons hit unsuspecting people…because that’s how much of a jerk Hisoka was. Though, you were always quick to yell out apologies between your running and laughter.

   Chrollo kept staring, stuck between a mix of emotions: adoration, curiosity and even a bit of fear for you. You were almost like a kid yourself: laughing, having fun, running around and playing. Hisoka’s eyes glanced at Chrollo, almost as if he knew he’d been there the entire time, and smirked. Your boyfriend raised an eyebrow, almost challenging him to do or say something, before he covered his mouth to prevent himself from smiling too widely when one of your balloons hit Hisoka straight in the face. He couldn’t help smiling when he heard you laughing as one of the kids high-fived you, with another telling you how cool you were.

   Hisoka glared at you, half playfully, his hair now down and dripping with water, while his make-up was smudged and running down his cheeks. He easily grabbed some of your water balloons with his Bungee Gum and brought them to his side, making you gulp.

   “That wasn’t very nice of you~ ♣️” You gulped at his sickly sweet tone as you took a step back, urging the kids to move out of the way. Hisoka could be…unpredictable sometimes, even if you knew him so well. Chrollo took a few steps forward when he sensed the increase in bloodlust. You might’ve been twins, but he knew that Hisoka wasn’t just anyone. Chrollo was scared you might get hurt, despite being Hisoka’s twin and only family, and he felt helpless knowing he couldn’t do much, if anything, to protect you if needed be.

   Sensing the increasing bloodlust, people started exiting the park or at least pulling back, leaving you to face your twin brother at the same time your boyfriend was getting closer to the two of you. Seeing his approaching figure, you glanced at Chrollo as you took a defensive stance, ready to protect the both of you if Hisoka tried anything. You were sure he wouldn’t hurt you – too badly, at least – but you weren’t so sure about Chrollo.

   Hisoka had made it pretty clear that he wasn’t too fond of Chrollo, though none of them seemed to tell you why. You chalked it up to Hisoka being the protective brother while Chrollo was just your polite, but defiant boyfriend when it came to your relationship since he wouldn’t break up with you just because of your brother.

   “Hisoka, don’t do anything stupid or I swear…” You threatened him, the open palm of one hand facing your boyfriend to make him stop before he came too close.

   “You’ll do what, exactly, hm~? ♦️”

   “Beat you up like when we were kids.”

   “That was only once, (Y/N)~ ♥️”

   “I can still beat you up, wanna see?” You smirked, ready to take him on. You had your own water balloons ready, using Gyō to see where your twin brother’s Bungee Gum was. The moment he took a step forward you jumped releasing some of the balloons, one exploding and splashing the side of his leg while most of his balloons blew up as soon as he released them in the air, most of the water pouring over you and also Chrollo, though he managed to avoid most of it by jumping away.

   Chrollo sighed when he saw that you both moved further away from him, luring Hisoka as well, though he did throw a few more towards him, trying to hit your boyfriend. Which he managed once, making Chrollo look at him with a deadpan expression as his soaked shirt clung to his skin.

   By the time you were done and coming to your boyfriend’s side, you were smiling widely as water dripped down from the top of your head to your soaked clothes as you gave him a kiss on the cheek, making him smile a little.

   “I won!” You laughed as you looked at him happily before glancing at Hisoka, sticking your tongue out childishly while he glared back, though there was a smile on his face.

   “Don’t get ahead of yourself, I let you win~ ♠️” You laughed before nodding, rolling your eyes when you turned back towards your boyfriend. He squeezed you closer to his body with a quirk of his lips, despite the wet clothes becoming colder, which in turn made you both shiver a bit before you started feeling warmer.

   “Care to tell me what this was all about, love?” Your boyfriend asked, the two of you still hugging while Hisoka wiped his ruined make-up off his face, though his attention was on the two of you. He didn’t like how close you two were to one another. He should’ve bound Chrollo with his Bungee Gum and hit him with all of the balloons. The thought made him smile creepily.

   “Hiso, stop smiling like that and thinking whatever you’re thinking or I’ll really kick you.” You said calmly as you picked up the bag with the books before Chrollo gave you the one with the dessert instead, taking the heavier bag himself while grabbing your free hand. You both started walking back towards your house, Hisoka rolling his eyes as he started walking back to the hotel.

   “I’m coming for dinner tomorrow~ ♥️” He said as he waved at you. You stopped walking, turning around before getting one last water balloon out. Chrollo watched the two of you, internally sighing. You were both so childish and immature sometimes… Well, it was another side of you that he loved.

   “No, you’re not. Me and Chrollo are going on a date tomorrow.” This made your twin brother stop and turn around slowly, though he sighed irritatedly when he felt the water splash him right in the middle of his chest. He could’ve moved, but he didn’t feel like it anymore. His mood soured just because of what you’d said. “And no, it’s not negotiable. I didn’t get to have lunch with my boyfriend today and while it was fun, we’re both cold and soaked. Talk to you later, Hiso!” You waved with a kind smile.

   “So, how about some tea when we get home?” You turned towards Chrollo, with him glancing triumphantly at your brother as you both started walking again, leaving your twin to watch your backs as you were getting farther away from him.

   “Sounds perfect, love.” He replied as he kissed your temple, the slight increase in Hisoka’s bloodlust making him smirk.

[adamfoolcry]

of coffees and holidays (d.sc)

pairings: Ballerina!Sicheng x CafeOwner!FemReader

rating: 13+

warnings: swearing

genre: angst and fluff

synopsis: Your and Sicheng's love story in five coffees with varying degrees of sweetness spanning five Christmases.

word count: 3k+

a/n: for @127-mile, I hope I did justice for your prompt. Hope you enjoy reading it. Happy Holidays! 🎅 Thank you to @neoculturechristmas for organizing such fun event. It can be read in chronological order if y'all wanted to. I promise it's a happy ending. Not proofread so please excuse the mistakes, I am so dumb. Please reach out to me if you would like to do so. - xo aria

Christmas 2019 - Espresso

Outside as flakes of snow fell from the sky, like a light shower of glitter from the heavens, the elusive holiday spirit seemingly present in the air; you watched a young couple huddled together to share warmth, fingers intertwined, cheeks glowing red partnered with coy smiles on their faces, and a family of three in admiration of their son as he showed off his Christmas gift. The streetlights emitting an orange glow providing an aura of softness, making everything come together to form a picturesque scene.

Heartwarming as these scenes were, they failed to evoke any emotion out of you; if anything you feel excluded from it entirely. To you the world behind the cafe's glass windows is just a film you're screening in the cinemas, and you were nothing but a mere spectator. You continue to stare listlessly at the throngs of people passing by until they all mesh into a blur of colors your eyes couldn't catch fast enough. That's better.

Inside the cafe although decorated with trinkets for the holidays there was an air of sadness permeating every corner and seated itself onto the furnishings. Lately it seems like sadness is following you around everywhere - like a shadow - and instead of trailing behind you it looms over you shrouding your every thought until it completely consumes you.

No one stepped foot inside the cafe and with no one to entertain your mind drifts to him. Sicheng.

How many days has it been? Since you last saw him. You've lost count, a lie you tell yourself to make the dull ache in your chest bearable. 

It's a torture how you could recall that day - the day you lost him - so vividly as if you are forced to relive it every time the silence eats away at your resolve; to tuck the moment into the deep recesses of your mind, where it can't hurt you. When every little thing reminds you of him, his favorite spot at the cafe, black turtlenecks and that undeleted grainy picture of his sitting in your gallery. 

You could never forget the look on his face, resignation etched into every crevice of his features, a forlorn smile on his lips. 

"I see," he said in a bittersweet tone before he turned his back at you. 

The slam of the door is the nail that hits the coffin. Sicheng is gone. He has already walked out of your life. That was the last you saw of him for he never visited the cafe again.

A month passed by when Sicheng called you. Your heart leaped as his name flashed on your screen and your thumb shakily pressed the answer button; afterwards lifting it near your ear.

There was no greeting as he uttered in his low voice that you have missed so much, "My flight to Russia is this Saturday." 

Your heart sank.

"I want you to see me off, ______." 

Don't go please stay with me but there are certain thoughts that weren't meant to be put into words so instead, "I'll be there." You reassured him.

But you never showed up at the airport that Saturday. Instead, you were at the cafe staring at the screen of your phone blinking on and off as a wave of notifications with his name flooded your phone. Why make things harder? As if him leaving wasn't hard enough. You pressed the power button long enough to shut down your phone.

The following days passed away into months that's a haze in your mind. You can't recall anything worth remembering. You quickly filled up your schedule with mundane tasks just to have something to do filling every gap of your vacant time. 

At night you fell straight to bed, your body collapsing from the physical strain you have subjected it with. Establishing a packed routine without idle time so you don't have time to linger on the dull ache in your chest - always there like a festering wound. This works until you find your list of chores unexpectedly accomplished earlier than you planned, the cafe shrouded in still quietness. 

Alone with nothing else to do the dull ache amplified to a crippling one and it bites you right back in your face, forcing you to acknowledge the hollow feeling that seems to reside in your chest permanently. Your eyes would be heavier, your vision blurry, trying to blink away the tears but ultimately failing as it trails down your cheeks; you clutch at your chest because it hurts and you regret that the last you'll see of Sicheng is that face of hurt he wore.

Christmas 2016 - Vanilla Latte

You placed the cup of vanilla latte sitting on a saucer on the table daintily, pushing the saucer across the wooden table towards the customer, avoiding to make any noise. The customer seemed so engrossed with the novel he is reading - nose almost touching the pages - that you don't want to disturb him. 

The said customer is a regular, there was not a month that he hasn't visited the cafe. Showing up five minutes after you flip the signage to open, with no fail not even a minute late. 

Wearing all black from head to toe, a tall lithe figure, and an androgynous facial structure, your guess is that he works as a model. Even now without trying he is captivating; he makes the cafe look like a set for a magazine spread just by lounging in the matching cherry wood table and chair, and you can't help but stand there and shamelessly stare at him. god really has his favorites.

His work must require him to travel to different countries and have photoshoots in scenic spots, oh how you wish you could also jetset to other countries. Packed schedule for the day that he doesn't have time to think about what he is going to do next. That is a luxury you don't have especially in the ber months for there is a decline in customers and with no one to entertain, your mind goes on an overdrive pondering on uncharted waters of how you have nothing else going for you but run this cafe.

Aside from his penchant to wear all black, read a novel while drinking his choice of beverage - choice of beverage you ask? - you see the other peculiar thing about this man is that he doesn't have a 'regular drink'. Most if not all people who go to a cafe know what they are going to order before they have set foot inside. This man doesn't, his eyes would flit on the menu, scanning from left to right and back again. It is almost ritual like, this would go on for a good minute or two as you drum your fingers on the counter waiting for his order. 

The snow is falling outside covering the otherwise grey pavement white, decorations for the festivities hung around the four corners of your quaint cafe. Yet here he is, nursing a cup of coffee instead of being somewhere else. Doesn't he have a family? to celebrate Christmas with?

"Can I help you?" The man said, turning his face slightly in your direction not quite yet abandoning the book in his hand.

"Ohh uhmm-" you were jolted out of your trance, startled you took a sidestep only to collide with the chair where a large unzipped duffel bag was placed. The contents of the bag spilled over. 

"Shit! I am sorry." You quickly knelt to the ground to pick up the scattered items on the floor, the man joined you. Charger, earphones, epsom salt, bandage, and tiger balm ointment as you picked up the items you also increasingly grew baffled. What a weird assortment of things. You reached for the item that somehow managed to get under the table and as your fingers came in contact with the rough material of the cloth you learned that your assumption of his job was wrong. A man's canvas ballet shoes.

I thought he was a model.

"What?" The man questioned. You wince to yourself you just didn't say that out loud. You emerge from under the table to find that the man was looking at you too intently for your liking. His eyes sought out yours waiting for an explanation and as if you owe him one you started explaining yourself. 

"Well, you are tall and extremely handsome so .." Cringing as the words flew out of your mouth. The man chuckled at your confession, a tell tale sign of a smile on the corner of his lips.

"I am flattered really but as you can deduct by now I actually do ballet." He rose to his feet and offered you his hand to help you stand up. 

Unlike other days where he will leave the cafe after an hour or two, this time he stayed and unlike other days where you find yourself alone in the cafe; you find yourself enjoying the company of this mysterious man. 

Where you quickly learned that all your presumptions about him have little truth in it. You learned that his name is Sicheng, and he is a principal dancer for the Korean National Ballet company not a model although with his looks he might as well be one. Yes, he travels but mostly for tours and performances. He practices an average of eight hours a day. 

Your fascination for his life spurred the conversation as if you were friends catching up with each other. With the book set aside and the contents of the cup long empty you two didn't notice how much time had passed. He bid you goodbye with a promise to visit you again tomorrow. As you watch his retreating figure getting smaller, the snow piling on top of each other over the glass windows of the cafe there was a smile on your lips - the warmth of a newfound friendship is akin to a good cup of coffee - making you warm from the inside out.

Christmas 2017 - Cappuccino

"Surprise me," Sicheng said leaning on his hip at the counter, arms crossed on his chest, when you asked him what he would like to drink. Standing there he looked like the culmination of your dreams.

Maybe it's the iridescent lights from the numerous christmas lights that flickered on his face making him look more exquisite or the grin he gave you after. You did surprise him but not in the way he was expecting and to be honest you are also shocked by your sudden brazenness as you lean in to kiss his plush lips. The kiss didn't last long, a little more than a peck but long enough for you to regret it.

"I .. I am sorry," you stammered burying your heating up face in your hands, embarrassed. You didn't even see Sicheng's reaction, was he appalled? You peeked through your fingers to find out, when Sicheng started laughing, tipping his head back a little, eyes crinkled in mirth, his right hand covering the half of his handsome face. 

You want nothing more than to shrivel up in one corner. He started tugging at your wrists, pulling your hands away from your burning face.

"Mind giving me more of that surprise?" The corner of his lips curved upwards, nose slightly crinkled, and you wished to etch his face to memory.

Christmas 2018 - Americano

He was late, you glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, it is now 11 P.M. and soon Christmas will be over. 

The americano you have prepared already cold, his untouched while yours halfway finished. It's fine though because you know that this will be the first of the many Christmases you have to spend without Sicheng. You must get used to spending it alone again. 

Musing to yourself your mind quickly took a trip down the memory lane of his last visit to the cafe before he got on tour with the company for one of the holiday stage productions. 

--------

You have only heard the thud of the door as it closed on its hinges. You are currently cleaning the countertop back bowed and eyebrows furrowed in concentration as you meticulously scrubbed at the stubborn grease that won’t budge, lifting your head to do the customary greeting, when something or rather someone barreled straight to where you are, engulfing you in a tight hug that shoved you headfirst into that someone’s chest your nose burrowed deeply into the black cloth. 

Recognizing the intoxicating scent of light musk and citrus, relief flooded you as you hugged Sicheng back. You don't know how long the two of you stayed in that position basking yourself with his warmth just a little longer.

He's real, he's here a safe and solid presence by your side. You can count by one hand the things that have endured with you throughout the years, other than the cafe which you have run since your mother got sick, dropping out of college to keep it going. And one of those is Sicheng you've found in him stability and comfort your past partners can't give you.

Sicheng pulled away putting some distance between the two of you, his arms naturally falling at his sides. He was wearing one of his brightest smiles, the apple of his cheeks high and pronounced on his face.

"_______, I've been offered the position of principal dancer at Bolshoi Ballet in Russia," He can't help but smile again clearly enthusiastic with the prospect of joining one of the most prestigious ballet companies.

It took you a moment to answer settling with an unconvincing, "Wow." You don't know how to react with his news, but you feel dread in the pit of your stomach. You don't like the idea of him leaving. You try not to let it show in your face.

"I know. I was also surprised." As if sensing the change in your demeanor he asked concerned, "Is something wrong, ______?" 

"Nothing let me whip you a drink I found from the net," you brushed him off with a wave of your hand. 

----------

"Hey _______, I am sorry there was some minor traffic that held us back," Sicheng announced his entrance that broke your reverie. Setting his duffel bag on the floor to sit on the opposite chair facing you.

His hair tousled, cheeks rosy and nose red but despite his healthy complexion you can also see the pronounced bags under his eyes with a tinge of violet. He looks tired and in dire need of rest. Yet he headed straight to the cafe instead of his apartment. 

"Sicheng I've wanted to tell you something," perching your arms on the table to fiddle with the ear of the cup.

"Yeah?" Sicheng asked, staring right at you.

"I think," you cast your eyes down on the table, and with a small voice continued, "we should break up." 

"You think?" 

"I mean we should"

"Why?"

"I ... it's just that it will be easier for you." Your hands started gesticulating in the air.

"Don't give me that bull shit. You are not the judge of that," Sicheng replied in a cold manner.

"It's just you have this life before me and you'll also have a life after me." Your voice cracked, and you gathered your strength to look at him. "I am grateful that you have been a part of my life. You are crazy talented and right now the world opens up in front you and you deserve better. I can't give you that I ..-," clutching at your chest, "I am just me."

"It's nice to know that you think of me as some temporary phase in your life and here I am fool enough to think that maybe you'll want to come with me to Russia," a cruel laugh slipped from his lips, "christ, I can't even choose what coffee I'll be having and finally for once in my life I've never been so sure of anything," voice trailing, "but us.

"So I'll still ask because I know I will regret it, if I don't. Do you want to come with me?" Sicheng pierced you with his eyes, wearing his heart out on a sleeve. Leaving himself unguarded and hoping you'll come through.

But you have never been brave. "I'll stay and you go."

"I see," he said in a bittersweet tone before he turned his back at you. 

Christmas 2020 - White Chocolate Mocha

"I told you Renjun you don't have to do your shift at Christmas." You look up to reprimand Renjun, and instead are met with familiar feline eyes that seem to see right through you. There stood Sicheng looking like an intricate piece of art displayed in the museums. It is more painful to look at him than anybody warned it would be. It hurts how familiar you are with him still dressed in black - turtleneck and slacks, his trusty duffel bag hanging on one shoulder, he's still the same but now you are nothing more than a past fling to him.

"Hey," Sicheng walked towards the counter greeting you.

"Hey," you shake your head from the trance that took over you, "Oh I'll make you something."

"I'll have a white chocolate mocha." Slightly surprised by his request it took you a second to start preparing it.

"When did you come back?" You inquired as you moved about to prepare his drink.

"Yesterday night" 

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would you have fetched me?" He asked nonchalantly.

You momentarily stiffen evading to answer the question you throw another at him, "How are you? Is Russia treating you well?"

"Can we cut the crap out? As much as I love dancing, I don't like dancing around in circles. I've come back for one reason only." 

"Will you come with me to London?"

Looking at Sicheng standing there - after how much you have hurt him - you thought you will never see him again and you have long accepted that punishment. You are not brave and you will never be but

"Yes, I'd love to go with you."

what you have with him is worth it.

a/n: Read more of my works for NCT here:masterlist

[no-gorms]

I guess this is a timestamp for Stuck in a...? Last week an anon asked what happens next in that ‘verse and a couple of days later my brain decided to come up with this short thing.

Steve/Tony, established relationship, a/b/o, fade to black (also on ao3)

+

Left to his own devices, there are few things that can throw Tony out of a workshop groove. Typical hard limits are hunger and exhaustion; softer limits are the occasional frustration at being unable to solve a problem and its opposite, the thrill of finding a solution that he then needs to show off or celebrate.

Then there is the other kind of distraction.

Today, Tony’s working on a pair of experimental rocket boots, which are balanced on a test gantry and awaiting power-up. It’s a straightforward test – a culmination of the morning’s work and is perfectly pedestrian right down to DUM-E’s concerned chirps from nearby with the fire extinguisher. Yet what seemed crystal clear a moment ago seems suddenly hard to pin down, the numbers slipping away from sense every time he looks at them, and forcing Tony to futz with the test parameters on his control screen.

It doesn’t help that his lower back aches. He’s been rubbing his knuckles against it absent-mindedly throughout the morning, though he’d mostly relegated it to a distant ignorable distraction until it travelled upward along his spine and is adding on to the pile of things that are not doing his concentration any favors.

Wait.

“Oh,” Tony says in surprise. “Huh.”

A heat, then. Maybe. He thinks it might be early, not that he’s ever been that good at cycle tracking. That said, Steve is good at cycle tracking and has called his past heats that they’ve shared together right down to a 36-hour margin of error, so the fact that Steve hadn’t blocked Tony’s whole schedule today means that it must be either early or a false alarm.

Tony tips his head back, sets his feet apart and closes his eyes. Rolling warmth immediately blooms out of lower stomach, sending him doubling over.

All right, it’s definitely a heat.

Which means that Tony can surprise Steve for once.

Tony grins. “JARVIS, where’s the good ‘ol Captain?”

“In the conference room, sir.”

“Great. Put a bookmark on everything, would you? Thanks.”

Tony liberally sprays himself with Axe (so his scent won’t give the game away) and leaves the workshop with a spring in his step.

It’s not that he minds having to handle a heat on his own – he’s done that often enough, and gotten suppressants for whenever it’s too inconvenient to bother – but having Steve on his team, as it were, makes the whole thing far more enjoyable. It’s an excuse to drop everything (workshop binge included) and spend time with his favorite person; who, coincidentally, thinks of Tony as his favorite person, and isn’t that just something?

Though Steve would likely protest with something like: do they need an excuse? They can just be together whenever they want to?

To which Tony would respond, but this is the universe purposefully reminding them to take a break from whatever else is going on and just be. Also, the accompanying heat-heightened orgasms are fun.

Tony has more of that make-believe argument with Steve all the way down from the workshop to the conference room floor. It does occur to him that he could go to their room first and set it up – snacks, liquids, change of sheets etc. – but surprising Steve feels far more urgent. Besides, they’ve gotten a pretty good heat/rut routine down by now, which only needs their cycles to settle in sync to be perfect.

But that’s a goal for another time.

Today’s goal has Tony sneaking up to the entrance of the conference room, from which he can hear Steve and other voices in discussion. Tony’s step falters a little as he parses the tones of their voices. Business-like and serious, though it can’t be that serious since they left the door open.

Tony considers his options. He backtracks the way he came and detours to the pantry that’s two rooms over. There’s coffee brewing there already, so he helps himself to a cup and is halfway through it before remembering that caffeine’s not a good idea before a heat. He’d never bothered with such things before Steve, and the fact that that thought has Tony feeling fond instead of annoyed says a lot.

“Fine.” Tony dumps the remainder of the cup, has some water instead, and trudges back towards the conference room.

“—it’s not enough,” Steve’s saying. “I’m sorry, but I’m not comfortable with this.”

“I don’t blame you,” Maria replies. “But we can’t keep the task force there. It’s recall or finish it.”

Tony’s a handful of feet from the doorway. He pauses there, hands on hips, and tries to will the meeting to die by ESP alone.

“I know a guy,” Clint says.

“You know a guy that I don’t?” Natasha says.

“All right,” Steve says. “How do you want to play it?”

Tony rolls his eyes at the ceiling and retreats to the wall just next to the doorway. He leans against it, arms crossed and the ache of earlier starting to creep down his thighs. Excitement of getting to see Steve apparently distracted him enough that he didn’t notice the slow, coiling warmth gathering down below.

Tony takes a deep, chest-rattling breath. His nose always gets more sensitive leading into a heat, and sure enough, he can make out the teasing curl of Steve’s scent in the air – familiar and calm and not close enough. When Tony shuts his eyes he can picture Steve’s form in crystal-clear mental definition: his brow furrowed and his arms crossed, a Captain America in full business mode and not expecting a diversion-in-wait a mere couple of yards away.

“—two-person show,” Clint says. “Any more and we spook them.”

Tony realizes that he’s rubbing his elbows against the wall behind him. He’s marking said wall, but he’s also working off the creeping itch under his skin. At this rate he’s going to start rubbing his face and other sundry body parts against the wallpaper soon. It’s nice wallpaper, and the Tower is technically his so he can mark everything as much as he wants, but the itch won’t be satisfied by that. It’s more likely that the itch will simply grow, and become intolerable, and there’ll be a Tony-shaped scent mark in the wall that’ll take forever to clean.

It occurs to Tony that he’d sped up his heat by coming out here to find Steve, who is right there. In the next room. When he could be in the same room as Tony, and preferably in Tony to boot.

Now that’s a nice thought.

It’s a very nice thought, in fact, and is further buoyed by some very nice memories that he and Steve have made together lately.

Tony realizes he’s panting. His gulps of air dry out his lips, and make him dizzy. He feels compelled, pulled, drawn.

He only realizes he’s started walking when he’s already taken a couple of steps away from the wall, his head tipped up slightly as though tugged through the open space by the invisible lure that is Steve’s presence.

Tony enters the conference room and, finally seeing Steve, makes a bee-line towards him. He also vaguely registers other people in the room but they’re mere shadows, distant and vague, and very unlike the solid, glowing figure of one Steve Rogers.

“Hey Tony,” Steve says. “I thought we were—”

He’s cut off when Tony reaches his target, flinging his arms around Steve’s torso and pressing his face against Steve’s neck. Steve is solid and warm, a wall of muscle that speaks to safety more than strength, and Tony breathes him in deep. There are a few inches of bare skin just above Steve’s collar, and though the skin has Tony’s scent on it, it is muted, which will not do at all. Tony rubs his cheek against Steve’s skin, in firm but small motions back and forth, while Tony’s chest does the same work marking up Steve’s torso.

“Oh, uh.” Steve takes a questioning sniff. “Ah.”

“Well, that’s your day gone,” Maria says. “Just let Barton take an away team—”

“No,” Steve says firmly, “this isn’t an excuse—”

“It is time-sensitive,” Natasha says. “Just saying.”

“I know, but—” Steve makes a surprised sound when Tony moves, sending his arms upward over Steve’s shoulders and wrapping them behind his neck. “Tony—”

Tony pulls. Not very hard, but just enough that Steve hunches over a little, giving Tony the boost he needs to bounce up and wrap both legs around Steve’s waist. Steve is, of course, a very smart man, and immediately has both hands under Tony’s thighs to hold him steady. Tony’s rumbling purr of approval lands at the soft skin of Steve’s neck, just under his ear.

“Yeah, you’re done,” Clint says. “Got a bad case of a limpet.”

“No, I want you to get in touch with your guy, find out what he can put together in 24 hours,” Steve says. Tony really likes the way Steve’s chest vibrates when he talks. He shows his contentment by tightening his grip around Steve, who pats his thigh twice in subtle acknowledgement. “The task force stays. You two put your pull-out plan to paper and send it to my email in an hour, before we even think of engaging.”

“An hour,” Natasha echoes.

“You’ll probably need longer than that to call it in,” Steve says, which has Natasha huffing in amusement. “Task force stays. Got it?”

“Got it,” Maria says. “I’ll pull the latest sat images. An hour, you said?”

“Yeah. Well.” Steve adjusts his grip on Tony and starts walking, presumably to a more private and agreeable destination. “Thereabouts.”

“Bye!” Clint calls out as they leave the room. Tony lifts one hand from Steve’s shoulder just long enough to wave.

When Steve next speaks, his voice is different. Softer, like the very bedsheets Tony hopes Steve’s taking them to. “You’re early,” he says.

“Your powers of deduction are astounding.” Tony tilts his chin up to nip at Steve’s ear, and is gratified by Steve’s shudder against him. Steve’s steps speed up to almost a run, jostling Tony as they move along. Tony grins. “Are you seriously going to take breaks to answer emails?”

“I can multitask,” Steve says tetchily. “Or at the very least, get you distracted enough that you won’t complain.”

“A challenge,” Tony says with a hum. “Sorry for interrupting the whatever, though.”

“Don’t be.” Steve stops walking, and removes one hand from under Tony’s thigh. There’s a click of the doorknob, and then Steve’s shifting his weight to toe the door open and bring them both inside. “I’m grateful that you’re comfortable enough to come to me like that. That’s, uh. It’s nice.”

Oh, so Steve likes that. Success.

Tony’s still grinning when Steve tosses him on the bed.

[lonestarbabe]

Eye of the Storm: Chapter 3: The Road You Take Alone

*Can be read as a stand alone (AO3)

Carlos tries not to let his mental health spiral out of control.

Carlos isn’t used to waking up to an empty bed, and he misses hitting a limb when he stretches his body too far onto the other side. Even though T.K. still technically lives with his dad, he’s been spending a good deal of time at Carlos’. Carlos has gotten used to having him around, so when he’s gone, it’s too quiet, and Carlos can hear his thoughts rage in the stiff air of his mind, forming hard peaks like beaten egg whites. His thoughts are becoming unruly. They’re angry and anxious. You’ll never be happy, they tell him. Something will always make you feel dissatisfied. Things always go wrong, and you never know when the awfulness will strike, so you have to be prepared for all the badness that will come. If you aren’t prepared, bad things will happen.

His head pounds as the thoughts crescendo. His bed is lumpy under his body and his sheets are oddly scratchy. Usually, his bed is a safe little oasis, and the worrying doesn’t start until his feet reach the floor, but his thoughts are bolder today; they have no regard for those blessed moments of aimless contemplation that he loves so much. There’s no time for you to be tranquil. The world is unhinged, and you’ve got to find a way to fix it, or at least your little part of it. I just want to relax. No time for that. You’ve got to start your day. Five more minutes. Start your day. Two more minutes. Start your day. One more minute. I won’t say it again: start your day.

There’s so much he has to do, he knows that, but his mental to-do list is disjointed like building blocks after a child has torn them and scattered them across the room during a tantrum. He needs to piece them back together, but it takes so much energy just to do that let alone tackle the items on the list. The world is an overwhelming place when you can’t even process your own thoughts. I need to get going or I’m going to waste the entire day. Listen to yourself. You’ve got to hurry up and get something done before you give up on trying. I can do this. Getting my shit together can’t be that hard, can it?

Order is not something that Carlos likes to do; it is something he has to do. It keeps me from losing my head. Nothing feels right when left to chance, so each morning, he shakes the question marks as well as he can. He plans and he prepares for the day ahead. He lists the things that are likely to go wrong, and he thinks of ways he’ll address them when they happen. He reminds himself that he can handle the obstacles because, at one time or another, he has prepared for them all. But there are too many variables, and you cannot alphabetize a list if you don’t know the first letters of the items on that list. You can make deductions and guesses, but you can’t know. It is fruitless to try to control the inevitable mystery that comes with being alive, but Carlos tries. If he thinks about a thought long enough, he can work it to death. Once it’s dead, he can feel okay. For a while.

He’s got his thoughts under control most of the time. He’s learned to work through them efficiently, shoving them out of the way each morning and each night before they can drag him too far down into the abyss of rumination. While he’s taught himself to work through them quickly, some days, thoughts are sticky. They are gum glued to the ground with superglue, waiting for an unsuspecting shoe. The thoughts cling to his mind, oozing over the information he actually needs, and he has to work just a little bit harder to scrape them off of the walls of his brain.

Thank god people couldn’t see thoughts because if they could, they’d see that Carlos’ thoughts are twisted remnants of what thoughts should be. They’re the warped pieces of metal left after a plane crash— they don’t have much function, but their sharp edges can cut you. He doesn’t want today to be one of those days that brings those destructive thoughts to the forefront of his brain, but Carlos feels darkness sneaking into his brain with about as much stealth as a cat with a giant bell weighing down her steps. Somedays, it slips in without a trace, but it doesn’t matter because no matter how it comes, it always gets in.

He wishes he didn’t have the day off work. The space in his schedule leaves too much room for intrusion. Distraction has always been the thing that keeps Carlos sane. Work, working out, going out with friends are some of the things that keep him on his toes and feeling level. Distraction can’t take away all the darkness, but it can hold it away until it finally crawls back into bed with Carlos one quiet morning.

He should have known that the darkness would come on like this. The darkness – that’s what he’s always called it, but he isn’t sure whether the name makes it sound worse or better than the clinical name. You wouldn’t expect it from him, the depression, but it’s a familiar foe. He’s usually the one that people use as a strong pillar, and he hates how weak the darkness makes him feel. His depression comes in waves, and it comes unexpectedly. Some things may trigger the depression, sure, but it can come when he’s feeling good, just as it can come when he’s already feeling bad. It usually doesn’t last long, but it waxes and wanes and hangs over him even when he can’t see it.

It’s time to get up, his brain persists, urging him to suck up the lowness in his core and get on with what he has to do. Stop lazing around and do something. You could get so much done today if you just did it. Why are you like this? What’s stopping you other than yourself? Do something. Anything.

He drags his feet over the side of the bed, and the ground comes against his heels too fast, and he has to balance himself to not tumble back into bed. Oh, but I’m tempted. I could give in to the urge, wrap myself in blankets, and close myself off to the world. As the urge to do nothing calls to Carlos, his need for order also beckons. He has a routine for a reason because that routine keeps him from spiraling. One missed part of his routine can turn into pacing his apartment for two hours replaying his whole morning in his head to catch any discrepancies.

Somehow, I’ve got to get through this day. Carlos has learned that when a day seems impossible, you have to take it one step at a time, but he’s never been a one step at a time kind of guy. He’s good at taking tiny, careful steps because they feel safe and require the precision he’s programmed himself to give, but those baby steps grate on him. They bring out the obsession and make him exert way too much energy for what should be easy. He becomes consumed by little details that shouldn’t matter until he can’t think anymore.

The perk of a small apartment is that it doesn’t take long to pull his body to the kitchen and drag his feet down the stairs. Carlos feels like a robot as he prepares breakfast. Prepares is a strong word for what he does, but on days like today, pulling a toaster pastry from a shiny aluminum packet counts as preparation. The treat should taste like cinnamon sugar, but it’s cardboard against his tongue. He finishes it, and then he eats its waiting twin because he knows that’s what he should do. He washes his breakfast down with instant coffee that looks and tastes like mud.

He doesn’t have to clean the dishes because he’ll use the mug for more coffee when he’s showered, but even though he ate neatly and didn’t make much of a mess, he wipes down the counters as he usually does to simulate a normal day. Because I need to act normal. You’ll never be normal. But I can try.

After he cleans up breakfast, fatigue pulls at his eyes. I could just go back to bed. I have nothing to else to do, so I might as well just give up. What else am I going to do with my time? Going back to bed won’t make him feel any less tired, though, so he decides to force himself into the shower. He stands under the hot stream, letting it purify his thoughts more than his body. He stands there until the hot turns cold, and he’s so deep in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the change until his teeth begin chattering.

Carlos forces himself into new clothes, and he doesn’t know what to do next. He’s restless. You have so much to do. Your life is a mess. Start by trying to clean that up, and then, we’ll go from there. If you can’t get your act together, you’re hopeless. Cleaning— I can handle that.

Cleaning isn’t Carlos’ idea of fun, but it seems like the natural solution to messiness, and maybe if he can get his living space spruced up, he can sort out the clutter in his head. He’s diligent when he cleans. He doesn’t just scrub surfaces; he uses three different products to make sure every square inch is wiped off as well as humanly possible. It probably doesn’t make much of a difference, but putting so much effort into something keeps his brain from scrambling. He dusts every crevice, and he vacuums using all the attachments to make sure no corner goes untouched. He even wipes down the bottom of his table just because he can imagine how much dirtiness must be under there. Cleaning is just the right amount of mind-numbing to pass the time without making Carlos have to think too hard. Since he’s cleaning, Carlos decides, what the hell, he might as well do some laundry, knocking all the dirty details of life off his list. Getting stuff done normally feels good, but Carlos doesn’t feel much of anything.

The morning blurs into the afternoon, and Carlos only notices the difference when his mom calls just a little after one. Carlos dreads the conversation as much as he’s glad that it will give him something to do. Carlos loves his mom, but she doesn’t stop talking whenever she calls, and she usually comes to him to vent. He doesn’t think she realizes that she’s doing it, and mostly he doesn’t mind, but he’s already feeling drained. Even with tiredness pulling at his brain, he answers the phone because it’s his mother, and how can he not answer the phone? She won’t stop calling until he responds, anyway, so he might as well get it over with. “Get it over with,” what a way to talk about your mother. You can’t try to be just a little nicer? She gave birth to you. The least you can do is listen to her. How much energy could it possibly take? Suck it up and do your job as a son.

His mom’s worked up about Carlos’ brothers’ grades. She gets worked up about his brothers a lot, and it’s not so much that the twins do anything that wrong. Mostly, they’re her last babies, and Ana is having a hard time accepting that all her children have become adults. Carlos’ brothers have never been academic, and he knows no matter what Ana says to them, they’re not going to change. “There’s something wrong. They’re not as diligent as you were,” Ana complains. “I don’t know why they’re so easily distracted.” Carlos wants to tell her, Of course, they aren’t as diligent as I am. They’re not anxious nutcases who try to be angels to keep from causing any negative emotions in other people. They don’t have to be diligent because they’re allowed to be regular kids. They aren’t responsible for their mother’s emotional balance. “They’re smart kids, but they’d much rather make jokes than do their work.”

“That’s hard,” Carlos tries to sympathize, “but they’re hardly kids anymore. They’re in college. You can’t micromanage their grades. I know it’s a challenge for you, but sometimes, you need to let go a little bit. You’ll always be their mother. College isn’t going to change anything.”

Ana tuts, “They still live in my home. They’ll follow my rules. They shouldn’t disrespect their mother. I may not be educated, but that doesn’t mean I’m a fool. I know plenty. It would serve them to remember that. I’ve been on this earth over a half-century!” Carlos’ mom has always been insecure about her lack of higher education. She’d always been good in school, but going to college had not been in the cards for her, and now, she feels lesser with all her children having more education than her. She’s proud of them, Carlos knows— she’s always been so proud of her children— but he can tell that she thinks about all the things she might’ve done if she’d found a way to go to college. In most areas, Ana is confident, but in others, she’s full of insecurity. Maybe that’s how all people are. A bit of confidence and a world of insecurities.

Carlos is quick to reassure Ana, “No one thinks you’re a fool. We know how smart you are, but when you’re young, the wisdom of your mother isn’t that appealing. They’re probably just trying to find themselves. They’re testing their limits, and it won’t always turn out well for them, but they’ll learn. They’ll come back to you when they need your help.” Carlos doesn’t know that. He’s not a psychiatrist, but it sounds like the right thing to say. Ana probably won’t see it that way, though.  She never sees things your way, and I don’t blame her. You’re crazy and unstable and act like you’ve got it all under control when you can’t even reassure your own mother properly. What good are you if you can’t accomplish the one thing you’ve been practicing for pretty much all of your life? Get it together Carlos.

Ana goes on, and Carlos knows the conversation has only just started, but he already wants to make an excuse about why he can’t talk any longer. But I can’t do that to her. “I’ve indulged all their interests. It wasn’t easy, but I made sure they could do all the sports they wanted. All I ask is that they keep their grades up, and I don’t like that they aren’t keeping their end of the bargain. I’ve made sacrifices, so many sacrifices.” Carlos always felt a pang of guilt for all the things his mother had sacrificed. They’d never had a lot of money, and Ana had given everything for her children so that they could have whatever opportunities they wanted.

All his life, Carlos has tried not to take too much. I need to be careful what I ask for. If I can’t get it myself, I shouldn’t have it at all. He’d gotten a job as soon as he could. He’s saved his money and paid for as many of his own expenses as possible. She’d never asked him to do it, but he knew how much she gave to her children, and he never wanted the burden of depriving his mother. He hated to see her not having the things she wanted because of her children, so he made a vow to pave his own way. Yet, she’s still given him so much that she will never make him give back. And you don’t deserve any of it. What have you done to deserve it other than being a bitter son who resents his saint of a mother?

He knows that way she makes him feel isn’t normal, and it probably isn’t healthy, but it’s too late to set boundaries, and he knows that she isn’t doing it on purpose. He feels selfish whenever the bitterness pops up. She loves you unconditionally. How can you be mad at that? What kind of a monster resents his mother who has only tried to give him the best? She’s not perfect, but no person is, so why hold her to some unachievable standard. There must be something wrong with you if you cannot accept her how she is. She’s not the problem— you are.

“I know, Mamá, but it’s normal for them to want to stray from the nest.” Ana would never be the kind of mother who took a back seat, even as her kids grew up and started families of their own. So much of her identity is centered around caring for her family, and the changing way she cares for them has made her feel like she’s lost her purpose. She’s one of the most self-sacrificing people that Carlos knows, and even when she’s given all that she could possibly give to her children, she wants to give more.

“You never did. You were always such a good boy.” At what cost? I tried so hard to be what you wanted that I forgot how to be myself. Until he had joined the police academy, Carlos had been unsure of what he wanted. What his mother wanted for him had become such a big part of his mindset that it drowned out what he wanted for himself. He became a chameleon to please her, to boost her confidence, and make her feel like a successful mother, and it was hard to learn to be himself again, which is why sometimes he feels better when he keeps a distance from Ana. He loves her, and he’ll always be close to her, but he also needs a life of his own, or he will go crazy.

“I’m a different person, so I needed different experiences. There’s nothing wrong with that. It just shows that we all have different abilities.” We all don’t feel like we have to change ourselves to be what other people want. “The twins are fine.” They’ve never been that into academics, and they are mostly still in school to continue with sports, so Carlos never expected them to get good grades. “They’re not failing, are they?”

“No, but they can do better.” Not while being happy, Carlos wants to argue. He doesn’t want his little brothers to go through the same turmoil that he has.

“You can’t force it.” Carlos knows better that the more you try to force something, the more out of control you become. Not that knowing that stops you from trying to force control. You can’t help it, can you Carlos? You keep trying to capture something that was never meant to be held. You’ll always come out a loser like that.

“I know that, Carlos, but maybe you should talk to them.” I should have known that this is where the conversation was headed. She always wants me to be the voice of reason, the cool older brother who gives them wisdom that they wouldn’t listen to if it comes from their mother.

Carlos tries to keep the agitation out of his voice. “And say what?” He shakes his head, but she obviously can’t see it. “They’re not going to listen to me either. They think I’m uptight.” Carlos’ family always jokes that he should relax a little, and he does relax. He can be spontaneous and flexible, but it’s harder to be that way in front of his family because they’ve come to rely on his rigidity, his ability to never bend under pressure. It’s all just a façade, but they don’t need to know that. They don’t need to know about the insanity in my head. They would look at me differently if they knew, and I can’t afford their perception of me to change. He’s afraid of what they would think if they knew the truth. What would his mom do if she knew that Carlos wasn’t okay all the time? She would probably blame herself, and Carlos couldn’t have that.

He imagines coming clean, sometimes. It is so lonely to handle the weight of his dysfunction on his own. He likes to fantasize about blurting everything wrong out in one go and not giving a damn what everyone thinks. It would be cathartic, and he wouldn’t feel like he has to hide so many parts of himself because that’s what he is doing. He’s hiding because it’s easy to hide than to own his imperfections. He doesn’t want anyone to see him as broken, especially when they sp desperately need him to be solid.

“They do not see you that way. They look up to you. You’re their big brother. They’ll listen to you. Just tell them to shape up. I’m worried about them.”

“That’s a bad idea. I don’t want to get in the middle of this.” As the oldest boy, Carlos usually takes his role as an older brother in stride, but he’s so exhausted, and he doesn’t think there’s anything he can say that will please everyone involved, least of all himself. He’s not up for handling this family drama, especially when he doesn’t really understand what the drama is. “I don’t think it will help for me to say anything,” Carlos adds so he sounds less defiant, but he’s got to hold his ground on this one thing or he’ll be sucked into a mindset that makes his obsessions and his worries worse.

He hears Ana sighing loudly on the other end of the phone, “Do you think one of your sisters can talk sense into them?”

“Mamá, I don’t think anyone is going to change their minds. They need to take the initiative for themselves.” But she won’t listen to me on that. She can be so stubborn sometimes, and I don’t know how to make her hear what I’m saying. You might as well give up talking because she’s never going to change.

To Carlos’ surprise, his mother laughs. “You sound so much like your father sometimes, Carlos. He always believed that you kids would sort yourselves out if we gave you the room to experiment.” He can hear her smiling over the phone. She always smiles when she talks about Carlos’ dad. “I was never able to be like that. I worry too much. You’re all my babies, you know. Even now that you’re old. I remember holding you in my arms. You were a big baby, but even a big baby is so tiny. I was afraid the world would break you.”

“I got stronger,” Carlos says,

“You were always a sensitive kid. I’m glad you grew out of it. The world is hard on sensitive kids. And foolish ones. Your brothers are foolish ones. They’ve got a lot of ambition. They’ve got good ideas, but they have no sense about how cruel the world can be. You’ve seen the bad. You saw your father’s flaws more than they did. He gave you kids your freedom, but he liked things a certain way.”

“We don’t have to talk about this.” It isn’t that Carlos minds talking about his dad, but he knows a conversation like this can cause his mother to spiral. She tries to hide her mental distress when it happens, but Carlos sees it. Like mother like son. He notices the way she becomes quiet and the way her eyes are red more than they aren’t.

“I want to,” she admits. “Your father could become… withdrawn.” Your freakshow comes from both sides then, huh? “He’d focus on one thing, and everything else would become background noise. You and Glo were old enough to see that.”

“I remember, but that’s not how I remember him. I remember him cooking us meals and running around with us at the park. I remember him reading us books and helping us imagine our futures. I remember hugs when we were scared and soup when we were sick. Everyone has bad days, but Papá’s were mostly good.” Some people are better at hiding bad days than others, but we all have them, especially in my family.

“I never told you kids how he died.” Carlos can barely stand to hear how choked his mother’s voice is. It sends a ripple of fear through him.

Carlos feels his heart skip a beat. He’s not sure why she’s bringing this up now, but nothing that she’s saying is a surprise. She’s never said the words. She’s refused to admit that their father didn’t die in his sleep, but the kids all know. There’s a quiet understanding between them that he’d drunk himself to death. Carlos had never really seen his dad his drunk. His dad had always kept his addiction secret, but there had been signs. Looking back, he always knew. Everyone around them knew, but they didn’t mutter the words. They kept what was behind closed doors behind closed doors, and that never helps anyone.

“We know,” Carlos says so his mother doesn’t have to say it. She’s been denying the true cause of death for over a decade, and Carlos is afraid of what will happen if she says the words out loud. It’s why no one in his family has ever brought it up. “Glo and I figured it out.”

“He wasn’t a bad man.” Carlos only ever saw the part of him that was good. Come on, you knew. You always knew. You pretended you didn’t, but it was clear as day that your dad had a problem, and you should have done something about it. You should put the pieces together sooner and tried to do something about it. Now, he’s not a good man or a bad man; he’s a dead man.

“I know. He was sick,” Carlos says. Just like me. Just like you. Just like all of us. “He did the best he could.”

“I wanted to protect you from it,” Ana says, and Carlos isn’t sure if she’s trying to justify the lies or is slipping back into the delusion. No, you wanted to protect yourself, he wants to shout, but he bites his tongue because he’s not going to fight with a woman who tried to give him everything in her power. Making her unhappy wasn’t going to make him happier.

“It’s okay, Mamá. You did the best you could. You don’t have to be sorry,” and just like that, he absolves her. He always absolves her, even if it means condemning himself. Isn’t that just what a decent son is supposed to do?

When his mother is done talking, Carlos hangs up the phone. He stops fighting the thoughts growing louder in his brain. He gives in to the urge he’s been resisting all day, and he goes back to bed. Because what’s the point of staying up any more. What else do I have to do? Sleeping will make the day go quicker, and right now, that’s what Carlos needs.

When Carlos wakes up, he doesn’t feel refreshed. He’s still thinking about the conversation he had with his mother, and he thinks that maybe he should call his brothers after all, but he doesn’t. Instead, he calls his oldest sister, Gloria, because as the oldest sibling, she knows very well how it feels to be given more responsibility than you are prepared to carry. “Did Mamá call you?” Carlos asks after a brief greeting.

Gloria laughs, “She called me first. It was unusual. You know you’re the favorite.” You’re only the favorite when something goes wrong and needs fixing.

“You know that’s no true.” If I am the favorite, it’s because there’s so much of me that I hide. She’s only seen the parts of Carlos Reyes that she needs to see. I’ve buried all the rest because doing so will make her happier. Carlos knows that if his mother knew that he’s not as level-headed as he pretends to be, she wouldn’t feel the same way about him. She wouldn’t turn to him for help, and she wouldn’t talk to him as openly. Telling the truth could destroy the relationship with his loved ones as he knows it, so he chooses to keep silent.

“You’re all she can talk about with her friends. She’s so proud.”

“She’s proud of us all,” Carlos assures his sister.

“That’s what favorite children always say,” Gloria teases.

“You can take a turn being the favorite, Glo. She wants me to talk to Gabe and Dave again. Their grades aren’t high enough for her liking.”

“You set the bar too high and now the poor kids are expected to be straight-A students.”

“Like you were any better.”

“Maybe not,” Gloria says, “But she knows they have trouble in school. David especially.”

“Meanwhile, Gabriel is the one who jokes through his studies.” Gabriel distracts David, who has a hard enough time focusing on his studies in the best of circumstances, so having the two boys together can do more harm than good.

“You didn’t call to talk about the twins, did you?” Gloria asks astutely.

“No,” Carlos admits. “I’m not interested in trying to get their grades up. As long as they're not failing and doing decently well, I don’t see a need to get involved.” He can be honest with Gloria because he knows that she feels the same way that he does.

“Why did you call then?” Her voice is gentle, and it reminds Carlos of when his mom used to sing him to sleep.

Carlos sighs. “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to check-in. I’m worried about Mamá.”

“She seems okay,” Gloria reassures him.

“She talked about the way Papá really died today, Glo.” There’s a long pause, and Carlos can hear his sister breathing over the phone, but she doesn’t say anything. “Glo? You still there,” he adds to try to get her to reply.

“She actually said the words?”

Carlos’ brain sinks a little. “Well, no. She didn’t say it explicitly, but she admitted that she never told us the truth about what happened.”

Gloria sounds indignant, “As if we didn’t know. The denial has never been for us.”

“I know that.” He crosses his arms over his chest like a petulant child.

“Did you tell her that?” Gloria’s voice has raised just enough that Carlos knows this conversation has gone off course. He doesn’t know why he chose to do this to himself, on a bad day especially. He doesn’t have the energy, but since it’s too late to get out of the situation, he has to find it. When he needs to, he can always embezzle it from other parts of himself that need less upkeep. When he has bad days, sacrifices must be made.

Gloria sounds annoyed now. “Of course, you didn’t. You never tell her how you feel.”

“What does it matter to you?” It’s his life and his feelings. He can tell them to whoever he wants.

“Because you shouldn’t censor yourself anytime she has a mood. She’s not going to stop having them just because you cater to her and I know it’s a lot for you to manage. You’re not responsible for protecting someone else from themselves.” But that’s what Carlos has always done. He’s a protector by nature, and when he sees someone in trouble, he steps in.

“Be nice. She’s your mother.” Gloria’s frustration with her mother is obvious. It’s not that she’s not sympathetic, but she’s never experienced what Gloria has experienced. She doesn’t understand how hard it is to rise above your bad days.

“And I love her, but she needs professional help. Too much of her life is centered around being our mother. She can’t rely on us to fill in all her gaps. She needs a life of her own. I hate seeing her when she gets bad, and she’ll keep getting bad unless she decides to make a change.” If Ana knew that she was talking about her this way, it would devastate her, and just the thought of her overhearing this conversation makes Carlos want to end it, but he lets Gloria say her piece.

“Well, that’s never going to happen.” That’s the problem. He knows that she’s never going to seek help on her home, so it’s either he tries and fails to help her or he doesn’t try at all. Trying feels better than doing nothing.

“So what then? You have to be whatever makes Mamá happy?” Isn’t that what I’ve been? How can I be anyone else at this point? She needs me, and I can’t let her down. Carlos knows that they don’t have healthy boundaries, but that’s just how his family is.

“I don’t always choose what Mamá wants.” For as many concessions he makes with her, there are some that he is unwilling to let her cross for his own sanity. “She didn’t like the idea of me being gay.”

“She always accepted your sexuality.” That’s the simple way of putting it. His mom has never been anything but supportive. When he told her, she hugged him and said that she loved him no matter who he loved, but he had always had a feeling that her initial acceptance had been because it would make her a bad mother not to accept him, and being a good mother is the thing that she has always most wanted to be, often to the point of too closely resembling the stereotypical image of a mother.

“I know she always loved me just the same, but it took time for her to get used to it.” He doesn’t remember her saying bad things about gay people, but he had seen her smile fall just a fraction when he told her the truth.

“She’ll get used to other things, too. Your relationship with her can evolve if you let it. It might be better for everyone.”

“I can’t stop worrying about her.” The worry is lodged in his mind. It is one of his oldest friends, and no matter how far he goes, it is part of him. He’s spent so long concerned about his mother that not exhausting so much energy worrying would leave a hole in his life. As messed up as it is, he doesn’t know who he is without his fears. If he let them go, even just some of them, he thinks that things might get even worse. No one else seems to understand the way he needs to indulge the worry to feel safe.

“And I’m not asking you to, but you don’t have to deal with everything alone, hermanito.”

“Yeah maybe,” Carlos says because he’s too tired to argue with her about her. “I’ve got to go Glo,” he says as an escape from the conversation. “T.K. is calling.”

“Okay, Carlos, go talk to your man. I love you.” He’s lucky to have Glo. She’s always trying to look after him when he’s trying to look after everyone else.

“I love you too. Talk soon,” he says before hanging up and putting the phone beside him. The phone is silent now, and he misses the noise, but he is relieved that he doesn’t have to listen anymore just the same.

He lays back on his couch and flips the TV on. He turns to his favorite crime drama, the one that got him interested in law enforcement, but he doesn’t pay attention. He lets the scenes pass through his brain mindlessly without leaving a dent in his memory. He stays there for hours, only getting up when he’s hungry or needs to use the bathroom. He lets the hours blur until his mind is so numbed that he needs to do something just to remember there’s a world outside his apartment.

To find a connection to the outside world, Carlos has T.K. over in the evening because starting the next morning, T.K. has to work for two days, and Carlos doesn’t want to wait that long to see him even though he’s not in the mood to be around people.

When Carlos opens the door to his apartment, T.K. throws his arms around Carlos. He tilts his head up for a kiss. He smells sweet, and maybe time with his boyfriend is exactly what T.K. needs. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you.” T.K.’s hold is firm and the weight of T.K. against his chest knocks out the breath that Carlos has been holding.

“Long day?” Carlos asks. T.K. opens his mouth, but he looks at Carlos’ face and closes it again; T.K. swallows hard, pushing the words on the tip of his tongue down to his stomach. He can tell that something is wrong with you. Get your act together. He doesn’t want to hear about all your issues. Keep that shit to yourself and don’t bother your boyfriend about it.

T.K. says, “You look tired.” Tired was too light of a word for the utter depletion Carlos felt in his bones. You’re so whiny. Could you shut up for just five seconds? You’re giving me a migraine.

He’s not going to like that answer because for some reason he wants to learn everything about you, even the worst parts of Carlos Reyes. “That doesn’t answer my question.” They could circle like this forever, redirecting each other’s words because neither wants to burden the other with what they both try and fail to hide.

Carlos doesn’t miss the way T.K.’s eyes are overcast, but he watches T.K. tug a smile onto his face as he pulls back whatever he might’ve said if he hadn’t noticed that something was off with Carlos. Carlos feels guilty. You’re the worst boyfriend. You can’t even support him when he needs you. I’m trying. Not hard enough. T.K. pecks Carlos’ lips. “I missed you, that’s all,” T.K. adds, and Carlos can’t help but worry that there’s more to it than that. He wonders if his perception is off. Maybe he’s making a lot out of nothing. He tends to do that. You sure do.

They order pizza and put on a movie when Carlos can’t find many words. T.K. picks at the pizza and Carlos doesn’t pay attention to the movie. Aren’t we a fun pair? By the time the credits roll on the screen, Carlos has no idea what just happened as T.K. gives his impromptu review of the movie. T.K.’s excitedly talking, and Carlos doesn’t process the words he is saying, but it feels good to hear T.K. being so full of life when Carlos feels so depleted.

“Yeah,” Carlos says distractedly to something that T.K. says. “That’s true.”

T.K. gives Carlos a confused look. He chuckles. “You’re not paying any attention to me, are you?” His voice is light, but it still makes Carlos feel like shit. Guilt spikes in Carlos’ bloodstream. I should be more attentive when we get to spend time together.

“I’m sorry, Ty.” How many times can you say “I’m sorry,” before it starts to lose its meaning? It’s always the same old story with you Carlos. Try something new for once. I’m so bored.

T.K. shakes his head, “Don’t be. You know I don’t mind talking to myself.” But you shouldn’t have to, Carlos wants to say. Your boyfriend should be more attentive.

“I should still listen.” That’s right you should, but you’re so selfish. You try to do things for other people, but it’s only because you’re greedy for their love.

“Really, it’s fine. I get it.” He doesn’t get anything. “Are you okay?” T.K. asks, and Carlos knows that he should be able to talk about it— the depression, especially. He remembers T.K. telling him once about everything being gray, so he knows T.K. gets how it feels. Carlos’ depression is different than T.K.’s, though. It’s fueled by pathological obsession and worry more than anything else. Still, he thinks T.K. might understand or try to understand more than most people would. He wouldn’t be one of those people who tries to understand and then doesn’t listen. Carlos has met many of those. They hear the word depression, and they start to assume. They think depression is laziness or intense sadness after the loss of a loved one. They think it is just a feeling. “I’m depressed,” they say when they are feeling sad, but they don’t consider what it must like to have depression. It’s not a passing mood Sometimes, they have a deeper understanding, but very few can understand the nuances, and even though T.K. may get how Carlos feels, Carlos doesn’t think he can talk about it. His throat feels like it may close whenever he starts to say the words, so he shuts up.

It’s a strange role-reversal when Carlos tells T.K., “I’m fine.”

T.K. raises his eyebrows, probably because he knows that people who say they are fine are usually lying. “We’re both hypocrites, aren’t we?”

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“We both want honestly about how we are, but we both don’t want to give it.” That might be the closest thing T.K. has been to admitting he’s not fine. It might be the closest he ever will be. Carlos gets it. It’s hard to accept that you might not be okay, especially when other people need you to be okay. It seems simpler to pretend that you’re fine. The thought takes the air from Carlos’ lungs and not in the way that feels like a release.

“I’m not trying to push you to talk about anything, but you know that you can talk to me, right?”

“Of course,” Carlos lies, trying to force a smile.

“Do you need to talk now?” T.K. pushes him just a little further. Carlos shifts his body further from T.K. on the couch, and T.K. sags against the cushions. Maybe now he knows how he makes you feel all the time, the malicious part of Carlos thinks.

“No, I’m good.” He can hear the waver in his voice. I’m so tired, and I can’t shake the drowsiness no matter how hard I try.

“Carlos—” T.K. tries to say, but Carlos will have none of it. He doesn’t want his thoughts or his feelings to be dissected because they’re not something he can share with other people. They’re his alone, and he’s not going to burden anyone else with them if he doesn’t have to.

“Drop it, T.K.” Carlos’ voice is authoritative, and maybe that’s the wrong move because T.K. has never listened much to authority. But to Carlos’ shock, T.K. almost backs down. Almost.

T.K. bites the side of his cheek. “I’m just worried.”

“Well don’t be,” Carlos can’t help but say harshly, and he regrets the words the minute they leave his mouth.

He feels hopeless because he wants to make everything better, but there’s no easy fix for not being okay. There’s no way to wake up and immediately exterminate the termites that chew at the core parts of your mind. You have to swim through a boiling, sludgy roux as it begins to curdle and drag you down with its soiled weight. You have to pull back your skin to see what’s happening inside. You have to hope that something changes even when change is an upside-down mountain that you somehow have to climb.

Carlos isn’t sure he has the energy to climb, at least not right now.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” T.K. says, sounding sincere, but it irritates Carlos to hear the worry in his voice.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Carlos insists, taking on a calmer voice. Try worrying about yourself, he wants to tell T.K., I’m not the one slowly killing myself. No, you’re just worrying yourself to death.

“I’m not an expert, but that’s kind of being in a relationship, isn’t it? Worrying about the other person and wanting to make sure they’re okay.” T.K. puts his arms around Carlos and leans his head up to whisper in Carlos’ ear. “I’m here if you want to talk.” T.K.’s breath is hot in Carlos’ ear, and it warms Carlos to know that he isn’t alone, but it also doesn’t make a difference because there are some things that Carlos needs to keep to himself. He likes to think he’s saving T.K. from the pain of knowing what Carlos struggles with, but deep down, he knows that what keeps his lips pressed shut is the shame that comes with not being the strong, unwavering pillar of support that he wishes he could be. Carlos wants to be that person that doesn’t bend under pressure. He wants to be the effortless kind of okay because most of the time, he is okay, but he has to fight to be that way.

“It’s been a long week,” Carlos admits, but he doesn’t know how to explain the week wasn’t long because it was awful. It’s dragged for no other reason than there’s something off inside Carlos’ brain.

“Jenkins being an asshole again?”

“He’s always an asshole,” Carlos replies about his least-liked coworker. “But no, Jenkins hasn’t been worse than usual. It’s just been hectic,” Carlos explains because that sounds like the most normal reason for not being your normal self.

“How so?” Carlos doesn’t feel like talking, but he doesn’t want to reject the efforts that T.K. is making, so he figures he can just give a little and maybe that will create harmony between them.

“You know how you have a really busy shift and then when your mind stops being pulled in so many different directions, you get really tired, and then you don’t know what to do with your time?” T.K. nods, encouraging Carlos to go on. “It’s like that. I’m crashing after a long several shifts.”

“But you can handle it?”

“Yeah,” Carlos assures, kissing T.K.’s forehead and running a hand through his hair. “All I need is time to recover before my next shift. It helps to have you here.”

“Babe, I’ll be here whenever you need me to be.” But Carlos would never ask that of T.K. T.K. leans his head on Carlos’ shoulder. “I know how hard your job must be. You see some crazy things on patrol.” The funny thing is that it isn’t mostly the things he sees at work that get to Carlos. There will always be incidents that cut deeply, but for the most part, he’s good at compartmentalizing the bad things that happen on the job.

T.K. sits up and leans closer to Carlos, and he kisses the spot just above his collarbone. His lips are soft and warm from the coffee he’d just had, but Carlos can barely sense the warmth. “Is there something I can do to make it better?”

Carlos cannot tell T.K. how he is feeling because this mental tumult is the road he takes alone. It is a road of shame and self-doubt. It is a road of feeling unprepared for each new day. It is a treacherous road that’s just dirt, rocks, and inclines. Carlos wouldn’t want to bring anyone he loved with him down that road. Yet, he knew they would all go down it if he asked— if they knew it existed. They wouldn’t just go down it with him; they’d help him pave it. They’d help him put guardrails on the edges and streetlights in the dark corners. They’d form a community around the darkness. But Carlos isn’t ready to put his secret little road on the map, so all he can do is try to stay on his feet and continue on a lone journey down the road.

[gone-to-fight-the-fairies]

Alone in the Glass House

Summary: Sherlock spirals after a massive breaking up between him and the reader, as they realize they can't live without the other.Inspired by the song Glass House by MGK.

Pairing: Sherlock x reader

Warning: mentions of drug use, depression, angst

Word Count: 1111

I'm smoking cigarettes alone until it burn a hole

In my lungs, in my soul, in my denim coat

Same place I'ma keep that knife if I'ma slit my throat

Sherlock's inhale was thick and prolonged until it encaptured the entirety of his body and soothed his soul, crisping at the edges like a persisting flame on a polaroid. Leaving the faint image of what he was before everything turned to ash. The consulting detective exhaled against the window, watching the trail of smoke fail to escape and flail back, kissing his skin as it evaporated into the room. He didn't care that the smoke would linger in the air or in the furniture. Or that it would alert anyone who came in. At least the smoke was there. That had to count for something. 

The detective was neither present nor in his mind palace, but a void in between. A purgatory that stripped him clean of everything around him. Except for the comfort of the nicotine. He was just close enough to reality to allow a shrill voice to reel him back. "You were doing so good!" Sherlock turned, surveying her sour expression. "What a shame."

His landlord turned on the light; Sherlock hadn't realized how late it'd become. The sky had dimmed, highlighting the trail from which the sun had set. "Nothing can ever last long, now can it?" He tells her, taking another puff.

Mrs. Hudson scoffs. "Why must you be evasive? And so, daft? Go after her, Sherlock. You surely haven't ruined things yet."

"There's nothing to neither fix nor ruin." Mrs. Hudson huffs, giving up, and leaving through the flat door. 'Aside from the broken glass,' Sherlock thought, pressing his fingertips against the surface. 

Lie awake 'til the sun's out

Caffeine for the heartache

Everything turned to a nightmare from a dream.

You sip your coffee, gazing out through the shop window, as the orange sunbeams breached past the darkening buildings, as a final cry before they were vanquished until another day. "I'm dreaming of him." 

"Hence why you're staying awake at night." Did John always have to be so explicit? 

"No shit, Sherlock." You sneer, glaring back at him. A force of habit, you realize. You apologize and return to your mindless gaze. The sunbeams withered away, leaving a dark coo over the street. "Why is it that the best things fade?"

Though he wasn't the expert in deduction, John acquired his own skills of semiotics. "You miss him."

"Impossible with him haunting my dreams."

"They're nightmares?"

You fixate on John's face. You want to illustrate the word 'night' and toss it back in his face. Tell him how it was always you and Sherlock in that glass house, just you and him forever. That you were so happy in your dreams, and how the illusion shattered once you woke up without Sherlock. Anything that reminds you of Sherlock is depressing... including John. But you know that your friend has good intentions. 

You take a large gulp of coffee and empty the cup, thankful you have more waiting for you at home. "Staying awake is the only way to suppress Sherlock." 

"He's miserable." You raise a brow, studying the doctor's face. 

"Get him a case."

John folds his hands together on the table. "He won't take one."

The statement piqued your interest. Sherlock, without a case, was Van gouge without paint. Maybe that was how he lost the ear.

"He's smoking." John forces out. "I'm worried he'll use it again."

"And you're blaming me?" There's an accusation in your tone, slicing John's confidence.

"No!"

"Then, why are you here?"

"To warn you." John breaks his hand apart, flailing them to illustrate his point. "You can't possibly stay awake eleven days to kill yourself, but Sherlock can," his voice waves, and he presses his fist against his mouth. "If he goes back to... cocaine or morphine, there's no natural end. He uses to escape the dull routine of existence. What do you think he'll do out of misery? If you truly want to move on, then do so. But if you love him, if you want to salvage your relationship, don't wait too long because I don't think it'll take long this time."

John stands, takes his coat, and leaves through the entrance to hide his emotions. 

Throw me in the damn flame

I'm waitin' on the rain to come and wash it all away

"Sher..." you whisper, peering into the pitch dark flat. You didn't need sight to smell the smoke or hear the exorbitant exhale from the center of the room. Lightning struck outside the window, illuminating the room enough to see the window's shards and the pale face of Sherlock sitting on the floor, aside from the coffee table.

You step towards him, flattening an empty cartridge. "How far did you have to go for those?"

"It's ironic." Sherlock's voice is thick, throat inflamed. With one hand, he flicks his cigarette over an ashtray before dropping it in. "The very reason I want to inject is the reason I hesitate."

With the other, he holds up a thin syringe, allowing it to reflect on the moonlight. The translucid fluid sloshes as he teeter-totters the vial, debating a course of action to take. 

You place your jacket on the coffee table, rain dripping on the floor beside Sherlock. His eyes slowly work up from the coat, up to your body, until his eyes creep up to your face, and you can see the red tint around his eyes as they study everything movement every feeling from the moment you walked out that door days ago.

"Well, it seems you have enough." You roll up your sleeve, plopping down beside him.

"You aren't serious." Through assertion, there's a hint of worry. "Even if I were high, I would still be able to read your bluff."

"I don't want to, but I will. Because whether you believe it or not," you take the cigarette from the ashtray. Putting it to your mouth. The smooth motion is interrupted by your violent cough. "I'm sick of living this way, and nobody knows how I'm feeling."

Sherlock's breath shakes. "I know." He raises his hand as it trembles to take the cigarette out of your mouth and discards it in the ashtray. 

His other hand sneaks up your neck, pulling your face towards his and rests his forehead against yours. You don't see where the needle goes, but Sherlock's presence is all too intense for you to think. His eyes close. Sherlock didn't know if your return would last moments or forever, but he was going to cherish you, like never before.

[calmlftv]

burlesque!sos - chapters 5 & 6

description: you break some hearts, celebrate your birthday, and cycle through the five stage of grief in a short period of time; a little bit of angst & forgiveness sprinkled in. 

word count: 4.6k (roughly)

warnings: lil bit of angst, one verbal altercation

w/n: she’s back! we have one last chapter of this before the end, and my first ever au will be complete! thank u all for joining me on this little journey, i can’t wait for y’all to read the ending 💕

taglist: @spicycal​ @castaway-cashton​ @irwinkitten​ @n-ctarinenga​ @thesubtweeter​ @ashisonthefloor​ @ashtonsos​ @loveroflrh​ @boxofteenageideas​

due to how many words are in these parts, i’ll be putting the entire thing under the read more! 

find all of the previous chapters here!

Chapter 5 

Another two weeks went by before you were allowed to perform again, your injury healing beautifully and Kay checking in periodically to make sure you were doing your stretches. Your first day back at rehearsal was met with a celebration, Luke and Georgia getting together to surprise you with a welcome back party. Everybody had chipped in for a cake, seemingly the entire crew there as they celebrated your return. Much to your surprise Calum also showed up, sneaking in behind you and surprising you for your first day back. 

For your first performance back Cal sat at the bar, watching and cheering you on while you performed; the butterflies came back every time you caught his eyes from the stage, his smile never leaving while you were up there. 

After another great routine you went backstage, taking your time while another group went on stage for a number you weren’t in. Bright colors covering your vanity caught your attention, your head turning as you beamed. A beautiful vase of flowers sat at your vanity, vivid colors almost blinding you as your fingers plucked the note from the tall stand. 

Happy to see you back, Wildflower. The note tugged at your heart, the familiar nickname warming your chest. Come find me after the show.

Cal’s note to you made you smile, tucking it in the corner of your mirror before you carried your flowers back to your room. 

After the show you were packing up your bag, turning off the lights to your vanity and turning to head to your room to change when you heard someone clear their throat behind you. 

You turned and smiled as your eyes took in Michael, his smile returned and his hands in his pockets. 

“Hey Mikey,” you greeted cheerily. The adrenaline from performing was still rushing through your veins, making you a bit too cheery. 

“Hey yourself,” he teased, taking a small step towards you. “You looked amazing up there tonight.” 

You smiled, your eyes moving to the ground as you did. “You’re too kind,” you joked, taking a joking bow as Michael chuckled. When you straightened he was quite a bit closer to you, his eyes carefully taking you in as you froze in place. 

“I, uh,” he started, clearing his throat again. “I wanted to talk to you...about what we did a few weeks ago…”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “What about it? I thought we talked about it…”

Michael sighed, reaching up a hand to run it through his hair. “Yeah, we did,” he sighed again, looking at the ground as his shoes nudged around a rogue pearl. “I just...I’ve been doing some thinking.” 

Uh-oh.

Michael groaned a bit as he refused to meet your eyes. “I just-“ he started, stopping before forcing himself to continue. “I’ve been doing some thinking and I realized that I don’t want it to be a one time thing.” 

You paused, leaning to the side against your vanity as he continued. 

“You are...beautiful, Rory. Inside and out,” he spoke, sincerity dripping from his words. “I know us having sex didn’t mean anything to you, and I’m probably stepping way out of line, but I just can’t live with myself if I don’t try.” He took a deep breath, finally meeting your eyes. “Will you go out to dinner with me?” 

The question took you by surprise, your eyebrows raising as you looked at Michael. You chewed the inside of your cheek, eyes dropping to the ground. No words needed to be exchanged as you stated silent, Michael sighing as he took one more step towards you. He closed the gap between you, his fingers brushing your hips. 

“Can I just-“ he stopped, your eyes meeting his. “One more kiss. Please.” 

You paused before you nodded, your body moving before you really gave it any thought. Michael’s hands rested on your hips, tugging you close as his head dipped to meet yours. His lips were soft and gentle, your hands moving to rest on his chest as you pressed your lips together. His body pressed against yours as the two of you kissed, his hands holding you fast until you broke apart. 

He was blushing, his lips moving to your forehead before he stepped back and released you. He smiled, the edges of it coated in sadness as he started to turn away. 

You stood on your own, lips tingling as you got lost in your thoughts. A thud behind you broke you out of your stupor, turning again and seeing Calum standing there. A small cardboard box was on the floor, toppled over to reveal the single cupcake Calum had gotten for you. Your heart broke at the look on his face, his attire nicer than it normally was when he hung out with you as his eyes gave away his heartbreak. 

“Cal-“ you started, taking a step forward. You stopped when he stepped back. 

“S-Sorry, I should uh,” he stammered, his eyes becoming a bit glassy as tears welled up in them. “I should go. Sorry.” 

He turned and hurried out, your feet carrying yourself after him until you realized it was futile. You stopped at the box on the ground, tears welling up in your eyes as you stared in the direction Calum had disappeared in. You sniffled and let out a sob as you looked at the mess on the ground, kneeling down to clean it up while you cried over your missed chance with the guy of your dreams. 

Suddenly a hand appeared on your shoulder, your eyes meeting a beautiful pair of blues when your head turned. 

“Luke?” You said, surprised as you sniffled and quickly worked to wipe away your tears. “I thought you left, what are you still doing here?” 

Luke smiled, kneeling beside you and helping you pick up the mess. “Just had to talk to Sisi about something,” he answered, taking all of the mess in his hands and throwing it in the nearest trash can. He turned back to you and helped you stand, his hand taking yours and giving it a squeeze. “What’s wrong?”

You just looked at Luke and broke down again, the man wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in for a hug. He gently guided you back to your room when you calmed down, the man rubbing your back as you both stepped inside. 

Luke’s intensely innocent look shocked you as he sat in a chair, gesturing for you to lay on the couch beside him. “Tell me what’s going on, darlin’.”

You listened to his instructions and laid down, realizing how drained you were by everything that had gone down. You closed your eyes and explained everything to Luke, including all the dirty details of you and Michael and your feelings for Calum. He sat silently and listened, nodding and asking questions to clarify when he needed it. 

When you finished you sighed, the heel of your hands rubbing harshly at your eyes. Luke sat silently, the gears turning in his head as he watched you. You heard him stand and walk into your small kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out the bottles of wine you kept in there. You sat up and gave him a look as he went through your cupboards, stopping when he found the wine glasses he wanted. 

His eyes met yours and he smiled, bringing his spoils to the coffee table and setting them all down. “I will give you advice,” he said, plopping down on the floor next to you. “But we are going to drink and watch bad movies until we fall asleep. In the morning I’ll give you advice, but tonight it’s about making you feel better. Deal?” 

You couldn’t help but smile at Luke, his lips reflecting the look as he squeezed your knee. 

Throughout the night the two of you drank, watching movie after movie and laughing until your stomachs hurt. Luke crashed on your couch, much too inebriated to be driving himself home, and you tucked yourself into bed, both of you still giggling as you fell asleep. 

Chapter 6 

Over the next few months you and Luke grew closer together, the two of you and Georgia forming a small group of people that quickly became your inner circle. The three would hide out in your room after rehearsals, just enjoying each other's company until Luke had to leave to get ready for work. You had filled them both in on your situation with Calum, both of them giving you advice and letting you word vomit on them.

You and Calum hadn’t spoken since the night he saw you kiss Michael; aside from some unanswered texts from you, it was radio silence, your only form of communication about Calum coming from Luke. Apparently he had gotten back with his ex - at least, that was Luke’s deduction from the numerous bangs and moans that would be coming from Cal’s room when he got home. Cal was elusive these days, either being locked in his room or away to work or wherever he went when he wasn’t home, seemingly trying to keep himself busy to avoid talking about his feelings with anyone; he would text Luke to make sure he was alright but then not respond to anything, not even reading the texts until he checked in again.

Michael and you were still friends, the two of you taking some time apart before reconnecting after you rejected him. He occasionally spent time with you, Luke, and Georgia, which was how you found out he and Crystal had gotten back together; they had sat down and had a long talk together, ultimately ending on a happy note for both of them. In fact, the three of you were the first people he sent the wedding date to, your group text blowing up with happiness for them finally about to get married. Jokes flew immediately after about Luke being the DJ, the humor a good distraction for your mind.

On the morning Luke bumped into Nia in his apartment he immediately went to the lounge, walking in just as rehearsal was wrapping up and pulling you aside. When he told you, you smiled, tears threatening to spill until he wrapped you in a hug, Georgia quickly joining the two of you. Your heart was broken, knowing that you had hurt Calum in such a way; and not only had you hurt him, but there was nothing you could do to fix it. That was slowly driving you insane, your own guilt, pain, and feelings for Calum all bottling together until you would explode. 

While you wallowed in your sadness behind the scenes, you hadn’t even noticed the days go by until a knock sounded at your door early in the morning. Groggily you got up, walking over and opening it to the sight of all the other dancers - including Crystal, Sierra, Luke, and Ashton - grinning and popping party poppers. 

“Happy Birthday!” They all cheered together, the confetti making you laugh as you were tackled in a group hug. Everybody crowded in, Ashton leaving your door open once everybody had managed to squeeze through the door. Excited chatter and bursts of giggles followed the gaggle, all of you just so happy to be together to celebrate you. 

Right as you were thinking of throwing everybody out Georgia cleared her throat. “So,” she started, everybody quieting down as she spoke. Excitement buzzed through the air. “For your birthday, we wanted to get you something really special. You’ve been such a wonderful addition to our family, Ro, and you know better than anyone that family is everything.” Confused, you nodded, the other girls all beaming. 

Georgia and Luke moved to either side of you, both of them helping you stand and linking their arms through yours as a very pregnant Daisy wrapped a blindfold around your eyes. You heard everybody shuffle out in front of you, Luke and Georgia giggling wildly as they lead you out of your room and through the backstage. You stopped on the stage, the clinking of Michael’s bottles in the back alerting you to where you were. 

“Okay, ready?” Georgia asked, a nod coming from you until the blindfold was removed to reveal your parents standing in front of you. 

Your heart exploded in your chest, your hands immediately lifting to cover a gasp that had escaped you. Your parents were teary eyed, the three of you moving towards each other until meeting in the middle in a big, sobbing mess. Around you everybody applauded, your shoulders shaking as you hugged your parents as tightly as your body would let you. 

Once you pulled away you sniffled, wiping at your eyes while wearing a big grin. “Oh my god,” you said, everybody laughing a bit. You turned towards everybody, shocked. “How did you all do this?!” 

Sierra chuckled lightly, Luke standing close by her side while Ashton stood on the other, eyes on his phone as he sent a text. “A little birdy let it slip that you were a little lonely,” she stated, Luke blushing and giving you a sheepish smile. “So, we all chipped in a little bit and flew them here for a couple days to hopefully cure that.”

You were speechless, the gesture just so kind as you looked around at the faces of your sisters. At that moment you were overwhelmed with your emotions, all them crashing over you individually until you couldn’t take it anymore. You were in a room full of people you loved and adored more than anything, a happy sigh escaping your lips as you tried to find the words to say. 

“Thank you,” you said simply, wiping at your eyes again. “Thank you guys so much. This means...so much more than you could know.”

Everybody applauded after your very short speech, your eyes landing back on your parents before grinning. 

“So, gonna stay for rehearsal?” 

** 

Calum was, by every standard, depressed. 

Seeing the girl he had a huge crush on kissing another man practically ripped his heart out, and seeing it happen on the night he was finally going to ask her out only made things worse. Her texts he left unanswered, locking himself away in his room and ignoring Luke’s attempts at reasoning with him; he had seemingly lost his chance with the girl of his absolute dreams, his newly mended heart just being broken again. 

He had practically sworn off of love after that, throwing caution to the wind and allowing himself to fall back into his old habits. When Nia called again he answered, inviting her over for sex and nothing more to make his days go by faster. It meant nothing to him anymore, the intimacy he really wanted to be having going to somebody else. He’d be lying, though, if he didn’t say he imagined Rory under him in place of Nia, hearing her moans and little noises as he took care of her instead. 

Cal avoided as much human contact as possible over the months, going to work before Luke woke up and making a beeline to his room when he would come home, only leaving when he heard Luke leave for work. He felt bad avoiding his best friend but he really didn’t want to listen to any reason, he just wanted to lose himself in a routine so he could avoid facing the complicated feelings he was burying inside his heart. 

One morning after multiple rounds with Nia, he rolled over, the familiar frame of his ex gone from the now cold sheets. He sighed, sitting up before he heard the voices outside his door, palms rubbing at his eyes as his ears eavesdropped.

“How’s he doing?” A deep voice asked, the sound muffled by the thickness of the door. No doubt it was Luke, Nia’s soft and higher voice filtering in after. 

“Fine, I guess,” she said, confusion lining her tone. “Why?” 

A sigh, probably from Luke. “It’s a misunderstanding, but he’s heartbroken over a girl at my work. He hasn’t talked to me since it happened…” 

Their voices tapered off, Calum groaning and throwing the sheets off his body before walking into the private bathroom he had. He roughly turned on the shower, the nozzle squeaking as the water poured out of the head. He closed the door and locked it, stepping in and letting the water fall down his naked body. 

Thoughts swirled around in his head, the water pressure against his skin tethering him to the ground as his mind floated upwards. The constant hurricane happening in his mind was temporarily soothed in the shower, the steam and hot water mingling all together to create a calming sensation in his troubled, scrambled mind. The water calmed his tense shoulders, both of them dropping slowly as he let the water hug him. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall, the cool tiles a big difference from the steam surrounding him. The peace he felt was welcoming and kind of scary, tears threatening to fill his eyes as he shoved them down to his stomach. Peaceful silence was all he wanted and now that he had it, it was far too loud. 

Quickly he washed up and got out of the shower, stepping out and wrapping a towel around his waist before he opened the door. Steam flowed out before he did, his bigger frame moving towards his closet as Nia’s smaller one sat in his bed, now fully clothed. 

“Hey,” she said, her voice a bit sharp. Cal winced but kept moving, turning on the light and looking through his clothes for something to wear. 

“Hey yourself,” he mumbled, pulling out a shirt and a hoodie and laying them on the bed. He kept moving around, digging through a drawer in his dresser until he felt the smack of a pillow against his back. Annoyed, he slowly turned around, a poker face on as he looked at Nia. 

“What?” He asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest. 

Nia’s eyes flashed annoyance at him, lips pulled down in a frown. “Who’s this other girl Luke told me about?” 

Calum groaned, shaking his head and cursing. “Leave it alone, Nia.” 

Nia stood quickly, throwing her hands up in frustration. “No, Calum, who’s this other girl? Is that why you suddenly answered my phone call and wanted to hook up?” 

Calum’s fingers twitched, the man turning back to his dresser and pulling out more clothes. He didn’t answer, instead tugging his towel off his body and pulling on boxers and a pair of jeans. 

“Calum!” Nia shouted, the man wincing at the noise. “Answer me!” 

“Yes!” He snapped, spinning around to look at his ex. “Yes, that’s why I wanted to hook up with you! Can you drop this now?”

“No! I’m not going to avoid this conversation to save your fucking feelings,” she yelled, her hands balled up into fists at her side. 

“I’m not asking you to save anything,” he snapped loudly, snatching the shirt from the bed and tugging it over his head. He started putting on socks and a pair of shoes as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Why do you care, anyway? We’re just fuck buddies.” 

Nia was silent at that, her rage rolling off of her in waves. “Is that what you think of me?” She asked, her voice low. Calum turned around to meet her eyes. “Do you seriously think of me like that?” 

“Yes, it is, because that’s what this is.” Cal’s hand gestured between the two of them as he spoke, his other pushing himself off the bed. 

Nia scoffed. “Good to know you think so lowly of me.” 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Calum said harshly, turning around to face th woman again. The volume of his voice increased as he continued. “You’re the one that cheated on me, remember? And as you just heard from Luke, I just had my heart broken by a beautiful girl that I really, really liked, so if you wouldn’t mind leaving me alone-” 

“God, can you stop bringing up the fact that I cheated all the fucking time?!” Nia shouted, her voice matching Calum’s. “Stop making me feel like shit for something that happened one time.” 

“Then you stop making me feel like shit for not wanting a relationship when I so clearly can’t handle one right now!” Calum stomped to the door, flinging it open and letting it slam against the wall as he gestured for her to walk through it. “If you don’t like this, then here’s the fucking door. Block me on socials, delete my number, and get the fuck out of my life.” 

Nia was silent, absolutely furious as she stood in Calum’s bedroom. After a second of an intense staredown she finally stomped her way out of the apartment, a slam followed by a shattering sound marking her exit. 

Calum stood in his bedroom doorway, hands clenching into fists over and over as he calmed himself down. He was never the type for violence but this punched him pretty close to putting a hole in the wall; the emotions he had been carefully tip-toeing around bundling themselves together in angry wrapping before presenting themselves to him. 

Once calm again he walked out of his room, eyeing the apartment to find what broke in Nia’s angry wake. Stepping into the living area he found it, the new vase Luke had just bought lying on the floor in a million pieces. Calum groaned, pulling out his phone to call Luke and update him on the mess. 

Just as he was about to hit the call button a jingling by the door drew his attention, the door opening to reveal his blonde roommate stepping in. Luke paused when he noticed Calum, his eyes then traveling to the broken item. Cal could tell he was upset when he saw it, shoving his phone into his pocket before he started speaking. 

“Mate, I’m so sorry, Nia and I got in to it and she slammed the door on her way out, and I guess it was enough for it to fall over-” 

Luke smiled at Cal’s apology. “Brother it’s all good,” he said kindly, Calum still rambling over his voice. 

“-I’ll pay for a new one, I’ll pay you back double for it, I’m sorry man-” 

“Calum.” 

“No, I’m serious, I’m gonna fix this-” 

“Calum.”

Luke’s insistence in his voice finally made Calum stop, the slightly shorter man stopping in his tracks as Luke put his hands on his shoulders. He hadn’t felt the tears in his eyes or the ones that had fallen down his cheeks. 

“This is about more than just the vase, huh?” Luke asked, his voice soft and kind. Cal wordlessly nodded, shoulders starting to shake as he tried to make himself stop crying. 

Luke gently guided his roommate to the couch, sitting him down before disappearing into the kitchen. He appeared with a bottle of water and what he knew to be Calum’s not-so-secret stash of Sadness Snacks, setting both down in front of him before he took a seat beside him. 

“Let’s talk.” 

** 

Having your parents around was a big confidence booster for you. 

While having them watch you perform was kind of wild, they beamed in the back, mingling with bar regulars as they sat and proudly watched you dance. Their support for you was obvious, your coworkers voicing their slight jealousy at the sight of your parents cheering you on. 

That first day was full of you just filling them in on what had been going on, your mother doting over you while your father just chuckled and watched her do so. Both of them accepted all your boy drama and even joined Luke and Georgia in teasing you about it, the four of them unrelenting but loving nonetheless. 

Driving your parents to the airport was bittersweet, the goodbyes a bit teary as you hugged your parents and watched them walk inside the airport to go back home. When you got back in your car you let yourself cry a bit more before collecting yourself enough to drive, the Los Angeles traffic making it a longer drive back to your home. 

On the way, while stuck in traffic, your cell phone started ringing, the caller ID popping up on the screen in your car as you answered. It wasn’t a familiar number, the area code giving away that it was someone in the city but the rest of it was strange as you spoke.

“Hello?” 

“Hey, Ro, it’s Crystal.”

Your heart stopped for a minute before you swallowed. “Hey, Crystal. What’s up?”

A sigh came through the other side of the phone before Crystal spoke again. “Okay, I’m good at small talk so we’re just gonna skip over that, okay?” 

You nodded, a pausing coming from both of you while you thought about what she could be about to say. 

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

The words caught you by surprise. Crystal? Apologizing? You had to be dreaming. 

“I’ve been super rude to you since day one, and I really never even took a moment to really get to know you, I just let my ideas of you paint a picture of you in my head that wasn’t accurate.” Another long pause. “I’m sorry for yelling at you, too. That was uncalled for and all you had done was make an honest mistake, one that Daisy and I had made a thousand times. So, I’m sorry.”

You were stunned by her words; you had never expected or asked for an apology for her, actually insisting to everybody that you were fine with how things were between you and Crystal. You thought it was something that would never change, but now, sitting in the car, you realized those were the exact words you had been waiting to hear. 

“Thank you, Crystal. I forgive you.” 

A sigh of relief came through the phone. “Oh thank god, I’m so tired of trying to find reasons to hate you.” 

You laughed at that, Crystal chuckling on the other side of the phone. 

“Can we be friends now?” You asked, fingers tapping on your steering wheel. “I kind of need that right now.” 

You couldn’t see her face but you heard the smile on Crystal’s lips as she agreed, the two of you chatting for another minute before you hung up. 

The conversation filled you with happiness and confidence that you hadn’t expected, the reconciliation lifting a weight from your shoulders that you didn’t know had been there in the first place. You felt good for once, finally comfortable with yourself again as you sat in your car in the unending L.A. traffic. Something about that call inspired you, your thoughts running a bit wild as you decided to change your route. 

The streets you traveled on were new but familiar at the same time, the parking lot a bit quieter than you remembered it being as you pulled up and parked. A ball of butterflies and nerves had bunched up in your stomach, your insides almost desperate for release as you walked into the building. You took the stairs instead of the elevator this time, your mind racing with thoughts of how you were going to explain why you were there without sounding like a crazy person. 

When you stepped on to the correct floor your feet took it over for you, carrying you down the hallway until you reached the apartment number, your hand lifting and pausing before knocking rhythmically. 

You stood in front of the door and swallowed harshly, wringing your hands as your thoughts caught up with your actions. A few seconds that felt like minutes passed before you tried to slip away, the latch for the door turning before you had the chance to step away. 

The  door swung open, the man on the other side stunned at the sight before him. His bleached blonde hair had grown considerably, a bit of dark brown root now showing. The hood on his head accentuated his cheeks and pouty lips, dark eyebrows and freckles pulled upwards in surprise.

“Hey, Calum,” you said nervously. “Can we talk?” 

[sumeshi-t]

hinata shoyou x reader | hanahaki x reincarnation au; a chaotic mix of fluff, crack, and angst.

song: lifetime by ben&ben

beta-ed by @bubbleteaa​ and @taeiliee ​ iloveyou both always <3

i. 》 ii.》 iii.

*:･ﾟ✧ “Glimpse of me and you—oh, you were a good dream,”  ✧･ﾟ: *

“LN Group’s Heir, getting close and personal with volleyball rookie?”

The headline was on the news, accompanied by blurred photos of you and Hinata together after his games, or of you two leaving the same car entering the same restaurant. Currently, you were sitting behind a large desk in your office, leaning comfortably against the leather, having your morning coffee.

“Director,” your secretary began, perhaps about to ask you for your next step.

“Let the media talk. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind me dating someone months after mourning?” you answered nonchalantly, savoring the bittersweet taste on your tongue.

“But what about… the suitors, FCU Corp’s—”

“This conversation is over. I don’t want to waste my time over the boring sons of CEOs. They cut ties with me and they lose everything they have. Understood?” you don’t spare your secretary a glance as you dismissed him, before proceeding to look through the stack of documents on your desk.

You would occasionally cough as you worked, but not to the point wherein you can’t handle being in a conference. Your condition hasn’t been better, for what once were just coins, were now being accompanied by bills. You decide to collect the money that you vomit out, at least put the ill-gotten fortune to good use by donating to charity or using it for tips.

Soon as you signed the last project proposal, your phone vibrates against the glass of your table. You peek, and you wondered if it was the coffee that made your heart skip a beat. You put your pen down first, then, slowly reply, “Can I call?”

“…sure,”

One, two, five rings later, Kenma picks up.

“So… you’ve heard the news,” you speak first, twirling your seat to face the glass walls overlooking the city.

“Yeah… I thought you were just sponsoring Hinata,” you hear the sound of a game in the background as you waited to see if he was going to continue. You felt somehow disappointed when that was all he said. 

Did he believe the news? Was he jealous? Why was he concerned? Your brain was screaming these questions but all you gave him was silence. And this, he notices; so he replies, “Well, if it’s true, just… don’t mess up I guess.” 

This wasn’t the response you wanted but it was better than nothing. With that thought, you sighed, finally regaining control of yourself. “Hopefully, I won’t. Have you asked Hinata-san about it?”

“Hm? Not really,” a pause and then, a soft chuckle. “For someone dating, you’re still so formal. But I guess that’s just how you are, y/n.”

Soon after that, Kenma drops the call to resume his own schedule.

Your face was flushed from how soft you felt inside. Not only did you get to hear Kenma’s little laugh, but perhaps this development was one step to reaching your goal. You immediately text Hinata about this milestone you’ve attained, before going back to work.

A few hours later, around half-past four in the afternoon, you received a text message and all you could do was gasp.

“I’m near the café, y/n-san! See you!”

It was Hinata. And you were confused why he would tell you that, until you scrolled up a little and saw that text you sent from that same morning: “Hinata-kun! I think it’s working, let’s meet at the usual and celebrate!”

Since when… did you type that? You only planned to tell him about the phone call. Well, you could also just cancel, say that you’re working overtime after a five-hour meeting. It was an easy excuse, an easy way out of this mess you didn’t seem to remember doing. However, as your thumb hovers over the send button, you feel your breath shorten, brows furrowing, and with a sigh you drop your phone on the table.

“Alright, I’ll see you there,” sent.

You quickly finish up your work for the day: reviewing your own schedule for tomorrow, making one last trip to one of the director’s involved in tomorrow’s meeting, and giving your secretary any last reminders or errands.

You drove your way to the antique café—the amount of times you’ve done so made it feel like a routine for you. This was your favorite place; you basically knew the owners already. But lately, it seems as though you had something, someone to look forward to. You feel your lungs constrict, seeing an image of Hinata’s face in your head—you thought you were about to spit out another set of bills and coins, but you didn’t. It was a good thing you were at a stoplight, or else you’d have stepped on the brake in the middle of an intersection.

As you crossed the street and arrived at your destination, you couldn’t help the feeling that in some way, you were still stuck in that intersection. Was this the right way? Should you have taken a U-turn at a different street? But then, brakes existed. You remember you have brakes; so you can always stop and go back anytime you feel lost.

For now, you choose to wander the winding road and see where it takes you.

The chimes ring softly as the door hits against them when you enter.

Your eyes scan the place, and yet can’t seem to find the guy you were looking for. You whip out your phone, already mid-text when a paper plane flies idly and drops by your feet, getting caught in your periphery.

Putting your phone back in your pocket, you bend down to pick the paper plane up. You didn’t even see the direction where the plane came from, and curiosity was getting the best of you. You flip one of the folds, unraveling the tiny origami in your delicate hands.

“Coffee?” The word, rather, invitation was scribbled in a mediocre way—definitely written by a man trying to pick up girls in poor taste. You looked around you again and spotted a cute girl just near you. So, you check the note once more, and notice how awfully familiar the strokes of every letter were.

You blinked once, twice, and, somehow kept seeing images from a time so long ago; you don’t remember this happening before so how do you have memories of this certain encounter? You feel your head pounding, heart racing, as your legs took you to the source of it all, hiding behind the counter.

“Hinata-kun,” ah, what’s this, why were you smiling?

The ginger male smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head as he faced you with cheeks blushed. The staff simply watched on, with amused snickers and teasing looks on their faces.

You hand him the note with a raised brow, “You missed,” you say as you nod your head towards the girl you saw earlier. Hinata chuckles, and the sound seems awfully familiar, in this awfully familiar place and moment; it felt so right, so fitting—

It feels like finally coming home.

“N-Not really,” he stutters, before handing you your porcelain mug, the mug you always used, with tiny little flowers you yourself hand-painted. The smell of freshly brewed coffee reached your nose, and as your hands touched when you were taking the mug from him, you feel a surge of warmth that no coffee you’ve had before has given you.

You gasp when you look into his eyes, and all you could see was how his lips moved when he nibbled on them, how his hair was ruffled, how his nose wrinkled at the end of his sentence. You’ve seen all of this before that you knew what he was going to say.

“I don’t drink coffee, but if it’s with you I don’t mind!”

“You don’t drink coffee, but if it’s with me you won’t mind,”

The two of you say at the same time, and you had to blink twice—you could have sworn you just saw him wearing a checkered top over baggy jeans. His laugh was first to break the tension between you, and you managed to calm down a bit, especially at seeing him in his jersey jacket again.

Hinata looks more amazed than surprised at what just happened, eyes wide in fascination at his deduction— “y/n-san, is that part of your, er, sickness? Because if it is, that’s so cool!”

You also wanted to ask yourself that. The book your predecessors made never mentioned anything about these dreadfully clear episodes of déjà vu. His question was left unanswered, as the old gramps, the owner of the café, went out of the kitchen to thank Hinata for his help, and to tell you two to get to your table already.

For the rest of your date, you try to get your mind off the memory—the memory of Hinata Shoyou that wasn’t yours but seemed like they were.

Wait… date?

“I’ll do even better, y/n-san! If… if you like, you can watch the next practice match and we can… go on an obvious date again! Oh! Kenma is a Youtuber too right? What if… we…?”

Ah, that’s right. There was no need to fret. Hinata Shoyou is your “boyfriend” after all. It was right to call it a date. So were all your previous meet-ups considered a date? You’ve never been to one before, so how would you know?

You couldn’t focus on anything but on the way Hinata made you feel both on edge and at peace. Perhaps, it was the coffee; you’re drinking too much lately that’s why you’re so easily flustered. Blame the caffeine. Blame the caffeine. It’s just the caffeine in your veins—

“That’s genius! I’m in! Besides, I can promote projects that way too; kids these days like that, gossip, and advocacies,” you end with a chuckle, before taking a fork to stab at the slice of your favorite cake.

Hinata’s smile softened, and he released a silent chuckle, just looking at you from across the table. The yellow dim light casted shadows over the curves of your face, highlighting your best features. In his eyes, you will always be a porcelain doll, fragile and precious, which he vowed to protect with his own heart even if he knows you wouldn’t accept it—accept him.

“y/n… you should smile more,” his usual energetic tone was gone. He said it so gently, sweetly, sincerely—you might as well follow his words and believe the next, “You look better when you do,” he grins at you before drinking his own more-milk-than-actual-coffee. 

He still has more things to say, and honestly, even if he was happy being with you, he couldn’t help but worry about himself. A part of him wishes that Kenma would just finally reciprocate your love, because he wasn’t sure how much longer he could have full control over his own emotions.

But the thought of that puts him in pain brought about by sadness —he surely didn’t want to lose Kenma but Hinata knows he couldn’t bear life if he was to lose you too.

The two of you spent the rest of the night chattering over your upcoming plan of creating your own little couple vlog, all the while your minds and hearts were both beginning to sway uneasily, without even knowing you two were starting to test new waters.

As you laid in bed that night, you were more preoccupied by the date and the images that flashed before you, than at the slim possibilities of Kozume Kenma being jealous.

You didn’t seem to notice that, for the first time in months, money and blood never slipped out your lips and you were able to enjoy an uninterrupted sleep.

That night, you were able to dream. But the subject of your dreams wasn’t the man you were truly dreaming for when you were awake. Even in your subconscious, Hinata Shoyou managed to infect his way through, he was like a new disease that has just started to grow. He was a disease that you peculiarly welcomed into your life, without knowing at the time that he could possibly be the cure.

Just like on that date, you keep seeing him from a timeline wherein you weren’t alive. The most confusing part was how you were still able to see you. And that you were the one talking to him. Distant memories of old, it was similar to skimming through an antique cinematic clip of a romcom—

“I’m sorry, y/n-san… I can’t,”

“Are you telling me that it’s my fault for falling for you, Shoyou?”

“But there’s already someone else,”

“And you’re loved in return?” you feel the urge to puke when Hinata Shoyou turns his back and walks away without an answer to satisfy you. It was too painful, your chest tightened, eyes red from held back tears, and soon, there were drops of blood on the floor below you, with coins following soon after.

You retch blood and coins all over your sheets, at five in the morning. This was the fifth time you’ve seen that dream turned nightmare and you didn’t know which haunted you more: was it a premonition or was it nothing but a reminder?

As the maid cleaned your sheets for you, you take note of how you’ve reverted back to vomiting nothing but a few measly coins. Perhaps you were getting better. But then, why has Kenma not told you anything that would hint you of his feelings? Was it because you were with Hinata? Was it time to finally end things with the ginger-haired man?

This is what you were aiming for… right?

Suddenly, you weren’t so sure.

cheese cult: @akaashichigo @drainedjaz @haikkeiji @annalyn-annalyn @sosugasweet @cali-writes-sometimes @simping4ratsumu @shishinoya @ushiwakaa @akaashit-baeji @kxgeyamasmilk @agaassi ​ @hanibuni ​ @cupofkenma ​ @kawanisshi ​ @milkandc00kiez ​ @thiccbokuto ​ @shinsukestan ​ @sufiawrites ​ @wakaitoshi ​ @skyguy-peach ​ @fern-writes-ig ​ @briswriting ​ @kawaiikraykray ​ @bubbleteaa ​ @miyuswriting ​ @raevaioli ​ @ouikarwa ​ @hakueishirei ​ @pineapplekween ​ @estherwritess ​ @keiji-n ​ @achoohq ​ @badlywritten-hq ​ @mochibeaa @oinkanna ​ @chxrry-wxne ​ @spudicide ​ @airybby ​ @asranomical ​ @karmasuna ​ @nekoglasses ​

gen. taglist: @yams046 ​

[i-choose-the-danger]

A Sensitive Experiment

Author note: I know, it’s been quite some time since I’ve written anything. Life got in the way for a bit. I’m back with new writing. :) This isn’t Trek-related. This fic is BBC Sherlock-related. I love that series dearly and I’ve been missing it. Hopefully y’all like this fic. <3

Summary: Molly Hooper is staying a few days at Baker Street. Sherlock is going through withdrawal from cigs and cases. John won’t let him go back into his addictions, so the consulting detective finds other ways to keep his brain active. 

______________________________________________________________

It had been unusually quiet at 221B Baker Street, despite having a third person spending the past two nights at the flat. Molly Hooper had mentioned a few days prior that an entire stretch of piping under her home needed to be replaced and it could take a few days as her kitchen floor needed to be completely dismantled to reach it. John wouldn't hear of letting Molly stay in some cheap hotel room and he offered for her to stay at Baker Street with them until everything was finished. The temporary changes in routines and the current lack of interesting cases were beginning to aggravate the consulting detective.  

Today was proving to be more difficult than expected for Sherlock. He had no cases. He had no cigarettes. He had no nicotine patches. John wouldn't let him anywhere near any other drug. Sherlock sat straight up in his chair by the fireplace. He would normally be pacing around the flat in his pajamas as it was only noon, but felt somewhat uncomfortable doing so with Molly being in the flat and opted for his usual slacks and a dress shirt. Compromising with himself, he also threw on his silk blue dressing gown as an added comfort. Sherlock's legs bounced absent-mindedly as his fingers rapidly tapped against the arms of his chair.

"John..."

"No."

"But I-"

"No."

"I need-"

"NO."

"Bored!"

"No. You've been off cigs for nearly three weeks now and you're doing well. You turned down the last six cases I showed you. You won't let me go get you more patches. You can sit here having a right strop and continue to suffer or you can take one of those cases." John was used having this conversation with Sherlock, but looked apologetically at Molly from the couch over the newspaper he was trying to read. "Sorry about that, he's not usually this bad," he whispered to her.

"He's usually worse," she muttered back.

"You know, I can hear you both," Sherlock grumbled, continuing to fidget in his chair.

Molly had brought some files from work to the flat to keep herself busy and out of the way. She'd even offered Sherlock a look at them to get his mind off needing a new case, but he waved them off. She placed the small pile of folders on the coffee table and walked around it to sit on the couch.

John excused himself and nudged past Molly on his way to the kitchen after standing from the couch, brushing his hand against her side. Molly twitched.

Sherlock's brows knitted as he looked Molly over. "Are you hurt?"

"Beg pardon?" She tensed at his very audible sigh.

"Are. You. Hurt," was his flat reply.

"Not that I know of?" Molly lowered herself to the couch, eying Sherlock cautiously.

"You flinched just now when John put his hand on your side to pass by. And last night you winced when I pushed by you on the staircase in the hallway." His tone was more matter-of-fact than concerned.

Molly tried to sink herself deeper against the back of the couch as two pairs of eyes turned their attention to her. She tensed as John reentered the room.

"You sure? You know you can tell us if something's wrong. Want me to have a look?" John offered.

"Sherlock's just jumpy because you haven't had a new case in days. I'm fine." Molly noticed Sherlock's eyes narrow at her as he took an all-too-familiar thinking position in his chair. "Really," she added, "I promise."

"Even from here, I can see that your pupils have dilated and your breathing has become labored. But the question remains... Why?" Sherlock leaned slightly forward in his chair, resting his elbows against his lap and tenting his fingers against his lips. "Why..." he repeated to himself.

Sherlock's breathing slowed. His expression became blank. The room dissolved around him until he was alone with his thoughts in his mind palace. Different interactions with Molly played in quick rotation through his thoughts. There were different moments in hospital hallways, brief flashes of discussions in the morgue, the last Christmas party in the flat... Wait. A flash of movement caught his mind's eye. Sherlock concentrated harder and pushed his focus through to something in the background of the Christmas party. Mrs. Hudson was fawning over Molly's hair, which was done up quite differently from her normal pulled-back style. A stray tendril had fallen loose and Mrs. Hudson reached up to tuck it back behind Molly's ear. As she did so, Sherlock noticed Molly flinch and huff out a short breath. There was a twitch so slight in her lips that anyone else would have missed it. Sherlock misinterpreted her reaction to him on the stairs as a wince. It was a smile. She laughed. But why would she laugh when I...

"Oh!" Sherlock snapped his eyes open and looked straight forward. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his right leg pointedly over his left and relaxing his arms. "I see. You're right."

"I, I am? Hmmph, of course I am." Molly eyed him curiously for a moment, and then felt her stomach drop when she noticed the brightness in his eyes usually reserved for the first moment of a new case for the consulting detective.

"Yes. You're not hurt. You're ticklish. The question is no longer why. It's where. Or more precisely, where else." Sherlock narrowed his eyes and fixed his gaze on Molly, studying her reaction and body language. "You've not protested my conclusion, so your silence tells me that my deduction is valid. We've already established that this particular susceptibility can be attributed to your sides, possibly around your ribs. I know it includes your neck. Hmm, that must be quite a bad spot then," Sherlock stated, noting how tightly Molly's shoulders hunched at merely a mention of her neck.

"John, he's gone mad. Please do something," Molly pleaded.

"Best not," Sherlock interjected. "I doubt very much that Mrs. Hudson would be happy with you making me choose to remedy my boredom by further riddling her walls with bullet holes, John."

Watson stared for a moment, pursing his lips at the thought of being blamed. He shrugged at Molly from the kitchen doorway. "Sorry. Wouldn't dream of upsetting Mrs. H. It's also much safer than having this one open fire like a lunatic on the defenseless wall, again," he replied. That comment gained him a cold glare from his flatmate.

"Now then..." Sherlock turned his attention back to Molly and studied her. She was rubbing her palms against the tops of the knees of her pants and fidgeting with the material. "The more people try to hide, the more they actually give away." Her knees were definitely a spot. Molly's upper arms were pressed tightly at her sides, protecting her ribs still. He'd already realized that area was sensitive, but it must be much more so than he noticed if she was still trying to cover herself there.

"Why don't I go out and get you some patches? Or food. Or something. Anything." Molly tried to keep as still as possible so Sherlock would stop trying to make deductions. The way he stared at her made her feel as if she'd eaten a dozen butterflies and they were viciously fluttering in her stomach. This was mostly because she was ridiculously ticklish and the thought of someone taking advantage of that trait gave her chills. However, she'd be lying if she said that it wasn't also because Sherlock had never paid so much attention to her before. She liked that much more than she was willing to admit. Without thinking, she started scraping the soles of her tennis shoes against each other.

"Hmm, seems like you have the most common spots. There might be one or two that you're hiding. Let's see what I got right, shall we?" Sherlock pushed himself into a standing position and took a step towards the couch.

"Wait, what? What're you doing? Stay over there. I mean it." Molly stood slowly, trying not to make sudden movements as Sherlock took another step towards her. The butterflies in her stomach flapped their wings with the force of a hurricane.

"Surely someone of your intelligence understands how the scientific method works, Molly. My hypotheses are meaningless if I do not test them out." He spidered the fingers of both of his hands in the air at the word 'test', smirking when Molly reacted to the movement by nearly folding in on herself with a giggle. "Oh dear. Pavlovian conditioning. You must be more sensitive than I thought if you react before I'm even near you."

Molly tried to scramble to the front door, or the hallway, or the kitchen... she wasn't sure where, but Sherlock's long legs had him blocking her path to safety in three short strides. Molly backed up to go around the right side of the coffee table, Sherlock countered her and went around to his left. John leaned against his armchair with his arms folded across his chest, amused at the scene before him. He didn't know what had gotten into Sherlock, but he wasn't about to interrupt it either.

Molly and Sherlock continued their delicate dance around the coffee table for another moment or so. Then in one fluid motion, Sherlock stepped onto the table and over it, holding out an arm to take Molly backwards onto the couch as he turned himself to land beside her. Molly let out a quiet squeak as her back hit into Sherlock's shoulder. She immediately tried to run but the long arm that circled her waist and arms was quicker.  

"Now, how to proceed... What do you think would be the most efficient way of testing, John?" The detective looked to John with his brows raised.

"Oh no. I'll have no part of this. I'm just a bystander. This bit of nonsense is between the two of you." In truth, John was curious to watch the scene unfold before him. He also did not want to stray too far in case things got out of hand. It was fascinating to see Sherlock acting like a normal human being and showing the tiniest hint of intimacy towards someone, but John wouldn't dare vocalize that thought for fear of sending him right back behind his protective walls.

"Hmm, I suppose I can start... here." Sherlock took the index finger of his free hand and lightly traced the side of Molly's neck, the corner of his mouth curling upwards when he heard a small squeal and his finger became clamped between her ear and shoulder. He bent the tip of his finger back and forth as much as he could where it was trapped.

"No no noho noho no." Molly tried to squeeze the offending finger between her ear and shoulder enough to stop it from brushing her neck. She summoned every ounce of will power she had to silence her giggles. The last thing she wanted to do was give that smug bastard any sense of satisfaction as he continued his 'experiment'. Molly shut her eyes and tensed every muscle she could control to block out the ticklish shivers that were shooting down her spine.

"I wonder. We know you're susceptible to a brushing touch here, but does it wield the same results elsewhere?" Sherlock asked. He slid his fingers across her side gently, causing her to let out another squeak and struggle in his hold. "Or would a more pressured touch do?"

The next sounds echoing through the flat were Molly's shriek and high-pitched giggles as the fingers of Sherlock's hand around her repeatedly scrunched against her right ribs. Molly let go of his captive finger and tried to turn her face away from him so he wouldn't see her laughing while her arms tried to wriggle free.

"Interesting. A lighter touch against your neck causes more of a response, yet a firmer touch here causes an even stronger reaction. It also seems to correlate with the varying size of known nerve clusters throughout the human body." Sherlock paused for a moment to regain his grip on a very squirmy Molly who was trying to escape the fingers that were now skittering her side. "Now where else do those clusters tend to be? I think another usual one is around here somewhere." Sherlock wrapped the middle finger and thumb of his free hand right above the joint of Molly's knee and gave it a few light squeezes.

"EEEK! Sherlohohohock!" Molly crossed her other leg over to knock his hand out of the way and only succeeded in giving Sherlock another knee joint to test. She squealed as he quickly let go of one kneecap and attacked the other. "John, hehehehelp!"

"You know what? I think I need tea. Anyone want tea? Right. I'm gonna make tea." John straightened up from his chair, nervously clearing his throat, and promptly strode to the kitchen as he avoided Molly's eyes. He turned his head back towards the couch and looked at his flatmate for a moment. "Don't kill her, Sherlock. I'm in no mood to bury a body today, even for you." The doctor disappeared into the kitchen to focus on making tea. He probably should have stopped the 'experiment', but he was honestly more content with Sherlock keeping himself occupied instead of stomping around the flat or stabbing knives into the mantlepiece or tearing the rooms apart looking for the cigarettes John had hidden from him.

"Jehehesus, Sherlock, it tihihihickles! Oh my God!" At this point, Molly was sure that this would kill her. Her cheeks were hurting from laughing so much. She would never admit this to anyone, but she was loving such a close and carefree interaction with Sherlock despite the fact that the man was tickling her completely senseless.

"Does it? I couldn't tell through all of this giggling and squirming around that you insist upon doing." He paused his movements for a moment to allow Molly to catch her breath before posing one last question. "Your ribs seem to be most vulnerable. But what happens if both sides are tested at once?" He let go of Molly and immediately attached his hands to her sides. His skilled violinist fingers strummed against her ribs as if her laughter was the most beautiful melody he had ever played. After a few seconds of testing different methods and varying pressures, he settled on spreading his fingers across Molly's upper ribs and spidering them in different patterns.

"AAAH! You're the worhurhurhurhurst!" Molly immediately melted into a curled-up heap with her head now resting against Sherlock's leg. She weakly swatted at one of his hands, unable to speak a word through her continued laughter. Thankfully, he understood that she had reached her limit. Molly felt his hands stop and let her go, even though the ticklish feelings continued to linger all over her skin. "Absolute. Worst," she whispered between gasping breaths.

"I agree. I'm usually much more thorough in my experiments. Definitely not at my best this afternoon, I'm afraid." Sherlock made the mistake of looking out the window momentarily and underestimating Molly's resolve...

John was just about to grab the boiled water from the stove when his ears heard a most inhuman noise followed by what sounded to him like a low rumbling giggle. There was no way either of those sounds could have come from Molly. John opened his mouth to call out to the others when he heard it again, this time more stifled. Curiosity getting the better of him, John slowly crept to the doorway and glanced at the couch. His jaw hung in disbelief to what he was witnessing. Sherlock was on his side, facing the backside of the couch and burying his face deep into the cushions. Molly was leaning against him with her hands underneath his dressing gown while trying to avoid all of his flailing limbs. Sherlock kept letting out muffled sounds into the couch, refusing to speak.

"Well, what do we have going on here?" John mused. At first, it looked as if John had walked in on something that should definitely be a private moment... until he distinctly heard a strangled giggle-snort coming from the face that was buried in the couch cushion.

"I'm taking recompense for every single time he's been a complete arse!" Molly told him, never taking her concentrated stare off of Sherlock as her fingers continued their assault against his ribs.

"Oh. So you'll be a while then, I imagine. Yeah?" John couldn't help the smile that slowly crept across his features as Sherlock growled at his joke.

"John, this is no time f--MOLLY! Controhol yourself! Stop ihihi--" Sherlock slammed his lips together in desperation to prevent himself from laughing. He knew that John would never let him live it down if he'd let Molly completely break his concentration over something so childish.

"Oh my God..." John whispered with a chuckle. He was nearly beside himself with an almost embarrassing joy at Sherlock showing signs of anything that would expose him as a vulnerable human being and not the cold unfeeling sociopath Sherlock always claimed to be to him. Now that he thought of it, he couldn't remember ever hearing Sherlock really laugh... unless it was at John's expense.

John took note of Sherlock's waving hands and how he was trying to restrain himself from outright attacking Molly. His movements were just verging on frantic. John stepped closer to the couch and observed the scene. Molly seemed to hold her own, fully determined to break the man curled up on the corner of the couch beside her. She pinched, spidered, poked, and prodded her fingers anywhere she could reach across Sherlock's torso. She knew how he felt about physical contact, but after what she had just endured at his hands, there was no way she would be denied full reciprocation. Sherlock on the other hand was simultaneously swatting at Molly's hands, clamping his arms down at his sides, and keeping his face buried into the couch while only bringing his head up every so often to take a breath. John noticed the movements and wrestled for a moment with thoughts on involving himself in the scuffle. He stood well enough out of Sherlock's line of sight and waved his arms at Molly to gain her attention. Once her eyes met his, John clamped his own arms down and then pointed under them. The gleam he saw in Molly's eyes was almost evil.

"Why are you protecting under your arms, Sherlock? One might think you don't want me to get you there. Let's find out." Molly slid her hands into the hollows under his arms, and the result was even better than either she or John expected.

That was the moment that Sherlock's resolve had started to crumble. He would deny it until the day he died, but he outright shrieked into the couch before biting down on both of his lips in a last ditch effort to keep himself from laughing. He twisted his upper body desperately to counter the unbearably ticklish shocks that Molly's fingers were sending under his arms as he clung on to his last shred of dignity. His shoulders were shaking from the laughter he was holding back. Unable to concentrate, his arms became useless as protection because he could no longer control his movements. Short baritone huffs of laughter bubbled in his throat, fighting to break free. Sherlock shook his head and growled to cover the sound.

"You know you're only making this worse for yourself, being a stubborn little git," John told him. He knew that involving himself at this point would be asking for a whole new world of trouble from Sherlock, but figured that if he could survive actual war, then he could survive the wrath of his flatmate. "Just get it over with and let it out. You know you deserve it after wrecking poor Molly like that." John laughed as the near-exhausted man on the couch gathered enough strength to send him a death-glare with silvery eyes peering out from a now matted mess of curls.

"Piss off, John," were the only words Sherlock spat out quickly before clenching his jaw closed again. Sherlock slowly opened one tightly-shut eye when Molly's fingers suddenly stilled against his underarms. Both of his eyes then widened in panic as he felt another pair of hands wrap around his wrists and pull them above his head. Even though John's face was upside-down above him, he could make out what he took to be a menacing grin. He snapped his attention back in front of him as Molly repositioned herself to pin his lower body on the couch. "Alright, you've both had your laughs now. You can let go, and I'll forgive you and forget this ever happened." Sherlock tried to yank his arms back down and found that John's grip on them was far too tight to be a joke. He attempted to move his legs and realized he was firmly pinned down by the weight Molly was leaning against him. He had never begged for anything in his life, but Sherlock suddenly found himself contemplating such an action.

"Oh no, the problem is that you haven't had your laughs yet. I think we might be able to remedy that now," Molly told him. She hovered her hands above Sherlock's chest and flexed her fingers, grinning as she noticed Sherlock's mouth momentarily quiver into a panicked smile and hold back a laugh. "Look at that, a Pavlovian response... Now who's over-sensitive?"

The second Molly's fingers connected with his ribs, Sherlock lost all composure and laughed freely. The sounds ranged from baritone barks to squawks to giggles that traveled between three different octaves.

"Let gohohoho of meheeheehee! I ca-ha-ha-han't- MOLLY NO!" Sherlock's words were drowned out as his laughter turned delirious. With his wrists still held down, he tried to bury his face into one of his arms.

"Molly..." John looked from Sherlock's face down to Molly and saw that she had moved her hands to taser into the spaces between his hips and lower ribs. "You might want to ease up a bit. That seems to be his worst spot so far."

"You know your lunch had that funny taste to it yesterday because he put that open jar of decaying lung tissue next to it in the fridge, right?" Molly stated nonchalantly, never slowing in her torture of the detective's ribs.

"He what?! You absolute cock! That does it." John threw caution to the wind and pulled Sherlock's thin wrists into one hand. Despite his victim's distressed struggles, John started digging the fingers of his other hand into any ticklish spot he could reach. Realizing that Sherlock was now too weak to even fight back, John let go of his wrists completely and spidered his fingers into both sides of his upper ribs. Molly continued scratching above his hips. At this point, Sherlock felt more embarrassed at his lack of control and chose to focus on covering his face completely with his arms. "For someone as smart as you, that's not a smart way to protect yourself now, is it?" John took the opportunity and went back to concentrating under Sherlock's arms.

"AHAHAHAHA! Dahahahamn it, John!" Sherlock curled in on himself and tried to block the four hands that were coming at him from all angles. He continued to giggle, laugh, snort, and squeal. Molly drilled her thumbs right above his hip bones, causing him to buck and arch his back. The sound that came out of his mouth was a mix of a laugh, a scream, and a sound one might hear if they stepped on a cat's tail. "I can't! No mohohohore! Ahahahaha enough! Eheeheeheenough!"

Once Sherlock's laughter started to become silent, John backed off and motioned to Molly to do the same. They pulled their hands away and put enough distance between their bodies and his to allow him to calm down. Sherlock laid his head back over the armrest of the couch. One of his arms dropped behind his head and hung off the armrest as his other simultaneously slipped off of his face and slid down to brush across the floor. His hands were shaking as his nerves began to relax. His usually pale complexion was now dusted a dark rose and glistening with sweat, his eyes partially covered by the curly hair matted across his forehead. Sherlock tried to speak, but he was still giggling and heaving breaths as his lungs fought for much-needed oxygen. His white dress shirt was damp and wrinkled in places, his dressing gown half-twisted around his upper body.

"Aww, look at him. He's completely ruined, John. Do you think we were too rough on him?" Sherlock was staring at Molly through half-open eyes, silently pulling for sympathy.

"Don't let those fake puppy eyes fool you. He tickled you to absolute pieces. And I ate soup apparently flavored by bloody cadaver bits! I'd say he deserves another round or two." At that statement, the body sprawled on the couch twitched at the thought. John rolled his eyes and held his hands up in a surrendering pose. "Don't worry. Unlike you, neither of us are that cruel. Maybe if you stop acting like such an arse, we won't tell anyone what happened... except maybe Lestrade. I'm sure he'd get a kick out of the image," John joked.

"I loathe you both," Sherlock croaked out half-heartedly. His voice was hoarse. He slowly brought both arms to his chest and turned his body to face the back of the couch again, straightening out his dressing gown and pulling it around himself like a protective cocoon. "If word ever leaves this room, even Mycroft's best men will never find your bodies."

"Oh yes, I'm shaking in my trainers," John scoffed. He made his way to the kitchen to reheat the water he had abandoned on the stove.

Without thinking, Molly leaned towards Sherlock, and lightly brushed fingers across his forehead to sweep the dark fallen curls away from his eyes. Her hand lingered against his temple. She watched him slowly crack one eye open, its iris now a pale blueish-green in the light. Worried that she had invaded his personal space far too much in one day, Molly began to pull her hand back... until Sherlock leaned further against it and closed his eye. Very lightly, she brushed her thumb over his brow bone and slipped her fingers into his hair. She watched the rise and fall of his chest slow to a normal rhythm. Still worried that Sherlock would revert to his usual closed-off self, she took back her hand and straightened up against the other end of the couch. Looking down at her lap while rubbing the hem of her shirt between her fingers, she didn't notice Sherlock watching her. Confusion was a feeling that he hated to have, but it was different this time. He had never let someone get this close to him, physically, mentally, or emotionally. Not even 'the woman', Irene Adler, had such a privilege. Something was different with Molly and he didn't understand it. Sherlock would have to revisit these thoughts at a later time when he wasn't trying to recover from the torture Molly and John just put him through. Oh, revenge would be had. He understood why Molly had gone after him, but John should have known better than to start something Sherlock would ultimately finish.

"You know, Molly... isn't it usual practice to do systematic observation of at least three test subjects?" Sherlock asked, loudly enough to be sure his voice carried to the kitchen. He grinned at the sound of rattling teacups.

John Watson would take today as a lesson learned to never go against Sherlock Holmes.

[cloverhighfivewritestoo]

Feline Fine - OC version

👉Read this on Ao3  Tumblr - 👉female!reader insert   👉male!reader insert (fluff only)

21k [divided in 12 chapters + epilogue]

Dean x Female!OC (Sarah) (established), Sam, other original characters (villains, victims and such).

Case fic – Dean has gone missing. While Sam and Sarah are trying to figure out what’s happened, a panther turns up on the bunker’s doorstep. Meanwhile, bodies are turning up a few towns over. There seems to be all sorts of various villains working together (or not?). What the hell is going on?

Warnings – Fluff. Smut optional : if you’re not into smut, just stop at the nice fancy border break. If you’re only into smut, well... you know where it is, now. Haha!

Extra/Prompt – This fanfic was first published in August 2018 (my first “big” fic), because @waywardbaby and @imma-winchester-addict​ were comparing Dean to a cat. Now this is the female!OC version, for @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover

1. Missing

 Sarah woke up late in the morning to an empty bed. Dean had probably woken up early and had even made his side of the bed. “Awww,” Sarah thought to herself lovingly, “he’s so sweet.”

 Sarah went through her morning routine, dressed up in jeans and a t-shirt, and headed to the kitchen.

“Hey Sam, already deep in research?”

Sam didn’t look up. “Yeah, I found a probable case a few towns over. I’m getting more info.”

“Cool. It’ll be fun to kill something. I’m bored.”

Sam darted a concerned gaze at Sarah. Sarah shrugged.

 Sarah shuffled to the fridge, took out some stuff, shuffled to the toaster, waited for the toast, put some stuff on the toast, poured a cup of coffee, shuffled to the table, sat down like she weighted a ton and started chewing on her toast.

Sam had looked at her the whole time, his expression unreadable.

“What?” Sarah enquired.

“Dean’s still sleeping? It’s pretty late. Is he OK?”

“I dunno where Dean is. He was gone when I got up. You didn’t see him?”

“No…” Sam looked annoyed. “Let’s call him.” He took his phone out and dialed.

Sarah slurped her coffee. “Don’t you think it’s a bit overdramatic to call him, like, right now? I mean, it’s just 10 a.m., he’s probably gone on a food run or something.”

The phone rang and nobody picked up. It went to voicemail. Sam looked at Sarah and let out an annoyed sigh just before leaving a message. He hung up and looked at Sarah. “A food run? The fridge is full.”

“I said: Or something. Come on. The guy is a freaking menace to just about anything that’s out there. He can handle a run in town.” Sarah smirked at Sam’s very annoyed frown.

Sam went back to his computer, Sarah went back to her breakfast. They sat in silence between her chewing and slurping sounds, and Sam’s typing on the laptop.

 While Sarah was cleaning her dishes, she turned to Sam, “Hey, I’m gonna head to town as well, I need new boots. Do you need something?”

“I need Dean to come back so we can head out for this case here. I have all the info we need.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Alright. Well, I won’t be long anyway, so maybe Dean and I will be back at the same time or maybe I’ll even bump into him. I’m taking the motorcycle.”

“OK. I’ll go for a little jog then. Since I have time.”

“Be my guest.”

 Sarah got out of the bunker on the bike, passed the Impala that was parked outside in front of the bunker’s door, and…

Wait. What?

The Impala is here, that means Dean is back!

Sam got out of the bunker in jogging attire. “Hey, you’re still here?”

Sarah gestured to the car. “The Impala’s here. You saw Dean inside?”

“No…”

Sarah drove by the hood, put her hand on to feel it. “The car is cold. It must have been here the whole time. And no other car is missing from the garage.”

Sam’s gears were running. “Something’s off.”

Sarah turned off the bike and took her helmet off. They looked around. No one. She got her hand on her gun and called out. “DEAN?!!” No answer. They looked around again. Listened. Nothing.

“Call him again.”

Sam reached for his phone, and, while looking down at it while dialing, something caught his eye on the ground. He reached down and picked up “The keys. They were…”

Sam and Sarah looked at each other, panic rising in their eyes.

The call went to voicemail.

“Shit.”

“Shit.”

 Back in the bunker, Sam was trying to piece together what they knew, pacing about the room. “OK, so, when’s the last time you saw him?”

“Um… Come to think of it… I don’t remember him coming to bed last night. And I slept right through. Wait. His side of the bed was made this morning… Maybe… Maybe he didn’t come in at all.”

“Damn. So… That means, the last time you saw him is…?”

“Last night, we were all here in the library, he went out to fetch something in the car, remember?”

“Yeah, just as we were calling it a night.”

“Exactly.”

“You didn’t worry when he didn’t come back?”

“Well our training in the afternoon was a bit challenging. So I pretty much passed out.”

“Yeah… Me too. Went out like a light.”

“I’m going to look for more clues outside.” Sarah headed out, followed by Sam, who tried Dean’s phone again – to voicemail.

 The day would be busy and stressful. They’d found tracks outside that didn’t match any of the vehicles from the bunker nor the car from the pizza boy, but couldn’t deduct much from it, except the brand of tires and about 30 types of cars they could be on. They’d found footprints that didn’t match any of the footwear from the boys nor Sarah, but all they could figure out was they were from 3 different people.

 Sam had gone into town to ask around while Sarah waited at the bunker, checking whatnots on the laptop. Every call to Dean’s phone invariably went to voicemail. Nothing turned up in town, nothing turned up on the computer.

 2. Finding

 Early the following afternoon, Sam came in from driving around the countryside. He called from the top of the stairs. “Sarah? YOU HERE?”

Sarah called from the kitchen, “YEAH! HEEERE!”

Sam called again. “COME HERE YOU GOTTA SEE THIS!”

“IS IT DEAN?” Sarah called, as she ran to the stairs.

“No,” Sam said, somewhere between anxious and surprised, while she climbed the stairs, “um… just… come out with me.” He opened the door, Sarah behind him. “Just… be calm, be careful, no sudden moves.”

Sarah raised her eyebrows. “What?”

Sam made an impatient gesture. “Just… Just… Trust me on this.” He opened the door to the outside. They stepped out and stood there, right by the door, transfixed.

 A magnificent panther was lying lazily in front of the Impala. When it saw Sam and Sarah come out, it quickly sat up, curled its tail around itself and fixed its gaze upon them. It seemed it had stopped moving. It seemed it had stopped breathing.

 Sarah spoke softly to Sam, as if she didn’t want the panther to hear. “Should we call the nature rangers or what’s their name…”

Sam spoke the same way, trying to conceal his words. “Panthers are not endemic to Kansas, Sarah.”

“So…?”

“So it’s not a wild animal. It’s either from a zoo or it’s someone’s pet.” They looked at the big cat in silence, who looked back at them, going from Sam, to Sarah, and Sam. Sam added, “I don’t know… Look at it. It seems to be here for a reason… if that doesn’t sound too… weird.”

Again, some mutual staring.

Sarah whispered, “Did you notice the panther looking at me when I talk and then looking at you when you talk?”

“Yes…”

“It just did it again.”

“Yes…”

The panther took a deep breath, let it out, looked up, blinked, and fixed Sam and Sarah again.

“Did it… sigh at us?” Sam remarked.

The panther got up, paced in a circle, head low, throwing glances sideways at Sam and Sarah, then resumed its sitting position. It let out another sigh.

“It can sigh all it wants, I don’t know what to do with a panther. Maybe we should call a veterinarian,” Sarah suggested, “they’ll know what to do.”

The panther growled.

Sam and Sarah took a step back, but bumped into the wall behind them.

The panther got up, walked deliberately, slowly towards Sam and Sarah, its gaze going from one to the other. Stuck between surprise, curiosity and sheer panic, Sam and Sarah couldn’t move.

About halfway, the panther stopped dead in its tracks, eyes wide. Sam and Sarah didn’t move. The panther closed its eyes, shook its head. Sam and Sarah looked at each other sideways, and, seeing they both had no clue what was going on, quickly turned their attention back to the panther.

It was scratching the ground. It turned this way and that and seemed to have a purpose to its scratching. It took a minute or two.

It then looked at Sam and Sarah, looked to the ground, stepped back a bit, did it again, and retreated a few meters away. It layed down and looked back and forth between the scratchings and Sam and Sarah.

Sam was the first to catch on. “Um, I think we should go look at the scratches.”

“What?”

“Come on.”

“What??” But Sarah followed.

 I’m Dean, dumbasses.

Sam’s first reaction was surprise, but one look at the panther and he made an annoyed frown and a sigh in no specific direction. He then looked at Sarah.

She, on the other hand, had her mouth open in disbelief. She turned to the panther. “You… what??”

The panther looked at her and blinked. And it… purred? She turned to Sam. “Did you hear it purr?” She turned to the panther. “Are you purring?”

Sam looked at the panther. “So you’re Dean.” The panther nodded.

“OH FUCK IT NODDED.” Sarah screamed.

Sam jumped. He took Sarah by the shoulders. “Calm down! It’s DEAN.”

“But it nodded! The panther nodded!”

“Yes, because it’s Dean.”

“How can you be sure it’s Dean? Anybody could write ‘I’m Dean’. We just have to believe the cat?”

Sam couldn’t believe he just heard someone say ‘We just have to believe the cat’.

Sarah pressed on, talking too fast. “Well, a cat who knows how to write, sure, it’s weird, but we’re used to weird, so ok, I can get that, but then, the next logical thing – if we want to bother with logic – is we have to believe everything just because we accept that the cat maybe has a human inside?”

The panther growled. Sam shot a look at it and came back to Sarah. “Do you think anyone but Dean could call us dumbasses while trying to get us to help him?”

Sarah froze, thinking about what Sam said. She looked at the panther, who was lying down and looking calmly yet intensely at her. Then, suddenly, she relaxed. Sam let go of her shoulders. The panther got up and walked towards her. She waited quietly. The panther sat right in front of her and looked up.

“Dean… is it really you…”

He made a soft nod, blinked, and purred. She couldn’t help but run her hand in his fur on his head. He was so soft... He closed his eyes and pushed against her hand so she’d continue, but she stopped. “Good lord. What happened?” Dean shook his head. He let out a sigh, looking in the distance. His face became angry and he growled at the horizon.

 She looked at him. The panther – Dean – was huge. Sitting straight, his head came almost chest high with Sarah. His fur was black, his eyes green, surprisingly close to the green of his own eyes. He licked his nose and his mouth, revealing impressive fangs. He cocked his head and waited. Sarah noticed the fur was matted on his neck. She approached a hand to check, but Dean, as a reflex, moved just out of reach. “You’re hurt…” Dean kept out of reach, looking at her sideways, flattening his ears. “Come on, let me look.” He slowly got closer. She bent down a little and, very gently, touched the fur where it was matted. “OK, it doesn’t look so bad. Come inside, we’ll take care of it.”

 While Sarah was cleaning Dean’s wound, Sam was thinking out loud. “Of course, you can’t talk, but we really need to know what’s going on, cause… well, look at you.” Dean let out a huff. “Communicating with you is going to be a challenge.” Dean let out another huff.

 “Alright, all clean.” Sarah announced, putting the wet cloth away. “I can’t do more than that. It’s not like I can put a band-aid on it or anything. So it’ll have to heal on its own. It’s not that bad, really.” Dean closed his eyes and rubbed his head against Sarah, purring.

Sarah got up and went to the fridge. “I don’t know about you, Sam, but I need a drink.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

Dean bounced his way to Sarah, and leaned his weight against her. “Oh dear, you must be hungry.” Dean licked his mouth and looked up. “Alright, what do you want?” Dean cut in front of Sarah and stretched his panther body up on its hind legs. He surveyed the fridge and grabbed a few things – all meat. “Duh, of course,” Sarah said, laughing. She grabbed a beer.

 3. Talking

 Sam tried to find a way to communicate with Dean. It was frustrating for both of them. Sam tried to come up with yes/no questions, but invariably diverged with more complex ones. Meanwhile, Sarah thought it was a bit funny, what with Dean having sat his panther self on a chair – like a cat would – opposite Sam at the table. Sam was actually having a conversation with a cat, or trying to, at least. Dean did the best he could to be as expressive as possible, but still, they weren’t words.

“OK, we’ll go through the creatures. Yes or no.”

Blink.

“Was it a Wendigo?”

Stare.

“Come on, we’ll be thorough, so we’ll know for sure.”

Stare.

“Dean… Wendigo?”

Eyes to the skies, shake of the head. No.

“Werewolf?”

Stare. Intense.

“Dean.”

He opened his eyes wide, made a point of looking at himself, and looked back at Sam with the same wide eyes, shaking his head once. No. Idiot. I’m a fucking cat.

“OK, I’ll go with the probably more obvious.”

Eyeroll. Repositioning. Straight, solid, ready.

“Witch?”

Teeth bared – which was more frightening than what Dean thought was a smile. A vigorous nod. Yes!

 Watching them, Sarah remembered the potion the boys had told her about when they were on a case where the only witness was a dog, allowing Dean to understand the dog. It seemed strange Sam didn’t think of it. Probably the stress. She asked Sam where their father’s journal was and went off.

 “So you escaped!”

Nod. Yes.

“They didn’t actually let you go.”

Shake. No.

“Where had they taken you?”

Nod. Yes.

“Yes???”

Eyes half closed, shoulders slumped. Idiot.

“Oh. Yeah. Um.”

Head turned to the side, sideways look. Yeah? And what now?

Sam got up. “Lemme get a map.”

Dean nodded and repositioned on the chair. Being a panther was not easy; that big four-legged body wasn’t made for chairs. Or, chairs weren’t made for big four-legged bodies. He hopped on the table and laid down.

 Sarah came back to the table with 2 glasses filled halfway with a brownish red unappetizing liquid. She snipped some fur from Dean, who perked up. He smiled as she put fur in both glasses and stirred – he remembered the foul taste of the potion.

 Sam came back with the map. He saw the glasses. “What’s this?”

“Remember when Dean had to mind-meld with a dog for a case?” She smiled a big, proud smile.

Sam’s shoulders dropped. He made the most flat expression Sarah had ever seen. “I cannot believe I forgot that.”

Sarah raised her glass. “Cheers!” They drank and said the incantation.

Dean loved watching them wince and blergh at the taste. Pussies. He had just downed it like a man.

 Dean purred, growled and looked bored until Sam and Sarah heard, “Sam likes to wax his legs. Sam has lady shampoo. Sam doesn’t watch porn cause he doesn’t understand the plot. Sam –“ “HEY!” Sam was not amused. Sarah was laughing. Dean brightened. “Oh, so the potion is working! Good.”

 “So do tell us, Dean,” said Sarah.

“I got out of the bunker and got jumped by 3 witches, all women. Couldn’t see their face. They cast some spell on me and I woke up locked in a cage, with a panther in another cage next to me. The witches cut me and the panther for some blood and did some ritual. I woke up looking at myself in the other cage… I was into the panther. So that meant the panther was in me.”

 Dean went on telling how the panther in its new body didn’t know what to make of it, and so it was thrashing about violently. Dean, on the other hand, sat still, watching his body being flung about, bruised and cut. He had listened to his voice screaming. He’d felt genuinely worried. But then the witches had come, cast a spell on Dean’s body and taken it elsewhere. They’d left Dean-in-panther alone.

 The panther body being much more stronger than a man’s, Dean-in-panther had tried its strength to its full force in trying to pry the cage open – which had worked. And thus he’d escaped. It was dark but he saw he had been kept in a shack in the woods that didn’t seem to be connected to the road. He mostly kept to the forest as much as he could on his way to the bunker. He had a vague idea of where he had been taken, and so he pointed to it on the map.

 He didn’t know what the witches’ plan was, but, while the ritual was being prepared, he had heard a name: Brandon Hatley.

 Sam drummed his fingers on the table. Everyone was deep in thought. Dean licked his paw.

Sarah looked at Dean, slightly surprised. “Um, I know you’re basically a cat, but… you feel the need to lick yourself?”

Dean’s eyes widened and he stopped his move, with his tongue still out, halfway through a lick. He looked up at Sarah, put his paw down, licked his nose and let out a low huff. He looked up at her. “You don’t? Cause when I did the mind-meld with the dog, I was acting a lot like a dog.”

Sam remembered. “It’s true. And yet… I don’t feel any feline urge.” “Me neither,” said Sarah. They turned to Dean. “Hey, don’t look at me, I don’t know.”

Sam suggested, “Maybe because his mind is not a cat’s mind… maybe because there’s the two of us on the same spell, so it kind of dilutes it… maybe…” 

“Maybe we’re just not as receptive as Dean was,” said Sarah. She added, “Sam, do you feel like a beer? Pizza? Porn?” 

Sam was confused. “No. What? No…. What?” 

“Me neither,” Sarah said, “so that means we’re not mind-melding with Dean either.” 

Sam let out a sigh. “Thanks for that.”

 4. Researching

 Sam got up, got the laptop and came back. “OK, Brandon Hatley…”

While he was typing, Sarah pulled the map to her side of the table. “Hey, Sam, where was the case you found yesterday morning?”

Sam crooked his neck and pointed to a town. Sarah and Dean looked down. “Uhn, it’s as far as where Dean was taken, but… right on the other side of us. Hmm… That’s weird.”

Dean interjected. “What? What are you saying? What case?”

Sarah just continued. “I don’t know… Seems too much of a coincidence, a case to work on in exactly the opposite direction, and about the same distance, the day Dean was taken. It’s too… clean. Too symmetrical.”

“Huh, weird indeed,” said Sam. “As for the info I gathered, the deaths were sudden. There were no previous open cases in the area or deaths that fit the pattern.”

Dean asked again. “What case?”

Sarah looked at him. “Yeah, he didn’t tell me either. Things kind of happened fast.”

Sam didn’t look up from the computer. “Something that looked like vampires. Sloppy ones. Or sloppy, just the one. We had yet to find out. OK. So now, Hatley –”

 Without any warning, Dean jumped off the table and walked towards the staircase. Sarah and Sam gave a start. “Dean!” cried Sam, “What are you doing?”

Dean stopped, turned around. “To go get the vampire! Come on!”

Sarah objected. “Dean! We have to work your case. We’re not going off on a vampire hunt right now!”

But Sam knew how Dean felt, from years of saving people. “No, Sarah, he’s right. And if it’s a lone vampire, it’s a milk run. We’ll be in and out in a flash.”

“Plus,” Dean said, “since I’m stuck in this cat for a while, I wanna try it out. It’s really strong. I hear really good. And I can see in the dark!” He sat and smiled.

“Babe,” said Sarah, “when you smile like that, you’re rather terrifying.”

“Oh, come on!”

 “And,” she added, a slight panic in her voice, “what do you mean, ‘stuck in a cat for a while’? No, no, no! How can you talk about milk runs? We have to switch Dean back! What if he’s stuck in there forever?” She was really panicking now.

Sam and Dean looked at each other blankly. Dean got up and walked over to Sarah, rubbing his head against her tummy. “Hey, sweetie, we’ll figure it out.” He looked up at her. “But we gotta save people, you know? I swear, it’s going to be real quick.”

“But… the Hatley dude… we have a lead…”

“Alright, alright,” said Sam. “Here, let me tell you what I’ve got on Hatley.” Sarah and Dean came back to the table.

 “Hatley. Interesting. The man is the owner of about half the town where the vampire case is. He owns a lot of property and he is the chair of the local industry.”

“So… he’s killing off competition?” asked Sarah.

“Doesn’t seem like it at all. For the real estate, I pulled some records: the tenant turnover is normal, no outstanding deaths – except the ones for the case – and everything seems normal tax-wise. The acquisitions were made at various times over 30 years, with more investments in the last 20. As for the local industry, there doesn’t seem to be anything fishy either.”

“And you call that interesting,” said Dean, flatly.

“Well, not the fact that nothing stands out –”

“Except the deaths. Those stand out.”

“Yeah, but it’s the guy the witches talked about, and it’s the town with the vampire deaths. That’s interesting. But I see no motive. So it might not be him behind this, or it might be something else the witches were talking about, not related to our problem.”

Dean shook his head. “With us, it’s always related.”

“Yeah.”

Sarah was thinking out loud. “OK. It’s all related… 30 years, uhn?”

“Yeah.”

“So the man is, at bare minimum, 50.”

“He’s 62.”

“Hmm… What could a 62-year-old man with fortune and power in a quiet town want with witches? And,” she said, looking at the panther, “with Dean? And how does the vampire fit in?”

Dean offered, “Maybe he pissed off the witches and they sent the vampire to piss him off.”

Sam sat back in his chair. “Witches don’t do that. They’d curse him or something.”

“Then I have no idea where the vampire comes in,” said Sarah.

“Me neither.”

They looked at Dean. He shook his head – he had no idea either.

Sam spoke up. “Well, at least we can take the opportunity to talk to Hatley while in town, so there’s that.”

They all agreed.

 It had been decided they’d go on the vampire case later, when it’ll be dark, as to not arise suspition driving around with a panther. They could at least wipe that fiend off while they figure things out. They ate, and, since they had a couple hours left before sundown, they turned in for a nap.

 Sarah got in the bedroom, followed by a nonchalant Dean. She sat on the bed, took her boots off. Dean hopped on the bed.

"What are you... You're not thinking of sleeping on the bed."

Dean cocked his head, looked around at the bed, then back at Sarah.

"Come on, you're too big. And you're going to get cat hair all over the sheets. You know how you hate that."

Dean squinted, and flopped down on the bed, his back to her. He was taking up quite a bit of space indeed – and clearly made a point of taking up all the space he could.

Sarah shook her head, got under the sheets fully dressed, tried to get comfortable.

"Deaaaan... you're really too big."

She heard jerky huffs. "Are you... laughing?"

He lifted his head “I’ve waited so long to hear you say that…” He laughed again.

"Idiot. Come on, scoot..."

“Hey, don’t tell me you don’t want a piece of this fine feline ass…” He winked. “You know this tongue is rough, I could – “

“Oh my god, Dean! No!” She slapped him – which couldn’t hurt him. “Scoot, idiot!” She pushed him – not that it made him move at all.

Dean laughed and he obliged. Sarah tossed and turned a bit and, as soon as she quieted down, noticed the soft breathing from the panther next to her. She scooted over and put an arm around him, burying her face in his fur. She fell asleep to the rhythm of Dean's feline body taking the air in and out.

 5. Hunting

 As the sun was setting, they took off in the Impala.

Sarah was driving. “I can’t believe I’m driving.”

“Haha! Enjoy! I can’t believe I’m in the back seat,” Sam said, not without sarcasm.

“Ah, that’s what you get for being a giant,” said Dean.

Sam shook his head, amused. “I can’t believe Dean managed to call shotgun.”

“What, you’re surprised?” Sarah said, laughing, while Dean bared his fangs – again, in an attempt to smile. He was lounging comfortably, taking almost all the space left on the front seat.

 En route, Sam explained how sloppy the vampire was – or the vampires were. “Look, all the deaths follow a simple pattern. It’s the first apartment from the lowest street number of all the apartment buildings Hatley owns. Then, apartment #2 from the next lowest address, and so on.”

“What do you mean, and so on? How many deaths were there?” asked Sarah.

“Yesterday morning, there was 2. Now, there’s 4. Again, a pattern. So, tonight, we should be able to stop murders 5 and 6, hopefully.”

“It’s really a milk run,” Sarah reflected.

“From the reports, it seems like a vampire attack, but we’ll have to break into the morgue first to check and make sure.”

“Yippee.”

 When they got to their destination, they headed for the morgue. Dean agreed to stay in the car while Sam and Sarah went it to check on the corpses. They came back out 10 minutes later with answers. Yes, it was a vampire, and just the one. The teeth marks were all identical.

 They headed to the next address on Sam's list of Hatley-owned apartment buildings. Sarah first passed by slowly. Everything was quiet. She turned and parked the car. The three of them surveyed the place.

"Which apartment is it?" Sarah asked.

"If it follows the pattern, it's #5."

She counted, pointing right to left and going up, "...#1, #2, #3, #4... #5 should be 3rd floor left, then."

"Right."

Three pairs of eyes fixed the dark patio door.

"Yeah... Maybe we should go inside and wait for the vamp?"

Sam grabbed the door handle. "Yep."

"Wait... What about Dean?"

Dean put a paw on his door handle. “Oh, I’m coming.”

Sam frowned. "I'm not sure if you should come, Dean."

“What?” said Dean. “You know I am stronger than you, I hear and see better than you. And…” Dean put a paw up and slowly revealed his claws. Sarah's eyes widened. "Oh shit. Wow. That's one hell of a good argument, too."

"Alright." Sarah got out and Sam let Dean out.

 Once they were in front of apartment #5, Sam put his ear to the door.

Sarah whispered, “What are you listening for?”

“If I can hear snoring or something.”

“And?”

Sam held his breath. After a moment, he let it out. “Nothing.”

Sarah turned to Dean. “And?”

Dean’s head snapped around and his ears perked up.

Sam and Sarah looked around, but there was nothing to see – or hear. They looked at Dean enquiringly. Dean turned and got on the next stair landing in two bounds. Sarah let out a “Oh, shhhhhiii-” and both her and Sam followed.

The next minute they heard the front door open and footsteps coming up.

Dean had positioned himself in front of Sam and Sarah. Crouching on the floor, shoulder blades standing out, the tip of his tail wagging, he was observing below between the stairs.

 The vampire could hear every heartbeat in the building. He could hear everyone breathing or snoring. But it was only when he’d got to the apartment door that he realized some heartbeats and breathing didn’t come from behind a door. The moment he’d whip his head around in exactly the trio’s direction, Dean rushed down the stairs and attacked.

 The vampire was as much a predator as Dean. The surprise of being attacked by a panther didn’t phase it. It clawed, hit and bit Dean, trying to pin him down to finish him. Dean struck it with a swift blow with his claws out, ripping the vampire’s flesh on its chest. He clawed at its chest and face a few more times until it was gushing blood from every wound, then pinned it down and bent to rip its neck to finish it. Sarah screamed as she and Sam ran down : “NO! DON’T BITE!!”

Dean turned to them, squinting, ears flipped back. “What?” The vampire was too damaged to have the strength to push Dean off. It was bleeding out. It still hit him feebly.

Sarah said, as Sam got his machete ready, “Don’t bite him. He’s bit you and if you drink his blood, you’ll – “

Dean’s eyes widened. He looked at the vampire and took a step back.

Sam asked Dean, “Is it too damaged to talk?” Dean shook his head. “Yeah… I think I tore into it a little too much. Sorry.” Sam sighed. And he cut its head.

 Behind a door, they heard a loud and panicked “OH MY GOD”. All three snapped their heads up, looked at each other and in the direction of either door.

Sam nodded at Sarah and Dean. “I got this.” And, a bit louder, “It’s fine. We’re FBI. We were tracking the killer responsible for the murders of the last 2 days.” He gestured at Sarah. They took their badges out, showed them towards one door, then the other.

“Is that a panther?” came from apartment #5.

Sam sighed. His brow was furrowed. “Well, um, yes. It’s trained.” Dean sat with a thud and looked at Sam his eyes half-closed. Sam continued, “We’re a very specialized branch of FBI. New methods. The panther is not dangerous to you.”

“Holy fuck! You cut that guy’s head off!!”, came from apartment #6. All three sighed.

“Look, stay inside your apartments, we’re cleaning up and leaving. You’re safe now.”

Two weak “OK” came from behind both doors.

 Back in the car, they regrouped.

Sarah started. “OK, so we have taken care of the vamp.”

“Yup,” said Dean, “and it was awesome!”

“And now we have to clean you, Dean,” she said, turning to him. He had his tongue half out, his paw stopped in mid-air. He darted a look at Sarah. “Dean, don’t lick that! The vampire blood!”

“Fuck!” He put his paw down.

“Look, Sarah, I think it takes live blood. Dried-up blood won’t turn him.”

Sarah turned to face Sam, her eyes merely slits. “You want to take the chance?”

“Um, no.”

She turned to Dean. “You?”

Dean was looking down at his paws, turning them to inspect them better. “No, of course not.”

Sarah declared, “Alright. Off to the motel.”

 6. Longing

 The night, in fact, was still young – especially since they’d had a nap earlier. It was only 11:30. Sam had taken out his tablet while Sarah was in the bathroom with Dean.

 Dean was sitting in the bathtub and Sarah, kneeling on the floor, was using the shower head to drench his paws. They were both silent and calm, looking at the streaks of blood going to the drain.

“Gimme your paw”, she said softly. She took it in her hand and sprayed water between his toes. She turned the paw, sprayed thoroughly every furry nook.

“Get your claws out.” She was talking softly, like she was telling him what she’s going to do next. She cleaned his claws.

“The other paw.” And they repeated the gestures.

“Now, your face. Chin up.” He closed his eyes. Water running down his face, his neck. She stroke his fur to make sure it got cleaned. He flinched. “Oh, the vampire bite. I’ll clean that too.” She gently ran some water on it.

“What about your belly?”

“I think it’s alright.” Dean sat up on his hind legs, balancing with a paw on the side of the tub. They both looked at his underside. Sarah ran her fingers through the fur. “No, you’re good. Let’s get you dried up then.”

 Dean stepped out of the bathtub and Sarah dried his paws with a towel. She then dried his head, his neck. With the towel still around his shoulders, she stopped and looked in his eyes. “I know you’ve been a panther only a little over 2 days, and I know I can talk to you, but I miss you. Having half of you is… it’s weird. It’s worse than when we’re apart a few days. It’s like you’re here with me, but I can’t be with you. It’s you, but it’s not.” She looked at his body. “It’s you inside, I know, but it feels… off. Like you’re far away. I miss you, the whole you. I miss your touch.” She sighed, looking at the ground. "I miss you, Dean."

Dean put his head in the crook of her neck and gave little rubs, finally resting his head heavily, eyes closed. “I’m here, sweetie pie. But I know. I miss you too.”

Sarah put her arms around him and laid her cheek on his head. “Damn you’re soft, though.”

Dean made little huffs. He was laughing. Sadness tainted Sarah's faint smile.

 7. Enquiring

 Sarah and Dean stepped out of the bathroom. Sam looked up. “Hey, I found more info on Hatley.”

“Oh? Interesting info… this time?” She looked at Dean and giggled. Dean made laughy huffs and headed to the bed, on which he lied down like a sphinx. Sarah sat on the corner of the bed, rested a hand on a paw. Dean gave a tiny lick.

Sam sighed. “Very funny.” He raised his eyebrows. “It turns out, Hatley has a wife.”

“Ohhh! What a turn of events!” More giggles and huffs.

Sam sat back. “Really?”

“Sorry,” said Sarah. “Go on. Mrs Hatley.”

“According to what I found, she owns the plant where Hatley is chair. She doesn’t sit on the committee – her husband does, but she owns the plant. Also, she owns about a third of the real estate that is in her husband’s name.”

“That doesn’t make sense. It’s in his name.”

“She’s listed as co-owner on quite a few properties.”

“Oh. Right. So… Are you saying she’s got more money than him? Is the plant worth more than his real estate share?”

“Yes.”

“OK. So we have Hatley. He is the less fortunate of the two. Murders have been perpetrated on his property. Were they his buildings only, or shared ownership ones?”

“Um…” Sam looked something up. “Ah! He is the sole owner. Hmm…”

“Maybe she’s got something to do with this.”

“But what? She’s richer than him.”

“Power?”

“What power? She owns the workforce and part of the town. I’d say she’s powerful already.”

Sarah looked aimlessly at various spots on the carpet, lost in thought. Sam read up on his tablet.

“Then there’s only one thing left,” she said. Dean and Sam looked at her, waiting for her to continue. “He cheated on her.”

“Hm, could be.”

“If it’s not money, if it’s not power, it’s sex. Or love. Either he cheated on her, or he wants a divorce or something. Either way, she’s unhappy with him and wants revenge.”

“Could be,” Sam said as he turned his tablet off. “Alright. That gives us some direction for tomorrow. Now I guess we should question them both. Which one first?”

Sarah folded her arms. “You know what? I think we do them at the same time, so they don’t know we’re also talking to the other when we see them. You do her, I do him. Maybe you could charm her into giving you info. And me charm him. Who knows?”

Sam got up. “That’s a bit twisted.”

“Thank you.”

 8. Investigating

 After a relatively good night’s sleep – Sarah cuddled against Dean, who was sleeping on top of the covers – Sam went to get some breakfast. He came back with a bit more than usual.

“That’s a big bag,” Sarah commented. Dean perked up. He hopped down and got closer. “What you got?”

“That place got breakfast wraps and sandwiches. I got a few sausage-only wraps for Dean. And since he’s…” he looked over at the panther, “pretty big, I got 4 just for him. I hope it’s enough.”

“Probably not,” Dean said, “but I’ll take it.” He licked his nose.

The food was distributed and eaten in silence – in Dean’s case, wolfed down pretty fast.

FBI suits were donned, and they left a “Don’t disturb” on the door. Nobody wants to deal with a maid walking in on a panther.

 Sam was driving. He pulled in the police station’s parking lot.

“And why are we here?”, Sarah asked.

“Cause we always hit the cops first…” Sam said, like it was standard procedure. “Plus, they might tell us where to find Mr. and Mrs Hatley if they’re not at the plant. I figure she wouldn’t be, since she doesn’t sit on the committee, so I wonder where we’d find her.”

“I don’t know… home?”

“And if she’s not?”

“What, the police doesn’t keep tabs on every civilian.”

“With all their real estate and them owning the plant, I’m pretty sure both the Hatleys know the police and vice-versa. So there might be something. Or something to learn about the vampire killings. Something.”

“Alright, then. Let’s do that.”

 In the station, they were directed to a certain Wilson. After pleasantries and showing badges, Sam took the floor.

“So, you’re the one working on the multiple murders case.”

“Yes. I’m surprised the FBI got here that fast.”

“Oh, we didn’t only get here, we got the murderer.”

“What, you caught him?”

“Right as he was about to strike again. So you can add that to your file and tell your people.”

“I’m… wow. Seriously?”

Sarah interjected. “Sir, are you questioning the FBI’s efficiency?”

“No! No, no, no… It’s just… It’s like you came in and saved the day. The FBI never does that. Well, they didn’t last time.”

Sam and Sarah frowned, and Sam went, “Last time?”

“Yes. We had 3 murders on our hands within the same week, one in town and 2 on the outskirts. Never got solved. Never got any help either. Super weird case.”

“When was that?”

“Um, about 10 years ago?”

Sam and Sarah glanced at each other in surprise.

Sam turned to Wilson. “Do you have the reports?”

“Yes, I’ll get them for you.”

 Wilson left the room. Sam and Sarah turned to each other.

Sarah whispered, “Oh my god, 10 years? A demon? What the hell?”

“That could be a completely different thing, though.”

Sarah looked at Sam with raised eyebrows, arms open in disbelief.

“No,” Sam said, “of course not. Those things always end up related.” He sighed. She sighed.

“Plus, how come you didn’t find this case? I thought you could find everything and hack in any records.”

“But I did check. There was nothing.”

 Wilson came back with a slim file. “I made you a copy. We didn’t have much, so here you are.”

Sam took the file, gave it to Sarah, who started reading while Sam continued. “Thanks a lot. Could you tell me, why wasn’t this case in the system?”

“What? It’s in the system. Everything always goes in the system. It’s procedure.” He got around his desk, sat and checked on his computer. “See, right – wait.” He typed some more. He sat back, looked at Sam in surprise. “It’s not here. I don’t get it.” He paused, staring at his screen. “I swear, I remember reviewing the file in the system. I even remember, there was one – “

Sam cut him. “Hey, it’s alright, we have a physical file, we have something we can work with, it’s OK.”

Wilson couldn’t believe what he just heard. “What, the FBI… will let this slide?”

Sarah took this one. “No, sir, the FBI will not let this… slide, as you say. You will get the file re-entered in the system. We will need it to be there when we fill the form to close the case.” Sam darted a look at Sarah.

Wilson seemed to fall back in familiar territory. “Oh, right. Yes, right on it, M’am.”

 While Sarah leafed through the file, Sam got to what they had come in for. “Before we leave, we have to ask you if you know where we could find Mr. and Mrs Hatley.”

“From Hatley Corp.?”

“Yes.”

Wilson was visibly taken aback by this request. “Um, Mr. Hatley is usually at the plant. He’s the boss there.”

“We know that.”

“Oh, OK. And Mrs Hatley… I guess she’s home? I know she’ll be at the charity dinner tonight for our Vets. She organized the whole thing. So I guess at the moment she’s home?” He looked at the clock. 9:40. “Still pretty early. I guess she’s home. Want me to call?”

“No, it’s fine. And where would that charity event take place?”

“The Community Center. We had it built for events like this, ceremonies and various activities. It’s pretty big.”

“Thanks, Wilson,” Sam said, extending his hand, “we’ll be on ou-”

 Sarah cut Sam. “Wait. Wilson, why do you say this case was weird? And why do you say they’re murders? All I see here are animal attacks. Even the photos are quite clear.” Sam leaned over to see while Wilson answered. The pictures showed bodies with clear lacerations, so many the victim quickly bled to death from the wounds. There were also bite marks on the necks. Sam and Sarah looked at each other, recognizing the type of wounds. But they wanted to hear it from Wilson.

“Because of the animal. The coroner found all three victims were attacked by a large cat. Now, cats will tackle their preys with their paws to bring them down but then they’ll break their necks. This particular breed of cat here actually crushes the skull of its preys with its fangs. But cats never shred them like this and leave them. Plus, the victims were found far enough from each other that the cat needed a faster mode of transport than just running. To me, that’s weird enough to call it murder.”

Sarah cut in. “Maybe it wasn’t the same – “

But Wilson waved a finger. “No, no. They’re all from the same animal. All the marks were measured and they matched.”

Sarah flipped a few pages. “Ah, found it. ‘…indicate a single adult black jaguar.’” Her eyes went up to Wilson. “Black jaguar?”

“Yeah, or, a panther.”

 Back in the car, Sam took his tablet out.

“Whatcha looking up?”

“Black jaguar distribution. I’m pretty sure they’re not endemic to Kansas.”

“But you knew that when you saw Dean. You told me.”

“Yeah and I do confirm. They’re not.”

Sam turned his tablet off and set it down on the seat. Both Sam and Sarah had their eyes fixed on nothing in particular on the dash. Sam blinked. “So that means…”

“Yeah. That means it’s really Dean. Well, not Dean, but the same cat.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Sam took a deep breath. He started the car. “Did they find any big cat owner? Does the file say?”

“It specifies they didn’t find any. They checked.”

“Let’s go and ask the Hatleys if they like cats, then.”

 Sam had dropped Sarah at the plant before heading to the Hatley’s domicile.

Mrs Hatley answered the door. “Yes?” She was clearly ready for her day ahead, dressed in a tailored long skirt and coat, hair neatly up in an elaborate braid at the nape of her neck. She presented a look between classic and modern.

“Sorry to disturb you at such an early hour,” Sam said, while showing his badge, “I am agent Ridgeley, I would like to ask you a few questions. It’s regarding the recent macabre events in town.”

Mrs Hatley looked at him a moment, brows furrowed. “Your name again?”

“Agent Ridgeley.” Sam suddenly remembered, he should be a bit charming, because, like Sarah said, who knows? So he relaxed his composure and made a warm smile, looking Mrs Hatley in the eyes.

Mrs Hatley made a little smile. She gestured to him. “Do come in, agent Ridgeley.”

 The house was huge. From the front, it didn’t seem so big, but, once inside, one realized the house was build to be long. They walked the hallway. Sam noticed an old wedding picture on a side table – Mr. and Mrs Hatley, surely. He didn’t have time to look at it closely, for Mrs Hatley was taking him past the living room, a staircase, and the kitchen. She picked up a mug and lead Sam out to the patio. The backyard was neatly maintained, much like an English garden. On a table, a coffee pot was resting on a heat plate, with 2 mugs – both empty – sugar, milk, and the morning paper, neatly folded.

“Would you like some coffee, agent?”

“Yes, thank you. Very kind of you.”

“Please do sit. We can’t take long, for I have to be at the Community Center as soon as possible – I’m hosting an event for our veterans tonight and there is so much to do – but let’s make the little time we have as comfortable as possible. Sugar? Milk? It’s almond milk.”

“Just a splash, please. Thanks.”

“My pleasure. Here.” She handed him his cup and sat down. “So, what is it you need to ask me?”

Sam flipped his notepad open. “We noticed that the, um, events took place in buildings owned by your husband.”

“Indeed. It is very bad for business. The tenants of those buildings want to be compensated for the trauma, or so they say. Actually, one argues the place is unsafe and wants us to lower the rent.”

“’Us’? Aren’t those buildings your husband’s?”

“Oh, sorry. Force of habit. My husband owns a number of buildings, but there are quite a few we co-own. I manage all the buildings.”

“But you own the plant.”

“Yes, but he manages it. See, we’ve learned early on each of us had specific strengths. So we invest our money and let the best of us bring the endeavour to fruition.”

Sam raised an eyebrow in approval and looked around, nodding. “It seems you’ve found the right formula and your endeavours are, indeed, fruitful.”

“Why thank you.”

“I suppose Mr. Hatley spends a lot of time outside the home, though.”

“It’s not that bad. I’m pretty busy myself, you know. And we manage to spend our nights and most of our weekends together, and book nice vacations in the south in the winter. I dare say, I think we found the formula to a fruitful marriage as well.” She laughed a little, and Sam smiled.

“So, any children?”

Her smile faded, but she didn’t seem to mind the question. “No, unfortunately.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think –“

“Oh, it’s alright.”

“So… who is going to inherit everything?” And Sam realized how gloomy this was, so he added, “You know, a long time from now, in the future?” He attempted a smile.

She laughed. “Of course. Well, it’s all going back to the community.”

“How so?”

“The apartment buildings will all become co-ops – managed by the tenants – and the plant will be given to the employees through shares.”

“There must be someone who’s not happy with this.”

“Sure, like always. But it’s what we have planned. It’s all on paper already, all the legal aspects have been addressed. So whatever happens, it’s all locked anyway.”

“I mean, what I’m looking for, here, is someone who could be your enemy, or want to do you harm. You or your… endeavours.”

“Oh!! Good question.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “To be honest, I can’t see who. I’m very sorry.”

“Someone on the plant’s committee maybe?”

“No… Shares will be divided to keep the company running as is. Everyone will keep their current jobs.”

Sam wrote a few things down. Mrs Hatley looked at her watch and gasped. “My! Agent Ridgeley, I’m so sorry, but I really must go.”

“Oh! I’m sorry. Of course.”

Mrs Hatley and Sam got up. She led him along the hallway.

Once at the front door, Sam remembered the cat thing. “Just before we leave, I have one last question.”

“Yes, but please do make it quick.”

“Between you and Mr. Hatley, you must know a lot of people.”

“Oh, almost everyone in town!”

“Do you know of anyone who is fond of, or would own a big wild cat? Or has owned one in the past?”

Mrs Hatley looked like her brain had stopped working. “A …what?”

“Big wild cat. A black jaguar, to be exact.”

She stared at Sam a moment. “A black jaguar.”

“Yes, a panther, if you will. A big one, too.”

“But… aren’t those things dangerous?”

“Very.”

“Was it a panther that killed all those poor people?”

“I am not at liberty to discuss the details of the case, I’m sorry. But the murders have been stopped. We found the guilty party and proceeded. So, do you –“

Mrs Hatley blinked rapidly. “You caught them?”

“Yes. There is nothing to fear, now. All is back to normal.”

She stared at Sam, and let out a sigh. “Oh thanks. That’s good news.” She blinked, remembered his question. “And no, I… I’m sorry, I don’t know anyone who would have a panther. Not in our apartment buildings, that’s for sure. Nor anyone else. That’s the kind of thing we’d know. I think.”

“Probably. Someone owning such a cat would probably be proud of it.”

“I suppose. And no, I don’t know anyone who has or had a panther.”

Sam wrote something down and put his notepad back in his pocket. “Thank you, Mrs Hatley. Sorry for the inconvenience. You’ve been very helpful.”

“Oh. You’re welcome.”

“Here’s my card if something comes up. Anything.”

“Ah. Thank you.”

Sam gave a nod and a smile, and left.

 Sam picked up Sarah at the plant.

“So, how was it?”

“For one thing, he’s in love with his wife, so the whole cheating slash jealousy slash revenge thing is out the window.”

“Yeah, I got that feeling too. And for the panther, I got nothing.”

“Me neither. The very question seemed to scare him.”

“Mrs Hatley was quite shaken too. She thought the panther had killed her tenants.”

“…’her tenants’? Aren’t the buildings his?”

Sam explained the couple’s arrangements and their plans for their legacy. “What did you talk about?”

“Oh, plant and business stuff. He talks like everyone is happy. It’s eerie.”

“Maybe they are.”

Sarah turned to Sam and said flatly, “We have 3 murders 10 years ago and 4 this week. Woop-tee-doo, I’m dancing with joy.”

Sam pursed his lips. “I know.”

 Sam and Sarah stopped to get some lunch and make a detour by the grocery store to get Dean a big piece of actual raw meat.

“You know, I’m used to Dean and his burgers,” Sam said, looking at the beef roast Sarah had in her hands, “but this is something else. It’s weird to think it’s Dean who is going to eat this.”

“Probably in one sitting, too.” She weighed the package in her hands. “Which is impressive.”

“I think we’ll have to look up a bit more on black jaguars to see what he needs. We can’t feed him a roast that big every meal.”

Sarah felt like she needed to protect Dean. “You should know, cats are obligate carnivores.”

Sam just sighed. “Yeah, I know that. But it’s a lot of food, even for a big cat.”

She pouted. “But he’s going to be so happy.” She lifted the roast to accentuate her statement.

Sam shook his head.

 Back at the motel, Dean was indeed happy about the meat. He chewed on it his eyes half-closed, licking his mouth and nose between each bite. Once he seemed more disposed to listening to Sam and Sarah, they brought him up to speed on their investigations.

 They gathered to throw ideas around.

A vampire was never a loner, but it was decided they wouldn’t go after its nest. Too time consuming, and the probability of the remaining vampires cooperating too low.

Going back to where Dean had been taken, try to find the witches and have them put Dean back seemed to lack some crucial info. Why did the witches switch Dean and the black jaguar in the first place? They would need to know more before they barge in. Of course, Dean favoured the barging in option, taking the witches prisoner and force them to switch him back. Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t drive the car. So he was left to follow suit. Dean was not a happy kitty.

Sam turned his tablet on, trying to see if he could find something about a missing black jaguar or panther in the classifieds or anywhere, really.

 9. Knowing

 Sam was still looking up classifieds on his tablet when Sarah’s phone rang. She put it on speaker. “Agent Michael speaking.”

“Um, hi. This is Mr. Hatley from this morning.” He seemed stressed.

Sam and Sarah exchanged glances. Sarah’s tone was relaxed. “Yes, Mr. Hatley. Do you have something new for me?”

“Yes. I think we need to talk. Where can I meet you?”

Sarah gave him the address of the motel.

 There was a faint knock at the door. Dean hid in the bathroom, sitting by the door, able to see and hear but not be seen, while Sarah opened. “Mr. Hatley, please come in.”

Hatley thanked her and walked in. As she closed the door behind him, he froze in place, looking at Sam.

Sam frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Hatley blinked and looked to the ground. He looked back at Sarah. “I didn’t know you had… You’re…”

Sarah tried to fill in. “He’s my partner, yes.”

Hatley turned to Sam. “Agent…?”

“Ridgeley.”

Hatley seemed surprised.

“I know, it’s not a common name.” He glared subtly at Sarah, who had a smirk on her face. “Please, sir, have a seat. Coffee?”

Hatley sat. “Um, no, thanks.”

Sarah sat by Sam, facing Hatley. His leg was restless. His shoulders gave little jolts. He fumbled with his tie.

Sarah tried to make him comfortable. “It’s alright, you can talk to us.”

Sam added, “Even if you think it might be a bit… strange.”

Hatley turned to Sam, suddenly still and calm. He looked Sam in the eye. “I know.”

Sam and Sarah looked at each other, than Sam slowly turned to Hatley. “What do you mean, you know?”

Hatley flattened his tie, sat up, a resigned look in his eye. “Look. I came here to see if I could trick agent Michael here in telling me more about what she knows on the case and tell her the panther is in fact mine, so when she’d find it she’d tell me so I could collect it.”

Sam and Sarah sat back, eyes wide. Sarah spoke up. “Wait. The panther is yours?”

“Kind of. Yes. I mean… No, it’s not. It’s complicated.”

Sam’s brows were furrowed. He squinted. “But you said, ‘I know.’ You know… who the black jaguar belongs to? I’m lost here.”

Hatley sighed loudly. “No. Yes, but it’s not that. I know you’re not agent Ridgeley. You’re Sam Winchester.”

 Sam and Sarah almost fell off their chairs. They echoed, “What?”

“We know who you are, Mr. Winchester. We’ve been informed. We’ve seen a picture of you and your brother. We don’t know who she is,” he pointed his chin at Sarah, “but we know who you are and what you do. So yeah, I know I can tell you about strange stuff. I came to try to get the panther back. Which, by the way, we have no idea how you know about, because, as we all know, the murders in my blocks were carried out by a vampire. Which you took out. That almost went according to plan, but we’re missing a panther, so it’s a damn mess now. So fuck it. I really hope you can help us.”

Sam and Sarah stared at Hatley, mouths opened. Sam was the first to shake the surprise off. “Who informed you of who we are? What do you mean, we can help you?”

Sarah added, “Yeah, and about the panther, too. Is it yours or is it not?” She instinctively looked towards the bathroom. Dean had opened the door a little and was watching through the crack. You could only see one eye, and it was fixing intensely the back of Hatley’s head.

Hatley took a deep breath, looked at Sam. “The demon told us about you guys. That’s who.”

 Sam leaned over the table, resting on his arms. “The demon?”

Hatley folded his hands in his lap. “Yes. He wanted Dean on a silver plate, so he showed us your pictures and explained you were hunters. Getting Dean would be very hard, he said. But it was the price to pay, so we hired some witches – “

“Wait wait wait.” Sam put a hand up. “The price to pay for what? Usually, demons demand the dealer’s soul. Not other humans’. Plus, they can’t collect a soul without a contract. Dean has no contract.”

“Though you gotta admit, Dean is worth a lot for demons,” Sarah said, “so I guess they still try.”

Hatley cut in. “Yeah, that’s what the demon said. He said he could collect Dean if he wanted to. We wondered why he didn’t get him himself, but he said something about his body being guarded or something.”

Sam looked at Sarah. “Ah, the tattoo.” Sarah nodded.

“What?” Hatley was the one confused now.

Sam and Sarah undid a few buttons of their shirts and pulled at their collars. Sam explained. “It’s a warding against demon possession.”

Hatley was impressed. “I should have gotten something like that.”

“Well it depends,” Sam explained, “if you think you need to be guarded against demon possession. Do you?”

“No, actually, no.” Hatley lowered his head. “It’s hellhounds I’m worried about.”

Sarah raised her eyebrows. “Ahhh… So that’s where you think we could help you.”

“Hopefully.”

“Boy, hellhounds… That’s a hard one. When are you due?”

“Tonight, midnight.”

Sarah looked at Sam. “That should explain the other murders. 10 years… the cat…”

Hatley just looked at Sarah under his eyebrows.

Sam crossed his arms. “Better start from the top, then. We’ll need to know everything.”

 And Hatley explained. 30 years ago, they started investing their money, but things dragged on and didn’t really go well. They met with a financial advisor who gave them tips for investing and it’s been doing great from that point on.

“Let me guess,” Sarah said, “it’s been doing really great, but your luck ran out exactly 10 years later.”

“Yes. The way he worded his advice, he’d gotten us to sell him our souls. We just didn’t believe it until we heard the hellhound coming.”

“And how did you get out of that one? Nobody ever gets out of that. No civilian, at least.”

“I killed it.”

Sam and Sarah gasped. Sam spoke. “What? How?”

“A very lucky accident. I was in the kitchen for a late snack. I heard the hellhound and grabbed my biggest knife. I ran, and tried to hide, but of course it didn’t work. When it came for me, I just defended myself and got it.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. My wife couldn’t believe it either. We were in shock. But the next moment the demon was in our kitchen, and he was furious. Long story short, we bargained with it. The new deal was we had to kill the hunters in the area and he’d grant us 10 more years.”

Sarah nodded. “Voilà! We got our 3 murders solved.”

“Yeah. How d’you know about that? We had the data erased from the system.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Well, unfortunately for you, someone remembered the case at the station. And still had a paper copy of the file. He was very happy we’d solved the current case, he hoped we could help with that old one.”

“Shit.”

Sam smiled and nodded.

Sarah perked up. “But wait. The hunters were killed by the panther, weren’t they? The very same panther you’re looking for.”

“Oh, so that’s where you learned about the panther.”

Sam made a half-smile and returned to his neutral expression just as fast.

Hatley thought about it. “Yes, it’s the same panther. At least, I think.”

Sarah pressed on. “Don’t just think. Talk.”

Hatley took a deep breath. “Well, as it turns out, we have witches in town…”

Sarah said, under her breath, “It’s a fucking freak show, this place.” Sam glared at her, but talked to Hatley. “Sorry. Carry on.”

“Yeah, I agree with her. We didn’t know about the witches, but they’d picked up on the demon and hellhound activity, and when they realized we were still alive, they showed up on our doorstep. Now, we had witches in our house asking us how we’d gotten out of the demon deal – we quickly learned that it was very valuable information – and meanwhile we had the hunter-killing problem. We had 3 days to carry out the murders. The least I could say was, we were quite overwhelmed. My wife tried to find ways to not kill the hunters, just fake it. The witches explained we couldn’t do that.”

“And the panther in all this?” Sarah’s patience was running out.

“Yes, this is where it comes into play. We… well, I made a deal with the witches. I asked them for help with the hunters murders in exchange for the information they wanted. They’re the ones who did it. Kill them, I mean. They had a panther and used it. They swapped the panther’s soul with one of the witches and got the hunters that way.”

Sarah was thinking out loud. “They must have done more than just unleash the panther. Hunters are usually good enough to get out of a panther attack. I mean, we fight vampires, werewolves, wendigos…”

Hatley’s eyes were wide. “Werewolves? And… what is a wendigo?” He looked at Sarah, then Sam, who opened his mouth to answer, but Hatley cut him. “No. I shouldn’t be surprised. And… Wendigos, I don’t want to know.”

Sam sat back. “Oh you really don’t.”

Hatley continued. “Yeah, I guess the witches used some magic, too. Makes sense, right? They got the hunters really fast, like, in the same night. But when I told them we got out of the demon deal out of luck, they were not happy.”

“I can’t wait to see how you got out of that one,” Sarah muttered.

“With a lot of money,” Hatley said, flatly.

“Like witches can’t get a lot of money by themselves,” Sarah said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well not a lot of legal money all at once,” Hatley answered, on the same tone.

Both Sam and Sarah went “Oh.”

 “So that was 10 years ago,” Sarah said, “and your problem got solved. For another 10 years. Which brings us to today. Well… this week.”

“Indeed,” Hatley said with a sigh, “but this time, the demon showed up without his hellhound. He’s the one who came to us with an offer.”

“Let me guess,” Sam said, “he wanted Dean.”

“Yes. In exchange for another 10 years.”

Sarah looked at Sam. She frowned, and turned to Hatley. “Only Dean? They usually want both Sam and Dean.”

“Well they know you boys,” Hatley said, looking at Sam. “They know if we get one, the other will go looking for him. All we needed to do was to get you where we wanted.”

“But we didn’t go to where Dean was taken.”

“Because that’s not where the witches wanted you. They said they’d rather deal with you separately, cause if you were in the same room, they’d probably all end up dead.”

Sarah smiled proudly and looked at Sam. “It’s fair.”

“So they put a spell on a vampire to do our bidding, and we arranged for some murders to catch your attention.”

Sarah’s smile quickly turned into an air of disgust. “You say that so matter-of-factly I’m going to be sick.”

Hatley pursed his lips and sighed. “But we lost the panther. The witches were supposed to be waiting for you when you go get the vampire and deal with you. But they were busy looking for the panther, so they missed you.”

“Wow, we’re lucky this organization is sloppy,” said Sarah.

Sam added, “And it’s interesting how they can locate a demon and a hellhound, but not a panther.”

“They’d hidden it magically from you guys. And their spell backfired on them, they couldn’t locate it.”

Sarah’s expression brightened. She looked at Sam. “Now, that’s hilarious.”

 But just as fast, she got serious and squinted at Hatley. “Now, all I see is that you want us to get you out of your demon deal and avoid going to hell. But you can’t give us Dean.”

“I can tell you where his body is and introduce you to the witches, maybe you can work something out.”

“Do give the address.” he did and she wrote it down. “But you seriously don’t think this is enough. We need Dean, not just his body.”

Hatley started fidgeting. “You really can’t help me? Maybe you could talk to the demon?”

“And say what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You’re the pros, aren’t you? Maybe you can get us out of this.”

Sam sighed. Of course, he wasn’t about to let a human be dragged to hell, whatever he may have done. Even murder. Even premeditated, cold-blooded murder. Humans were humans.

“Look. We’ll help you,” he said.

“Oh thanks! Thank you thank you thank you! …how?”

“We’ll trap and kill the demon.”

“You can do that?”

“Yes. And then, we’ll work from there to sort out the rest.”

“I have one last question,” Sarah said, “What about your wife? Is she going to cooperate?”

“She’ll cooperate if it means getting out of the whole deal. She’s stuck with me in this because of the original demon deal, but she didn’t agree to the hunters murders and she didn’t approve of the vampire killings either.”

“Oh because you do?”

“Someone has to carry the guilt.”

 Sam got up. “Alright. You’re supposed to deliver Dean to the demon tonight, right?”

“Right.”

“I suppose, at the address where his body is – and where his soul, trapped in the black jaguar, was supposed to be.”

“Right.”

“OK. We leave right now. Call Mrs Hatley, we’re picking her up.”

“What?”

“You’re coming with us.”

“Why?”

“Cause we need to protect you. We can’t do that if you’re here.”

“But isn’t it more dangerous to get us close to the demon?”

Sarah winked. “Don’t worry. We’re the pros.”

 Sam started gathering their belongings. Sarah turned and nodded at Dean to come out. He opened the door with his paw and gracefully trotted into the room.

Hatley gave a start. “AH! You have the panther?!”

Dean sat in front of Hatley, who tried to back up in his chair. Sam and Sarah looked at the scene, amused. “Why didn’t you say you had the panther?”

Sam straigtened up. “Need-to-know basis. And we’re the ones who need to know. You, on the other hand, need to stay alive. So you need to listen. To us.” Sam gave him a sideways look, waiting for him to answer. Hatley only nodded, keeping his eyes on the panther.

“Oh,” Sarah added, “and it’s not ‘the panther’. It’s Dean.” Dean slowly blinked at Hatley. Hatley nodded.

 10. Preparing

 They picked up Mrs Hatley and headed to the bunker, the Hatleys in the backseat with Sam. Mr. Hatley brought his wife up to speed on everything the best he could. After the initial shock of seeing Sam and Sarah had the panther – um, Dean – she was mostly relieved and grateful for the help getting rid of the demon problem. She assured Sam and Sarah that they never wanted to sell their souls in the first place and she’d been doing every good deed she could think of all those years in the hopes it would erase the deal and get her a place in heaven instead.

“Unfortunately, that’s not how it works,” Sam explained, “a deal is a deal. And one with a demon is, to our knowledge, pretty much unbreakable. Unless you kill the demon.”

“And you know how to do that,” Mrs Hatley enquired.

Sarah looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Yes, we do. It’s the plan.”

“I guess there’s a reason the demon wanted you.”

“Oh you bet there is. A lot of reasons.”

 Back at the bunker, they ate, and Sam checked something on the computer. “Ha. It was hard to pinpoint, but I see why the demon wanted the hunters dead.”

“Don’t they all do? Want hunters dead? As a general rule?” Mr. Hatley asked.

“Not necessarily. Hunters hunt a lot of things, and demons are really not easy to find – and, we’re the only ones I know who can kill them. So demons are not too bothered with hunters in general.”

“Except you and your brother.”

“Yeah. So,” he pointed at the screen, “get this. After you killed the hunters, demon deals went up in the area. I’ve found a few people who had good, very good fortune and died exactly 10 years after.”

“There are not that many rich people in town. What do you mean?”

“Good fortune can be a number of things, including this couple here who’d tried to get pregnant for a long time and finally had a baby. You cross the obits with the classifieds or news articles 10 years back on the same date and you start seeing correlations.”

“My, that’s… grim.”

“My guess is those hunters knew how to get rid of demons. Because there is virtually nothing that fits the pattern for a very long time before the hunters died.”

 Sarah cleaned up after everyone was done eating. “So, those witches. Do tell. Cause we’re about to head out and meet up with them.”

There wasn’t much to tell, to Sam and Sarah’s disappointment. Three women in their thirties. Or so they said. The Hatleys didn’t know if they’d be any helpful, because they seemed happy to help getting the demon’s deed done. That’s what got them rich and what would get them richer this time again. And if they lost the deal with the Hatleys, they just might turn around and cut a deal with the demon instead.

“That’s why we’re killing the demon,” Sarah said.

 Sarah laid out a plan. “OK. So we go to the address you gave me. Then… um… We stall until the demon gets there. We kill the demon. Then, the Hatleys offer a load of money to the witches so they put Dean back in his body. How’s that?”

“I’m not sure,” said Sam. “They’re already paying them to carry out the demon’s demands. It will make the witches very nervous to see us try and kill the demon.”

“OK,” Sarah continued, “Then the Hatleys give them the money upfront for their word they’re not going to hurt Dean, then the same amount after Dean is safe and sound.”

“HEY!” Mr. Hatley protested.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry? You’d rather rot in hell? Cause, you should know, you’re just postponing the inevitable with your deals.”

“No, you’re right.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Sam was pensive. “Yeah, that might work.”

Mrs Hatley was visibly nervous. “You’re really taking us with you to the witches’ place?”

Sam took his phone out. “No. The bunker is more secure, so you’ll stay here. I’ll record your offer to the witches to show them.”

 11. Saving

 The trio was back on the road in the Impala, with, again, Sam in the back and Dean by Sarah in the front.

Sarah glanced at Dean. “How are you doing? Sorry for all the human conversations, but we needed to get to the bottom of this.” “It’s fine,” Dean said, “I had time to… lick myself.” Sam and Sarah made a disgusted sound. Dean laughed.

 The place they were sent to was, of course, a house along a dirt road outside of a town. It was quite hidden in the forest, but it was in good shape. It was already dark and the porch light shone dimly down on the stairs. “Why do we always get to the places in the middle of nowhere?” Sarah reflected, as she parked the car beside an old Toyota. Sam craned his neck to take it all in. “The upside is if we have to fight, we won’t have to deal with neighbours or the police”, adding, “especially since we have a black jaguar with us.” Dean made a “what-he-said” head nod towards Sam. Sarah turned to look at Sam. “If we have to fight? IF?” Dean made a “what-she-said” head nod towards her.

 They got some things from the trunk and headed to the door. As Sarah and Sam were wondering whether they should knock, ring or just barge in, Dean’s ears perked up and he suddenly looked around, moving his ears to catch some sound. Sarah whispered, “I didn’t hear anything.” Sam just looked at her, shrugging. They all looked around.

 Without any warning sign, Dean took off. He was in the forest in an instant – you wouldn’t have heard him run, but only remembered the sound of the leaves after he’d passed, your brain mesmerized by the sheer force it took the massive cat to reach such speed so quickly and smoothly. Sam and Sarah didn’t really have time to realize what had happened when they heard some rustling of leaves, a muffled human sound, a branch snap, then nothing. Sam and Sarah tried to see in the dark in the general direction Dean had gone. “Dean!” Sam called in a loud whisper. “Dean!”

 “He’s right here,” said a woman’s voice from the forest, at normal volume. “No need to call. Oh, and thanks for the delivery.” They heard leaves rustling, branches snapping, the sounds fading as she obviously was walking away from them.

“HEY! Get back here!” Sarah called.

“I’m not that stupid, dear, so no!” the voice answered from farther.

Sam jumped in. “But we have an offer from the Hatleys! We came to talk!”

The rustling stopped. The voice came from right in front of them, a few paces from the stairs. “Sam, you have a machete. And you, whoever you are, you have a gun, probably loaded with something you invented that could hurt us. And you got more things hidden in your pockets.” They could see her in the shadow. She was fairly tall, of strong build, wearing normal jeans and a red hoodie. She had long blonde hair. Sarah had raised her gun, aiming at her, but the witch merely took the information in and turned back to Sam. “So, no, Sam. I’m not stupid. Congrats on trying to save the Hatleys, but this thing has to go down. And, need I remind you, we already have a deal with them.” Sarah aimed at the witch’s leg and shot. The sound of the gunshot resonated in the forest as the figure in front of them vanished in a wisp of smoke. “Damn astral projections.” Sarah was furious she’d lost a bullet for that.

 Sam and Sarah strained their ears to try to hear something, anything. But the forest had fallen silent again. Sam took his lockpicking kit out of his pocket. The best solution: barge in, but silently. 

Sarah protested, in a barely audible whisper. “What’s the point? She went into the forest! And Dean told us he had escaped from a kind of shack, not a proper house.” 

Sam was firm. “But this is the address the demon is going to come to. We can set traps for the demon. He’ll come after us anyway.” 

“Are you nuts? He’ll come after us after he’s done with Dean!” 

“We. Need. Clues. And this is the right address for the deal,” Sam said, as he pursed his lips and proceeded with the lockpick. He added, “unless you have a way of going in the forest silently.” He looked at his watch. “And it’s only 10:30. We have a little time still before the demon gets here.”

 They got in the house, got their flashlights on. It was a very normal house, clean and uncluttered. It felt like breaking and entering into a house where the occupants were sleeping. There was nothing special on the main floor so they went downstairs. The basement was simple and bare.

 They were about to give up on finding clues in the house when they heard a kind of breathing in a corner. Whipping their flashlights around, they only saw a big, low wooden casket. They looked at each other and listened again. Yes. Breathing, coming from inside the casket. Sam got by the lid, unlatched the lock, ready to open, Sarah in position to shoot should anything jump out. Sam lifted the lid.

 Sarah covered her mouth as she screamed. “DEAN!”

Sam just as soon put a hand in front of him to stop her from running towards the casket. “It’s not Dean! It’s not Dean! It’s his body.”

Her eyes went from Dean’s body to Sam and back again. She let her hand down as she spoke. “I know… my god… we have his body… That means it’s the panther inside. Is he tied up in some way?”

Sam looked. “Yes. His hands are tied. His feet too.”

They both looked at Dean’s sleeping body in silence, taking in the damages. Most of the exposed skin was either bruised or scratched. There was a fair amount of caked blood yet some wounds seemed fresh. Sarah couldn’t help but step closer. “My god, his hands…”

 Sam was more used to urgency than Sarah. “Look, he’s sound asleep. This is probably the best way still to contain him,” he said, as he closed and latched the lid, as Sarah looked at him in confused horror. “If we put him in the car, he’ll trash about, break the windows, and hurt himself more.”

“We can tie him down with the seatbelts.”

Sam seemed to think it was a good idea but decided against it. “We need demon traps and salt the windows. We need to protect the body from the demon coming in and taking him.”

Sarah looked at Sam blankly. “The witches can come in and take him elsewhere.”

“Well at least we won’t have to deal with the demon and the witches at the same time.” Sam took his paint spray can out. “Come on. While he’s still sleeping.”

She took her spray can out slowly, thinking. “But why don’t we draw a trap on the pavement and park the car in it with the body in it?”

Sam took a deep, impatient breath. “Because it would be too obvious. If we keep the body here and demon-proof the house, it gives us an advantage.”

Sarah looked up at Sam, a sad look in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I have not hunted for long, I’m not used to the fine details of…” She gestured vaguely.

Sam softened. “It’s alright. It was a good idea, but we need stealth. Come on.”

 After they’d done the demon-proofing, they checked on Dean’s body again. Sarah had taken some decorative cushions from the couch upstairs and fitted them around him, hoping the panther won’t hurt Dean’s body too much if it wakes up.

 “Oh, I see you’ve found the body.” Sam and Sarah whipped their head around at the voice, their flashlights on the witch. “No need for that.” She flicked the switch and the lights came on. It was the same witch as outside earlier. “Nice salting of the windows by the way. I suppose there are demon traps all over the place. Thanks for the vandalism. I’ll send you the cleaning bill.”

Sam was confused. “This is… your house?”

“Yes. Why? Had you known, you wouldn’t have spray-painted my hardwood floors?”

Sam was still confused. “What? No… I mean…”

“That’s what I thought.” She gestured to them. “Step aside.”

“No, wait,” Sam said, “I told you we can do this differently. Let me explain.”

The witch looked at the sheathed machete. “Yes, of course.” She raised an eyebrow. “I said, step aside.”

Sam put a hand up. “Please, please, hear us out.”

The witch took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Look, Sam Winchester,” she said ‘Winchester’ like it was a vile, putrid word, “you Winchester boys and us witches, we are enemies. I have no intention in making a deal with you and certainly no intention in saving your brother. It’s a good deal for us. On all fronts.” She looked him in the eye. “Now. Step. Aside.”

Neither Sam nor Sarah moved.

“Look, from the bulge in your coat pockets, I know you have brought something to protect yourselves against magic. But I am not above physical violence.” She took out a gun. She saw Sarah raise hers. “Ah, yes. So you do have bullets that can hurt me. So it’s true.”

“Yes, it’s true. Witch-killing bullets.”

 The witch sighed and lowered her gun. “Alright. You do have the advantage here. Talk, but talk fast. My sisters will be worried if I’m not back with the body soon. So you have little time before they come and, believe me, us three together? Your little charms won’t hold.” A flash of panic went through Sam and Sarah.

 Sam showed the witch the video from the Hatleys.

“Not good enough,” she said, as Sam was putting his phone back in his pocket.

“What?” said Sam, in surprise.

“Look,” the witch explained, “you’re an intelligent man – otherwise, we wouldn’t have so much trouble with you Winchesters – so understand this. The Hatleys are stupid. They got themselves in trouble and they’re paying us very big money to help them meet the demon’s demands. So we plan on cashing in every 10 years. The deal they offer here is final. We prefer long-term partnerships. Plus, bonus, you Winchesters will finally be out of the picture.” She smiled, confident, proud, and her eyes became unfocused, savouring the future.

 “What you fail to see,” Sarah interjected, “is that after the demon has delivered Dean and Sam to hell, he’ll have no use for the Hatleys. He’ll collect their souls next time their number comes up. So this deal here? It’s double what you would have should you carry out the initial plan.”

 The conversation was cut short by the noise of people entering the house and running downstairs. Two women appeared, out of breath. They were of similar build and attire as the blonde one, but they had light brown hair. They stopped short at the bottom of the stairs, looking at Sam and Sarah.

 Sam and Sarah knew their time was up. Sam put his hands in the air and Sarah put her gun back in her belt and did the same. Sam broke the silence. “Hi… um… We were just talking.”

The blonde witch turned to her twin sisters. “They have witch-killing bullets. I agreed to listen.” She turned to Sam and Sarah. “You wait here. We’ll be back. And don’t try to escape. We took care of the exits.” She went upstairs and out with her sisters.

The witches came back after a while. The blonde talked. “OK, Sam Winchester. As much as I hate to see you boys live, we’ve decided the new deal is better.” Sam and Sarah let out a relieved sigh. “But,” she continued, “you get to deal with the demon first. And alone. We’re not getting our hands dirty. If you survive the demon, fine. Otherwise, we go back to the original plan.”

Sam let out an annoyed sigh. “You’re not going to help? At all?”

The three sisters shook their heads. The blonde one added, “The demon will be here shortly. He will be coming to the shack in the back, where we keep the actual Dean.”

 At that moment, they heard bumping and muffled screaming from the casket. The blonde witch nodded to her sisters, who went and took care of it. They opened the casket, said some incantation, and closed it. The room was quiet again.

Sarah asked, a tone of sadness in her voice, “Does he wake up often like this?���

The blonde witch answered, “Every 3 to 4 hours. Spells don’t take hold as well on hybrids. The body can be put to sleep, but the incantation doesn’t work as well on the soul if it’s not its body. So it fights back and we have to redo the spell every so often.”

 **

Dean opened his eyes. The charm had worn off. Again in a cage. Dammit! He saw the other cage, empty. Dammit! He leaned against the sides of his cage. Hmmm… seems more solid than last time. He sniffed the air. The human presences had not been gone long. He had time, but surely only little time. And so he started slamming against the cage, not caring for the pain. At any rate, this wasn’t his body. He didn’t care if he broke it beyond repair.

 **

The witch gestured to her sisters. “Come on, let’s bring the body to the shack.” She turned to Sam and Sarah. “You, follow us. We’ll leave you with Dean and his body, and the demon. We’ll wait in the house.”

Sarah protested, “What, you’ll leave all of Dean within the demon’s reach? What kind of deal is this?”

“And here I thought you were good hunters. Well, good luck. Come on, now.”

 **

Dean heard, in the distance, a patio door opening and closing. He gave a last blow to the cage and assessed the damages. The cage was looser. Maybe with a blow or two, it would give. His shoulders hurt badly but he didn’t care. He might even have a broken rib, but he didn’t care. He found a way to hide the blood on the floor as he laid down to fake sleeping.

 “No need, Dean. I know you’re awake,” said a male voice. Dean managed to stay still. The voice said, “Doesn’t matter. Let me introduce myself. My name is Brentley, demon, and I’m here to collect you.” Dean opened an eye and saw the demon looking around. “Where is your body? I need both parts. You know,” and he looked at Dean, “to ensure you don’t come back this time.” Dean stayed lying down, trying to look pitiful in the cage. “I know I’m a little early – I said I’d be here at midnight – but seriously, where is the rest? Your body, the witches, the Hatleys…” Brentley put his hands in his pockets, turned to Dean. “Ah, doesn’t matter! Tonight, I get souls. If it’s not yours, it’ll be the Hatleys’. Today’s a good day for business.” He took one hand out and patted the air beside him. Dean heard a low growl. His eyes widened and he backed up in a flash, cowering against the cage. Oh, fuck.

 The door opened. “Ah!”, said Brentley. In came the twins with Dean’s body levitating between them. “Finally!”, said Brentley. The twins stopped in surprise, but continued into the shack. Then Sam and Sarah came in. “What??”, said Brentley.

The blonde witch answered him, as she came in, “We found them at the house. Stupid Winchesters, always with their noses in other people’s business. Couldn’t leave them there, so we brought them.”

Brentley pointed at Sarah. “She’s a Winchester?”

The blonde witch answered, “Don’t know, don’t care.”

“Me neither, quite frankly,” Brentley said, as he gestured circles in the air. “Tie them up!”

 In the commotion of handling Sarah to tie her up – she was not giving in – Dean caught Sam’s eye. He warned him, “there’s a hellhound by the demon’s side.” But Sam looked confused. Dean repeated. Sam looked a bit panicked. Shit, the spell had worn off. Dean changed tactics. He made a head nod in the witches’ direction, trying to ask Sam if the deal with the Hatleys had gone down. Sam nodded and tapped his phone in his pocket to tell Dean he’d shown them the video. Somehow the brothers understood each other. Dean then looked around and understood what he had to do. And fast.

 He stepped back and slammed against the cage, causing everyone to stop what they were doing and stare at him. The cage hadn’t given. He went at it again, and the cage broke, with Dean rolling awkwardly on the floor. He got up, stood to his full height, then, bracing himself, he bent his head down, flattened his ears, closed his eyes until their were slits, focusing on the demon, looking him in the eye, bared his fangs and growled.

 But Brentley was not having it. He patted the air beside him. “Get him girl!”

That’s exactly what Dean wanted. Everyone looked horrified – Sam even more so, knowing full well what a hellhound is – as Dean fell to the ground under the most vicious yet invisible creature from hell. Sam took out his machete in the hopes of helping Dean, but the fight was moving too fast. Dog and cat growls tore through the night, and Dean suddenly flew this way and that, and started bleeding from a paw, his neck, his side. One could see his skin being stretched and torn and yet Dean, with the agility his panther body provided him, and his resilience, and his lack of care for pain and broken bones, sent black spurts of blood everywhere. He scratched at the air, bounced away, pounced back, bit the air. More black blood spurted, until Dean seemed to get his paws around something – the hellhound’s neck? – pin the invisible creature down, and tear at it once more. A pool of black blood is all that could be seen. Dean stepped back and looked the demon in the eye again, growling.

 Brentley was visibly in shock. And angry. He was looking at his dead hellhound and grinding his teeth as he looked at Dean. Sam looked at the twins holding Sarah. The twins and Sarah showed Sam Sarah was not tied up. Sam mouthed “water” to Sarah, who lightened up. She reached for the bottle in her jacket and, before the demon had time to form his next thought, splashed him. As the demon was screaming and writhing in pain, the witches nodded at each other. They chanted fast and the blonde witch, with her finger pointing to the ground, etched a demon trap in the floor. Dean bounced around the demon and pushed him inside.

 Brentley regained his composure and saw the trap. “Ah, fuck! Really?” He looked at the witches. “What the hell is going on?”

The blonde one answered, “The Hatleys gave us a better deal. You’re out.” She nodded at Sam.

Sam took out his demon knife – but had a moment of hesitation, knowing that if he stepped into the demon trap, the demon would take him. Dean caught Sam’s hesitation and jumped the demon from behind, pinning him face down to the ground. Sam understood Dean’s intention the moment he moved a muscle, so he was on the demon the instant he hit the ground and stabbed him, sending yellow sparks about.

 12. Homecoming

 The Hatleys had transferred all the promised money and were told they could go home.

 The witches made Sam promise to not go after them. Sam made them promise to not kill anyone. Dean was put back into his own body, only to find it in pretty bad shape. Not as much as he had left the panther’s, but he was very bruised and bloody. His hands hurt a lot. But… he didn’t care. He’d had much worse.

 On the ride back to the bunker, Sam was driving. Dean and Sarah were in the back, silent, numb, leaning on each other. “I think it’s my first real big big hunt with an actual big dangerous fight. I’m more spent than I thought I’d be. I didn’t even do much,” said Sarah, half to herself.

Sam looked at her in the rearview mirror, “It’s normal. It’s the nerves. With more hunts you’ll be able to understand situations better, and it’ll be easier.”

“You don’t get nervous anymore?”

“No, I still do. Danger is danger. But it’s different.”

Dean joined in the conversation. “It’s like anything else. It takes practice. When you know what to do, it’s different. The stress comes from the execution of the task, not from trying to choose what to do. You’ll get there.” He looked at her and his smile was tired, yet fond.

  The rest of the ride home was quiet. Dean had dozed off on Sarah’s shoulder. Sarah was relaxing, the low rumble of the Impala almost putting her to sleep. The street lights were coming at regular intervals. She gave the softest kiss on Dean’s cheek. He didn’t wake up.

Back at the bunker, everyone sleepily shuffled to their room, wishing each other goodnight. By then, it must have been 1 a.m.

 But Dean was too wounded and bloodied to go straight to bed. Sarah took their bathrobes from the bedroom, and brought a chair in the bathroom. “Strip, babe, I’m gonna help you clean up.”

Dean didn’t say a word, he simply slowly and painfully took his clothes off, starting with his shirts. She helped him with his boots. He finally sat there in his undies, slouched a bit. She slowly and gently cleaned off the blood, slowing down when Dean winced. “Are you bruised… everywhere?”

“It feels like it. But I don’t think so.”

“I’m sorry babe.”

“It’s alright. It feels good, what you’re doing.” His tired green eyes slowly blinked as he smiled softly. He sat up and reached for a kiss.

 After cleaning Dean up from the blood, they both hopped in the shower. Dean’s shoulders were hurting quite a bit, so Sarah helped him wash his hair. As he stood tall and moved his head to rinse, it hit her. Dean had been a panther for a few days. She’d missed him. And now he’s here, all of him. They won the fight. She didn’t lose him. It overwhelmed her. She wrapped her arms around Dean, her face against his chest, water running down their bodies. Dean leaned down a bit to rest his cheek against her forehead and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s alright, sweetie, I’m here,” he said. She looked up at him. She couldn’t help but get lost in his green eyes. She got on her tippy toes and kissed him gently. He leaned down and pressed his lips harder. It sent a spark through her. Soon they were kissing hard and strong, their tongues searching and finding each other.

 “Ouch!” Dean winced.

Sarah stepped back. “Oh I’m sorry babe… what did I do?”

“Nothing… It’s my ribs… I think one or two might be badly bruised. And…” He moved his shoulders and winced. “Anyway. Don’t worry. Come back here. You make me forget the pain.”

“Actually, I think we should move our… activities to bed. You’re bruised enough as it is.”

“Good call,” he laughed lightly, “shower sex is complicated enough as it is, no need to make it worse.”

 They got out of the shower, Sarah put a few bandages on Dean’s wounds, and they went to their bedroom. They slipped into the sheets naked and cuddled close. They laid there, her on her left side, her nose smooched against his jaw, him on his back, his arms around her. They stayed quiet for a moment, the little lamp on the bedside table still on. Their eyes were closed, their breathing slow.

 Sarah took a deeper breath. “Mmm… Are you still up for it or are you too comfy?”

She felt Dean’s jaw muscles move – he was smiling.

He took her hand in his and said in a low voice, “That kiss in the shower… I missed those.” And he moved her hand down until she could feel he was still under the kiss’ influence.

She smiled. “Mmm… hello there, Mr. Dean.” She stroked him softly, which only made him want more. “I’m so tired,” she said, “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Dean laughed, “if that is so, you’ll have to stop, cause I sure am not going to be able to sleep if you keep it up.”

She laughed. She stopped.

Dean shifted his body to face her a little.

She looked up at him and he made a pouty face.

She laughed. He laughed. He gave her a gentle kiss on her forehead.

 She propped herself on her elbow and looked at Dean fondly. She ran her fingers in his hair, along his scruffy jaw, brushed his lips with her thumb. “Kiss me, babe, kiss me as much as you missed me. For sure, that’ll wake me up.”

Dean smiled softly and got lost in her eyes. He pulled her closer as he shifted his body so they’d be facing each other. He put a strand of her wet hair behind her ear. He looked at her face, kissed her nose, kissed her cheek. He rubbed his nose against hers, eyes closed, his lips barely brushing hers.

“You’re killing me, Dean Winchester,” she whispered, smiling. He smiled and kissed her very gently. She kissed him back, pecking at his lips, biting his bottom lip. He kissed her harder, tasting her, taking her, a devouring desire building inside him.

 He pulled her closer still. She felt the movement of his hips, pressing himself against her. He was big and hard. It sent electricity through her. She broke the kiss for some air while she wrapped her leg around him, pressing herself against him, moving her hips to stroke him. He kissed her neck and moaned softly; she was slick and it almost tickled more than it put actual pressure on him. It made his head spin. She tried to put more pressure but it wasn’t enough, far from it. It made her head spin.

 “How are your ribs?”

“Forget about my ribs.”

She smiled. She moved her hips to feel his length again. “And your shoulders?”

He buried his face in her neck. “Fuck…”

“Get on your back. I’m riding you. Right now.”

 She straddled him, but she laid down on him, kissing him, keeping her skin in contact with his skin, stroking him, her hips moving back and forth, putting more pressure. His hands on her waist, he tried to help her with the rhythm, although he was more gripping her than helping her. “God, sweetie, Goddd…”

 His breath was fast. He pushed her up a little, so he could look at her beauty. She sat up and smiled at him. He moved his hands slowly from her waist to her breasts. They were so soft… He gripped her butt and helped himself up to kiss her breasts – but his shoulders were on fire. He fell back down.

 “Let me get closer to you,” she said, as she bent down. He played with her nipples with his tongue, took a mouthful in a big kiss. He played with the other breast, pinching her nipple then licking it, and sucking it. She rotated her hips on him. He let out a high-pitched sound and buried his face in her breasts. She heard his muffled voice, “Good God, baby, ride me, please ride me…” He looked up at her. She got lost again. Damn those eyes, so green… Damn those eyelashes, so luscious and beautiful… Damn those lips, deep red, puffed from the kissing…

 She licked and kissed his neck as she positioned herself to take him in. Dean helped her, looking at her, a relaxed yet expectant look on his face, his eyes dark with lust. She slowly slid him in, taking the time to feel him completely, moving her hips slightly to get the right angle. He gripped her as he closed his eyes, taking a long breath in. She started to move up, but he opened his eyes, a little mischievous look in them. “Wait… stay there.”

 “What?” She was confused. And ready to ride. What?

“Don’t move,” he said, as he licked his thumb.

She realized what he had in mind. “Oh please, just let me ri-“

“No, no. And put your hands on your thighs and leave them there.”

She couldn’t help but smile when she protested, “You fucking bast- OOOOHH…”

He had not waited for her to finish what she was saying. He was rubbing her very lightly, and tickling her with her wetness.

She gripped her own thighs. “HOLY F-“

“SSsshh! You’ll wake Sam!” But he didn’t stop. He stroke lightly up and down all the way to himself, almost making a point of avoiding her clit or brushing it only slightly. She looked at him wide-eyed and made little high-pitched sounds. He put a little more pressure around her clit, brushing it as he passed over it. He could already feel her clench around him. He loved watching her breasts move as she breathed. He cupped one. So soft…

 But the clenching was building rapidly and he closed his eyes as he kept stroking her, now with both his thumbs, one keeping her clit well exposed and the other working on her. She tried to move her hips forward to get more pressure from his fingers, but he kept her in place. Soon he heard her moan as he heard himself moan and felt her legs trying to close at his sides as she was mercilessly exposed. He felt her coming around him, clenching hard in waves, sending him higher. Their hips jerked and they tried to get even deeper as they were losing all sense of self, their blood rushing so hard they were dizzy.

 At some point Dean realized he was hearing Sarah breathe deep but more slowly. He opened his eyes. She opened hers. They smiled at each other.

She bent down and kissed him. “You little jerk,” she said, laughing, as she kissed him again.

He smiled and laughed. “I’m a lazy jerk. We barely moved, hah! How about that!” He flashed a proud smile.

She smiled back at him. “Babe, you’re the best.”

“Ah, yes.” He kissed her, pulled her into him, replaced the sheets over them, and soon, in each other’s arms, their breathing slowed and they fell asleep.

     I’d love to hear from you!

     Back to the Masterlist

[lalainajanes]

For Day One (late, shhh) - Word Prompt: Annoyance. From the Writer’s Month list I reblogged.

Humming Along

She tosses, she turns. She presses her pillow to her ears.

Nothing blocks out the noise.

It’s after midnight and there’s no indication that the guitar sounds drifting through the thin walls are going to quiet anytime soon. Normally, Caroline wouldn’t care. She keeps odd hours herself, is often up editing or researching or writing. And Klaus is good so it’s hardly unpleasant background noise.

Tonight, however, she wants to get a good night’s sleep. She’s got a meeting tomorrow, one that’ll potentially change her life and she doesn’t want to show up red-eyed and cranky and forced to over caffeinate.

She can (and often does) talk a mile a minute without added stimulants.  

Caroline’s lived next door to Klaus for two months now. He’d been familiar to her from the first moment they’d met, something about his absurdly perfect jawline nagging at her memory. She’d figured she’d met him at a party once, or that maybe he’s been a Law and Order murder victim (like a ton of the people she kind of recognized at the gym or Whole Foods). She just couldn’t quite place him.

Not knowing things has never been comfortable for Caroline and she’d found herself going through all the various spellings of Klaus on imdb about a week after he’d moved in.

She’d spent the next week hiding from him, until she’d been sure she could keep a lid on all the questions she had.

Like, why in the world was the Klaus Mikaelson living in a super unfancy apartment complex in LA? Surely he could afford to rent a big ol’ house with a pool and a double oven in a better neighborhood.

She still itches to know.

Klaus– writer and producer of an insanely long list of recent Billboard hits - has lived next door for two months and she knows his patterns. He strums more softly when he’s wrapping up, pausing for longer and longer intervals. She’s come to assume that he’s writing things down, a guess bolstered by the streaks of marker she’s spied on his fingers when they meet up in the elevators in the morning.

They’ve fallen into a bit of a routine. Most mornings they walk to the nearest coffee shop together. They’re conversations are easy but not particularly deep. He’s never mentioned his career beyond a vague reference to working in the music industry. She’s followed his lead and never let on that she’s practically memorized his extensive Wikipedia page (and he definitely doesn’t know that she’s searched out every photo shoot he’s ever done). She knows a million little facts and quirks. Klaus is a big Shark Week fan, Caroline’s recently learned. He orders dinner twice a week, is methodically working his way through nearby Indian restaurants in search of the best chole and bhatooras. They’ve bickered about the weather – he finds the relentless California sun and heat annoying, Caroline relishes that she never needs more than a light outer layer.

She’s willing to admit he’s got a point about the hellish traffic.

She’d vowed not to get entangled in a relationship until she’d signed with an agent. Klaus is seriously testing her desire to stick to it.

And Caroline Forbes has a freaking ton of willpower.

She’s also never been shy about going after what she wants. Right now, what she wants is to sleep.

With a sigh, she throws her legs over the side of the bed, gropes for the robe that’s hanging on her closet door. She makes sure everything that needs to be covered is while she slips on a pair of flip flops, tugs futilely at the short hem of her robe as she steps into the hall.

Oh well. Klaus has definitely seen (and appreciated because he’s not been subtle about his interest) Caroline in shorter shorts.

His door is only a few paces away and Caroline knocks sharply before she can talk herself out of it. The music stops abruptly, there’s a pause and Caroline shifts restlessly waiting for him to open the door. He looks tired when he does, his hair ruffled and sticking up in spots.

She feels less guilty for interrupting his work. Clearly, he should be getting some rest too.

“Were you planning on sleeping tonight, or…” she smiles when she says it, not intending the words to needle. She respects workaholic tendencies, is no stranger to an all-nighter.

Klaus runs a frustrated hand through his hair, and the source of its disarray is suddenly clear. “Planning, yes. Will I manage it? That’s not a guarantee.”

She feels for him, wonders if she can offer comfort or assurance without making it explicitly clear that she knows more about him than she’s let on.

She’ll mull it over. Work out the best way of teasing a confession out of him tomorrow.

He fishes his phone out of his pocket, his eyes widening when he takes in the time. His eyes run down her body, taking in her outfit. “You could’ve banged on the wall hours ago, love. You’ve got a big day tomorrow, yeah? Or today, rather.” He stills as soon as the words are out, a brief flash of panic widening her eyes.

Curious.

“Interesting deduction, Sherlock,” Caroline says. “How’d you figure that out?”

He shifts his weight, his growing tense with irritation. “I may check a social media platform of yours. Or two.”

Klaus is watching her carefully and when Caroline laughs he visibly relaxes. “I can’t be pissed without being a huge hypocrite. I’ve google stalked the crap out of you.” Besides, her online presence is public and carefully cultivated. She might be trying to make it as a writer but she’d payed attention in her marketing classes in college.

His lips curl, smug now. “Oh, really? Find out anything interesting?”

Yeah, she’s not about to feed his ego. “Plenty. But I’m more interested in what I haven’t been able to find out. There isn’t even a teeny hint online about who you’re working with right now.”

“I’m…” he trails off searching for words. “I’m not writing for anyone else. I’m writing for me.”

Or maybe he’d just been deciding if he trusts her.

“Klaus that’s amazing.” She means it, her brain instantly recalling the melodies she’s heard, trying to reconcile them with the few clips she’s tracked down of Klaus singing. She wonders if she can wrangle a private performance.

Ugh, and there goes her brain to a really dirty place.

Luckily, Klaus is too distracted to notice that she’s turned a little pink.

He shakes his head, some of his earlier edginess returning. “No, it’s really not. It’s been ages since I’ve tried. I’m nearly convinced I no longer have my own sound.”

Caroline narrows her eyes, stepping closer. She’s tempted to reach out and poke him to get her point across. Her pep talks are always pretty hands on. “Um, I’ve been listening to you play for weeks now. And I have excellent taste. Trust me, you’re good.”

He shakes his head, like he’s going to argue, and Caroline can’t have that. She interrupts, brisk. “Nope, now is not the time for tortured artist self-doubt. You’re exhausted. I need to be fresh and on point for my meeting tomorrow. I will happily make you see things my way tomorrow.”

“Over dinner?” Klaus asks and she’s got to give him a point for smoothness. A second for making a move.

“Sure,” she chirps. I’ve got a new dress that needs a night out.” If tomorrow’s meeting goes well she’ll barely be breaking her vow. A date isn’t a relationship, right? She’s enough of an optimist to believe she can have the papers signed before she and Klaus make things official.” Caroline bounces forward a step, rests a hand on his chest and leans in to drag her lips across his cheek.

She catches a glimpse of his expression – a satisfying mix of pleasure and shock - before she whirls away.

She might be too giddy to sleep right away but something tells her she’ll be in a great mood.

[velociraptor-detective]

The Experiment IX

She noted the current time on the pocketwatch she was holding in her notebook, before pouring the water over the coffee grinds.  She still needed to refine her pour-over technique, or maybe talk to Leonardo about how to make a french press a few decades early.

She leaned over the counter, tapping her pen against the notebook and watching the door in her peripheral vision.  As expected, Mozart was the first in.  He was usually in the piano room at this time of day.  She noted the time.

“Mozart, remind me to show you what modern music has done with the chord progression from Pachelbel’s Canon in D sometime…”

“You sometimes sing when you’re working.  I’m quite sure I would rather not know.”  He finished pouring his coffee and swept from the room.

She checked the time.  No Vincent or Theo yet means they are likely out.  Which means next should be….

Arthur came in wearing his glasses, his hair flat on one side from sleeping at his desk again.  He poured a cup and sniffed at it.  “Experimenting with you modern brewing techniques?”

“I’m having to make do with primitive equipment, but I managed.”  The scratch of pen on paper seemed to have caught his attention.

He had stepped over close enough to rest his chin on her shoulder as he read over her notes.  “Initials in Japanese, times.   The third column is distances, perhaps.”  She tried to slam it shut but his hand was already across the center binding keeping it open.  She could feel him chuckle.

“You were alive during the suffrage movement.  How are you this bad at respecting personal space?”

He didn’t block her from stepping aside, but did keep the notebook pinned in place.  “I surmise that you were tracking our response times after brewing coffee.”

She rolled her eyes.  “A quandary that stretched the limit of your powers of deduction, I’m sure.  You and Mozart have pretty predictable routines.  He’s always in the piano room, if you aren’t teasing Issac or out chasing skirts, you’re holed up in your room.  When I make coffee it reminds me of a shark feeding frenzy.  They can smell blood in the water for miles.”

“So you hypothesized that vampires have an enhanced sense of smell.  You’re not wrong.”

“There is something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.  What was the name of the one with the snake and the bell pull?”

He took a sip of his coffee, eyes narrowed.  “The Adventure of the Speckled Band” originally, and it was republished later as “The Spotted Band”.  The stage adaptation was called “The Speckled Band”.

“It’s my favorite, but probably not for the reasons you’re thinking.  Your ‘swamp adder’ hasn’t been conclusively identified, even by herpetologists.  There weren’t any known adders in India, and it most closely resembles the cobra Naja naja.  One herpetologist proposed that it was a hybrid of a gila monster and Naja naja, with Dr. Watson confusing a swamp adder, the deadliest snake in India for a samp-aderm, the deadliest skink in India.”

She used his moment of confusion to snatch back the notebook.

[vintage-tech]

off-topic: Office Space 2 - The Rebirth Of Initech

This does not exist. It’s a thought experiment I’m having right now and I would love your input on the concept. Fair warning: if Hollywood uses these idea for a sequel and Mike Judge does not give me a cut, I’ll be doing my Milton imitation and I don’t mean regarding owning a red Swingline.

It’s a few years later. While the first movie ends with Initech’s building in ashes and rubble, the company had owners and shareholders so at the corporate level continued to exist. As the second movie begins we see Initech (which eventually set up shop in a nearby office building, possibly the 15-story one that was built on the old Initech building’s site) being sold to another company. Lumburgh is still the big boss at Initech’s new location, as a salaried employee he was one of the few people that kept their job and continued onto the new office (along with Nina, the phone jockey), but he begins to find out that the new corporate overlords have plans for Initech that will end the company. (I have not fleshed out what this is, but you can picture Lumburgh standing outside a meeting room door listening as two bigwigs discuss their plans to drive the company into the ground, laughing about it; he’s looking nervous and wide-eyed while holding his coffee cup tightly.)

Lumburgh is determined to save the company he loves (or his job anyway) and after racking his brain thinks of the only person he knows who has the mettle it would take to push back on the corporate overlords: Peter. Cut over to Peter, who is still working for that demolition company with his neighbor Lawrence but has advanced to being a benevolent site supervisor -- he still pushes a shovel but he oversees others on jobs, which he considers the happy medium between his simplified new life and being a manager (which is something he’d hate) and doesn’t aspire to climb higher. Lumburgh has tried to call him repeatedly, which made Peter wonder why though he won’t listen to the messages to find out, so we get this scene where Peter is pausing in his work to give someone direction and looks up to see Lumburgh with that puppydog-eyes look standing there. He naturally wants nothing to do with Bill Lumburgh but there’s something about that pathetic pained look that was totally not like the Lumburgh he always despised. “Peter... um, yeah... I need your help.” Cut to a table at Chotchkes: Peter hears Lumburgh out, and (I don’t have this detail yet either) there’s something in what Lumburgh shares that actually matters to Peter and his friends, like possibly the new company has found a way to retract the money Initech had paid into the former employees’ futures (retirement, pension, that sort of thing). Peter agrees to think about helping, but first he must consult friends... Michael and Samir.

At the end of the first movie, Michael and Samir had gone to work for Initech’s competition. Getting them onboard with helping Initech, let alone Lumburgh, leads to a lot of profanity-laced shouting about “why should we help that assclown?!” Peter tells them about the financial part. Michael has his “oh, wait... They can’t do that! Can they?” moment. He’s onboard when he concludes it’s his money and he’s going to need it in 20 years. Samir works it out that while he doesn’t care if he loses that part of his money because he’s doing just fine nowadays, he realizes this affects everyone else from the office, some of which he knows are not so lucky and this would destroy them. He agrees to help. The three of them meet with Lumburgh to find out about the new Initech and figure out what they can do to take the company back, discussing the new computer system that has been instituted.

(Again, I haven’t worked out the details but I think it would go roughly like this...) As the manager of the site Lumburgh has access to the server room though computers are not really his thing and IT tries to keep him away from their workings routinely, but half the time he wouldn’t know the difference whether something he ordered was done or not. Samir and Michael have put together a worm program fairly similar to the first movie’s injection since it’s based on the same code (Michael holds up a 3.5″ floppy and says “I still have it”) but they’ve triple-checked their coding to make sure there isn’t a dropped decimal point and ported it into the language used by current system, which Samir complains about the complexity of doing that conversion without a complete rewrite. Lumburgh has to sneak around past the IT people to get into the server room, plugs a USB thumbdrive into a terminal, and follows the written directions Peter had given him... this is a funny scene, trust me. He then has to sneak out and try to act naturally and his usual jerky self.

The code injection filters unnoticed fractions of cents off of every transaction into a bank account, as expected, while at the same time deducting fractions of cents from some other aspect of Initech’s bookkeeping. No money is actually being taken away from Initech, but the appearance is that they are being less profitable... but again, a little miscalculation in the loss rate calculation caused by the porting into the new language results in the accounting showing within two months they are losing money a bit more quickly than expected. Corporate tries things to right-size the loss but it’s not working, it keeps growing no matter how much business Initech does. The cents-skimmer part of the code is doing its job, but due to how the corporate system works it’s skimming money from every transaction the entire corporation does rather than just the ones from Initech as they had intended. Like in the first movie but amplified, everyone is freaking out about how the bank’s balance is in the millions rather than the tens of thousands.

This brings us to the big scene: Corporate doesn’t know there are bugs, and instead of raiding the coffers like they had intended they are looking for a way to ditch Initech. Corporate is talking about shutting down Initech, so Lumburgh steps up and claims he knows someone that wants to buy the company. Peter, Samir, and Michael puts on suits to meet with the corporate overlords as a representative of a ‘venture group’. Peter offers the $30 million that is in the siphon account, a fire-sale price for Initech, which the corporation begrudgingly accepts because they need to unload Initech NOW. Next scene, four months later, we’re touring Initech’s office and Peter, Samir, and Michael are discussing how they bought the company using the corporation’s own money, how the old computer system was restored and right before the corporate IT department took their server out Samir had removed the worm, and how Lumburgh had left the company a month after the sale was finalized because he realized that he now worked for the guys and his golden parachute was that chunk of money which was the difference between the purchase price and when the skimmer worm was removed.

Closing scene: Milton is still sitting on the beach at Cabo San Lucas, muttering about the big grains of salt on his margarita, when Lumburgh saunters down to the chair next to Milton on the other side of the umbrella table and in his usual voice says “hello, Milton... whaaat’s happening?... Iiii’m gonna have to ask you *stretch* if I can share this table with you. Yeahhh.”