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noladyme · 4 years ago

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Skip To My Lou, My Darling - Chapter 3, Too Perfect I

The road so far…

Deadly nightmares. Immortal countesses. Lulu thought she’d seen it all since she’d first met the Winchester brothers. Extreme circumstances pushed her into the arms of the eldest brother, Dean – and she hasn’t been able to stop thinking of him since. Now back to her every day life of bartending and the occasional visit from a certain angel, what will happen when she finally sees Dean again? Is there still a connection – or was it all in their heads?

Our story continues in season 5

Rated M

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added) @edonaspanca @wonderlandfandomkingdom

8 years ago.

Night shift again. Luckily, it’s a slow one tonight. Only a few guests strewn across the place. “Lulu!”, Ricky calls from the kitchen. “Order’s up for 13”. “13 is Janice’s table”, I answer. “She called in sick again”, he shrugs. Dammit. I know it’s because it’s her boyfriend’s home from college. I walk over to the serving hatch; grabbing a large order of bacon, and a slice of cherry pie. Weird order for dinner, but who am I to judge. I’ll gladly throw back some jalapeño poppers at any time of day.

I walk over to table 13 with the order; placing the two plates in front of a dark-haired man, who’s in a deep conversation on his phone. “… no, Dean. Silver. Iron won’t do anything, I told you… yeah…”. I begin to walk away. “Miss?”. I turn around. The man at the table is looking at me. He’s cute, in an older guy kind of way. Much too old for me, but a girl can dream. “Can you top off my coffee?”, he asks, covering the mic on the phone. I smile, and nod; going to get the freshly brewed pot from the machine behind the counter.

I look down at my uniform, cursing myself that I didn’t chose the one that was just a tiny bit shorter, to show off my legs. As I walk back towards the table, I hear the man continuing his conversation. “Well read up!... Yes. Latin… No, I didn’t call him. If he wants to talk, he has my number… Ok. Call me when it’s finished”. He hangs up, as I pour some fresh coffee into his mug. “Kids, right?”, he mutters with a smile, before looking up and meeting my eyes. “Though, you’re probably a bit young to have any of those yourself”. I blush slightly. “Yeah… not really there yet”.

The man gives me a once over. His gaze isn’t leering, but it is appreciative – and I stifle a smile. “You must have someone out there willing to give you a few little ones”, he says. He takes a sip from his coffee. “You in college?”. “Saving up for it”, I smile. “Leave me a nice tip, and I’ll get there even sooner”. He chuckles. His voice is warm, and his caramel eyes glinting with amusement. “Tell you what. Get me another dollop of cream for the pie, and I’ll make that happen”, he says. I wink at him and walk away.

“Are you flirting with Daddy over there?”, Ricky jeers, as I come over to grab some cream. “Serving my way to the top”, I chuckle. “He seems nice. Nothing else”. “Sure thing, Lulu”, Ricky smiles.

I go back to table 13; and put a large dollop of cream on the man’s pie. “There you go, sir. Enjoy”. “Thanks, Lulu”, he smiles. I wrinkle my brows. “Your name tag”, he grins. “Oh!”, I giggle. “Yeah”.

He has a leather-bound journal in front of him. The page is opened to a picture of a pretty blonde woman. “Your wife?”, I ask. He looks up at me with a slight grimace. “Sorry… Not any of my business”. “No, it’s fine… Yeah. My wife”, he mutters. “She’s pretty”, I say. “Must have made those kids of yours some kind of beautiful”. “They’re not half bad”, he chuckles. “Good boys. Don’t see them too often. Work”. “Oh… too bad. They with your wife?”. He shakes his head. “No… she passed some years ago”. I frown. “Sorry to hear that”, I say quietly. “Me too… thanks for the cream”, he says.

That’s my cue to leave. I flash him a bright smile, and saunter off. “Oh, Lulu?”, the man calls after me. “Yes, sir?”, I ask. “Have you heard about those cattle mutilations, out at that farm?”. I frown. “No more than what was in the news… why?”. He shakes his head. “Never mind… Just… if you do hear anything, could you give me a call?”. I blush again. “I don’t have your number, sir”.

He pulls out a note from his pocket, and scribbles something down on it – then hands it to me. It’s a twenty-dollar bill, with a phone number now written at the bottom. “This is way too much, sir!”, I gasp. “Keep it. As a thanks for friendly conversation. And it’s John”, he smiles.

His phone rings, and he picks it up. “Bobby?... Yeah… I’ll be there”. He hangs it up. “Can you pack this to go?”, he says to me in a rushed tone. I run to grab a to-go box; and quickly pack up his food, handing it to him, as he gathers the papers he’s strewn upon the table. “Here you go, John. Have a nice evening”, I smile.

His tense body language relaxes a bit. “I will. Thanks, Lou”. He hands me another twenty. “Keep the change”. I let out a short laugh. “This is still too much”, I say. He tilts his head. “My youngest is in college. I know it’s expensive… Keep it. And take care”.

He puts on his coat, and leaves the diner.

---

Now…

Hurricanes. Successful nuclear tests in North Korea. Terrorists attacks on convents. Swine flu. The world seemed to be coming to an end – and I was wiping down a bar-counter in Denver. “I’m off”, our newest bartender – Pete – called out to me. “That offer of coffee still stands, Lulu”. I smiled. “Thanks, Pete; but I have plans”, I said. “Grab the trash, would you?”. He nodded, and grabbed two large bags; heading towards the back door. He winked at me; and closed the door behind him. Avoiding the dark spot on the floor we hadn’t been able to remove, after my encounter with Erzsebet; I walked over to the door Pete had gone through, and locked it. I didn’t really have plans; but going on a date with a coworker wasn’t high on my list of wants.

I checked my phone. The only message was a picture of Raul and Chad on their honeymoon. The two men had worked fast after Raul had avoided murder charges 6 months earlier. Once Chad had healed from the surgery to get rid of his little extra asset; he’d dropped down on one knee on a busy night at Buddy’s – and with tearstained cheeks, Raul had accepted his proposal. I’d been the maid of honor to both men – dateless, I might add; as the only man I wanted at my side at a romantic ceremony joining two paramours, was somewhere driving across the states, trying to hunt down monsters and ghosts – or stopping Armageddon; I wasn’t sure at this point.

Dean hadn’t been in touch for months. Not in person, anyway. I understood he was busy, but it hurt not to know where he was – and if he was ok.

Arriving at my small studio apartment that night, I brushed my fingers over the carving on my door – sending a warm thought at the two men who’d saved my life twice. Once inside, I got in my comfiest leggings, socks, tank top and cardigan; and went to read my current book – one about witchcraft and hoodoo. It was the middle of the night; but my sleep schedule as a bartender didn’t exactly make me a day person. I began reading from the part I’d gotten to, and sipping at a mug of cocoa.

There was a knock at the door. I glanced at the wall clock. 3 am. Looking through the peephole, I sighed, and slowly opened the door.

“Hello, Lulu”. “Hi, Castiel”, I said quietly. “Thanks for knocking this time”. The angel smiled gently. “Well, last time you were… undressed”. I moved out of the way, so Castiel could step into my apartment. “Yeah. Literally in the shower as well. I would have offered you a towel, but…”. “You were busy punching my face, and putting a knee to my groin”, the angel said. I chuckled.

Closing the door behind the angel, I went to sit on my couch again. Castiel had been coming around every few weeks – just for a few minutes – apparently to check on me. “So, as you can see, I’m alive”, I muttered. “Are they?”. Cass nodded. “They are working on… something”. “Vague as ever”, I smiled sarcastically. “He has my number. He could just call me”.

Castiel frowned. “I’ve come to take you with me…”, he said. I stood up, and held out my hands to stop him. “Whoa! No… Every time you do your… angel teleportation thing on me, I end up in some random place, without my shoes. And it gives me motion sickness”. “I’ve only done it twice; and one of the times, it saved your life”. I sighed. “Yeah, fine… but still. No thank you”. He stepped towards me. “I’m afraid I must insist”, he said. “Why?”, I frowned.

There was another knock at my door. I stepped over to check the peephole; but Cass held out to stop me. The knocking turned in to a pounding. “That’s why”, he said. “They found you”. My eyes widened. “Who?”, I breathed. “Who found me?”.

Castiel put his hand on my shoulder; and we were standing in front of a lit fireplace. My stomach was churning. “Lulu?”, a voice said. With wide eyes, I turned around, and saw Bobby Singer – seated in a wheelchair – looking at me in wonder. “I got her before they took her. You can take it from here”, Castiel said; and was gone. I looked down. “You forgot my shoes again!”, I snarled.

Bobby smiled at me. “How are you, kid?”, he asked. “Very confused”, I admitted. “Yeah, he does that”, Bobby said. “So, do I get a hug?”.

I grinned, and ran over to embrace the man; who – the last time I’d seen him – was standing. “What happened?”, I asked. Bobby shook his head. “Demon…”, he grunted. I laughed. “Demon…”, I said. Bobby raised a brow at me. “Seriously?”. Bobby gave me a crooked smile. “It’s a whole new world, darlin’”. He patted my arm; not able to reach my cheek from the chair. “I’ll have the guys fill you in when they get back”. I swallowed hard. “They’re here?”, I croaked. “About 30 minutes out. Coffee?”. “Please…”, I said, and followed him to the kitchen, grabbing two mugs from a shelf.

Bobby poured us both a mug of coffee, and I went to sit on a couch in the living room/study/something that looked like a place a fortune teller might set up shop. Bobby rolled over to face me. “How have you been?”, he asked. “I heard about what happened in Denver…”. I pulled up the sleeves of my cardigan, and ran my fingers over the slight scars there. “Turns out my boss was really sorry he hadn’t paid for security, and let a deranged serial killer get at his favorite employee; as he called me”, I grinned. “I think he was just worried I’d sue him. But he paid my doctors bill, and for a plastic surgeon to make the scars less visible”. Bobby winced. “Looks like you went through it”, he said. “I’m happy you’re better”. “Yeah”, I smiled. “No permanent damage, save for the occasional person thinking I cut myself on purpose”.

“Bobby!”, a voice called out – a voice I recognized immediately, and made my heart skip a beat. “In here”, Bobby answered. “We got scotch. Liquor store was out of bourbon”, Sam said, as he stepped into the living room. His eyes widened when he saw me; and he ran over to embrace me – lifting me off my feet in a warm hug. I heard the front door close. “Dude, are you gonna make me carry everything?”, Dean growled, and dropped two plastic bags on the kitchen table. Sam put me down. “Dean”, he muttered. “What?”, Dean grunted; and turned around.

His face went through a range of emotions – before, with three long strides; he stepped over to me. Just as I thought he was about to take me in his arms, he pulled out a knife. “Did you check her?”, he growled. “She came in with Cass”, Bobby said. “Did you check her!”, Dean repeated. Sam sighed, and handed me a flask. “Take a sip”, he said. I frowned – taken aback by the cold reception from the man I’d spent months missing. “What is it?”, I asked; looking at the knife in Deans hand. “Holy water. Just drink it”, Sam muttered.

With a cold look at Dean, I grabbed the flask, and drank the liquid inside. Dean looked at me for a few seconds; and seemingly satisfied I wasn’t going to burn up in flames or melt – or whatever it was he’d expected – he put away the knife. “Lulu…”, he muttered. “Cass brought you?”. “Just a little while ago”, I said quietly. “Thanks for the warm welcome, by the way”. Dean clenched his jaw in anger. “Dammit, he wasn’t supposed to bring you here”, he growled. “Maybe he was sensing how grumpy you’ve been”, Bobby grunted in response.

Dean did look extremely grumpy. And tired. “Sorry, Lou… This isn’t a good time”, he said. I made a scoffing laugh. “Well, just call Castiel. I’m sure he can take me back to my apartment”. “No”, he said. “You can’t go back there right now”. “Why?”, I sneered.

Sam cleared his throat. “Angels… and demons… They’re using the people we care about to get to us”. I shook my head in confusion. “I’m sorry, what?”. Dean sighed. “We got wind that they were coming to nab you. I asked Cass to bring you somewhere safe”, he said. “Not here”. I shrugged; trying not to seem hurt about Dean’s standoffishness. “So, what happens now?”, I said. “What happens now, is you stay here”, Bobby said. “Bobby!”, Dean snarled.

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Keep your pants on, Dean”, he sneered. “And I mean literally. At least until we’ve left the room”. He rolled towards us. “You don’t think we’ve noticed how you’ve been missing this girl?”. Dean met my eyes for a second. “It’s not safe”. “It’s never safe, son”, Bobby said. “But this place is warded better than any other I know. As long as Lulu doesn’t leave, she should be fine. And maybe you can get that stick out of your ass, and be able to do the job”. Dean scoffed. “So, now I can’t do the job?”, he grunted. “Not well”, Sam muttered. “You…”, Dean said; pointing at his brother. “Shut up!”.

I sighed and looked at Sam. “You said you brought alcohol?”, I muttered. “Give it”. Dean shook his head. “No”, he said. “No alcohol. Call Rufus. Have him take her”. “I’m really feeling the romance in the room”, Bobby grunted. “I’m beat. Going to bed”. He rolled out the door, and down the hallway. “And I’m going to go… away from here”, Sam said; almost running for the stairs. Dean and I stood for a moment in silence; before I stepped towards the kitchen. “Well, I’m having a drink”, I said.

Suddenly, his hand was on my wrist, and he pulled me towards him – wrapping me in his arms. I couldn’t fight the urge; and embraced him right back. “Are you ok?”, he breathed. “Yeah… just confused”, I muttered. Dean pulled back a bit, and looks me in the eyes. “You’re here… I should have… I don’t know what to say”.

“Try an I’m sorry!”, Bobby called from down the hall.

Dean looked towards the hallway, and frowned. “I’m sorry”, he muttered. “I know that’s probably not the welcome you had expected”. “I don’t know…”, I grunted. “It’s not the first time you pulled a knife on me”. “Yeah… sorry. Again”. I sighed. “Can open a window, and let in some air? This place smells like old farts”. He smiled slightly. “Hex bags. We made some earlier. The smell goes away after a while… How have you been?”, he asked. “Fine… I guess. It took a while to heal properly since… last time”, I said. Dean frowned. “But you’re better. Right?”. I nodded. “I’m… living. Moving on”. “Good”, he said. “That’s… good. That you’re moving on, I mean”.

He cleared his throat, and let go of me. The separation was almost painful. “Thanks for checking in, by the way…”, I said. “Castiel’s been a real hoot”. Dean didn’t meet my eyes. “I should have called”. “Yeah, you should have”, I muttered. “You didn’t call either…”, he said; a slight accusation in his voice. I looked at him in indignation. “You told me you were going out to stop the devil”, I said. “I didn’t figure I should be the one to check in”.

I sat back down on the couch and yawned. “Let me go put away the groceries, and I’ll show you where to sleep afterwards”, he said. “Sounds good”, I said quietly. I pulled my legs up under me, and leant my head against the armrest. The smell of the hex bags had dulled; and I now noticed another scent – one of gunpowder, wood and metal. The hunter smell, I thought to myself. My eyes began drooping, and the last thing I noticed was a soft kiss to my temple, and a blanket being tucked around me.

“Goodnight, Lou”, Dean whispered.

---

The sun hitting my face woke me up. “Mornin’ kid”, Bobby muttered from his table. “Fresh coffee on the pot”. “Thanks”, I rasped. I got off the couch, and stretched. “Where are the guys?”, I asked. “Checking on a lead”, Bobby grunted. “Grab me a cup?”.

I went into the kitchen, and filled two mugs with coffee; bringing one over to the desk. “Demon stuff?”, I asked. Bobby shook his head. “Ghost”, he said. “Yankton…”. I frowned. “Yankton… I’m in South Dakota?”, I asked. “Yeah… you’re about 600 miles from home”, he said. “Well, that’s just great”, I muttered. “And this is your place?”. “Singer Scrap”, he nodded. “Good cover”. A scrapyard owner. I knew it, I smiled to myself.

I looked over the many books and papers strewn about the room. A row of phones were hanging on the wall; each with a sticker on it, letting Bobby know what persona he’d need to take on when he picked up. The was an old cookie-tin filled with different fake id’s – FBI, Wild Life Service, Sheriff’s badges; the list went on.

“You have a pretty bad-ass setup here, Bobby”, I said. “Also 100% illegal I’m guessing”. “This job isn’t exactly easy to do if you follow the rules”, Bobby said. I sighed. “Is there anything I can help with?”, I asked. “What, are you bored?”, Bobby smiled. “Yes”, I nodded. “You can make lunch; it’s almost noon”, he said. “I don’t cook… but I know how to order a pizza”. Bobby frowned. “I’ll call the boys, have them bring something back”. I shrugged.

Bobby narrowed his eyes at me. “Did you… uhm… kiss and make up last night?”, he muttered. I chewed my lip. “Not exactly… He seemed preoccupied”, I said. Bobby chuckled. “That’s Dean for you”, he said. “Always so busy trying to save everyone else, he doesn’t see when his own salvation is staring him right in the face”. “I don’t know if I’m a salvation, exactly”, I said. “I’m a bartender from Denver with a teaching degree”. “Maybe you can teach him some manners”, Bobby grunted and returned to his document. “Grab me that magnifying glass over there”, he said, and pointed towards the coffee table.

I handed him the magnifier, and picked up an amulet that caught my eye. It was almost glowing in the sunlight. “Put that down”, Bobby yelled. I almost jumped, and dropped the chain to the table. “Sorry”, he muttered. “I haven’t been able to break the curse on it yet… and I’m pretty sure you’d be a lot less pretty with an extra nose stuck to your chin”. “It’s cursed?”, I asked. “Maybe you should lock it up somewhere”. “Tried that”, he grunted. “It reappears there every time I do”. I studied the amulet closer. “Hoodoo, right?”, I muttered. Bobby looked at me. “Is it?”, he asked. “I think so… It looks like a sigil I saw once, in a book”, I said. Maybe cover it in goofer dust, and bury it in an old grave…”. I met his incredulous eyes, and blushed. “Or, something else. I don’t know”.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “What do you make of this?”, he asked, and pushed an old newspaper clipping across the table. I read through the text. “Another strange case of a dead body in Yankton this month, when Thomas Clayton was found near Yankton Municipal Cemetary – his neck broken; and his lower body buried into the ground. He leaves behind a wife and two children…”. “Sounds like a myling”, I muttered. Bobby frowned. “How’d you know about those?”, he asked. “I read… a lot”, I replied. He looked at me disbelievingly. “You call studying Scandinavian ghosts leisurely reading?”. “I was almost killed by two supernatural beings”, I shrugged. “Thought I’d study up in case anything happened again”. “Huh…”, Bobby said. “So, you think it’s a myling”. “I’m no pro, so I wouldn’t know for sure”, I said. “But the half-buried thing? And just outside a cemetery… More like he was forced to carry a ghost on his back; but didn’t make it to hallowed ground”. The corner of Bobby’s lip raised in a crooked smile. “But you already knew that”. “Was beginning to come to that theory myself”, he said. “You have some knowledge in that head of yours, kid”. I blushed again.

There was a knock at the door. I looked through the kitchen window. Outside stood a darkhaired policewoman. “It’s the cops”, I muttered. “Crap”, Bobby groaned. “Woman? Looks like she eats nails for breakfast?”. I looked again. “Yup…”. Bobby began rolling away from the view of the windows. “I’m not here”, he said. I shook my head. “Fine, I’ll talk to her”, I said, and walked to the front door, opening it.

“Hello”, I smiled at the woman. She looked mistrustingly at me. “Miss… I’m sheriff Mills. Is Bobby Singer in?”. I shook my head. “He’s out…”. “Out cold?”, she grunted. “Bobby! Roll your ass out here”.

Bobby appeared behind me. “Sheriff…”, he grunted. “What did I do this time?”. The sheriff sighed. “Your neighbors have been reporting strange smells from your house”. “Stranger than usual? This is a scrap yard, sheriff”, I smiled. She narrowed her eyes at me. “And you are?”. I thought fast. “Ann Wilson”, I said brightly; and reached out my hand to shake hers. “My niece”, Bobby said. “She’s staying with me to help out since my accident”. “All right…”, the sheriff said. “If you say so”.

I cleared my throat. “You were saying? About strange smells…”. “Yes”, the sheriff said. “You can’t be polluting the air with methane gas, Bobby. Your neighbors say the smell was so rancid, their eyes watered”. Bobby sighed. “Look, my nearest neighbor is 3 miles away. If any of them have been reporting any smells, it means they’ve been trespassing – and I’d be in my right to shoot them”. The sheriff clenched her jaw. “With what weapon? I don’t believe you have a license”. “I do”, I said. She lifted her brows. “Can I see it?”. I smiled. “I never mentioned a gun, or using one for that matter. So, you don’t need to”. She stifled a smile. Under different circumstances, I might have liked her. “If there’s nothing else, uncle Bobby needs to have his lunch now”.

“All right”, sheriff Mills said. “Just, keep down the stench, all right?”. “Absolutely”, I smiled. “Goodbye, sheriff”. She walked off the porch, and got in her car. I waved as she drove away. I turned to look at Bobby. “That was fun!”, I grinned. “Yeah, a real giggle of a time”, Bobby grunted, and went back into the living room.

One of the phones rang – one labeled CDC. Bobby picked it up. “Fisher here… Yes, he’s one of mine. He in some kind of trouble?... That’s ridiculous, son… No, you listen to me. Let him finish his job… Put him on”. I heard him mutter idjit below his breath. ��Garth? You moron. You told them it was a strain of the plague?... Yeah… Give him back to me”. There was a pause. “Officer. Agent Fitzgerald is right. Let him look at the autopsy report… Thank you. Bye”. He hung up. “Stupid son of a bitch”. I chuckled.

Bobby began rolling towards his desk, when another phone rang – the one labeled FBI. I looked at him pleadingly. “Be my guest…”, he grunted. I picked it up.

“Nicks here”, I said. “Yes, hello ma’am. This is detective Alan Jackson from the Yankton PD”, a tired voice said. “I have two men here claiming to be FBI…”. My eyes lit up. “Let me guess. One is a 6’3 puppy, and the other looks like he’d flirt with your daughter right in front of you, and not be ashamed of it?”. “That sounds about right”, the man muttered. “Yeah, those are mine”, I said. “What’s the problem?”. “They want to examine the body of…”. “Thomas Clayton?”, I asked. “Yes…”, the man said. “And what seems to be the problem?”, I asked. “Well they don’t have the right papers to begin with”, he answered. “The FBI rolls into town, asking to oversee a murder-case, and you refuse them?”, I said. “Won’t look good on your yearly report, detective Jackson”. “Ma’am…”, the man began. “Look, I don’t have time for this. Put me on with your captain”. Bobby’s eyes widened, and he shook his head fervently. “Ma’am, I’m sure that won’t be necessary…”, the detective muttered. I scoffed. “No? Well, you’re not being very forthcoming with my men…”. “I’ll let them look, ma’am. Right away”. “Thank you. Please put the pretty one on”, I said. “Your boss wants you”, the man muttered, and I heard the phone change hands. “Hello?”, I heard Deans voice. “Speaker?”, I asked. “No”, he grunted. “Good. Bring back lunch. Bobby’s hungry”, I said. “Yes, ma’am”, Dean grunted, and hung up.

I put the phone back on its hook. “That was even more fun”, I grinned. Bobby chuckled. “You could come in handy, Lulu”, he smiled. “Good job”. “Thanks”, I said. “Bobby… you wouldn’t happen to have some shoes laying around I could use?”.

---

A few hours later Dean and Sam came back from Yankton. Dean looked like a thundercloud.

“What the hell, Bobby?”, he growled. “You have Lulu doing jobs now?”. “Just this one”, he smiled. “And she’s done a fine job, as well”. Dean stepped towards me with and gave me a searing look. “You don’t ever do that again!”, he roared. “Why?”, I frowned. “You could have had us thrown in jail!”, he said. “Horse crap”, I said. “You were fine”.

Sam put down some cardboard boxes on the coffee table. “We brought pizza”, he said. Bobby groaned. “We were in a rush”, Sam muttered. I grabbed a slice, and sat down on the couch; putting my feet on the table. Dean looked at me with hard eyes. “Comfy?”, he grunted. “Very”, I smiled. He cursed below his breath.

“Lulu’s got a theory on the ghost”, Bobby said. Sam looked at me with pleased surprise. “Really?”, he asked. “Tell us”. “A myling”, I said. “An unwanted child, killed by its parents; and buried in non-consecrated ground”. Dean frowned. I handed him a slice of pizza, and he accepted it without thanks. “A mew-what?”, he asked. “Myling”, Bobby said. “Tell ‘em, Lulu”.

I took a bite, and chewed enthusiastically. “It crawls onto people’s backs; wanting them to bring it to consecrated ground to rest”, I said; mouth full. “Usually, the weight of it on the victims back will make him or her sink into the ground before they make it all the way. The ghost will be pissed, and kill them – strangling them or breaking their necks”. “How do you know this stuff?”, Sam smiled. “She reads… a lot…”, Bobby muttered.

Dean looked at Bobby’s desk. “Where’s the cursed amulet?”, he grunted. “Covered it in goofer dust, and buried it out back with my old dog”, Bobby said. “Well, Lulu did”. I smiled, and wiggled my feet – on which I was wearing a pair of old loafers Bobby’s wife had used when she was alive.

“You shouldn’t be meddling with any of this”, Dean growled. I shrugged. “Your pet angel kidnapped me, and brought me 600 miles away; without my shoes or my phone. Might as well keep busy”. “Don’t you need to go to work?”, Dean grunted. “Yeah, like 3 hours ago”, I admitted. “I’m probably fired”. Dean frowned. “And you don’t care?” I looked at him exasperatedly. “Of course I care, Dean. My whole life is in Denver”, I sneered. “But you’re also telling me that angels and demons are out to kill me. Being there right now would just bring people in danger. I’m staying away… To keep them safe”.

Dean raised a brow at me. I realized then that’s what he had been doing. In his own way. “I called Cass. He’s gonna take you somewhere safe”, he said. I frowned. “Bobby said…”. “You’re leaving, Lou”, he said. “That’s final”.

“She can’t…”, Castiel – who’d appeared from nowhere – said. “Cass!”, Dean growled. “Get her out of here!” “There’s no where I can take her”, the angel replied. “You wanted her safe. She is safe here”. “Hardly”, Dean said. “We’re up to our necks on this case, and Ironside over there can’t even get off his porch on his own”. He gestured towards Bobby.

Bobby frowned at him. “Where do you want her to go, son?”, he asked. “Rufus is buried in vamps in Wichita, Martin’s in the psych ward… Ellen and Jo? That’s the only people I’d trust her to be safe enough with; and they’re dead!”. Darkness ghosted Deans face. “Lulu is safest here, Dean”, Sam said.

Dean shook his head, and looked everywhere but at me. “If you didn’t come to take her away, why the hell are you here, Cass?”, he snarled. “To give you this”, Castiel said. He pulled out a knife I recognized as being an angel sword. “We already have one of those”, Sam said. Cas shook his head. “It’s not for you, it’s for her”.

Castiel went to hand me the knife. Dean stepped between us. “Whoa… no, no, no. That’s not happening”. “Excuse me?”, I frowned. He looked at me indignantly. “You’re not gonna be walking around with a heavenly weapon in your purse”, he said.

I put down my pizza, and stood up – fully ready to smack him across the face. “I’m a grown ass woman, Dean. I can make my own decisions”. “Not this one”, he grunted. “You can’t even shoot a gun”. “I can shoot a damn gun; I told you!”. “And fight with an angel sword?”, he asked indignantly.

He took the sword from Castiel. “I’m keeping this. Having two is always handy”. “Dean, Lulu needs to be able to protect herself from my brothers”, Castiel said. “No”, Dean said. I stepped up to him; and looked him square in the face. “Give me my sword, Dean…”, I snarled. “Take it”, he smiled; and held the sword over his head – knowing full well I wouldn’t jump for it like some child. I looked at him with sad eyes. “I really don’t want to do this…”, I muttered. Dean chuckled.

I walked behind him, pretending to give up. “Good call, sweetheart”, he muttered. Quickly setting my foot between his own from behind, my knee between his; I crouched, leant forward, snaked my arm across his torso – and flipped him backward over my thigh – making him land with a bang on his back. “Ow…”, he gasped. “Roller derby”, I growled; and snatched the sword from him. “Thanks, Castiel”, I muttered.

The three men still standing, all looked at me in surprise. Sam bit his lips to stop from laughing. “Not funny, Sam!”, Dean growled from the floor. “Dude, she just railed your ass!”, his brother grinned.

Dean got on his feet, and stretched his back. “Fine!”, he roared. “Take the damn sword… That was cheating, though”. “Might have earnt me a penalty back in the day; but still my favorite move”, I muttered. “You’re just pissed you got beaten by a girl”. “That has nothing to do with it”, he frowned. “Women can fight…”. “I just can’t, is that it?”. He shook his head in indignation. “We’ll talk about this later”, he grunted coldly. “We have a case to get back to”. I smiled. “No, Lou. We have a case. You don’t”. I rolled my eyes. “Roll your eyes all you want, sugar. That’s what’s happening”.

I went into the kitchen, and grabbed a beer from the fridge – opening it, and taking a large sip. Castiel walked over to join me. “I take it you haven’t had intercourse yet”, he muttered. I grimaced at him. “Cass. Stay out of my sex-life. Ok?”. He nodded, looking almost embarrassed. “I just meant – seeing as Dean is still in a bad mood – you must not have…”. “Stop”, I said, and held out a hand at him. “You’ve done plenty of damage as it is”. “I apologize for that. It wasn’t my intention”. I sighed. “I know… you were just trying to help”. I looked up at him. “Look, Cass…”. He was gone.

I couldn’t help but feel bad about how I’d spoken to him. He was a friend – not just to Dean and Sam – but also to me.

---

The three hunters spent the next hours researching mylings; and it seemed Dean had to relent and agree that I had been right.

“So how do we get rid of it”, he grunted. I was seated on a kitchen chair, pretending to read a book on the with trials of Salem. “Salt and burn, like every other spirit”, Sam offered. “Yeah, except we have no idea where the kid is buried”, Dean said. “Bobby? Any ideas?”.

The elder hunter looked towards me. “She knows more about them than any of us…”, he muttered. “Yeah, well; she’s not a hunter”, Dean grunted. “Just, give it a rest, Dean…”, Sam sighed. “Get over yourself, and let Lulu help”. Dean rolled his eyes. “Roll your eyes all you want, sugar…”, I sneered. “Just… help us out here, kid”, Bobby said.

I stood up, and walked over to the desk. “Putting the spirit to rest by salting and burning sound good enough. But you could also just give it what it wants”. Sam narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean? Carry it to the graveyard”. “I don’t think you need to throw yourself into the fire this time, Sam”, I smiled; remembering how he’d almost let himself get killed by the maren, who had been haunting my dreams when we first met. “Find it’s parents…”. “They’re probably dead too…”, Bobby said. I shrugged. “Can’t you, like… summon them?”, I asked.

Dean scoffed, and chuckled. “Great idea; except that’s impossible”. “It’s not…”, Bobby said. “There are ways”. “Of course there are…”, Dean snarled. “Why don’t you three do this job, and I’ll go hit a bar. Don’t seem like you need me here anyway”. “Dean…”, Sam began. “No, really; Sammy. Go ahead. Looks like Lou’s got this one”, Dean said. He grabbed his jacket, and left the house.

“I’ll go talk to him”, Sam muttered. “No, I will”, I said. “This is on me”. Sam nodded, and I went out the front door.

---

#dean winchester fic #dean winchester x oc #dean x oc #dean winchester #supernatural fic #supernatural #sam winchester

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moveslikebuckywrites · 5 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Slow Dancing

Gift Fics again! This time for @ladyoutlier set to Earth Angel! Aziraphale has a bad day, but Crowley is there to cheer him up. I wanted to write some fluffy softness as a balm for that 1992 script today. I’m so glad we live in the good timeline xD

---

Today had not been kind to Aziraphale. Not in the slightest bit.

He had a meeting around noon with a local rare book dealer about a particular first edition he’d been seeking for quite a while. They’d agreed to meet at a cafe local to the dealer at 3 on the dot. Aziraphale, being ever punctual, had arrived at 2:30. Nothing wrong with having a spot of cocoa and a scone while he waited; and he was always on the lookout for new places to drag Crowley to. He made it inside just a few minutes before the rain started outside.

Things had gone off the rails almost immediately. The hot cocoa was made with hot water , thin and tasteless, with a dollop of whipped cream from a can floating sadly in the center. But Aziraphale was always an optimist, and he suffered through it, for the sake of the baristas. He didn’t want to inconvenience them.

He’d gotten a cranberry orange scone, and it hadn’t been much better. Far too crumbly, he could barely pick it up without it falling apart. And the ratio of scone to fruit was ridiculous. He counted two cranberries in the entire scone, and he was pretty sure whoever made it had forgotten the orange entirely.

He was silently seething as the clock struck three, the book dealer still nowhere in sight. He decided to take a look at the papers in the meantime, but the only ones left in the shop were from two weeks prior. He thought to himself that beggars were the last ones to be choosers and read the same stories he already knew about, contemplating one of those ‘smart phones’ Crowley was always trying to get him to buy.

By the time 3:30 rolled around, he’d read the paper cover to cover at least three times. He folded it and tossed it on the table, with his barely-drunk cocoa and hardly-touched scone. Aziraphale hadn’t brought a book with him this time; his tendency to get absorbed wasn’t always appreciated in these meetings, and he didn’t want to be off-putting to this new potential source. It had been so long since he’d found a new dealer to work with, and the older ones were starting to dwindle in their offerings anyway. He settled for people watching, and throwing a few minor miracles around to those passing who needed them.

By 4:30 he decided the dealer would be a no-show, and resigned himself to the long walk back to the bookshop. The rain, at least, had let up by this point. He hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella, and that would’ve just made things worse.

At five he was about a block away from the bookshop, ready to be home with Crowley and forget about this entire day and fruitless endeavors, when a lorry slammed through a puddle on the road, splashing him from head to toe. He stopped in place and heaved a sigh, this day just wouldn’t let him off the hook.

It should be noted that even the best of us are susceptible to a bad day. Even angels and even demons. Aziraphale has weathered his fair share of them - you don’t live on Earth for six thousand years without encountering a few. This particular day paled in comparison to most of the ones he’d had, but sometimes even the kindest, nicest, and most put-together people will succumb to a string of innocuous bad events and sink into what is professionally known as a “funk”.

This is the state we find Aziraphale in as he returns to the bookshop. Dejected, soaking wet, and downright depressed. He unlocks the door, snapping his fingers quickly to rid himself of the water. It wouldn’t do to drip all over the floors, the old wood wouldn’t take kindly to it. Despite this, he still feels chilled to the bone and a bit damp. Drying miracles never quite manage to get all of the water out.

He climbs the stairs to their tiny shared flat on the second floor. It’s small, but it’s home, and it’s just enough for them. Before he gets to the second step he can already smell it. Tomatoes, basil, garlic, mushrooms. Crowley must be making pasta tonight. Aziraphale loves it when Crowley cooks for him. He’s been learning, which had surprised Aziraphale at first. A Crowley completely free from the confines of head office had turned out to be quite the romantic. Candlelit dinners, lots of sweet nothings, and the clingiest cuddle-bug that Aziraphale had ever known (and he had known Wilde and been drunk with him).

The smell only gets stronger as he climbs the stairs, lifting his spirits ever so slightly. But the weight of the day is still heavy on his shoulders as he opens the door to the flat.

“Angel, that you?” he hears Crowley call out from the kitchen. Some kind of bebop is playing on the little radio there by the sink. Something about Sunday’s and wasted years.

“Yes; was a bit of a mess, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale says as he hangs his coat on the little angel wing hook by the door. (Crowley had thought it quite hilarious right after moving in. The other hook, currently holding a very flash black suit jacket, is a devil tail.) He slips his shoes off and puts them on the rack, turning to see Crowley leaning on the door frame of their little kitchen-slash-dining room, tea towel slung over his shoulder, bright red hair up in a messy half bun

“Deal didn’t go through then?” Crowley says, brows laced with concern. He knows how Aziraphale gets, especially by now. It’s been years since that fateful August day when they stood side by side on an old airstrip and faced down the forces of Heaven and Hell with a scrappy group of humans.

Crowley crosses over and wraps his arms around Aziraphale, placing a kiss into his hairline, “do I need to find the scumbag and stage a little demonic intervention?”

Aziraphale manages a slight chuckle as he nuzzles his face into Crowley’s neck. “No, I don’t think so, dearest. The dealer never showed.”

“The scumbag,” Crowley says with absolutely zero bite behind it, “I’ll curse him myself.”

“None of that, foul fiend.” Aziraphale says with infinite fondness. It’s been a long time since either of them have done anything truly in line with their respective sides.

Crowley absently runs a hand soothingly up and down the angel’s back. “Still, something else is on your mind, I can always tell.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Aziraphale sighs, “just several bad things all piling together.”

“Well,” Crowley pulls back and kisses Aziraphale quickly on the nose, “you’re not allowed to be sad because I made pasta, and you love pasta, and you love me.” Crowley rests his forehead against Aziraphale’s, touching their noses together. The intimacy of the action still takes Aziraphale’s breath away to this day.

Crowley kisses him quickly, then turns and makes his way back to the kitchen. Aziraphale follows close behind, sinking into one of the tiny bistro chairs of the little dining set they managed to fit into the corner. The rain has started back up outside, and Aziraphale leans his chin on his hand to stare out the window at it for a little bit.

Aziraphale doesn’t think he has a right to be this sad; everyone has bad days and he’s had much worse than this. Lots of their neighbors around Soho have had a worse day than he has, he can’t hear their prayers persay, but he can feel the general shape of their hopes and fears. And yet, he just can’t shake it.

A sharp yelp from the oven startles Aziraphale out of his thoughts. Crowley’s burned himself on the pan for the garlic bread, like he always does. He watches Crowley move around the kitchen, so steady and self-assured. Falling into domesticity has been so easy, so natural. Almost like breathing. Crowley keeps swaying to the music on his radio, testing noodles and stirring sauce. He stares down the sauce and adds just a pinch more garlic powder to it, before giving it a stir and tasting it. “Angel, I’ve done it again!” He says as he punches the air. They both know he’ll hardly eat any of it, but he relishes being able to do this for Aziraphale

“That’s lovely dearest,” Aziraphale says with his chin still in his hand.

Crowley smiles at him, tossing the towel back over his shoulder as he swaggers over to the table, “what is it, dove, like what you see?”

“You know I always do, darling.” He smiles at Crowley as the demon takes both of his hands.

“Still feeling down, Angel?” Aziraphale just nods at him. “Well that won’t do, c’mon, up you get.” He pulls Aziraphale to his feet before shooting a glare at the radio. The bebop playing cuts out abruptly and switches to a very smooth piano beat.

Crowley winks at him, “dance with me, love?”

“Crowley what on Earth?” Aziraphale rolls his eyes and does his best to suppress the smile attempting to creep across his face, “you know I can only dance the gavotte.”

“No gavotte here, Angel, just swaying in the kitchen.” Crowley guides Aziraphale’s hand to his shoulder before gently placing his own on the small of the angel’s back. He presses their cheeks together and starts to sing along softly with the man on the radio.

“Earth angel, earth angel, will you be mine? My darling dear, love you all the time. I’m just a fool, a fool in love with you.”

They sway back and forth, as far as the tiny kitchen will allow. Aziraphale can feel his nerves and anxieties calming; safe here in his demon’s arms. They sway and they spin, and he giggles as Crowley keeps singing to him.

“Earth angel, earth angel, the one I adore. Love you forever and ever more. I’m just a fool, a fool in love with you.”

“Crowley, dear, you’re such a hopeless romantic sometimes.” Aziraphale places a tender kiss to the little snake tattoo by Crowley’s ear.

“Not hopeless if I got you in the end, Angel,” Crowley says, nuzzling into the angel’s cheek before nuzzling into the angel’s cheek. “I fell for you and I knew the vision of your loveliness.”

Crowley grips his hand tightly before spinning him around and bringing him back even closer.

“I hope and I pray that someday I’ll be the vision of your happiness.”

“Oh my dearest,” Aziraphale says, resting his head on Crowley’s shoulder, breathing deeply, perfectly at peace, “you always have been.” They sway slowly from side to side, not really dancing anymore so much as just existing.

Aziraphale feels the stresses of the day melting away from him, safe and content in Crowley’s arms. Where he was always meant to be. As the song fades out they hold each other close, pasta miraculously fine still sitting on the stove waiting for this moment to end (it wouldn’t dare burn, not when Crowley is in the room). The final notes of the song drift through the air as Aziraphale leans up to whisper into Crowley’s ear, “I’m just a fool, a fool in love with you.”

#my fic #good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #have some domestic fluff for your Tuesday evening reading pleasure

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exhaustedfander · 4 years ago

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First Comes Love: Chapter Five

Chapter Summary: Patton and Janus have a good laugh about Remus and Logan's situation, while being very sappy.

Here’s some good, sweet mociet and apparently a bit of plot with Patton I hadn't even intended on including. Remus and Logan are very stupid with love but it’s all good. Comments and reblogs are really appreciated. Have a good day/night!

Word Count: 2,310

ao3 link

Link to previous story in the series: When is Enough Enough?

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / ?

“Remind me why we agreed to this again?” Janus asked, his tone bitter. Patton, ever-the-optimist, took Janus’s hands in his own and squeezed tight.

“Because,” he said, his voice bright and chipper, “Remus and Logan are our friends and they’ve asked for our help.”

“Yes, well,” Janus struggled for a moment to recollect his thoughts much the way he usually did when Patton was holding his hand, “They asked for our help separately, so they can each buy engagement rings for each other.” Patton giggled at the absurdity of the situation they’d been thrust into.

“Exactly.”

“Patton, darling, surely you see the humor in all this?”

“Well, sure I do!” Patton admitted, “It’s a little silly to think about, but it’s also kinda sweet, right?” He asked, letting go of Janus’s hands and grabbing his coffee mug – the one with cats and dogs on it Janus had bought for him some time ago – and took a long sip.

“I suppose,” Janus said dryly, “Even so, it’s more than a little surprising. I never pegged Remus as the settle down-type in, well, any of the time I’ve known him. And I’d never expected such boldness from Logan. Truly, those two continue to baffle me.”

“Maybe it’s a little surprising,” Patton said, sitting down at the kitchen table as Janus sat at the chair across from him, “But they make each other so gosh darn happy. They’re good for each other, Jan.”

“I never said they weren’t,” Janus defended lightly.

“I know you didn’t, sweetie pie. I’m just saying, we need to do this for them. We owe them that much.” Janus groaned softly, displeased with how much impact a well-placed term of endearment had on him.

“You’re right,” he conceded, “Of course you’re right. Even so, I can’t help but think this is a hair-brained scheme that’s destined for disaster.”

“Oh, don’t be such a sour puss,” Patton chided, “Though, if that was what was to happen, would you be surprised?”

“No, I suppose not,” Janus admitted, taking a sip of his coffee before settling into some form of acceptance, “If you’d be so kind, could you remind me of the plan again?”

“If anyone asks, Logan and I are going to lunch together today while Remus is buying his engagement ring for Logan. Late, you and Remus are going to have a chat at our place while Logan buys his engagement ring for Remus.” Janus raised an eyebrow, already feeling an oncoming headache.

“So, you’re telling me neither of us will be seeing either of them today? We’re their cover-story?”

“Exactly,” Patton said, “In case they ask each other where they’ve been, they’ll say they were spending time with us separately and we’ll vouch for them.”

“And I suppose you’re alright with a lie in the name of love, but not when it benefits me?” Janus asked, his voice teasing. Patton swatted him across the table.

“Janny, lying about being sick so you could avoid a lunch date with my parents is a different story entirely!”

“I don’t know about entirely…” he grumbled irritably, but then Patton took his hand from under the table, the warm contact distracting him from his bitterness.

“They like you fine, sweetheart,” he assured in the same way he’d done countless times before, “And even if they didn’t, it wouldn’t matter because I love you.”

They’d had this conversation before and likely, they’d have it again. Patton’s parents were, to put it lightly, leaning more on the conservative spectrum. When Patton had come out as gay in his late teens their reactions had not been what he’d hoped for. At the time, there had been talk about possible disownment – Patton’s heart still clenched when he thought about it, how desperate he’d been, how desperate he still was sometimes. But with time, they’d come around, at least a little bit more.

If you asked Janus, he’d say that Patton would be better off without them. His parents were holding him back, it seemed so obvious, but it wasn’t Janus’s place to make that decision for his boyfriend, no matter how much he wanted to. He’d be there for him no matter what, even if that meant spending time with Mr. and Mrs. Hart – though that didn’t mean he’d do so without a complaint or two. It was obvious they despised Janus, but if they still made Patton even the least bit happy, then he’d stand by.

“I love you too,” he said, squeezing Patton’s hand.

“You know I don’t like lying if I can help it,” Patton pointed out.

Janus knew that well. It wasn’t as though Janus was advising he lie about absolutely everything, however, there were moments where a lie or two was necessary. Janus blamed a lot of Patton’s black-and-white thinking on his upbringing – though it took very little for him to want to push the blame onto Patton’s folks – he’d been able to break out of it a lot more recently. Janus was proud of how much of the strict way of thinking his boyfriend was questioning, but that didn’t negate from the fact that Patton still despised lying for the most part.

“I know you don’t, Angel.”

“But this is for a good cause,” he insisted, “Those boys love each other so much and if this is how they’re going about things, then we should help.”

“Such a good heart,” Janus said sweetly, looking at his boyfriend with utter admiration, that is to say, how he looked at him most of the time, “What’s a sweetheart like you doing with a guy like me, hm?”

“Don’t talk like that, Jan,” Patton said in a tone that reminded Janus heavily of a time where his boyfriend had threatened to “physically fight” Virgil when he said something negative about himself, “You’re wonderful.”

It was strange looking back on a time when he and Patton had not gotten along very much at all. It hadn’t helped that Janus and Virgil had before their being together been in a relationship that had faced a rather tempestuous end. Janus had a reputation of lying, one that at the time was not entirely untrue, so Patton had wearily kept his distance.

But eventually, when things were smoothed over with Virgil for the most part and he found himself a comfortable spot in the friend group, Patton’s walls had begun to come down. With time, Janus found feelings emerging, feelings he didn’t comprehend could be reciprocated, but to his utter surprise, they were.

Just as Janus had taught Patton that lying wasn’t altogether sinful, Patton had stopped Janus from fibbing as frequently. They helped each other, they made each other better, and neither man could be happier.

Being in such a loving long-term relationship with him, Janus still found himself giving into self-doubt from time to time. He by no means believed his boyfriend to be perfect; that would be an incredibly unhealthy outlook on a partner. However, Janus found the good in Patton far easier than he did in himself. He didn’t think of himself as a bad man, per say, he was always trying to be better, always doing what he could to be a person Patton would be proud to call his, but he had his moments where he needed a gentle reminder of his worth, just as Patton needed the same from him from time to time. And they were always there to give that to each other.

“Patton, darling?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you promise you’ll be able to lie, should the need arise?” Patton worried his bottom lip, the look in his eyes indicating that no, he most likely would not be able to do so, at least not with any sort of guarantee.

“…yes?” A sigh rolled past Janus’s lips. The hesitance didn’t do wonders for his case, that was for sure.

“Patton, if you’ve committed to this you’ll have to do it if they ask about the other’s warbots.”

“I can do it! I – I promise,” Patton said with a touch too much enthusiasm for it to sound confident. Janus quirked an eyebrow. “Or… at least I’ll try my hardest,” he said, softer. Janus smiled.

“That’s all I can ask for, my love,” he said, praying Patton wouldn’t be asked any tough questions by their friends.

While he was no longer as averse to lying as he had been in the best, that didn’t negate the fact that Patton was absolutely terrible at it. When Patton had first brought up the plan that he’d be lying on Logan’s account he’d been worried; and then Remus had called, asking Janus to lie for him as well because of course, they were buying their engagement rings on the same day! Janus was sure he was going to have a brain aneurism if it turned out they were buying from the same jewelry store and ran into each other, but he really wouldn’t put it past those two. Even so, Patton had insisted that he could handle it and that, moreover, he’d made a commitment to a friend and he was sticking to it.

The couple spent the rest of the morning speaking of the fact that soon their friends would be engaged. It was more than a little to process, considering Logan’s reputation for intelligence as well as the fact that Janus knew damn well Remus was no idiot. Sure, he said stupid things quite often and acted impulsively, but to know they were both individuals who for the most part were rational, smart adults made the predicament all the more amusing. Sometimes it seemed like the pair had only one brain cell shared between them, and even then, it was reserved mostly for love and love alone.

Janus couldn’t say he was entirely shocked by the state of his friends, considering how he’d endeared himself to Patton and fallen for each and every one of his charms. There had been and would continue to be many a moment in which Janus was helpless to Patton making stupid puns or swiping a dollop of cookie dough over his nose, or him stealing all of the covers in the night, leaving Janus clinging to him for warmth as if he wouldn’t be doing the very same thing either way. Logan and Remus had gone soft for each other, but who was he to judge? After all, he’d lost his edge the moment he caught Patton’s eye.

=+=

Remus nearly shrieked in surprise when he came home to find that Logan had already gotten there before him. he’d anticipated having some time to himself to pace the jitters out, peak at the ring a few dozen more times, and memorize his speech a bit more, but it seemed that wasn’t in the cards.

“Hello, dear,” Logan had greeted from his spot at the table, his laptop open. Remus could only assume he was grading online work from his students. “How was your visit with Janus?”

For a moment Remus almost asked, stupid as ever, “What visit with Janus?” Before his sanity caught up with him.

“It was good,” he said, hoping Logan wouldn’t press any further. He removed his shoes, walking up to Logan, who’d since shut his laptop. Remus’s arms wrapped loosely around Logan’s neck as he pressed a kiss to his neck, “How was your lunch with Patton?” He noticed if only for a moment, Logan tense under his touch.

“It was satisfactory,” he said, “though the chicken in my salad was a bit dry.” Something about the sentence seemed off, but Remus couldn’t quite place it and leaving it be seemed the best thing to do, especially in his wired headspace.

“How positively dreadful,” he said, sarcasm heavy, “however will you go on?”

“Oh I’m sure I’ll manage, somehow,” Logan met his sarcastic tone, smiling softly as he stood to embrace Remus fully, slotting their mouths together in a kiss. “I love you,” he said against Remus's lips, more passion than usual swelling in his voice, “I love you dearly. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of saying it.”

“I love you too, and I’ll never tire of hearing it,” Remus replied after he’d drug Logan into another kiss, heated and prolonged, “you fucking sap.” Logan laughed lightly.

“No more than you are, dear.”

“Whatcha wanna do for dinner tonight, Dragonfly?” Remus asked, trying to tame the pent-up energy that rattled in his skull. He had a ring in his pocket right at that moment! He was going to propose to Logan in a few days! It was all too much to process, not in a bad way, but in a, hey my heart might explode with how much love it’s full of kind of way. The thought of a heart bursting open in someone’s chest came to mind; Remus would have to write that down.

“If I’m honest, I’m feeling exceptionally lazy,” Logan admitted. A smile spread over Remus’s face.

“Takeout?”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“What’re you in the mood for, Dragonfly?”

“Whatever you’d like, love. You choose.” Oh thank god, this would give Remus a moment or two to get his thoughts in order.

“Pizza it is. Let me go call the place,” he said, quickly slinking into their bedroom. The moment the door was shut Remus was having to press a hand over his mouth to stop himself from squealing out of utter excitement. He slipped the ring box from his hoodie pocket, popping it open and admiring the stone. He’d searched the internet tirelessly for just the right ring, and he was certain he’d found it.

“I’m gonna marry the fuck out of you, Dragonfly,” he whispered aloud, sliding the box in the space under the nightstand, somewhere Logan would never find it and dialing the pizza place's number.

Little did Remus know, there was a second ring box hidden in the closet that had been put there mere minutes prior.

=+=

#romantic intrulogical #intrulogical #moceit #romantic mociet #Sanders Sides #human au #Logan Sanders #Remus Sanders #Janus Sanders #Patton Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Roman Sanders #fluff #lotsa fluff #Remus and Logan have one shared braincell that's primary focus is love #First Comes Love #When is Enough Enough?#exhaustedfander writes #exhaustedfander

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