#either as a result of him threatening Copper's loved ones and finally pushing Copper over the line to kill in order to protect

[dontshootmespence]

Supernatural AU: Episode 4 - Devoid

Part 1

For the first time in weeks, Jenna could breathe. The incessant oppressive drowning feeling that accompanied seeing your child in any kind of pain had finally left, dissipating as his smile returned; she and Gavin weren’t fighting about how to help him anymore. Everything was okay again.

At the end of the day all she wanted was for her family to be happy and with the nightmares gone from Thomas’ restful hours, they had that back again. As she flitted about the kitchen, dancing to glorious 90s boy-band music, Gavin walked up behind her grateful to see her happy again. This past month had been very difficult for them. 

“How’s he doing?” Gavin asked, his lips curling upward into a sleepy smile. At first, she didn’t notice, almost screaming when she finally caught sight of him. “Sorry,” he laughed. Between Thomas’ nightmares and his own work schedule, he’d been exhausted lately, as had she. “Those vitamins helping?” He’d scoffed at the idea that they’d do anything to help their son, but she insisted it would help and Thomas was doing better, so who was he to question the results?

Since Thomas had come to their room screaming about being chased by a monster in the night, Jenna had been trying anything and everything she could think of to help her little boy banish his bad dreams. After readying Thomas’ pills for the week, she turned to her husband and laughed. “Well, I don’t think it’s really the vitamins,” she said under her breath, not wanting Thomas to accidentally hear her, “So much as the placebo effect. Either way, he said he hasn’t had the nightmare in about four days.” Which was saying something because it had been raging almost every night for a month; it had been keeping him up, making him fall asleep in class and therefore interrupting his school work. He was afraid to turn corners even when he was awake for fear the monster would finally grab him. “I took care of it,” she continued, the smile fading from her face for a moment.  “No need to worry anymore.”

“My wife, the miracle worker,” Gavin replied proudly. “You coming to bed soon?”

She kissed her husband’s cheek and told him she’d be right there as soon as she gave Thomas his vitamins and tucked him in for the night. Ever the worrier, she wanted to make sure he was truly okay even though he’d willingly gone into his room tonight.

As she tentatively opened his door, fearing she’d see him shaking up against the wall, she took a cleansing breath. Thomas had a smile on his face again and he was already waiting in bed, tired after a long day of school and play, instead of sitting in the corner of his room, shaking and petrified to get under the covers. He was staring up at the ceiling where the star and moon stickers clung tightly so he could see the universe no matter whether he was inside or out. If Jenna would allow him, Thomas would sleep out under the stars every night. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hey, sweetpea,” she replied. “Feeling okay?”

Thomas nodded and reached out for the vitamins he was more than happy to take if they rid his brain of the bad dreams. He was eight years old; he didn’t want to be sleeping in his mom and dad’s bedroom every night, but he couldn’t help it when that monster lurked behind every corner of his brain.

Tall and slender and covered in bloodshot eyes that pierced into his soul, it wouldn’t leave him be, threatening to eat him and his mom and dad if he screamed, its voice sending shockwave after shockwave up his spine, like ice on a hot summer day. Thomas shook his head, banishing the evil, beady-eyed monster from his waking thoughts so he could swallow his vitamins. “Yea, mom. I’m good. Just sleepy.”

“Okay, then have sweet dreams baby.” Jenna pulled the covers up around her son’s tiny body. “Dad and I will be in our room if you need us.”

Yawning, he pulled the covers around himself, sheltering himself from the chill in the air and smiled. “I’ll be okay, Mom.”

After placing a kiss on his forehead, Jenna left the room and went to join her husband. Within minutes, the exhausted parents were asleep in a dreamland of their very own, where life was content. They had been dying to go on vacation for years and had been discussing the possibility with Gavin’s extra hours at work.

Meanwhile, Thomas tossed and turned for a while. He got what his mom called a second wind, but it didn’t last long and after about 30 minutes he was drifting off to sleep himself.

He hadn’t seen the monster for a few days, so when his brain conjured up a picture of the beach, waves licking at the shoreline as he and his friends made sand castles, he relaxed into his bed.

Heavy footsteps resounded against the confines of the darkness, its body closing in on the place it had been called to visit: ready, hungry, but wary. Night after night, it did as the woman with the soft voice had asked and rid her son of what plagued him, but the nightmares seemed to be gone and it wanted more…

-

They’d stayed with Bobby for the week while they sought out a case and attempted to figure out where to look for John next. “It’s been dry for a week,” Dean said exasperatedly. He was sitting on the couch, scratching at his elbow, eyes heavy from boredom, fingers still caked with motor oil. When they weren’t watching TV, he was working on Baby. Sam had been pretty quiet most of the week with the exception of watching football, which had never really been his thing, but it brought them all a sense of normalcy so he stuck to it. Bobbie was pretty sure he was in his own head most of the time, but besides that and sports he had his head deep in any and every book on Bobby’s shelves. “And the trail has gone cold for Dad, so what are we supposed to be doing. I feel like shit is going on, but it’s just under the radar so we don’t know about it. Baby is purring and ready to go. I need something.”

He was probably right unfortunately. Unless God decided that he wanted to actually show up and do something and had struck all of the supernatural bullshit from the Earth over the course of the past week, then it was in fact happening under the radar.

Before Bobbie could say anything, a call came in on one of her uncle’s phones. It was actually the one for him and not one of the many law enforcement personas he held in order to help them with cases. “Bobby Singer,” he said upon answering, his eyes immediately darting between all three children. “John, where have you been?” 

The copper taste of blood in her mouth made Bobbie unclench the bite hold she had on her tongue. He was alive…and okay…and hadn’t called. “Gimme the phone,” she mouthed, but her Uncle dodged out of the way.

“What the hell?” Sam exclaimed, pushing his hair out from in front of his eyes. “He’s okay?!”

“Why the hell haven’t you called?” Dean screamed. His eyes were full to the brim with tears. They’d called for weeks without any answer from him and now he calls out of nowhere and it’s Bobby instead of one of them.

Bobby tried to get them to shut up, but when the Winchester siblings wanted answers there was no holding them back. With fire in each step, Bobbie grabbed the phone from her uncle and screamed into the phone. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

John hesitated on the other end, like he was truly hoping to not have to have this conversation over the phone, but then he spoke, his voice so soft that Bobbie almost forgot how pissed she was. Almost being the operative word. “Hey B.”

“Hey? Hey is what you have to say? Dean and I have been calling for weeks. Sam is with us now. He’s been calling you for weeks. We’ve left messages. We’ve tried every phone you own and you just call now? Are you serious?” Bobbie could feel her blood boiling in her veins. Sam looked about the same and Dean, well Dean just looked devastated. “Do you have any idea what not hearing from you has been doing to us?” They’d lost sleep. She and Sam had been getting headaches more often. Dean was drowning his sorrows in booze more than usual.

John was be lucky he wasn’t here right now because if he was, she would’ve been hitting the ever-loving crap out of him. “I needed to get answers for us, Bobbie. For all of us.”

“Answers?”

“About Mom.”

“It’s been over 20 years!” She screeched, suppressing the urge to throw the phone across the room. “You’ve never disappeared and not answered our calls before!” Not for this long, maybe a couple days at a time, but it had been nearly six weeks

Dean’s expression had turned from distraught to livid and Sam was on the edge, storming toward Bobbie to rip the phone from her hand. “While you were off chasing a two-decades old mystery, my girlfriend was killed by the same fucking thing! And you were nowhere to be found.” He practically threw the phone in Bobbie’s direction, slamming the door open to the auto lot outside so he could blow off some steam.

“Bravo, Father of the Year. Not here for your kids…again.” When was enough enough? When was it time to let go of the past and focus on the now?

He stammered his apologies but she wasn’t having it and neither was Dean. He screamed again loud enough so John could hear. “Why did you even call?”

“I have a case I need you three to look into while I’m doing this.”

“Oh, the vendetta, right,” she spat sarcastically. “What is the case?”

“I got a call from a friend of a friend that there’s been a string of child suicides in Montana. I’ll send Bobby the coordinates.”

“What makes you think it’s our kind of job?” She asked. She was so tired of this conversation. All she wanted to do right now was to go outside to one of the used, beat up cars and beat the living shit out of it.

His voice was laden with guilt as he explained that all of the children had been under the age of 10, had been ridiculously happy and bright-eyed and within weeks they’d turned into almost zombies, walking around and eating and drinking and going through the motions for the hell of it without any real drive. “I have nothing to go on but my gut, but all of the children being under 10 makes me think it’s something we might be able to handle.”

“Were any of the children bullied?” Bobbie asked. She was numb now, turning around to see that Dean had left, undoubtedly off to find Sam. 

“No. That was the first thing I asked. All popular, well-adjusted kids.”

Wonder what that was like.

John noticed the hesitation and smoothed over it. “Please, Bobbie. While I’m doing this, please look into this for me.” As much as she wanted to punch him right now, if he had a gut feeling, they needed to follow it. He was rarely wrong about this kind of thing.

“Fine. Go do whatever the hell it is you’re doing and your kids will take care of themselves. Not like we’re not used to it by now.” When she slammed the phone down, the first hot tears slipped down her cheeks.

“You okay?” Bobby asked, his gruff voice the only thing holding her together.

She shook her head and turned defeated to walk outside. He meant well, but the question, like her, was tired. “No, Bobby. I’m really not.”

-

Outside, she saw Sam taking a crowbar to an old car on Bobby’s lot. Dean threw in a hit for good measure and once she arrived Bobbie snapped the crowbar away and got in a few hits of her own. “You all feeling better now?” Bobby asked. It was tough love time.

“No.” They all said simultaneously.

Sam huffed and puffed wanting nothing more than to go back to bed. “What did he say?”

“What you heard,” Bobbie mumbled. “And then that he thought there was a job in Montana.”

After Bobbie told them what he’d said, Dean shrugged. “It could be an us thing. It could be nothing, but I was getting antsy before and now I’m pissed and need to refocus.”

“So you wanna go?” Bobbie asked.

“No…but yes. If I sit around here, especially after that call, I’m going to lose my mind.”

Bobbie was pretty sure all of their brains were already mush.

They finally all cooled off enough to the point of thinking rationally and went back inside to grab everything they’d strewn about Bobby’s place over the course of the past week. “Call me if you need anything okay?” He asked as he kissed her forehead before passing her a piece of paper with the coordinates they needed.

“We will,” she smiled sadly.

Dean relented and let her drive. As she hopped in the driver’s seat, Sam and Dean gave Bobby hugs goodbye, holding on just a little tighter than they had before. Hopefully they wouldn’t need Bobby’s help, considering he helped a range of hunters across the United States with his various personas, but if they needed him, Bobbie knew he’d be there.

@remember-me-forever-silent-angel @gaylemonshark  @marveldivergentouatdctvfangirl @lalirang @averagekansan @addsomesalt @stusbunker @sebba-hiddles @fanfictionrecommendations-com @hoppy519 @thatwrestlingfan91 @extremeobsessions101 @spence-imagines @bettercallsabs @whaaatthefuuuuck @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @your-imagination-runs-wild @cryinglots @steggy01 @gigilame @sedulous-mind @a-unique-girls-heaven @just-antiyou @rmmalta @original-criminal-fanfics @ties-n-suits @veroinnumera @eurusholmmes @fanficienjoyedreading @astridstark13​ @ties-n-suits​ @demonlover87​ @kennybud​ @shittyafblogwnopoint​ @pleasantlyfadingpeace​ @bulldozed88 @a-gir1-has-n0-name​

[fcllencngels]

Moratorium

A Yuri!!! on Ice fic

A moratorium is a delay or suspension of an activity.

You never judge a book by it's cover. You never judge a person by their personality And when Yuri moves to Russia, he sees so much of Yurio that he hadn't expected at all

Read on AO3

TW: Suicide excerpt from Crime and Punishment

The first time Yuri meets Yurio Plisetsky, he’s met with a scowl and a ferocity no one would expect from a fifteen year old. But no one should be judged based on first impressions, the same way that books should not be judged by their cover. For far more important things lie on the inside than on the outside.

The first time Yuri sees Yurio at Victor’s-no their house, he’s met with the same trademark scowl and a slamming door as he looks up from his spot on the couch. With his blonde hair wicked back in a ponytail, he looks sharper, but for some reason, something is…off. It’s the same aura he felt when Yurio kicked him on his birthday, seconds after he gave him a present.

It’s vulnerability.

“Where the fuck is Victor?” He asks, and Yuri turns back to his phone, silently contemplating how much harsher Yurio makes Victor’s name with his quick tongue.

“Hey Yurio.” He calls back, and he hears a huff of annoyance from behind him. The teenager made his way to the bookshelf, his fingers disrupting the carefully aligned books, their spines littered with Russian that Yuri can barely understand and English that he can. “He’s in the shower, I’m sure he’ll be out soon.”

Yurio selects a book from the shelf, muttering something about pigs and fucking, his agile fingers opening the book to a page before a dark look overtook his face.

He almost smiled at this new thought and turned into the street where there was the big house with the tower. At the great closed gates of the house, a little man stood with his shoulder leaning against them, wrapped in a grey soldier’s coat, with a copper Achilles helmet on his head. He cast a drowsy and indifferent glance at Svidrigaïlov. His face wore that perpetual look of peevish dejection, which is so sourly printed on all faces of Jewish race without exception. They both, Svidrigaïlov and Achilles, stared at each other for a few minutes without speaking. At last it struck Achilles as irregular for a man not drunk to be standing three steps from him, staring and not saying a word.

‘What do you want here?’ he said, without moving or changing his position.

‘Nothing, brother, good morning,’ answered Svidrigaïlov.

‘This isn’t the place.’

‘I am going to foreign parts, brother.’

‘To foreign parts?’

‘To America.’

‘America.’

Svidrigaïlov took out the revolver and cocked it. Achilles raised his eyebrows.

‘I say, this is not the place for such jokes!’

‘Why shouldn’t it be the place?’

‘Because it isn’t.’

‘Well, brother, I don’t mind that. It’s a good place. When you are asked, you just say he was going, he said, to America.’

He put the revolver to his right temple.

‘You can’t do it here, it’s not the place,’ cried Achilles, rousing himself, his eyes growing bigger and bigger.

Svidrigaïlov pulled the trigger.

“Svidrigailov pulled the trigger.” Yurio read out loud, and a silence overtakes the room. It’s as if time was frozen, focused on the next thing that could possibly happen.

“It must be terrible to die alone.” he says, his voice impossibly soft, and Yuri looks up, just in time to see the same vulnerability fill the boy’s body up, uncertainty setting itself in his bones.

“What was that Yurio?” Yuri asks, and he’s met with a sharp glare. If he didn’t know better, he would have never assumed that Yurio has composed himself in a half second.

“It’s disgusting in English.” He says with a bitter finality, dropping the book on the floor just as Victor emerges from their bedroom, his hair sparkling from the sunlight.

“Yurio!” he says, his mouth transforming into that beautiful heart shape as he walked over to hug the young skater. Yurio quickly evades his grasp, thin arms crossing as he stares at his elder.

“That’s not my name.” He points at the clock, annoyance written over his face. “You promised you’d be at the rink by seven.” Yurio says accusingly. Victor glances at the time, before shrugging.

“It’s not too late now!” he declared, glancing at the book sprawled on the ground. He gives Yurio a pointed look, but it’s too late, the messy blonde head is already half way to the door.

Victor gives him a hurried kiss before rushing out of the door, and Yuri is left with only the Yurio’s shouts as a solid goodbye.

Standing up, he moves to pick up the fallen book, and pauses as he stares at the text in front of him.

It’s Russian.

The first time Yuri sees Yurio smiling, he’s in a restaurant, nothing admirable compared to the city all around them, but he’s staring at the person across from him with a passion that Yuri recognizes every time he sees his reflection in Victor’s eyes.

In the moment, he’s high off of love, Victor’s present glittering on his finger, and he had never thought of it twice.

The first time Yuri sees Yurio filled with raw unfiltered passion is that afternoon as he stepped into the skating rink. It’s second nature for him to watch from behind the stands as Yurio begins his routine, preparing for one of the biggest days of his life.

Otabek stands off to the side of the ice, and Yuri smiles at him in acknowledgement before music is blasted in his ears.

The surprise overtakes him, and he vaguely thinks ‘This must be Victor’s idea’ before he sees Yurio. For who else could incorporate something so surprising?

Yurio is a fifteen year old, a boy of firsts, and in their relationship, Yuri sometimes forgets that he’s an artist. Not one who stands still in front of a stretched piece of paper in front of him for hours, for that would be a waste of talent.

Yurio paints in emotions, writes in his movements, and the pure, untainted talent in his bones takes Yuri’s breath away, even as the ridiculous music plays in the background. But the music is no longer ridiculous as Yurio moves; instead it wraps around him like a blanket, becoming his shield and his weapon as he leaps across the ice.

And no longer does Yuri think that this routine could possibly be Victor’s idea because he has seen Yurio perform when the ideas of others were shoved down his throat for him to swallow and spit back out in front of hundreds of people.

That looks rehearsed, that beats records.

But the Yurio in front of him harnesses something else that turns his performance heavenly, and no longer is Yurio the fairy in petite looking outfits, but he is a god, using his emotions to cut into the ice harshly, a monster who knows how to use the powers that he had been gifted with.

His skates spray ice as he veers around the edge of the ice, and the spray of frozen water behind him should seem exaggerated, but it takes the breath out of Yuri’s lungs as he watches the sweaty, golden haired god approach his other half.

A dark haired soldier takes his hand, and while Yurio is heavenly and light, Otabek is the soldier, someone dark but forceful, the perfect complement to Yurio’s performance.

A smile takes Yurio’s lips, and the two continue the routine.

The first time Yuri sees Yurio surprised is at the Grand Prix finals, and he’s seated beside Yakov and Lilia, and his mouth had fallen open as he stared at the score on the screen and the voice announced that he had broken five time champion Victor Nikiforov’s record.

At the time, Yuri had been too preoccupied with his own need to win that he had barely noticed how much it had affected Yurio.

The first time that Yuri understands Yurio’s life is that evening as the group moved to Yurio’s house, greeted by his grandpa.

When Yuri steps though the door, Victor grasping his hand, he’s met with the scent of something fried and something all too familiar.

“They make katsudon in Russia?” he asks, only to be met face to face with a man that could rival Yakov’s solidarity.

Yurio pushes between the couple’s arms, with Otabek behind them, before jumping into his grandfather’s arms. Separately, the pair are stubborn and fierce, but Yuri watches in fascination as they exchange loving glances, and soft murmurs of Russian before glancing back at their company.

“You know Victor and beka. That’s Victor’s pig fiancé.” Yurio says. After brief introductions, the group disperses among the small living space. With the door shut behind them, Yuri is surprised on how cozy the living space is. Compared to Victor’s space, this was a closet.

“We can probably look around. Yurio and his grandpa will probably chat for a while.” Victor says.

Pushing open a door, Yuri jumps back as a blitz of fur runs past him, escaping from what Yuri could only surmise as Yurio’s room. A tall bookshelf lined one of the walls, filled with textbooks and reading that Yuri would suspect was far more advanced than any 15 year old would read. His bed was propped up on its frame, close to the ceiling to accommodate the desk underneath it.

The walls were blank, except for the carefully scribbled rules and various techniques written on long sheets of paper.

“This is Yurio’s room?” Yuri asks, almost in astonishment. “I would have imagined that it was…more dramatic.”

“You haven’t opened his closet yet.” Victor laughed. “He likes keeping the space open to practice. He doesn’t stay here too often either, since Yakov and Lilia have him practicing all the time.” Victor replies comfortably. “The books are because he doesn’t have the time to go to school. It’s what makes him Russia’s best skater. He puts everything in to get the results he’s expected to get.”

“What do his parents say? Even I went to college in America while skating.”

Victor stayed silent, his confirmation the only thing Yuri needed.

“Oh.”

“His grandfather is the only family he has. That’s why everyone in the rink is so protective of him.”

With only a look at Victor’s face, Yuri understands. It explains Yakov’s rebuking personality, harsh but never threatening; Lilia’s nitpicking, making sure he had eaten, and eating with him when Yurio hadn’t; Mila and her over bursting energy, and every single other person on the Russian skating team.

It explained the reason why Yurio had wanted Victor back, not only to choreograph his performance, but for more. It explains Yurio’s anger, and the reason he had beaten Victor’s record, as if to erase him, out of his life, out of history, and the anger he had shown Yuri.

“You guys became the family he didn’t have. And I took you away from him.”

The first time Yuri had ever seen Yurio truly filled with childlike happiness was his birthday. Yuri had been missing home, had been uncertain, and his night had improved simply through the well thought efforts of a fifteen year old.

At the time, he had found it odd, but now, he knew so much more.

The first time Yuri truly understand Yurio is that night, as he stands outside in the cold.

It seems to always be cold in Russia, colder than it ever is in Japan, even in the most northern reaches. But there’s something magical about it, the way his breath transforms into a frosty cloud, and the way the snow always decorates the ground in beautiful, messy puddles.

But that is how Russia is. Cold and beautiful. But even within it, Yuri has found the most beautiful things tucked away, whether it be the flowers fighting nature, or the people forcing themselves through life, dressed in parkas and other apparel he wouldn’t see anywhere else.

And after learning so much, that’s what Yurio is.

Cold and beautiful, with his shoulder length hair and angelic movements. His words could cut the most experienced to pieces, and his actions could tear nations apart.

But that wasn’t all. He was still a teenager, one thrown roughly into the world with barely anyone to support him. But under all the pressure, he shined, emerging as the gold medalist at the Grand Prix Finals in his senior debut.

Under all that pressure, he had found his way in the world, he had found a family, and he had found someone he loved.

It was all too obvious for the ones that knew him, Yuri thought. He had been blind to not see it before. There was no other way to interpret the way Yurio marched into the rink, Otabek’s hand firmly clasping his shoulder as he evaded an attack from Mila and ignored Yakov’s rebuking.

Chuckling to himself, he turned and looked back as Victor stepped out the door as well, and met Yurio’s gaze through the door. For someone so young, he had experienced too much, but everything had sculpted him to be what the world wanted.

Yuri only hoped he could be what he wanted himself to be.