#even if we get a slide back following jack's death or anything else

[impyssadobsessions]

DPXDC Prompt: Who is Danny Fenton?

Warning: This one will be dark as it contains character deaths and violence.

Danyal replaced Danny Fenton a long time ago. As in the original died and Danyal needed a place to hide.

He could have killed him or maybe there was an accident. But he's been masquerading as Danny Fenton for a long time.

But imagine Danyal Al Ghul did kill a kid to take his place. Or at least might have put him out of his misery of something tragic that happened.. as if he wasn't stalking homes to try and pretend to be someone's else's child after leaving the league.

Wasn't "his" fault the kid was stupid enough to cross paths and get hurt.

Though guilt does follow him as he pretends and easily slides into the kids life. Reason he "starts" to drift from Jazz, she's the only one that eyeing him too closely and he doesn't like it. Blame it on her being a nag.

Its why he survived the portal incident. He was already contaminated.

All this to avoid having to fight his brother and being kicked around by his grandfather.

Only to have karma bite him in the ass. Not only he failed to come back fully- unlike the pit rage that made you forget yourself- this form seems to make every regret and terrible action dig its claws deeper in every painful way.

Even worse if you play the whole phantom is a ghost combined with Danny.. so phantom is danny fenton.

Now he's lost anything he could have pride in. Thanks to his accident, he's had harder time controlling his body.. especially with his powers. Clumsy. Uneven. He knew he was out of sorts from not practicing but he doubt he be this bad.

His life forever now half of either existence. He couldn't pretend anymore. Once his new parents find out- they would try to kill him.

Back to square fucking one.

And this time. He doubt even his brother or mother would lend a pity hand. Not like he would want it.

AMG just now thought maybe he would go to Gotham after he killed Vlad and was caught by the Fentons.

He warned Vlad and told him he was getting onto his last nerve. Even told him that Jack wasn't his dad and Maddie wasn't his mom, hell he wasn't even Danny Fenton. But if he had to tell him who he was he was going to regret it.

Vlad went even harder losing interest in Danny- only for Danny to make a sword with his powers and show Vlad WHO he was.

He was trying to be like his father- batman. He is the grandson of the demon king- and former member of league of assassins.

Vlad begging when he realizes Danny been holding back and actual death is on the horizon. "I'm Danyal Al Ghul. And I'm tired of you."

Danny did do it to save everyone permanently but after brutally killing Vlad- is when first his friends show up to warn him about his parents just to see what he done.

Danny laughing awkwardly like.. you-you saw that.. didn't you? heh- Then Fentons barge in. Jack is emotional wreck.

Actually getting a few good hits in, before Danny decided to play dead again and let Jack think he destroyed him.

Flying back to gather his stuff to leave permanently. He couldn't take the guilt of looking at Jack's face. Danny Fenton is dead anyways.

Only to be confronted by Jazz later who shakily asks if Danny is her brother.

Danny being honest, "no."

"For how long?" Jazz saying she knows it had to be before the accident.

"…we we're 8."

Jazz asking trying not to sob did he kill him.

"Mercifully." Then explains he was going to die anyways-

"You don't know that-"

"Actually I DO. I know what it takes to KILL someone, what could allow someone to live. That's something I DO know. And if he had managed to live he would be a vegetable." Explaining how the injury to his spinal cord was not recoverable. just imagine its so bittersweet, because Jazz does love her brother still. But Danny has been a lie this whole time.. or at least being Fenton was. Most of the laughs have become real, jokes, the friendship.

But Danny knows he can't fix this.. so he leaves.

Jazz torn whether to beg him to stay or to go.. and just ends up choking up watching him leave.

thus Danny not sure where to go decides its bout time he at least sees his father.

whether he let him see him or not is undecided.

Jack will either be blame for the murder of Vlad, or Phantom will be exposed.

Either way. Danny knew he royally fucked up.. again.

Ooo what if Danny does join the bats but insist he just wants to be a normal teen. Has a fully researched and planned backstory… mostly leaving out things because its "hard" to talk about. How he lived from foster home to foster home pretending to be different children until he just escape.

Until Jazz , Sam , and Tuck come to find him. Having audio where Danny stated he was the son of batman. Danyal Al ghul. So they figured if they find batman. They might find Danny.

Sam and Tucker want answers.. also mixed about Danny.. but dammit they been through so much.. HOW COULD HE keep that from them? They're not going to let him runaway from this. Tucker also adds unless he threatens to kill us.

Jazz had resolved her feelings. Analyzing everything since Danny was 8. When the switch happened. What was him acting and when the real Danyal appeared.

And had decided she didn't care. Danny was her BROTHER. And honestly is the only thing she has left right now. And she wants him back. Wants to help him heal, wants to help him.

Sam and Tuck want their answers then decide what to do from there. They don't WANT everything they knew to be a lie.

And now Batman is aware of more of his son- Damian knowing more of what his twin been up too.

Its a race to get answers out of Danny before he figures it out and disappears for good.

Can see Damian being the best to help Danny through this. Especially since Jon and Dick helped him not feel so bad about the league.

Danny though pointing out- "Difference, the league didn't make me kill a kid, nor a pathetic billionaire."

"You're right. It would have made you kill me."

Danny just breaks.

Thus finally able to admit all his guilt and how terrible he feels about himself. How he TRIED to be like Father but.. he failed so hard. He failed. He failed EVERYTHING. Just a loser. A failure. A waste. Only to be reminded that if he was one- he wouldn't have so many people wanting to know him. He's scared to face his friends' and sister. He knows its gonna hurt. And it does. But even though he isn't forgiven there is hope things can move on from it. Sam and Tucker will have some serious trust issues and take a while to decipher what part is Danny and what isn't. Meanwhile, yes Jazz feels betrayed. She understands and mostly just want to get to know HER brother more.. Danny more. Hope this opens up the wall she wanted to break down this whole time. And as long as Danny shows her who he is, and tries to work on himself. She doesn't care who he was or how he got there. Also he has to show her what he done with her little brother's body and give it a proper burial. Which Danny happily will- giving it a proper burial.. not showing jazz. He's still afraid she'll immediately hate him once she does. Also can see Bruce being so conflicted but Damian, Dick, and Jason all standing up for Danny. Especially Jason once hearing why Danny killed Vlad was to PROTECT his family and town. He gave him fair warning.. So imagine Bruce and Danny having hard time getting along after everything is revealed. But more so just Bruce unable to comprehend the conflicted emotions. Danny tried to emulate him.. but failed. But he tried to do good.. yet he still killed. So its more so awkward than anything. Bruce still wants to give his son the best. Then I can see Danny helping out- though he keeps phantom a secret from the public. He's always invisible or barely seen.

[ssr-archives]

*

Her leathers were all in mint riding condition, which was to say, well-oiled, but viciously scarred. She’d seen some new riders with fresh, lavishly decorated gear gifted to them by well-meaning family and friends, and these days it sometimes even stayed that way, but Peggy’s gear, though it was as supple as when it was new, looked as though it had been lashed with a white-hot whip. There was a scar that leapt across the elbow joint of one arm; the missing part was a permanent puckered welt on the inside of her arm, where the Thread had slipped through the joint and started to eat through her skin before she’d managed to shake it off, screaming. She’d stayed in the air for six hours after, and had barely been able to use that arm for weeks following.

In the moment, though, she didn’t allow herself to linger on that. The muscle memory was useful for getting into her gear with military efficiency, and she was down in the sands before most of the other riders.

Most of them. Daniel was already mounted, his bad leg strapped into the saddle while his dragon, a sweet-natured brown, twisted back to nose at him. He lifted a gloved hand to her before pulling his goggles down, and Peggy waved back.

“Oh for the love of—really, Dooley couldn’t come up with anyone else?” Ah, and there was Jack, strapping on his riding leathers while his skittish green lady flexed her wings under the arching ceiling.

“If you’ve a better candidate, feel free to name them,” Peggy retorted.

“Name him, you mean.”

“Have you, then?”

“This is a terrible idea,” Jack said, which was answer enough. That was fine. She’d always worked well with him on the wing, and that was all that mattered now. She could always strangle him once they were back on the ground. “When’s the last time you were even up in the air, Carter?”

“I’m sorry, I thought that Roger Dooley was the leader of this wing,” Peggy said. “Or have you suddenly become a bronze rider when I wasn’t looking?”

It was a low blow, and she could see it in the way Jack’s face twisted before he turned back toward his dragon, who arched her long neck down to butt at him. Peggy refused to feel bad about it. Jack Thompson’s touchy ego was not her problem right now.

The agitated blue dragon prancing at the far side of the cavern was. Setoth was small for a blue, built for speed rather than power, which had always struck Peggy as an odd match for the jocularly overbearing Krzeminski, but the bond was evidently true. She winced, hoping with real fervency for the first time that he’d pull through.

Peggy could ride, after all. But bonding with a dragon was another story. A bond broken by the death of half the pair would never properly heal—all that could be hoped for was a heavy callus to shield the hurt.

And that was precisely the sort of self-pitying morbid rumination that she didn’t need right now. She wouldn’t think of Kaleth falling from the sky, the bleak silence where before there had been a warm presence in her mind. About her own unlikely rescue from the water and the mindless incoherent weeks that followed.

She shook her head sharply, glad that Thompson was already occupied with strapping himself into the harness and thus not able to witness her falter, and approached Krzeminski’s riderless blue.

:All right, that’s quite enough of that: she sent sharply, cutting across the snarled tangle of fear and fury like a knife blade.

It was harsh, entirely too harsh, a jagged blade on an already wounded mind. Only a rider could have done it; no paired rider would have dared.

And Peggy, the last of the orphaned pairs left here at the Weir—one of the few left at all who was anything approaching sane—she planted her feet on the sand, her fingers digging into the leather of her helmet as the furious blue dragon mantled like a bird of prey—and then subsided.

:There we are: Peggy sent, sliding her helmet on as she approached. Setoth mantled again, restlessly, then ducked his head down, watching her with a wary golden eye as she approached. :Your bondmate will heal: she sent more gently, hoping very much that it was true. :For now we have work to do.:

Relief Rider | Agent Carter

First of two fics I did for Fandom Trees, a multifandom gifting exchange. There’s a lot of stuff on there that looks really good - go check out the AO3 collection as well!

Title: Relief Rider Pairing: Gen Rating: Teen Warnings: None Other Tags: Dragonriders AU Wordcount: ~1000

ON AO3

*

Peggy was halfway through her second bitter mug of klah for the day when Dooley stuck his head into the dining hall and barked, “Carter!”

Angie gave her a wide-eyed look across the table, and Peggy tried to shush her without opening her mouth before lifting her head. Dooley looked out-of-sorts and tired in scorched leathers, sweaty hair uncharacteristically disheveled from his helmet, which was still tucked under his arm.

She shoved back her seat and stood, sketching a salute that did nothing more than make him scowl. “Sir?”

He eyed her with a look of distaste that she was accustomed to, but there was also an assessing air to his gaze that was new. Finally, he heaved a sigh.

“Gear up,” he said finally.

Peggy blinked. “Sir?”

“Something wrong with your ears, Carter? Krzeminski’s down, and there’s Threadfall due in three marks. His Setoth is already saddled, and we need a full wing. Can you handle it?”

Peggy snapped to at that. “Yes, sir. Krzeminski—that is, will he be—”

“He’ll probably live,” Dooley said. “Not your problem right now. Can you handle it, or can’t you?”

Now was not the moment to point out that she’d been a relief rider on the front for three turns, that she’d watched friends and fellow riders fall under Thread, that she bore the scars of it herself. The ravages were manageable these days, and the services of unpaired riders like Peggy were no longer needed, or so she’d been repeatedly informed.

Really, no one liked to be reminded of the possibility of outliving their dragon. Like Daniel with his wooden leg, Peggy was a reminder of there but for the grace of God.

“Of course, sir,” she said crisply. “Let me get my gear.”

Dooley grunted, then turned on his heel to leave. Peggy shared a single wide-eyed look with Angie, then downed the last of her klah in a single bitter gulp and all but scrambled for her rooms.

Keep reading

[neven-ebrez]

I'm having a lot of trouble connecting to S14 meta. Most are so upbeat about Dean's current state, seeing everything pointing to Dean's bisexuality & Destiel endgame. But the show doesn't see Dean just thru a shipping lens. And by side stepping around the Michael arc, I feel like these metas are ignoring how Dean's past trauma, his self worth issues, his search for an individual identity, etc have to be (painfully) resolved first. Maybe, as you say, it's b/c Sam's already in endgame?

I’m sorry but I’ve honestly got no clue what is being said!  I don’t actively seek out Destiel positive meta anymore because my opinion on the whole Destiel writing situation is pretty firm and imo is a fair opinion that doesn’t need to change because there’s no one out there who is writing “meta” who knows anything more than what I already do.  I absolutely mean that without arrogance.  I say this because I can’t know where your disconnect is because I’m not reading what you are reading so I can’t even begin to know where the trouble is.  

I’d say Dean’s current state isn’t any more or less hopeful than what it was in S13 after getting Cas, Mary and Jack back.  Dean is off visiting Mary and Bobby, maintaining his family connections.  Dean is out helping to train Jack because he listened to him and helped Jack with what he said he needed emotionally and physically.  All that is good.  Dean keeps a beat on what Cas is doing and he’s okay with him not 100% being by his side at all times, just so long as he’s in his life.  Same for things with Sam.  Everyone is alive so Dean “is good”.  It’s all very “healthy”.  But.  When push comes to shove, if any of this was taken away I’m really very sure Dean would slide right back down as far as the show needed him to go in order to buy time.  This is Sam and Dean’s dream, the best situation for their well being.  Their family is more or less “safe” and they are no longer isolated and desperate to be in one another’s pockets.  If this was threatened, if any of this was taken away, I think they’d be right back in the same mindset and situation they always have been in, desperate to get their “core” family back.  The impending loss of Jack threatens this more than any other current factor.  

The lens of “family” is how this show operates, and yes, some of that is romantically coded.  I’d argue Destiel has been actively coded as romantic since 6x20.  It’s been subtextually romantically structured for Dean’s happiness since S8 (arguably S7).  But structure and coding are not active plans for text.  In my opinion, there’s an active structure in place for Dean to be developed to a point to say something to get Cas to stay, and that there have been many textual bridges burned at this point, but none of that absolutely means romantic text is definite, only reasonably more likely.  I can say this, however.  Nothing is actively and structurally being done to address Dean’s bisexuality to bring that subtext into text.  Nothing.  Whether that’s positive or negative, I can’t say, due to the show’s age.  Subtextual hints are just that, hints.  And stuff like 8x13, 10x16, 11x04, 11x11 these are all unstructured vague texts that structurally lead nowhere, because the show historically has a problem with its own subtextual --- > textual follow through.  They are not writing a “coming out” arc for Dean.  It’s honestly too late for that.  A decade too late.  

We could get into the question of “Does the show not think this is needed then, for possible eventual text?” and at this point I’d argue, “No, they don’t think it is needed.”  Then we ask, “Why not?” and there’s two reasonable answers: because the subtext and vague text is never becoming anything more OR the show is gonna lean so hard into the vague text and visual presentation of Destiel that they think this will be enough to get their point across (which either could or could not leave room for interpretation, depending on what is done exactly).  A coming out narrative is always obvious to those that know what to look for, just look at what B99 did recently.  A coming out narrative always leans into getting both dialogue and (usually, eventually) visual text.  Supernatural has no interest in this from what I can tell and I’ve honestly been looking at it for a long ass time.  I could argue this is without malicious intent simply because of the show’s age, and the position showrunner Dabb has been left in, but it doesn’t change the fact that it is never happening at this point imo.  

Prior to the start of the season I think it was tough to see how Michael was going to translate structurally into Dean’s character development exactly.  But now I think it’s clearer.  He’s the father version of Dean’s childhood trauma in the same way Amara (and the whole MOC arc) was the mother version of the same.  Until Dean confronts his father (likely, physically) he’s standing still, much like he was without Cas in early S13.  And while Dean is reasonably surviving and living now, that’s not the same as truly thriving and stepping into the future.  I think if you are reading meta that doesn’t acknowledge this is needed (for Destiel, Dean’s general development, whatever) then you are simply reading someone who doesn’t understand what Michael structurally translates to.  Sometimes it’s hard to tell.  I was rough on S12 because I didn’t realize what the MOL really “translated” to until after the season was over.  Sometimes these things can only be seen at the end.  It’s even tougher when you see how Dabb likes to tell and structure two stories at once: the present season and the next one.  

I fell for the same trap and gave a real harsh structural opinion on early S13 because I didn’t yet recognize this as Dabb’s structuring style.  He did it in S12 too, but I was so thoroughly bored with the MOL that I didn’t bother to actively consider what they structurally translated to, how they and Mary effected Sam’s trajectory, nor how Dabb was having us consider the nature of Jack before he ever entered the picture.  It was an unknowable storyline at the time S12 aired so the full appreciation of the structure is only apparent on retrospection.  S13 was the same, with foreshadowing for Michael!Dean very, very early in the season.  Whatever is coming next, it’s likely that we’ve already been exposed to the idea of it.  I think the important thing to take away is this though: Dabb finishes what he starts.  That isn’t to say the show doesn’t have a history of dropping things, even structurally significant things, but Dabb so far doesn’t do this (with the exception of the fall through of Wayward, which has been reworked back into Supernatural).  If the structure is saying Dean needs to confront his dad about his past trauma (but again, his repressed sexuality doesn’t seem to be a factor as I believe we would have gotten heavy mirrors by now if the show was going to do this in a textual way), then I think that’s exactly what we are going to get.  The show structurally blamed Mary.  Now it structurally blames John.  

And then none of this is even touching Cas’ side of things.  He’s happy and accepting that no matter what he’s got himself.  He’s in a good mental place.  He doesn’t even care about his powers and “usefulness” anymore in the way he used to and he’s honestly much better for it.  There’s still shame, I think, in how he views how he wants Dean in his life (and here the show has provided a lot of structural support and this is honestly like a flavor of a coming out narrative, closer than anything Dean himself has anyway). But before that, I think if he had the option he’d still like to try and help Heaven.  And we know he’s going to be drawn back in to something there soon...  

There’s still a lot to address.  For them both.  The fact these structures exist, and that they exist around them and between them both (Cas is absolutely essential to Dean’s well being and his future courtesy of S13), tells us how the show approaches its own endgame.  But I can’t say this enough, neither one of these structures (not Dean’s leveled on dialogue and not Cas’ leveled on action) present a narrative that requires explicit romantic text or action to be resolved.  This is something that must always be kept in mind imo, so I don’t mind saying it as much as I have to as a balance to all the optimism and hope.  I do think, however, that the chances of text are greater now than they ever had been (whereas before me saying this was just wishful thinking against unknowable pacing).  For whatever that’s worth to those that care to read my opinions on this.

[onecantsimply]

Aftermath of (Y/n) getting into a fight-

Basically this is probably gonna become a series- 

@monochrome-cropcrown

I got it-

-

“One broken nose, three broken ribs, and one shattered knee. That’s everything your child did to Theo.” Jack’s eyebrows faintly furrowed as (Y/n) looked out the window. They were completely soaked with rain water, with some blood starting to bleed through their clothes. “My apologies. I’ll give them a stern scolding.” Jack gently bowed his head. “As a result of that beating, your child has been expelled for three weeks. I of course get that their situation has caused for them to get like this, but there’s no reason for them to get very violent with another student.” (Y/n) looked at the man with furrowed eyebrows before Jack put a hand over their shoulder with a gentle shake of his head. He saw the teen lean back into their chair with a sigh, shaking their head as they looked out the window. “I told them that I would give them a stern talking to. There’s no need to say those kinds of things in front of a child only a week after their parent’s death.” Jack gently let go of (Y/n)’s shoulder, giving a small glare to the man in front. “If needed, I can settle matters myself. But it isn’t their fault for getting provoked if someone else had started it.” They softly eyed Jack for a second. “I will settle matters myself if needed, but my kid shouldn’t be the only one getting in trouble for this.” Jack faintly went silent for a second. 

(I don’t think anyone can do anything with that type of wound anyways. -Jack)

He sighed softly “... We’ll get going now. Thank you for the calling.” He spoke as (Y/n) silently got up. They immediately grabbed their things and left the building. “(Y/n), you’ll get soaked again!” Jack called out as he followed after the teen. The pair had walked out of school grounds. “... What were you doing in there?” Jack questioned while he held his umbrella over both him and (Y/n). “You just got back in school, and you already get yourself into a fight. What happened in there?” Jack looked down at (Y/n), seeing how they had looked down at the floor. It was clearly soaked with rain water, the drops that had dropped in creating small splatters of rain water. It didn’t help with the pair’s footsteps only creating more small splashes. “... Some guy decided to pick on me because of my situation. I beat his ass after, even if it reopened some wounds.” Jack’s eyes faintly narrowed. “And got more wounds in the process too.” (Y/n) softly sighed. “It’s fine... Not like he could do anything about it with a few broken bones, anyways.” Jack blinked. He then smiled faintly, looking down. “From that, I see that you won?” (Y/n) nodded. “Damn right I did...” They mumbled. Jack placed a hand over their head. “I’ll let it slide once, but I don’t want you becoming a delinquent, okay?” (Y/n) once again nodded. “Great. When we get home, I’ll be patching up your wounds again. They reopened.” (Y/n) looked back at Jack with a blink.

“Your treatment hurts.” They spoke. “You want infected wounds or healed ones?” Jack blinked. “... Fair. You win.” The blond chuckled faintly. “Right right. But when I’m done, I’ll cook up some of your favorite food. While I am not particularly proud of you being involved in a fight, I’m glad you won. You really did send him to the hospital, yes?” Jack looked up. “... That can call for some celebration.” (Y/n) chuckled. “No more doing that to people though. If someone picks on you, I’ll deal with them myself.” When the blond had spoke, (Y/n) looked up at him with an arched eyebrow. “And how? Will it be civil?” Jack smiled softly. “... That will depend on if they actually lay a finger on a single hair on your head or not. But whether that will happen or not, I may or may not be civil. That will entirely depend on them.”

[tommyspeakycap]

Hi love, I adore your writing so much! And as you just asked for some ideas/concepts here’s mine for Jack Grealish from prompts list 2: fluff #11 where he’s asking her (she’s his best friend) to go for a walk cause there’s so much going on in his life and he just needs to talk. fluff #36, angst #31 and a happy ending please? Basically a Best friends to lovers thing as I’m a sap for that…thank you!! xx

Fluff #11; “I know it’s 2 in the morning but do you want to…”

Fluff #36; “because I fell for you, isn’t it obvious?”

hope I did this justice for you!

Fell for you

“Jesus god,” you grumbled with hands aimlessly palming across the mattress for the blaring sound of your phone from its place charging somewhere on the bed. Your next move is an elongated “Ahhhhh,” sound, fatigue still holding tightly onto your body in a way that seals your eyes shut even as you try to shut off the sound your phone was deafening your with. In a wakened state, you might’ve noticed that it was your ringtone that had interrupted your sleep. However as tired as you were you ruled it as your alarm right away and moved yourself into seated position with the duvet still wrapped tight around you and your eyes still shut.

You were suspended in that space between being asleep and being awake, still sitting up when the offensive sound came screaming through your phone once again.

This time, your eyes snapped open in fright and the fatigue-blurred letters of Jack Grealish’s name popped up across the top of your screen.

“How is it morning already?” You protest down the line, a heavy sigh passing your lips to follow. Jack’s chuckle can be heard through the line, “It’s not.” He replies simply, prompting you to pull your phone away from your ear to hold out in front if your face.

02:17am

“Then why on earth am I up?” You mumble, a question more posed to yourself than the man on the other end. “Wait, why are you up? And why are you calling so early?”

“I’m outside your door.”

“You’re what?!” You throw back your duvet and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You’ve hung up the phone already by the time you reach the front door at a tired shuffle. His hair is tousled when you see him, like he’s been running his hands through it over and over, you imagine that he has. He does that when he’s stressed. You have to squint against the street lights and his car headlights outside, still on as it sits running on the street. “Can we go somewhere?” He asks, his voice as desperate as his eyes look when he speaks, begging you to agree. Not that he would need to beg. You’d do anything for that man. Even if it did mean dragging yourself from your bed at 2 in the morning.

“Course.”

No question, no pressure. He loves that from you. He knows you’ll ask him later and when the time is right you’ll force him to tell you of course. Now is not that time yet and you’re nowhere near awake enough to do so much anyway. “Let me just grab my-“

“I have a hoodie in the car and your shoes in my boot.” He cuts in, tugging your arm gently out the door of your house. He knows you better than any other person in this world, so he knows full and well that there’s not much you are going to do in the way of protesting when you’re so soon out of sleep. He’d often teased with layers of worry deeper beneath that he genuinely worried for you living on your own. You open the door to people far too easily, and he will not fail to bring that up sometime tomorrow. For now, he steps into your doorway where you had stood moments before, grabs your keys from the cabinet and pulls the door closed behind him with a click of the latch locking behind him.

The cold paving stones beneath your feet make you shine in protest, shifting your weight between each one to ease the chill. In was in that cold that you look down and make the realisation, or rather come to remember the fact that you don’t have any pyjama bottoms on. “Jack!” You yelp, “I’m not wearing trousers!” You suddenly feel very exposed and rightly so, standing outside your home suddenly very awake in only a long claret and blue shirt that only extended down to the middle of your thighs. “Eh?” He whips around, “You what?”

It’s only now he really takes you in with rosy cheeks from embarrassment, your hair messed up from your sleep. His frantic eyes soften and his heart stops thundering in his chest finally. The sight of you there calms him. You’re there. Right there. His (y/n) is right there in front of him.

“What’s the rush, Jack? Is everything okay?”

Your gentle words and tired eyes bring him back to the ground, the flurry of his racing thoughts only now finally calmed. He often acts on impulse, but you are always able to slow his brain down a few paces. His sits heavily, "I know it's two am but...do you think we could go somewhere. My heads fuckin'... I don't even know." He dips back down to run that hand through his hair once again. His words stoke a bit of a worry in you, head tilted to the side in question. Jack doesn't tend to be the kind who gets himself panicked and all wound up like he has right now. That's more your half of the friendship. You did the worrying, he did the easygoing.

"It's okay, Jack. Of course. Come on then, let's go." You nod your head and he goes around the back of the car to get the shoes and socks he promised you. You very nearly choked up a lung when he presented you with a brand new Balenciaga box. "What the fuck, Jack?" You all but wheeze out, head whipping towards him climbing into the passenger seat.

"Got you a present 'cause I'm leaving soon." He shrugs with a jaw-dropping ease. You list open the lid and inside sit a pair of sliders that cost nearly £400. You physically gawp. "Oh my god."

"What?" Jack asks, drawing out of his parking spot on the street, "Heard you telling your mum you needed new sliders for the summer, do you not like 'em?"

His nerves would be clear in his voice if you hadn't been in such a ferocious level of shock. You're glad you weren't eating anything because it surely would have choked you to death. Of course you had seen Jack wearing brands like Balenciaga, Gucci, Versace and the likes, but you had never owned such an expensive piece of clothing. "I mean of course I love them, J but I meant from Primark or bloody amazon, you shouldn't have spent al that money on me." You protested, but Jack really pays it no mind. In fact, the suggestion that you don't deserve everything luxurious that this world has to offer offends him more than it does anything else. You should know that you deserve everything good that this world can give and he has the means to actually give that to you. He'd count himself an absolute fool not to.

"Gonna pretend you didn't say that." He mutters, eyes kept carefully on the empty road ahead of his car. Your eyebrows are furrowed, a part of you brain still very much trying to a) wake up and b) process the expensive of the gift he handed to you so casually. "Not arguing about it either." His voice cuts you off the second you open your mouth to speak, shutting down your protest before it even leaves you.

As the fatigue of your sleep wears off, your mind continues to be just as boggled as it had been the moment his name popped up on your screen at 2am, if not more boggled now.

"You're acting so weird, Jack. What the hell is going on with you today?" Your insistence is careful with your pressure. It's enough to try to open him up but not enough to make it sound like a confrontation. Neither you nor Jack like confrontation especially with each other. The words make him chew on his lip as he careens the large white range rover through a turn that leads up a gravel road that crunches beneath his tires. The stops when he's met with a with a large gate that prevents cars but a little slot for people to walk through. Jack leaves his door open when he leaves the car with a curtly mumbled "Stay here" as he does. He pushes open the gate with ease before he gets back in the car and follows the path up the hill further.

He stop abruptly in a very small gravel car park without any parking lines to abide and steps out, slamming his door behind him like he absolutely always does; you swear that man couldn't be quiet if his life depended on it. Which was another reason why you were so surprised by his silence. You clamber out after him with that same fear of falling flat on your face that always fills your mind each and every time you leave his car. But Jack is where he has been every time you step out the Range Rover since the first day he got it; standing by your door to hold your hand so you can jump out without a trip onto the gravel beneath. He shuts the door behind you and hands you a spare pair of his loose fitting track pants.

On an average day you might've teased the reason he hasn't worn them was because they wouldn't have squeezed the life out his legs. Today wasn't one of those days, so you slip them on without a word. Followed up by his way too big for you socks and the brand new black slides. Even wide awake, this confuses you to no end. Jack was never quiet and never elusive. He was boisterous, loud, open and confident.

The second you turn around, you realise why he brought you here.

The view of the stars, the sky completely clear. There wasn't a street lamp in sight. The moon provided the kind of spotlight hue that you kind of thought only existed in the enhancement of Hollywood movies. "Woah," you breathe, words stolen by its beauty.

"Yeah," Jack laughs, "Now you know how I feel every time I look at you."

You head turns to him so fast it sends your head spinning a little, or maybe that's just the shock of his words. You couldn't tell.

"What?"

He shrugs his shoulders, scuffing his feet along the gravel to meet up with where you stand. But he freezes before he gets the chance.

"Why are you wearing that?" He asks, a very sudden cold change in his tone that actually makes your body feel colder. "Wearing what? This?" You gesture to the claret and blue shirt you had thrown on in a haste to get to him standing at your front door a short while ago. You turn to see his unhappy scowl and the firm discontented cross of his strong arms. "Yeah that," he grumbles, "And where'd you even get it." He adds with a flare of his nostrils. He looks adorable angry like this, like he's trying so hard to look angry when his emotions lie truly elsewhere.

You look down at the shirt with furrowed brows, before you shift your shoulder forward, crane your neck and pull the material around to view the back as best you could. "What's wrong with it?" You ask finally, attempts to defy the natural state of your body failing to allow you to see your back.

"It's Ginny's." Jack states as if its the most obvious thing in the world. You just look at him bewildered. "And?"

He huffs as he takes a few more heavy steps up to you, looking like he had a lot of things to say without any way of being able to get them to coordinate from his brain to his lips. "Why do you have Ginny's shirt though?"

You breathe a little bit of laughter at him, shaking your head softly. "it was just a joke. I saw him after a match waiting for you so I jumped out at him and pretended to be a fan for a video and he signed it and gave to me as a joke. I just threw it on when you showed up at my door in the middle of the night. Wasn't exactly a fashion statement."

Jack still grunts in dissatisfaction at your answer, refusing to meet your eyes. "You have plenty of mine to wear though, don't need his." His argues in a disgruntled grumble. You raise and drop your arms down by your side with a sigh. He was really testing your patience now. "Hm, last time I checked you couldn't give me yours anymore because your ex didn't like it." You protest with a wag of your finger, making him turn his head downwards with something like a shudder running through him at the mention of her name. "Yeah well there's a reason she's my ex innit." He mutters under his breath.

"What the hell is the problem with you today Jack?" You exclaim, his eyes jolting to you in surprise. You don't often snap.

"First you show up at my door in the middle of the night and drag me out of my house and then you won't actually speak to me and now you're picking a fight about John M fucking Ginn?" You snap, the anger and confusion he had stirred up showing in your emphatic hand gestures that only come out when you're telling him a passionate story or going off your head at him. "He's your best mate, why would that even bother you?!"

"I'm sorry, I-"

"I'm not done, Jack!" You yell, holding out a hand. "You haven't even spoken to me all week. I found out you made the England call up on fucking twitter Jack, twitter! And your mum told me about you dumping your girl and I can't even get through to you and now you're buying me gifts and bringing me here? I don't know if I'm coming or going here Jack, you have to give me something. We're meant to be friends." You voice breaks on the last syllable and a lump forms in Jack's throat that he can't just swallow away. Any pain, any hurt and any slight sadness of emotion that appears in you shatters his heart. He thought that was a normal reaction until two weeks ago when he realised it only happens to him when its your upset he witnesses.

"I'm sorry." He says, his voice thick and wavering with the same level of emotion. "I really, really am." He stands right in front of you now, so close you're basically chest to chest, faces merely inches apart.

"And I'm scared." He admits, sending a pang through your already aching heart. "Scared because I'm leaving and I can't take you with me." His words tickle your lips as they leave his, clouds of air puffing above the two of you as his hot breath meets the cold night air. "You've done it before, J. It'll be fine." You soothe, hands gently raising to reach up and brush the hair out of his face. His let's forth a content sigh of relief at the feeling of your touch. "That was before though." He confesses with a slight shrug. He watches that furrow sow itself back into your brows.

"Before what?"

"Dance with me?" He suggests, his arms finding their way around you with ease, much less fumbley than you remember from your high school prom. Your head tilts in that adorable confused way that makes a grin form on his cold lips.

"Why?" You query, eyes slightly narrowed in suspicion. He laughs softly. "Because the music is slow and the sky is gorgeous and because I love you."

Before you get the chance to recognise, process or even understand what he said, he's swaying you around the gravel under the stars.

"Because you what?" You squeak, your eyes desperately searching his as you look for any reason this might be some kind of a joke or one of pranks that makes you want to throttle him. He just smiles at you with those crinkled eyes and the love shining right there in his eyes for you to see. Your stomach flutters like the teenager you were when you fell in love with him. His lips dip down to capture yours in the best kiss that your being has ever felt, his hands ringing your hair, stroking down over your cheeks with those warm hands of his.

"Because I've fell for you, isn't it obvious?"

[supimjustwriting]

You Ruined Me

Features: Riddle Rosehearts, Leona Kingscholar, and Malleus Draconia

Author’s Note: I believe I had a bit too much fun with this. Honestly the idea I wrote for Malleus can become its own fic.

Riddle Rosehearts (Trey Clover) Genre: Comedy Warnings: Bullying, product placement

“My teeth are fine. I don’t need your help.”

It was supposed to be just another day at the Heartslabyul dorm, yet quiet whispers seemed to surround the couple.

“I heard that Riddle’s (S/O) doesn’t brush their teeth.” “Is that why they always have a closed lipped smile in photos?” “Ever since Trey mentioned it. I can’t help but notice how yellow their teeth are.”

Each word dug thorns into (Y/N) before they finally had to excuse themselves.“

Trey allow me to talk to you for a moment,” pulling the vice dorm leader aside. They mirrored their lover’s rosy cheeks while steam poured from their ears. “What have you done?”

“It’s just a passing comment. I’m sure things should blow over soon. Trends like this come and go all the time,” the clover haired male held his hands up in defense, a sheepish grin painting his lips.

“A trend? You call this a trend! I can’t even simply speak or eat without somebody. No. EVERYBODY, staring at my teeth!”

Before things could escalate further. A certain redhead entered the room, his eyes filled with worry and confusion like a child walking in on their parents arguing.

You and Trey reflexively apologize to each other, eyes glued to the ground. With the both of you explaining, each explaining their respective side. A new rule was born. At least [décor] reminders of the rule now made home to this rule flooded dorm.

The next morning a sign made their home upon the kitchen wall, followed by a picture of a smiling tooth. It was quite reminiscent of a children’s dentist office. The sign read” ALL STUDENTS ARE ENCOURAGED TO BRUSH THEIR TEETH AFTER EATING. THIS INCLUDES AFTER DRINKING TEA AS WELL AS OTHER FOOD ITEMS KNOWN TO STAIN TEETH.

Needless to say this was just another rule to be forgotten. At least they stopped talking about you and now call out each other.

[ Little did everyone know this was simply all planned by Trey to promote the new toothpaste he was working on.. It was a success. ]

Leona Kingscholar (Ruggie Bucchi) Genre: Drama/Angst Warnings: Stealing, invasion of privacy

“Anything else would’ve been fine but out of everything you had to pawn that?!”

You tore your room apart. Throat closing with each area of failure. Just where was your necklace? Taking a few deep breaths, you try to recall who could’ve visited your room. Crossing your arms over your chest, you create a mental list.

Jack stopped by to ask if you wanted to join him on his morning run, to which you grumbled softly. Still half asleep.

A while later Leona came, scooping you from your desk before holding you protectively against his chest. His body relaxing from the familiar warmth and scent your body gave. Though before you could fall asleep yourself. Ruggie popped in asking if he could have any spare notebooks laying around. Lazily gesturing to your desk, you close your eyes.

Ruggie.

“Where is it?” “I know you were half asleep but you agreed to letting me take those notebooks. You ain’t getting them back.” “Not those. You can take as many as you want but where is my necklace?”

The hyena’s face dropped as he chuckled nervously.

“Oh! That little ol’ thing? Out of your whole collection I thought you’d miss that one the least. So, I pawned it for some madol. Since it was yours to begin with, I’ll give you a cut of the profits. How does 75:25 sound to you? Sellers fees and all that,” he chirped, turning on his charming business mode.

Each word that left his lips caused your blood to boil ever hotter.

“So, you’re telling me. That you sold my only connection to home because it looked plain?”

Oh fu- He should’ve put sentimental value on the table as well. No wonder the pendant looked familiar to him. Hindsight truly is troublesome, isn’t it? With his ears pressed against his skull, a sheepish grin painted his lips.

“I could always buy it back?” “You will buy it back.”

Like a lion stalking their prey, you slowly made your way to the hyena only to be interrupted by a familiar groan.

“Oi, what’s with all the noise? Don’t you know that some people are trying to rest here?” A yawn erupted from Leona’s lips as he scratched the back of his head. “(Y/N)? From the look in your eyes. What did Ruggle do?” Nothing could hide the amused smirk forming upon his face.

After explaining the situation to Leona. You got your necklace back even quicker than promised. Needless to say a certain hyena was banned from your room indefinitely. Unless you decided otherwise. It’s your room. Leona won’t tell you what to do but he’ll throw in a suggestion here and there. Of course. Due to the talk Ruggie had with your boyfriend. He doesn’t even consider looking at your stuff the wrong way.

Malleus Draconia (Lilia Vanrouge) Genre: Horror, Angst Warnings: Unhealthy relationships, yandere themes

“Lilia, please don’t. We can talk this out! Can’t we? I don’t wanna be a fae. Please convince Malleus otherwise. I want to stay human. I want to stay me!”

You stared at the joyous fae before you. His maniacal smile never left his lips as he slowly approached your trembling form.

“Oh sweetheart. I would hate to be the bearer of bad news but this was your dearest’s idea. It broke his heart, you know?” Lilia’s voice dropped to an accusatory tone as he clicked his tongue at you. “I told him that loving a human comes with a heavy price. You can only truly give your heart to someone once. I will have you know. The other times will never be as pure as the first.”

Despite your sniffles and cowering form. He continued as if scolding a child.

“Humans have such short lives and so we talked it out. We agreed to tweak some things. Till death do us part is too tragic of a way to end a story, don’t you think? So, we decided to focus on the forever in the happily forever after. Romantic, isn’t it?”

Lilia closed the distance between the two of you. Before revealing a small vial with a pink sparkling liquid dancing within. Gingerly he held the glass to your lips, teasing you with your fate.

“And all it will take is just one gulp,” each word that followed, he tipped the glass ever so slightly. 

Malleus watched the scene unfold before him an unreadable expression painting his face.

“Lilia,” his voice shook the room, filling the empty space with an indescribable pressure.

You were saved! Surely your upper classmen had to be joking, right? This was simply just one of his pranks going too far and Malleus is here to stop the teasing. Yes! That has to be it. Yet why does the draconic fae stare at you with such fascination?

“I thought we agreed that I would give it to them.”

In a fit of laughter, Lilia let your trembling form free. His eyes glowing a deep magenta as delight slowly filled him. The sight of the young couple warming his cold heart.

“Look Malleus, they’re shaking with excitement! I guess we got too carried away there,” the short haired male let out a sigh. “If only we were a bit quicker, right (Y/N)? Then we could have surprised your darling dearest.”

A soft smile crossed Malleus’ lips. “(Y/N), you didn’t have to do that. Though I am touched by the thought,” your boyfriend walked over to you before kneeling before your doll-like stature. “Let this day become a commemoration for the future years to come. I truly do love you from the bottom of my heart (Y/N). Now please, tilt your head back for me love.”

What was once a comforting embrace, now resembled a cage. His cold skin against your own reminded you of a corpse. Yet there was a soft burn coming from beneath. Love? That’s a fool’s wishful thinking.

You felt your scalp being tugged softly, snapping you from your thoughts. Gingerly long slender fingers caressed your cheek as if to remind you everything will be alright. With the bitter liquid sliding down your throat. All you could do was curse the pair from the bottom of your heart. How dare they ruin you like this?

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

hi!!

i hope you’re doing well and congrats on your milestone!! i wanted to ask if you could do a drabble if #34 —using my body to sheild yours with— with criminal minds fandoms (hotch and jj or just hotch haha) please!

no worries at all if u don’t wanna or don’t feel inspired like just a suggestion!!

i love your writing and page and can’t wait to read whatever you write :)))

34. Using your body to shield them from attack.

Warnings: canon-typical violence, gun violence, injuries, so much angst, vague death this kind of thing can never be short for me can it

This had escalated -- far too quickly.

And it was all your fault.

You could barely hear the unsub screaming at you to get on your knees, your blood roaring in your ears, until Hotch had grabbing you by your wrist and pulled you to your knees with him.

Hotch. Hotch. He wasn't supposed to be here.

He had Jack, he had to watch his son grow up, see him graduate college, stand beside him at his wedding -- and now he knelt beside you, his own gun now pointed at him --

-- because of you.

Charging headfirst into a heated situation -- like you always did -- and he knew that. He knew you never followed an order to stand down -- not when children's lives were at stake, not when parents had come crying to you to save them, not when he knew that you couldn't live with yourself if you didn't do something--

But how would you live with yourself if Jack didn't have either one of his parents?

You couldn't. Your fingernails dug into the marbled floor. 

There was only one way.

Hotch's voice was low, as he whispered, lips barely moving, "Are you okay?" his eyes flitted to your forehead, and you knew you must have been bleeding from when the burly one had bashed you over the head with with his gun.

"Why did you come, Hotch?" your voice was hoarse, pleading, as if asking would make him disappear into safety.

"I should be asking you that," his eyes slide to you, “you disobeyed a direct order--” 

“And you came after me-” you hissed back. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

“Because you have Jack,” your voice breaks, pausing as the gunmen glance at the two of you, “I don’t have--” 

“You have the team,” he cuts you off, you squeeze your eyes shut, “you have me,” And your gaze slides to him, and his eyes are glassy, “I can’t lose you. I won’t let anyone else die,” 

And then you both hear a gun cocking, “Don’t think either of you will have a choice in that,” 

“Think about options here, Sam,” Hotch’s voice is even, “killing two federal agents is a one way ticket--” 

“There’s only one way out of here for all of us, Agent,” he sneers, “and that’s in body bags,” 

“We can get you out -- let you escape,” still ever so calm, “you can take me as your hostage -- a unit chief in the FBI? They won’t be able to hurt you if you have me.” 

“No, Hotch,” you shake your head. 

“Shut up,” the gun shakes in his hand, “SHUT UP!” 

“Sam, it doesn’t have to be this way-- it doesn’t--” And then there’s a crashing noise from behind the doors, the sounds of footsteps, and Sam looks from the doors and to you both. 

“It had to be this way.” And he lifts the gun to shoot Hotch, but you’re pushing yourself to your feet. 

BANG. 

And you feel it -- only a moment, and you know Hotch is going to be so pissed -- and your side hits the floor, hard. But you don’t feel it. 

You can’t feel anything. The ring of the gunshot is still echoing in your ears, and you don’t hear the SWAT team shoot Sam, you don’t hear Hotch yelling for a medic, you don’t hear anything. 

Instead you look up at Hotch, tears slipping down his face, his lips moving, saying something like,“You’re going to be okay,” and you just smile -- he was so beautiful -- always so beautiful. The cut of his jaw, the furrowed lines of his brow, the shiny brown of his eyes -- 

And you couldn’t tell him that you loved him now -- could you? 

No, you couldn’t. You couldn’t do that to him. But you knew what you could do the only thing you could do for him - you reached for his cheek, fingers brushing his cheek, breathing with your last breath: 

“It wasn’t your fault.” And as your eyes fluttered shut, you knew -- you knew at least he would be going home to Jack. 

Even if you weren’t going home with him. 

[perlukafarinn]

(ao3)

The day starts out pretty unremarkable. Dean wakes up at the crack of dawn to Cas slipping out of bed for his morning jog. He pulls him down for a good-morning kiss that turns into a make-out session that turns into them trading lazy handjobs and then falling asleep in each other’s arms again. 

Their actual start to the day is around ten AM, when Cas finally gets up for his jog and Dean gets up for his cereal and a scroll through the morning news. He’s on the look for hunts, mostly out of habit since there’s been very little monster activity since Chuck went and fucked off for good. He doesn’t find anything this morning but that’s hardly a surprise. It’s been a couple of weeks since they’ve been out on a hunt and that inactivity, weirdly enough, is starting to bother him less and less. 

Cas comes back from his jog about an hour before noon and with the mildest of prodding convinces Dean to join him in the shower. Afterwards, they throw together a lunch made from yesterday’s leftovers, taking their time eating and playing footsie under the table, because that’s apparently the kind of couple they are.

Usually by this time of day, Cas would be off in the Men of Letters’ library working on translations or cataloging and Dean would be on the phone helping Garth help out young, out-of-their depth hunters or in the garage, working on one of the beautiful but sadly neglected vehicles left behind there decades ago. 

Today, both of them are seemingly feeling kind of lazy and so hardly any work gets done. It’s not until late in the afternoon that Dean feels the urge to do something productive and suggests they go out for groceries, which Cas readily agrees to. 

The ride into town is quiet. Cas plays his mixtape - the damn thing should be worn out by now and Dean should  long since be sick of it but for reasons too sappy to mention he isn’t - and they sit and listen in comfortable silence. It’s not until they pass the town hall on their way to the supermarket that Cas gets a contemplative look on his face.

“Should we get married?”

Only years of experience behind the wheel prevent Dean’s hands from twitching wildly and veering them into oncoming traffic.

“What.”

Cas looks over, frowning. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Is there any reason for us not to get married? We’re already planning on staying together for the rest of our lives.”

“Is there any reason-” Dean wheezes. “What the fuck, Cas? Is this your idea of a proposal?”

“Are you saying no?” Cas asks, mildly curious, as if they’re talking about the fucking weather and not getting married. “Because we don’t have to.”

Dean stares ahead, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “Are you actually asking?”

“I suppose I am.”

“You ‘suppose’,” Dean mocks. “Gee, Cas, that’s real romantic.”

“Will you marry me?”

Dean pulls over. It’s far too sudden, probably leaving tire tracks in the concrete, and the driver behind them honks his horn loudly as he passes. Dean ignores him, taking a deep breath as he finally turns to face Cas. 

“Are you sure?”

He doesn’t really have to ask - Cas wouldn’t have brought it up if he wasn’t sure - but he needs to hear it. 

Thankfully, Cas seems to get that. “I want to marry you, Dean. Do you want to marry me?”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean breathes. “I mean - yes. Yeah, I do.”

Cas nods decisively. “Alright then. Now?”

“Now?”

It’s not exactly how Dean imagined this scenario would go (not that he - shut up) but it’s somehow the most romantic fucking thing that’s ever happened to him since Cas first told him he loved him. And hey, this time no one had to die!

They turn around, since there’s no point in going in without (forged) birth certificates. Once they get to the town hall, shortly before closing, they find out that it’s a three-day mandatory waiting period between applying for a marriage license and them actually being allowed to get married.

Cas suggests they use the interim time to pick up wedding rings. They wind up spending the next day driving to Topeka, where they find a couple of silver rings in a pawn shop. They’re tarnished but otherwise in good condition and once they get home, Dean spends the rest of the evening cleaning them while trying very hard not to think about just what they’re for.

The second day, Cas spends out back tending to his garden while Dean almost dials Sam’s number repeatedly before hanging up, torn between wanting to let his brother know that he’s getting married and not wanting to jinx it.

The third day, they head back into town. They arrive at the town hall just after it opens and it’s not until they’re standing in front of the clerk that Dean realizes they don’t have any witnesses. The clerk assures him that they don’t need one for civil ceremonies and the next ten minutes pass in a blur until Dean is being prompted to place the ring on Cas’ finger.

He does so with shaking hands, stilled only once Cas places one of his own on top and gives Dean a patient smile. He’s this calm for a reason, Dean finally realizes.

This doesn’t change anything.

Married or not, they’ve already promised themselves to each other for the rest of their lives. Til death do them part doesn’t even begin to describe it, and in sickness and in health is almost laughable at this point.

This really doesn’t change anything.

Dean’s own hand is still as Cas takes his turn, sliding the silver ring upon Dean’s finger. They say their “I do”s when prompted by the clerk, exchange a short, firm kiss, and just like that it’s over.

They’re married. 

*

When Jody invites them to dinner about a week later, they still haven’t told anyone. Sam and Eileen will be there as well as Jack and the girls - it’s a regular family reunion and the perfect chance to announce the big news to everyone.

Dean has a better idea.

“Let’s not tell anyone,” he says. “At least, not before dessert. Let’s see if they notice first.”

They’re in the Impala, about half an hour away from Jody’s place. 

Cas shoots him an amused look. “Is this because Sam claimed he always knew we’d get together when we first told him we were involved?”

“No,” Dean lies. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, seeing Cas still giving him that look from the corner of his eye. “Fine, yes. But he didn’t know, for the record. He just likes to pretend he’s always on top of this shit.”

“He doesn’t like to admit when you’ve surprised him,” Cas agrees.

The conversation ends there but Dean’s plan is apparently agreed upon since once they arrive at Jody’s, Cas doesn’t say a word about their recent relationship upgrade. Jody doesn’t seem to notice anything different, but then Dean didn’t expect her to. She’s not the one they spend most of their time around. Neither do Donna, Alex, Claire or Kaia, none of them surprises. Patience, Dean is less sure about, but she at least doesn’t say anything. Her eyes do linger unusually long but that could mean anything.

Damn psychics.

Sam and Eileen arrive half an hour after Dean and Cas, Jack in tow. This is the real test; Sam and Dean may not spend as much time together in the past few months as they did in the years before but he’s still the person who knows Dean best and would be the most likely to notice a difference.

And yet, nothing.

Dean tries not to feel too smug.

They go through dinner without anyone mentioning it. Dean makes a point of reaching across the table as many times as he can, showing off the ring glinting on his finger. Cas must notice him doing it, judging by the fond exasperation on his face, but he’s the only one.

It isn’t until dessert that Patience breaks, patience (hah) clearly run out:

“Is no one going to mention that Dean and Castiel are wearing wedding rings?”

And all hell breaks loose.

Sam is wounded - mostly over Dean and Cas not telling him before they got married, though Dean can tell some part of it is his pride at not seeing this coming - but he’s over it soon enough, once they explain that it wasn’t a big deal, not some proper ceremony, just a quick affirmation of what they already knew.

“See if I make you Best Man at my wedding after this, jerk,” Sam tells Dean.

“Your wedding?” Eileen asks pointedly. 

Jody and Donna offer their congratulations before the conversation can get awkward, and Kaia, Alex, and Patience chime in with theirs as well. Jack looks confused at the whole proceeding, finally asking whether this means there won’t be any bouquet to catch, which only means Dean has gravely failed him in his pop culture education (oh, who’s he kidding, as if half the romcoms Jack has watched didn’t come directly from the recommended tab on Dean’s Netflix account). 

Finally, with a pointed elbow from Kaia and a hangdog expression from Cas, Claire mumbles that she’s happy for them. While Dean doesn’t doubt that’s true he also knows that this is more complicated for her than the rest of them, and for the first time he kind of feels guilty about springing this news on everyone. 

It doesn’t last long, not after Donna cheerfully raises her glass and proposes a toast to the happy couple and everyone else follows suit. They chant for them to kiss and, blushing outrageously, Dean complies, leaning over to press a quick kiss against Cas’ lips. 

“So, who proposed?” Sam asks once the hooting and hollering has calmed.

“Cas did,” Dean says, slinging an arm around his husband’s - his husband’s - shoulders. “And it was the least romantic proposal of all time, you should’ve heard him.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “If I had left it up to you, we never would have gotten married.”

“He didn’t even give me time to pick out flowers,” Dean informs Sam gravely. 

“There’s always the vow renewal,” Cas says, the casual statement managing to sound like a threat, and Dean shuts up. 

The conversation moves on, the mood noticeably cheerier. As Jack and Sam launch into a story of their most recent hunt, Dean leans against Cas.

“We could have flowers, if you want,” he mutters. 

Cas smiles at him, so bright and easy that it makes Dean’s heart stutter. He takes Dean’s hand, rubbing his thumb over the cool silver of Dean’s ring.

“That’s not necessary,” he says. “I’ve got everything I want right here.”

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

By Your Doorstep (Part 1)

Summary: When the reader is looking for her teenage sister’s service dog one day, she runs into Dean Winchester who thankfully saw him run past. When she arrives, her sister is fine aside from a sprained ankle but Dean’s decided to follow along and help get her sister home...

Pairing: Doctor/Neighbor!Dean x reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 3,200ish

Warnings: language, minor injury, mention of car accident/death

A/N: Parts of this series are told from two different POV’s. Dean’s POV are written from limited third person. Reader’s POV are second person (like a typical reader insert). Please enjoy this first part! …

_________

“Toast! Toast!” you shouted as you ran down a street. “Toast boy!”

“Uh, you okay?” said a guy walking on the other side of the street. He was raising an eyebrow and you shook your head.

“Toast is a dog,” you said.

“Oh, gotcha. I thought you were nuts for a minute,” he chuckled.

“You haven’t seen a german shepard around have you?” you asked.

“I saw one run down the block a few minutes ago,” he said. You looked the direction he pointed and you started sprinting. “Hey!”

“Sorry! Can’t talk!” you shouted back. You ran down the block and across the street over to the park. You ran over to the basketball court and saw Toast there next to Tessa. She was sat up and holding onto his vest when you jogged over to her. “Tess. Are you okay? Did you have a seizure?”

“No,” she said with a laugh. She was holding her ankle and you saw the swelling. “I think I broke it playing. My phone’s over in my bag. I told Toast to get it but I guess he ran home and got you instead.”

“He barged in through the doggy door, I thought he was just nuts at first,” you said. You heard footsteps behind you and the man from the street was there panting.

“You found your dog,” he said as he caught his breath. 

“Yeah,” you said, the man wincing when he saw Tessa’s ankle. “We’re all set.”

“She needs a doctor,” he said.

“Tessa, you okay here while I run home to get my car?” you asked.

“Yeah I’m fine,” she said. “Toast’ll stay.”

“I can carry her,” said the man. You both stared at him and he shrugged. “Save you a trip.”

“Are you some kind of weirdo?” you asked. 

“Says the woman running through the neighborhood shouting Toast,” he smiled back.

“Alright. Tess if you’re cool with it…” you said, the man nodding.

“Dean Winchester.”

“Dean will carry you back to the house and I’ll drive you to urgent care,” you said. “If you do try anything though Dean, Toast will rip your face and junk off, just to be clear.”

“Got the message,” he said. Tessa climbed on his back and he was careful of her ankle while you grabbed her bag. You walked with Toast by Dean’s side back the few blocks towards home. “I think it’s just a sprain actually. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

“You play basketball?” you asked.

“No. I’m a doctor is all. First glance it doesn’t look too bad.”

“Are you single? Y/N’s single,” she said.

“You’re a little shit, Tessa,” you said. Dean chuckled and Toast bumped his leg. “He wants you to get on the sidewalk.”

“Will do,” he said, Toast giving some space once he’d stepped up off the road. “He’s very intelligent.”

“We’ve only had Toast two years but he’s been very good with us,” you said. “He’s Tessa’s. I just feed him and pick up his poop.”

“I have school, loser.”

“I have work, loser,” you said. 

“You guys must be sisters,” he said. “I’m a big brother. I would know.”

“If your younger brother is single and half as good looking-”

“Keep it in your pants, Tess,” you said. 

“I like you two,” he chuckled. “Sorry Tessa but he’s probably a little too old for you.”

“They always are,” she sighed.

“You’re seventeen. You’re fine,” you said. “Besides college has way more attractive guys and stuff.”

“Oh yeah, Elmdale community college. Known for it’s hotties,” she mumbled.

“Elmdale University has some good choices,” you said.

“I thought it was too expensive,” she said.

“Well I was gonna tell you this at dinner but I applied for a different job awhile ago. I heard back this morning. I accepted. It’s double what I was making before.”

“Really?”

“Yes. With your grades you can get a half-ride and I figure between inheritance and my new salary, you can do your four year out of the gate without loans,” you said.

“Thanks, Y/N,” she said quietly. “Really.”

“You still need your part-time job if you want to get stuff for yourself though. I’m sorry. I can’t make it work if-”

“S’okay,” she said. “I can’t believe I can go to the university.”

“I called up the school earlier and talked to your guidance counselor. We gotta work on your application but we can make it work,” you said.

“Can I get a car? I know I can’t afford room and board but maybe I can get something used so you don’t have to drive me all the time?” she asked.

“Tessa…” you sighed. You knew you couldn’t afford insurance on two cars at the moment and everything else and she wouldn’t make enough part time to cover all the car expenses herself. “I-”

“I can pick up more shifts,” she said.

“Tessa, I want you to enjoy college. I sure did. I’ll give you rides whenever you want. I’ll drop you off in the morning and pick you up at night. That would work, right?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I don’t even care about my ankle. I can get my art degree!” she said.

“Tessa.”

“I’m joking,” she laughed. “Art minor?”

“You can minor in whatever you like but please for my sanity major in something you can get a job in?” you asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said. You rounded a corner and started to walk up a driveway, Dean setting Tessa down in the passenger seat of your car. You opened the back and Toast jumped in, Dean smiling when you shut both the doors.

“Thanks,” you said. “For helping us out.”

“Sounds like you two know how to solve problems on your own,” he said. “Happy to help. Here.”

He dug in his back pocket and pulled out a card.

“If you ever need a doctor, I’m two blocks over,” he said. “Or just to talk.”

“Thanks,” you said. “I’ll see you around, Dean.”

It was around nine when you were sitting on the front porch with a glass of whiskey in your hand. You drank slowly, eyes catching a man in a baseball cap and reflective shirt jogging by.

“Do you always run at night?” you called, Dean stopping at your front walkway. “Cause I never see you run at night and I sit out here a lot.”

“Whew well let’s stop that charade cause running is so not my thing,” he said. He breathed hard for a moment as he walked up the steps. You nodded to the other chair and poured him a glass, Dean drinking it down. “Your sister okay?”

“Yeah. Just a sprain,” you said. “Still gotta pay the deductible for the x-ray though.”

“How old are you?”

“How old are you?” you asked.

“Thirty one,” he said.

“Twenty eight.”

“Where are your folks?” he asked.

“They and Tessa were in an accident two years ago. It’s just us two now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m slowly getting used to be a guardian,” you said.

“I raised my little brother. My parents are still around but they fought a lot. I get becoming the parent when you’re not ready.”

“Do you ever get to just be a sibling again?” you asked.

“Yes. But they have to grow up first and you got a few more years ahead of you before it happens,” he said.

“I figured.”

“What does she have? Toast is a service dog I saw.”

“She gets seizures sometimes. It’s from the accident. She hasn’t had one in seven months. Fingers crossed we got her on the right mix of meds finally,” you said.

“So who takes care of you?”

“My buddy Jack Daniels. Sometimes I hang out Jim Bean too.”

“I’m partial to Johnny Walker,” smiled Dean.

“Very nice. I don’t drink much. Too tired most of the time,” you said.

“So nobody takes care of you then.”

“Who takes care of you?”

“Good point,” he said. “But I didn’t have it this rough.”

“We’re getting by. We always do.”

“I have no doubt that you can,” he said. “Take care of yourself every once in a while is all.”

“When she’s done with school I will.”

“She’s got five years left. You won’t last that long,” he said.

“Watch me.”

“Who worked on your sister at the urgent care tonight?”

“Dr. Novak. Why?”

“Cas is a good friend. I’ll see about getting that x-ray test off the bill,” he said as he stood up.

“Dean, you don’t have to do that.”

“It’s no trouble,” he said, heading down the steps. “You want me to leave you alone from now on?”

“...No.”

“You want to go on a date tomorrow?”

“Okay,” you said.

“I’ll pick you up at noon? I’m buying. Nothing too fancy,” he said.

“Okay,” you said. He smiled and nodded, spinning around and sliding right off the last two steps to his bottom. You rushed down them and he groaned, shaking his head. “Are you okay?”

“Yup,” he said, grunting as he stood. “Oh my ass hurts.”

“That’s what she said,” you said, Dean laughing.

“I definitely like you,” he said as you helped him take a few steps. “I’m alright. I’ll swing by tomorrow then.”

“Bye Dean,” you said.

“Bye Dean!” called Tessa from her bedroom window upstairs.

“Oh my God, go to bed!” you shouted back.

“It’s nine and I’m not twelve,” she said.

“Goodnight ladies,” chuckled Dean, waving as he headed back down the path. You gathered up the bottle and glasses, bringing them inside and locking up for the night. A few minutes later you were upstairs in Tessa’s room, frowning as she giggled while looking through her phone.

“Oh come on,” she said as she rolled her eyes at you. “He’s cute, he’s a doctor, he’s single and he’s a dork that just fell on his butt in front of you cause he’s so nervous and trying to play it cool. Like what is wrong with him?”

“Nothing. We have a date tomorrow,” you said, leaning against the doorframe. 

“We used to talk about guys,” she said. 

“I know,” you said. You picked at the wood, Tessa putting her phone down.

“Y/N. You’re not my mom. I know you gotta act like her sometimes but you’re not. Mom and dad would want you to go on dates and stuff. I haven’t seen you do anything fun in years.”

“I barely knew how to be an adult for just me,” you said. “You’re my priority now.”

“I’m not in a hospital bed anymore. My seizures are under control and I got Toast to watch out for me just in case. Dean had a point. You gotta take care of yourself,” she said. “Including me going to community college.”

“Tessa-”

“It’s both our inheritance and you can’t spend all of it on me. I can do two years at community and transfer to the university after.”

“Tess. You don’t have to do that. I did the math and it’ll work out.”

“When’s the last time you bought something for yourself? Seriously when?”

“I bought a new bedspread two weeks ago.”

“You needed one. That doesn’t count. When-”

“Before mom and dad died, Tess. Is that what you want me to say? They made good money but you had medical bills. Do I want a new winter coat? Sure. Do I want to splurge and by myself a nice pair of leggings? Of course. I want things. But I want us to stay in this house. I don’t want us to get shoved in a tiny apartment. I want you to be able to go to college like I did and not worry about this crap. I’m the grown up, not you. I choose how to spend the money.”

“Fine,” she said. She grabbed the crutch by her bed and got up, going to her dresser. She opened her jewelry box and grabbed a wad of cash, holding it out to you. “It’s three hundred. I want you to have it.”

“Tessa, no.”

“I earned it. I get to choose how to spend it,” she said. “You’ve always told me that. Buy a coat and leggings and whatever else you want.”

“Tessa. It’s yours. You were saving up to buy an iphone.”

“I don’t need a fucking phone. I need my sister to stop looking like she cries herself to sleep every night. Just take it,” she said. You shook your head and she shoved the money in your hand. “Y/N, take it.”

“Alright,” you said. 

“Good.” She waited a beat before pulling you into a hug. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you said. “You got plans tomorrow night?”

“I was gonna sleepover Hailey’s house if that’s okay?” she said.

“Yeah. You guys have fun,” you said. “Just be careful on your ankle.”

“Duh,” she said. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?”

“I’m kinda beat. Sunday for sure?” you said. 

“Okay. Night,” she said.

“Night, Tess,” you said. You went next door to your room, opening your desk drawer and opening the envelope inside. You counted the money she’d given you and added it to the front. You definitely had enough for her phone now and her birthday was only a few weeks away. You smiled and put it away, writing out a few bills before you gathered up your pajamas and walked down the hall to the bathroom. You kept going though, down to the shut door. You pushed it open, the room cold and dark. You flipped on a light, a coating of dust on everything again.

“Y/N?” said Tessa from the other end of the hall. You turned off the light and shut the door, Tessa by the bathroom when you walked back. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna shower quick before bed. Shout if you need something.”

“Yeah. Night.”

Dean POV

“Hey, Sammy,” said Dean after he’d gotten out of the shower and was laying in bed. 

“Hey, Dean. What’s up?” asked Sam on the other end of the phone. 

“I think I just went full on weirdo on this girl I met today.”

“Well that’s obvious but what’d you do? You didn’t like stalk her or anything.”

“She lives in the neighborhood. I kinda went jogging past her house tonight and she was sat on the front porch.”

“Okay that’s kinda creepy,” said Sam. Dean ran his hand over his face and sighed. “Did you talk to her?”

“Yeah. I don’t think I gave off creeper vibes but she might have just been polite. I don’t know. We’re going out tomorrow,” said Dean. He was quiet as he shut his eyes. “Which sucks cause I really like her too. I hope she doesn’t think I’m weird.”

“Maybe she’ll have pity on you and let it slide. Where’d you meet her? I thought you swore off women after your last hookup went bad,” he said. Dean didn’t speak and ran his hand over his face again. “De I know something happened that night.”

“Sammy I got tired of hooking up. I’m too old for it. I just want a girl to go home to at the end of the day and laugh with. That’s all there is to it,” said Dean.

“Dean I was still living with you at the time. You were off for days. I know-”

“If you’re gonna bring this shit up again-”

“I’m just saying it’s nice to hear you excited about a girl again...and you can tell me anything. Anything, Dean. I’m not a kid anymore.”

“You’re twenty seven. You’re a kid,” said Dean. He rolled over on the bed and lay on his stomach, putting his hands under his chin. “Some things I just don’t tell you about, Sam.”

“Dean, I asked you to stop raising me awhile ago. You’re not my father anymore.”

“I still gotta protect you from stuff,” said Dean with a shrug.

“I get that. But my mind has gone to the worst case scenario on this more than once. Just promise it wasn’t that,” said Sam.

“Sammy, I called to talk about a girl.”

“You want things to work out with her? Then figure out whatever the hell happened in the past so it doesn’t happen again.”

“You don’t understand,” said Dean. 

“Whatever. Just crack a joke next time you see her,” said Sam. He hung up and Dean looked at his phone, sighing before he jammed his face in the bed. He gripped the sheets tight and felt his heart rate pick up, bile rising up in the back of his throat.

“Stop. It,” he said to himself, forcing himself to sit up. He wiped off his eye and dropped his head to his chest. “It’s just a fucking girl. It’s just a girl, it’s just a date. It’s all it is.”

He saw his phone light up and Sam’s name appear. He swiped and put it on speaker before he faced away from it.

“I’m sorry,” said Sam. 

“It’s okay,” said Dean, freezing when he sniffled. He stared at the phone and Sam cleared his throat.

“You alright?” Dean stared at the phone and shook his head. “De, you there?”

“Are you alone?” he asked.

“Yes…” said Sam. “It’s just me.”

“You repeat a word of this to anybody or you laugh or you tease me or-”

“Hey. I’d rather we not have this conversation over the phone. I can be there in an hour.”

“...Fine but you better bring some pie with you.”

“I’ll see you in an hour, Dean.”

______

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

[lookforanewangle]

hold on a little longer || spn || 2k || ao3

tags: blood, injury, broken bones, hurt/comfort, and forehead touches! also protective dean and protective cas

Between the spells, and the warding, and the combination of grace and Rowena's power, they thought they had been prepared.

Chuck, however, always seemed to be one step ahead of them.

or, Cas's grace is dwindling, Dean is dying, and both of them are too protective of the other for their own good.

a/n: inspired by this post by @letsboldlygomotherfuckers and @rainbowscas

also, I’m also playing in my hci verse here a little bit; all you need to know is that chuck turns to this universe after the show's canon (and yes, I believe in the chuck won theory, it's the only thing that makes sense), and tries to mix things up a bit. cas is introduced when dean is 13 instead of 28? 29? there are a lot of other changes, but those don't play into this scene, so I'm not gonna spoil anything else ;) this bit wouldn't come in until fic four or five anyway. idk if I'll ever write that far, but here's hoping!! (fic one is like.....a little over halfway done. I think. we have a long way to go lmao)

Between the spells, and the warding, and the combination of grace and Rowena's power, they thought they had been prepared.

Chuck, however, always seemed to be one step ahead of them.

"How?" Cas bites between waves of pain, arms bound tight behind him. There's blood dripping down his face, a shoulder dislocated, maybe a rib cracked, but his pain is nothing close to what Dean must be feeling.

Dean, who is just a mess of broken bones and skin on the floor.

“Because, see, I already know what’s going to happen,” Chuck says, pacing leisurely around them, tilting down towards Dean's unconscious form as he speaks. His footsteps are quiet in the vast emptiness of the warehouse, but each step seems to pound in time with Cas’s own injuries, pain driving higher at each step. For all Cas knows, Chuck could be doing that on purpose.

“Your brother will come racing in to save you,” Chuck continues, gesturing as he speaks, “and Jack will be there, too. They’ll make some valiant effort to save the two of you, try to beat me at my own game, but it’s not going to work. I’ve written every possibility, every scenario that could ever happen. Each one, I win. It's literally impossible for me to lose!” he says with a giddy grin, arms spreading out to his sides in victory.

Cas strains against his bonds, wrists tied much too tightly against the small of his back, eyes never leaving Dean’s too-still form on the floor.

“Dean,” Cas calls, but Dean doesn’t stir. His limbs are bent at awkward angles, the whole of him a heap atop blood splattered across the ground. Too much blood. Cas would almost think he was dead if not for the wheezing emanating from Dean’s chest at every shallow breath, every minuscule rise and fall. If he could just get close enough—

Chuck’s fist hits his face, and Cas crashes to the ground with a grunt.

“I never did get you figured out,” Chuck says, crouching in front of him. He tilts his head as he observes Cas struggle back into a sitting position. “Whatever changed, whatever you did in the last universe bled over into this one, and now we’re at the same end here as we were there. Well, almost. Close enough, anyway. You, grace failing and doing everything you can to save Dean, nearing death at every second. Dean will follow soon after, no matter what you do,” Chuck says with a helpless shrug. “It’s just how it’s supposed to go. Then again, if you hadn’t broken script…”

He trails off suggestively, and Cas’s blood runs cold. No. No. Dean’s coming death couldn’t— wouldn’t— be his fault.

“Dean’s not dying today,” Cas says, determined, voice gravelly.

“That’s not up to you,” Chuck counters. He reaches his hand out towards Cas and squeezes. Cas’s chest constricts in pain. He gasps, doubling over, feeling his grace ebbing further and further from his reach.

“Dean was always meant to die,” Chuck says, slowly twisting his wrist. Cas cries out in pain, tucking his head towards his chest, trying and failing to pull away from the pain radiating through every cell. “Even if you hadn’t saved him all those times, he still would have gone out in that stupid blaze of glory he was always glorifying.”

Chuck releases his grip on Cas’s grace. Cas goes limp with a gasp, limbs weak and trembling. Chuck hums.

“Wish I could just kill you now,” he says glumly. “But of all the drafts, killing you and Dean slowly in front of Sam and Jack is just...so much juicier. The pain is so much more intense when you make them watch. Especially if you're first. Dean watching you die just never gets old,” he says, fond smile on his face.

Cas wants to throw up.

“Well, then!” Chuck says with a sigh, eyebrows raised. He slaps his thighs and pushes to his feet, turning towards the entrance. “I’ll be back in, oh, however long it takes for Sam and Jack to show up. Depends on how they decided to travel here. There’s six different drafts just for their transportation. So, you know, don’t go anywhere,” Chuck calls over his shoulder with a wink. He snaps his fingers. Cas screams as his shin shatters. The door slams behind him and the sound reverberates through the warehouse, thunderous in Cas’s ears.

Cas takes a moment to get his ragged breathing under control, fighting down the little amount of grace he has left. He can’t let himself heal. He has to get to Dean first.

Dean is not dying tonight.

Cas grits his teeth against the pain, rolling over onto his stomach. He clenches his fingers in their binds and squeezes tight as he uses his good leg to push himself across the concrete towards Dean, biting back a cry as his leg is jostled. His brow furrows and he pushes on, refusing to let the pain get in his way.

“Dean,” he calls out as he draws near, desperate to hear his voice.

Dean doesn’t answer.

Cas pushes the final few feet and rolls to his side, heaving for air. He tugs at his bonds again, but until he’s able to heal his leg there’s no way he’s breaking out of the enchanted chains tying him back. He lets his eyes slip closed and leans forward, pressing his forehead gingerly against Dean’s bloody brow. He channels any scrap of grace he has left through that connection, hoping with everything he’s got that he reached him in time. Broken bones will heal on their own; he focuses his energy towards anything vital—damaged organs, severe trauma around his skull, and whatever else he can heal, remaining grace and breath leaving him in a rush. Dean’s wheezing has gone away at least, his breath steady and sure, and Cas sags, exhausted.

“Dean,” he whispers, voice weak. He pushes his brow against Dean’s forehead just enough to feel the pressure. He doesn’t have the strength for much else. “Dean. Please.”

Dean stirs slowly, and Cas fights with everything in him to stay awake. He has to make sure—

“Cas?” Dean breathes. Dean is still coming to, but Cas can feel darkness seeping in at the edges of his own consciousness, startling him back into awareness. Not yet, he begs desperately, blinking hard. Please not yet.

“Dean,” Cas answers, his voice so weak he’s not even sure that Dean heard it. Dean shifts against him. Cas concentrates on breathing through the pain, waiting for Dean to realize—

Dean inhales sharply and curses under his breath.

Cas is beginning to drift again, but he can hear Dean scramble into a sitting position, grunting against some pain Cas’s dwindling grace couldn’t reach. But he’s alive, Cas reassures himself in relief as the darkness grips him tighter. He’s still alive.

For how much longer, he can’t guarantee, but just for now is good enough.

Dean grabs his face between his palms then, fingers holding him steady, squeezing gently. Cas's eyelids flutter, exhaustion dragging at his limbs.

“No no no, hey,” Dean says in a rush, words quiet. Cas can hear the desperation in every syllable. “Come on, Cas, stay with me, man.”

Cas grunts softly in response.

“‘M here,” he rasps. Dean sighs, tipping forward to press their foreheads together.

“Okay,” Dean says under his breath, thumb swiping across Cas’s cheek. Cas is almost certain that was more for Dean than himself, reassuring himself that Cas was alive. Cas wants to reach up and grab him, intertwine their fingers, and assure Dean that he’ll be all right. But everything hurts, it’s difficult to breathe, and he’s not going to be awake for much longer; draining his grace like that wiped him out. Survivable, but dreadfully exhausting.

“Okay,” Dean says again, firm, shifting to move Cas, “let’s get you up.”

White hot pain explodes as Dean brushes against his leg, ricocheting into every other pain across his vessel. His back arches as he shouts, eyes clenching tight, teeth clenching.

“Ngh! Don’t—”

“Okay, okay,” Dean says, voice pained as he changes direction, lifting Cas's head into his lap. He settles and slides a hand into Cas's hair, brushing through slow and careful as he scans him for injuries. Cas is sure his leg is a mess, but the other injuries aren’t as obvious. Cas gasps, breaths shuddering in and out of his chest as he sags, the pain dulling back from the sharp flares at being moved.

“Are...are you all right?” Cas says as the pain fades to the background, eyes slipping closed as he rolls his head against Dean’s thigh towards his stomach. Dean barks a laugh, disbelieving, and shifts the hand in his hair to cup his face.

“Am I all right? Cas, you’re a mess.”

“Are you all right,” Cas repeats, straining through the tightness of his chest. He opens his eyes to look Dean over, searching for any sign that he's lying.

"Yeah," Dean says quietly, sobering as he meets his gaze. He swipes a thumb across Cas's cheek, eyes flicking back and forth across Cas's features. "Yeah I'll live, no thanks to you."

Cas exhales, breath rushing out in relief.

"Good," he whispers. "Good."

They sit like that for a moment and just breathe, pipes clanging in the distance. Cas shifts uncomfortably, arms pinned beneath him.

"Gotta get you up, Cas," Dean murmurs, apologetic, and slowly tugs Cas up and into his arms. Cas fights back a cry as he's shifted, Dean apologizing softly as he goes. Once up, Cas's head lolls against Dean's shoulder. He exhales slowly through his teeth, pushing the pain down and away as best he can. Dean presses a gentle kiss to his hair and turns his attention to Cas's wrists. He tugs at the bindings single-handed, his other arm holding Cas to him. He grunts in frustration as the chains only tighten at his efforts, Cas tensing in his arms. He shifts his hand to Cas's back, rubbing his hand up and down Cas's spine soothingly.

"We're gonna get you out of here, okay? We're gonna make it, Cas," Dean promises. "You hearing me?"

"Yes, Dean," Cas breathes. Everything hurts.

"Just, don't—" Dean takes an unsteady breath, fingers tightening on Cas's shoulder. He buries his face in Cas’s hair, eyes squeezed shut in agony. His voice is hoarse. "Don't you leave me again, Cas. Please. I can't...I can't go through that again. One more time and I'm done. I'm just done."

"Dean—"

"You don't have any idea, man," Dean whispers. "You have no idea what you do to me every time you leave. If I have to go through that again, I—"

He cuts off with a shuddering exhale. Cas's chest aches.

"Dean," he whispers, breathless. He presses his crown to Dean's throat. Dean tips his cheek against Cas's hair and sighs deep. Sam had told Cas in not so many words how hard Dean took each of his deaths and disappearances, but to hear it from Dean himself hurts Cas worse than any physical injury.

"I'm not leaving," Cas promises, voice weak from pain. He's fading again, clinging to consciousness with a death grip. He has to make sure Dean understands. "If we can...can defeat Chuck, I'm not leaving, Dean."

Dean's arm tightens around his back.

"I'm not leaving," Cas whispers again. "I-I want…I want nothing more than to stay by your side."

Dean shudders.

"Cas," he breathes. "I—"

A door bangs open somewhere in the warehouse. The two of them tense, breaths frozen. Dean scans the room for his gun, reaching out with his foot to pull it towards them. Once in his grasp, he pulls it to his lips, murmuring something against the metal, and aims it towards the sound, cocked and ready.

"Dean," Cas starts, but Dean shushes him, pulling him closer.

"We're gonna be fine," he says, reassuring. His eyes are steely as he waits, hand steady on the gun. "I'm not letting him take you away from me.

"Never again."

----

tagging some mutuals who may be interested!! @hashtagbravo @demenior @redriotted @leviathancas @starrynightdeancas

[sadclearance]

two petty cowards

pairing: izaya orihara x male!reader

summary: two petty cowards meet again at a funeral.

category: smut(?), fluff(?), angst(?) man i suck at categorizing

warning(s): sexual content, oral sex, dry humping, implied/referenced death (non-graphic)

word count: 2722

key:

italicized - thoughts

past tense - past

present tense - present

two petty cowards stand a few feet apart, avoiding each other at a mutual friend's funeral.

izaya thinks back to how it all started.

it was a rainy day, just like this one.

"trouble seems to always follow you," y/n sighed as he trailed behind izaya. he'd given up on trying to keep the ends of his pants dry a while ago.

"don't be deceived, i'm the one that's causing the trouble," izaya gave a cheeky smile even though he knew that y/n couldn't see it.

"c'mon," y/n said as he grabbed izaya's arm and dragged him into a convenience store.

"am i being kidnapped?"

"if that's what you wanna call it," y/n shrugged. "you're all scuffed up. we need... rubbing alcohol? cotton balls? bandages?"

"you're the one who brought me here, but you don't even know what to get?" izaya let out an amused laugh.

"i don't know... i just know that your face looks pretty bad right now," y/n turned away from him, embarrassed by his lack of knowledge.

"are you saying my face usually looks pretty good?" izaya asked teasingly.

"maybe i am."

izaya was taken aback for just one moment. he knew y/n thought he couldn't see his flustered red face, but izaya had a clear view of it in the reflection of the window.

the reaction wasn't what was surprising. rather, it was his words.

for years, izaya had known that y/n went along with everything he did because he was crushing on him. anybody would've been able to tell just by watching the way y/n reacted to the slightest brushing of shoulders and how he felt the need to follow him everywhere to "keep him out of trouble", even though they both knew that wasn't possible.

yet, for all these years, y/n had never said anything to hint at it. izaya knew that y/n didn't think he knew about these feelings. that just because he never said anything that might've even hinted at the fact that he held feelings for him, he was a brilliant secret keeper. that his actions weren't a dead giveaway.

y/n grabbed one of everything even remotely related to medical care and checked out.

izaya made his way out of the store, not bothering to keep the door open for y/n, who was carrying everything with both of his hands, as he couldn't afford the cheap plastic bag.

he had done this many times before, and y/n never complained.

"stay still," y/n said. they had gotten to their shared residence, an idea that was brought up ten years ago by a then bold thirteen year old y/n, ignored by the thirteen year old izaya who was only concerned with his "neither too close nor too far" philosophy, then officially proposed by an eighteen year old izaya.

"it stings," izaya flinched more than he normally would've. y/n's face was so close to his, staring intensely at the wounds on his face, holding izaya's chin with one hand to keep him still while he cleaned his wounds with the other.

he wondered why his face wasn't red. from izaya's previous observations, when a guy liked a girl, his face would heat up just at the thought of him being close enough to kiss her at any moment, especially if she was sitting on his bed... so why? guy on guy crushes couldn't be that different, could it?

"maybe he'll jack off to his sheets when i leave," izaya thought to himself. such thoughts would be vulgar to anybody else, but izaya only asked himself if he should bring out his old surveillance cameras. "it would be fun to watch his desires and morals fight."

"maybe the pain will finally be enough to keep you from bugging shizuo," y/n said, knowing that that wouldn't be happening any time soon. it was a playful remark, but izaya could hear the poorly hidden worry in his voice.

he felt a certain incomprehensible feeling inside of him, knowing that y/n was so focused on fussing about his wounds that he couldn't even think about his desires for him.

"that'll just add to the thrill," izaya replied with a sly smile. he put his hands behind him so that he would be able to lean on them, pulling back not too far but not too little, trying to see if the shy maiden in love would risk subtly chasing after him or let him go that easily.

y/n's hand stayed on his jaw.

he craned his neck to the left and slightly back, his gaze bound to make y/n overly conscious sooner or later.

as he had expected, his sultry expression combined with the way he had positioned himself, baring the nape of his neck and letting his shirt slide up, revealing the slightest bit of his stomach, was enough to make y/n break.

he had expected him to blush furiously and make up an excuse that he had to meet up with somebody in order to leave the room, but y/n instead tightened his grip on izaya's jaw and pressed his lips against his.

even after he recovered from his momentary shock, izaya neither reciprocated nor pulled away. it was another test. would y/n desperately kiss the man he's been in love with for ten years like he's always wanted to, or would he pull away and regret blowing his cover?

y/n pulled away quickly, looking at the floor with wide eyes.

"ah, so it was the latter," izaya noted.

"i'm sorry," y/n said, unable to lift his head.

izaya had expected this outcome, but what he didn't expect was for himself to be disappointed.

"i just... i don't know. i'm sorry. please forget about it. i was just--"

he was unsettled with his own disappointment, and hearing y/n do exactly what he had expected him to do was only putting him in an even worse mood.

izaya got up from y/n's bed until he got close enough to grab y/n's hand and let himself fall backwards.

with that, izaya's back was against the comfortable mattress, and y/n was pulled on top of him.

"i really hate what's coming out of your mouth," izaya said bluntly. "especially when there's so many better things that it could be doing."

y/n's mouth fell open in shock, and izaya took that as an opportunity to push the back of y/n's head until their lips meet again.

he was evidently too hasty in doing that, as y/n's teeth hit a little too hard against his lip.

"shit." that hurt a lot more than he could've ever anticipated. since when had he been so clumsy?

"are you okay? fuck, i'm sorry," y/n said against his lips.

"sh," izaya hushed and started moving his lips.

it wasn't long before y/n started to reciprocate, and even though izaya wasn't the most experienced kisser, he could tell that y/n had even less practice than he had.

"i guess he's too much of an honest guy to be with anyone he doesn't like, and he's only liked me ever since we were little," izaya thought to himself as he let his tongue slip through his lips and push between y/n's.

there wasn't much resistance on y/n's part, so it was easy.

the velvety hot feeling of being inside of y/n's mouth was admittedly intoxicating, and izaya could kind of understand why the couples back in school made out brazenly in the hallways.

y/n seemed to feel the same way, if his subconscious grinding was anything to go off of.

izaya bucked his hips up, chasing after the friction that rubbing their crotches together created.

he felt like a teenager in heat again, with the way they were humping each other without even taking their clothes off.

izaya pulled back and looked up at y/n in the same sensuous way that he had earlier. the thin string of saliva that kept them connected was both disgusting and seductive at the same time.

he licked his lips and let himself absorb y/n's features for a second. his slanted eyes showed that he was astonishingly dazed, and his cheeks were flushed a brilliant red. izaya's favorite, however, was his panting lips, swollen and red, the almost whiny sound that came out from them almost adorable.

snapping out of his predatory trance, izaya reached down and unbuckled his pants, pushing them and his boxers down enough to reveal his erection.

y/n turned his head away in embarrassment, but izaya caught his jaw with his hand, forcing him to turn to look at him.

"suck me off," izaya said in a tone that was breathier than he would've liked to admit.

y/n's eyes went wide, and his already parted lips blubbered as if he wanted to say something but couldn't think of what.

izaya grabbed one of y/n's hands and led it until it reached his cock, shuddering at the feeling of direct contact.

y/n blushed at the feeling of it throbbing in his hand.

"i want you to suck me off," izaya repeated as though he were challenging him which, in a way, he was. he wanted to see if y/n would go as far as to give him a blowjob, even if he had never had any experience with it. would the idea of a foreign action chase him away, or was y/n too eager to please izaya to leave him high and dry?

y/n pulled himself down low enough on izaya's body to do as he was told.

he gave an experimental lick along the underside of his erection and gained more confidence in what he was doing when izaya moaned.

izaya watched as y/n did his best to please him, trying to take all of him in his mouth and struggling to balance sucking and licking. his desperation was obvious and all the more arousing.

he noticed that at first, y/n tried to go slowly, trying to swallow back the spit collecting while keeping his mouth wide open. the constricting of his throat as he tried to swallow felt incredible around him, but izaya decided that he preferred the fast messy y/n that gave up on caring and let his drool spill down his erection, leaving a hot wet mess.

izaya awarded his efforts by threading his fingers through his hair and caressing the side of his huffed cheeks with his other hand.

y/n moaned at that, something izaya found incredibly amusing. it was the lightest of touches, not even sensual, but it was enough to pleasure y/n.

he tugged more at the hair in his hand, reveling in the vibrations that came from every noise y/n made.

"fuck," izaya groaned out the only verbal warning he gave. y/n could tell he was close, though, by the way he had started treating him roughly, keeping y/n's head still as he thrusted his hips with little care until he finished in his mouth.

as he came out of his high, he could see y/n gulping and wiping his lip. they were even more swollen than before, and now izaya really regretted not setting up cameras in y/n's room sooner. it was an image that he wanted to be able to save.

as izaya sat up, y/n shook his head and attempted to push him down again.

"wait," y/n almost begged.

that only fueled izaya's curiosity, and he easily overpowered y/n, flipping their positions so that he was on top.

he smirked at what y/n had been trying to hide from him.

"you got off to sucking my dick," izaya stated rather than asked.

y/n turned away, and izaya couldn't tell if his cheeks were more red because of what they had just done or because he was embarrassed.

izaya grabbed his face again and pulled him in for a short kiss. even he wasn't too sure why he had done it.

thinking about it now, izaya thinks that might be where things went wrong. his confusion and denial was probably what lead him to do what he did next.

"you hired a secretary?" y/n asked.

"yeah," izaya said without bothering to look up from his chessboard.

"you didn't tell me," y/n mumbled.

"why would i have to tell you?"

"that's... that's not what i meant, i just--since we share a house."

"she won't touch your room, if that's what you're worried about." izaya moved a pawn forward.

"i'm not worried," y/n said.

that was the first of two conversations they had about namie yagiri. the next one took place after another one of his tests--more specifically, the last test he got to make.

"aren't you overreacting?" izaya asked. he tried to seem nonchalant, but that was hard to do when he had to run to keep up with y/n.

"i'm overreacting?" y/n stopped running to turn around and look at him with eyes full of disbelief.

izaya was taken aback. y/n had never raised his voice at him before.

"what else do you think you're doing?" izaya raised an amused brow.

"how else am i supposed to react?" y/n nearly scoffed.

"you're upset," izaya noted.

"upset? of course i am! you were kissing her--why were you kissing her?" y/n's face crumpled.

"she kissed me," izaya shrugged.

"and you just let her?"

"why not?"

"i..." y/n didn't know what to say. "i just thought we had something."

"i love all humans equally. you know this." izaya looked at him as if he were being ridiculous.

izaya could visibly see the fight leave y/n. his shoulders slumped, and all expression on his face dropped. he slowly turned around and started walking away again.

"just... go home, izaya," y/n didn't turn back to look at him. "i don't wanna be around you right now."

confused by the unprecedented response, izaya just stood in the middle of the road. y/n, who had persistently followed him for ten years, had just told him to go away.

he couldn't have calculated such a thing, but even more so than that, he didn't expect to come home to find y/n's room ransacked.

"it looks like we've been robbed," izaya said casually, leaning against the doorframe.

he stood frozen as namie told him y/n had left with an overflowing duffle bag just hours earlier.

the next time he saw y/n, he was with another man.

༺♥༻

"people think of him like some cold-blooded monster, but he's more human than anyone i know; he's so fragile inside. if you pumped him full of love and betrayal and such, i think he'd fall apart."

shinra had said that in their last year of school. it was probably his own weird way of trying to console y/n.

"sorry, shinra," y/n sighs as rain hits the back of his head while he looms over his closed coffin. "i focused on the wrong part of your wise words."

a year after he moved out of izaya's house, he found himself walking down an all too familiar road in ikebukuro. he's been denying it ever since, but it was definitely because a part of him wanted izaya to see him.

and as he wanted, he crossed paths with izaya that day.

it was a reunion cut short by none other than himself.

"y/n, it's been a while," izaya walked up to him so casually it hurt. as if they were normal buddies who hadn't gotten a chance to see each other in a while simply because of conflicting schedules, not because they left on the terms that they did. "who's this?"

seeing how unfazed he was had only added to the year-long pain he'd been suffering. maybe this was karma for trying to hurt him. shinra was wrong--or maybe he just didn't mean enough to izaya for him to see this as betrayal.

with his plans tearing apart his heart rather than izaya's, he brushed him off without a single word. he continued walking with the man he didn't particularly care for without looking back. a part of him still hopes that if he did, he would've seen izaya look like a kicked puppy.

though, even now, he doubts that izaya's face would've worn anything but a careless grin.

"what wise words?"

y/n looks up from the coffin, and the rain now slaps lightly against his face.

two petty cowards stand only a foot apart, seeking each other at a mutual friend's funeral.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

a/n;

i wanted to try the style of going back and forth between the present and past. it didn't turn out exactly as i would've liked, but i think it's okay.

i would really appreciate any feedback on this! did the smut suck? was it boring? did the plot suck? lmk :) that also goes for any of my other works

also playing around with borders is fun

draft from sept 2020

[honey-dewey]

Somewhere That’s Green

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels/Reader

Word Count: 3,220

Warnings: None

Jack’s always known his girlfriend was big in musical theater. He’s heard her practice, listened to her sing, and driven her to the theater more than once. But this is his first show of hers, and boy is he in for a shock. Between the on-stage kissing and the death of his girlfriend’s character, Jack Daniels has never been so invested in musical theater. 

“And you’re sure you’re okay with missing work?” You asked, picking up your coat from Jack’s coat hook. “It’s a long show.” 

Jack smiled, grabbing your waist and pulling you close to him. “Darlin’ I wouldn’t miss this show for anything. I’ve been waiting two months to see this play.” 

You grinned, kissing him slowly, almost teasing. “Just promise not to murder my costars, okay?” 

“And just why would I be murdering your coworkers?” Jack asked, keeping his arm around your waist as he walked you out to the parking lot. 

Stepping into the parking lot and following the familiar trail to Jack’s car, you took a breath. “The show gets kinda dark. My character is abused by her sadistic boyfriend.”

“Oh.” You could hear Jack’s jaw tightening, hesitation filling your chest as you thought over inviting him to the show. Again. 

“Babe,” you said softly, trying to console him. “If you want, I can introduce you to my co-star Alex who plays the character. He’s a sweetheart, I promise. Wouldn’t hurt a fly and y’know how Stevie is my best friend? Well, Alex is like the cool big brother I never had. He’d never even think about touching me. And he knows I’m totally off limits. Stevie does too.” 

“Stevie’s the one who’s playing your nice fictional boyfriend?” Jack asked, opening the Bronco’s door and helping you up. 

You laughed. “Yes. Stevie is the one who gets to kiss me on stage and his character isn’t a huge dick. Alex is my first fictional boyfriend, and Stevie and I get together halfway through the show. He gets to kiss me.” 

Jack’s eyes darkened behind his sunglasses. “Does Alex kiss you?” 

Reaching across the center console, you took Jack’s hand. “No. Alex does not get to kiss me.” 

As Jack drove to the theater, you mulled over this decision. Since dating Jack, you’d done three musicals, but this one was your biggest and proudest role, as you’d finally managed to get the female lead in a musical after countless ensemble roles and smaller name characters. 

“And what’s the show called again?” Jack asked, squeezing your hand. 

You smiled, lifting his hand and pressing lazy kisses into his knuckles. “Little Shop of Horrors.” 

Jack hummed, his face scrunching as he thought. “Ain’t that that movie with the crazed talking plant?” 

“It was adapted from a musical,” you explained. “And then they redid the movie in the early 2000’s and put it back on Broadway.” 

“Ah.” Jack turned to look at you as you pulled up to a red light. “I’m sure you’ll kill it. You got the voice of an angel.” 

You smiled to yourself, the fate of your character entirely unknown to Jack. “I know I’ll kill it.” 

Upon reaching the theater, you hopped out of the Bronco, looking at Jack. “Wanna meet Alex and Stevie? I think Yvette and Eva are here too, and I know for a fact Amber’s been here for an hour, at least.”

Jack shrugged. “Why not. I’ll go park, you go get your friends.” 

You eagerly headed into the theater, practically jogging around as you looked for your costars. 

“Eva!” You shouted happily, hugging Eva and seeing Amber around the corner. “Is Yvette here?” 

“Nah,” Eva said, gesturing to the empty dressing room she shared with Yvette and Amber. “You know she always gets here at the last damn minute.” 

“And she’s somehow always ready to go first,” Stevie said behind you, causing you to laugh and spin around to hug him. “Heya Auds!” He used the nickname he’d given you based on your character, causing you to punch him lightly. 

“I want y’all to meet someone,” you said, walking towards the entrance, where you knew Jack was waiting. “Jack’s finally coming to see the show.” 

“Ooooo,” Amber said, coming out of the costume closet. “We finally get to meet the mystery man!” 

You waved them off, looking around for your final costar. “Where’s Alex? He didn’t call in tonight, did he?” 

“Of course not,” Eva scoffed, drawing her coat closer around her. “He doesn’t call in unless he’s like, bleeding out.” 

Laughing, you pushed open the door, seeing Jack leaning against the Bronco. “Jack!” 

Jack drew closer, smiling and looking at your friends. “Alright. Who’s who?” 

You introduced everyone, the chatter flowing easily until someone came up behind you, lifting you off your feet with a happy growl. “There’s my girl!” 

“Alex!” You squealed, squirming and laughing. “Alex you absolute fuck! Put me down before Jack murders you!” 

Alex put you down, grinning and holding out a hand to a very shocked Jack. “So you’re the mystery man our darling has been swooning over for the past three years. Nice to meet you.” 

Jack shook his hand. “Their darling?” He asked you as you stood by his side. 

“That’s what they always call the female lead,” you explained, tucking yourself under Jack’s arm. “Alex, Jack has promised not to kill you upon seeing the show, which is a damn relief because I don’t think we can do next year’s show without you.” 

“What’s next year's show?” Jack asked, looking at you. 

You shrugged. “I heard from the director that they were seriously considering School of Rock.” 

Alex whistled. “Auds, that’s been a rumor for years now. They aren’t gonna do it.” 

“Okay Dewey,” you said jokingly, reaching out to give Alex a light punch. “You wanna talk about people who were born to play certain roles? Alex is a spitting image of Broadway’s Dewey Finn,” you explained to Jack, who had gotten very lost very fast. “We’re all just waiting.” 

“Oh, so you wanna talk about that, huh?” Stevie said, raising an eyebrow. “I swear that voice of yours is identical to Audrey’s.” 

You flushed, checking your watch and looking up. “An hour,” you explained, extracting yourself from under Jack’s arm and heading back to the theater’s entrance. “I’ll see you after babe!” 

Jack grabbed your hand, kissing you deeply and nipping ever so slightly at your earlobe as he murmured a teasing “break a leg darling,” into your ear. 

“I like him,” Alex said, coming up behind you and smiling. “He’s good for you.” 

You rolled your eyes, grabbing Alex’s white jacket out of the costume closet and handing it to him. “Go get dressed, dork. We can talk about my boyfriend later.” 

Alex shrugged. “Just saying. You have my blessing.” 

“I don’t need your blessing!” You called after him, seeing him disappear into his dressing room. “And where’s Jake?” 

“Where he always is!” 

You sighed, heading to your own dressing room and sitting down, beginning the long yet calming process of caking your face in stage makeup. It took forever and made your face feel heavy, but the results were worth it. 

Eventually, by the half hour call, you were ready, having pretty much cemented your hair into beautifully picturesque curls and shimmied into the tight cheetah print dress that barely covered the tops of your thighs. Thank god you were able to wear tights. 

You tossed a fluffy cream colored faux fur cropped jacket overtop your dress and adjusted your black heels. With your makeup and your sufficiently warmed up voice, you were entirely ready for the night. 

Picking up a picture frame, you gave the glossy photo of Jack a kiss, slipping a worn out penny he’d given you when he’d first heard you did theater into your bra. It was a symbol of luck, and the magic would hopefully continue into tonight. 

“Knock knock,” Alex said, knocking on your doorframe. “How’s the princess?” 

“Good,” you said, raising your voice to get the perfect breathy innocence that was needed for the role. “How much time?” 

Alex checked his watch. “Ten. I think the girls are on stage already, and Jake’s having his fun on the beams. Are you sure you’re ready?” 

“Just nervous,” you mumbled, fiddling with the sleeve of your jacket. “I dunno what Jack’ll think.” 

“Does he know the ending?”

“No.” 

Alex whistled in a breath. “Damn. Ten bucks says he cries.” 

You scoffed, slipping past Alex and smiling, your heels clicking on the worn out flooring. “Twenty!” 

The opening of the show, as was the rest of it by now, was a familiar chaos to you. The fanfare that signaled the beginning spurred you and Alex to your places, tucked just outside of view but still able to see the show. 

The ensemble and the girls rushed past, filling the stage and giving life to the purposefully worn down set. You craned yourself neck, heart swelling when you saw Jack, his hat off, sitting in the front row. 

“Front row, fifth seat in, stage left,” you whispered to Alex, who nodded, spotting your boyfriend as well. 

Stevie joined you at that moment, grinning as Alex told him where Jack was sitting. “He got a good seat, huh?” He said with a wink, sliding past you to take his place on stage. 

As the second song started up, you adjusted yourself, tugging on your dress and asking Alex for help with your mic. 

“Break a leg,” he said, watching you rush behind the set to the section that was your fake apartment. 

At the cue, you opened the door, slipping out and beginning to sing. It was easy to lose yourself in the role now that everyone else was singing too. Stevie came out, singing his part as you sat weaved in and out of the ensemble members, climbing up a ladder to a fire escape on one of the building fronts. Leaning on the railing, you sang along with Stevie, spotting Jack beyond the stage lights and grinning as you finished out the song. 

The next four songs went smoothly. You left the stage after the next one, when Stevie got his first solo song. Standing next to Alex, you checked your phone. 

Jack: You’re amazing doll. Love the dress.

You smiled, slipping your phone back into your pocket. Stevie was, as usual, doing great on stage. Everything was running perfectly. 

While the songs you weren’t really in ran in the background, you helped prepare the other sets. The apartment set you were about to use was ready to go by the time your first big song was about to start, and you walked back out on stage, reciting lines you’d memorized months ago. As the set turned, revealing the inside of the apartment, you began to sing. 

The song was a nice one. Maybe a bit of strain on your voice as you pitched it upwards, but otherwise easy to sing. You poured a certain mournfulness into it, taking your jacket off and hanging it on the coat hook. 

Every so often, you’d see Jack out of the corner of your eye, grinning like a lovesick fool at you. When the stage rotated again, showing you leaning out the small balcony, singing about your character’s dreams for a brighter future, you watched Jack carefully. His eyes never left you, winking when he realized you were watching him. 

The song ended, the audience clapping as you slipped out, grabbing your coat on the way. 

One quick change and bit of makeup adjusting later, you were cycling through another song. Nerves began to bundle in your stomach as the introduction of Alex’s character drew closer. You always drew a few gasps when he roughed you up, but it never made you this nervous. 

Thankfully, it was a short scene, as the focus shifted to the introduction. His touch was always professional and careful, never actually harming you. You slipped off stage as his character began his song, settling down on a beat up old couch and loosening your shoes. You didn’t have to be on stage for a while, so you half listened to Alex and half focused on checking your phone. No texts from Jack. 

“Hey hon.” Alex flopped onto the couch next to you, shocking you a bit. “C’mon.” 

You quickly tighten your shoes, standing and taking Alex’s hand as he tugged you towards the stage for another small scene that you knew would make Jack’s jaw clench. 

The scene was, yet again, not harmful. You moved in perfect tandem with Alex so neither of you got hurt, stumbling a bit as you walked off stage after only two minutes. 

“You okay?” Alex asked, steadying you and checking your wrists where he’d grabbed you. 

“Yep.” 

“Everything good up in here?” He asked, knocking gently on your temple. 

You smiled. “Haven’t been this nervous about a show in, gosh I don’t even know.” 

“You’re doing amazing,” Alex promised, pulling you into a hug. “I’m sure he’d love it even if it all went to shit.” 

You nodded, tightly hugging Alex back. “Yeah. He would.” 

You two got ready for your final scene together, the one where he ‘hit’ you. The slap had been practiced until it was instinct, until it was a guarantee Alex’s hand would never even touch your face. 

Watching the stage and slowly moving behind the set pieces, you bopped a bit to the song, looking up and seeing Jake having the absolute time of his life above your head, singing for the plant. 

“Ready?” Alex asked, squeezing your hand. 

You nodded, hearing the cue and starting your nervous babbling conversation with a shouting Alex, stumbling through the door and smiling at Stevie. “Hey Seymour! I left my sweater here before.” 

Immediately, Alex followed you, still shouting. You couldn’t see Jack’s reaction when he called you a slut, or when he slapped you, your pitiful voice breaking as you and Alex headed off stage.

As soon as you were out of sight, Alex hugged you, murmuring the apology he always gave after that scene and heading off to act his death. 

It was a favorite scene of yours, and you watched as Alex ‘died,’ unable to leave the scene until the lights went dark and he hurried off, Stevie taking a bag of fake limbs and grinning to you as the lights rose and he headed back out. 

During intermission, you left the couch, allowing the girls to collapse into the frankly disgusting crease. Instead, you curled up in the oddest place that shouldn’t have been comfortable, the antique dentist’s chair from Alex’s scenes. 

Which was where he found you, settled into the leather and adjusting your makeup. You were humming along to some music playing out your phone, carefully wiping away your black eye and touching up your foundation. “Good job. You absolutely murdered it.” 

Alex smiled. “Thank you. Still nervous?”

“Nah.” You closed your makeup bag, spinning the chair lazily. “No more than usual now.” 

You two just hung out, as usual, until the signaling music began to play. You shook yourself out, standing and smiling. “Halfway there!” 

Alex laughed and took your place, grabbing a book. 

You were significantly more involved in the second act, breezing through the first few songs, feeling an uncomfortable tingle of guilt in your stomach as you and Stevie kissed during the second song. It was an emotional scene that was immediately followed up by a murder. Not your murder. You weren’t set to die until later. 

Of course, your next big scene was your death. You ran over the process in your head, just in case. Stevie would throw you into the giant plant puppet, and you’d slide past Jordan, who was the puppeteer inside, and out through a hole so you didn’t have to sit inside the cramped puppet. 

However, you had to die first in probably the most heart wrenching scene in the play. 

You walked out as Stevie walked in, alone on the stage aside from the plant. Sitting on the couch in your fake apartment, you began to sing, wandering over to the florist’s shop set and talking to Jake, who was still sitting above your head. 

And then it all went to shit. 

Jordan, inside the puppet, grabbed you with a vine, tugging you close as the song finished out, and you fake struggled as he pretended to eat you, the voice and the body working in perfect tandem as you got deep enough and struggled enough to open a buttoned up tear in your dress, smearing fake blood all over and making it truly seem like you’d been bitten, all without the audience knowing. 

Stevie pulled you out, revealing the wound to the audience. He carefully set you down, going through the musical motions as you poured everything you had left into your final few minutes on stage. Your voice broke, the gentleness fading slowly as you did your best to imitate someone who was dying, actually starting to cry with your last line. 

When the music swelled, Stevie wiped your tears and lifted you, slowly and gently placing you in the plant puppet and allowing Jordan to grab you and pull you in, helping you down and out the other side. Immediately, Alex helped you up, handing you a change of clothes and a pack of wet wipes. It was easy to remove the blood and toss the stained dress into the wash as soon as it was off. By the time the last plot important song was over, you were completely ready for the finale. 

You were unable to spot Jack as you and Alex walked out together, singing one final time for the night and taking your bows. It was a giant group number, everyone happy and very much not dead. Jake came down, singing and throwing an arm over you and over Stevie, dragging you two forward to take the first bow. 

Amidst the clapping and the people leaving and the actors heading off stage, you didn’t see Jack until he met you and Alex at the Bronco. 

He scooped you up, laughing and firmly kissing you. “Holy shit babe! You couldn’t’ve told me that would happen at the end?” 

You laughed, wiping tears off Jack’s face. “Alex! He’s crying!” 

“Well fuck.” Alex leaned against the car, smiling. “Guess I owe you.” 

Jack put you down, still holding you tight. “Y’all did good. I almost got up to smack you halfway through the show.” 

You rolled your eyes, squeezing Jack’s hand. “I’m exhausted.” 

“Alright,” Jack said, opening the Bronco’s door and helping you up. “Pleasure to meet you Alex.” 

“Same,” Alex said, stepping back. “You be good to our girl, you hear?” 

Jack snorted. “I will.” 

The drive home was quiet. Now that the adrenaline of the show was gone, you felt limp, every part of your body in pain. Jack, the ever sweet and loving boyfriend, carried you inside, setting you down on the bathroom counter and grabbing your makeup wipes for you. 

“Anything else?” He asked once you were done, cuddled up in your favorite pyjamas. 

“Well,” you hummed, getting down and heading over to the bed. “I seem to be missing my boyfriend. C’mere.” 

Jack, now eager, took his shirt off and crawled into the bed next to you, pulling you close. “You were amazing tonight, truly.” 

“Thank you,” you murmured, already falling asleep. 

“You’re welcome.” Jack shuffled so you’d be more comfortable, stroking softly up and down your back as you fell asleep properly, safe with the knowledge that Jack’s first musical theater experience had been a good one.

[verythewriter]

I’m pissed beyond belief, and Detective Johnson knows it.

“Wow,” I say, feeling my nails dig crescent-shaped divots into the flesh of my palms. “Wow. Let me get this straight. It wasn’t a ‘good enough story’ for you while I was on trial, but now you believe me? Now you want my help?”

He’s sweating slightly, but his face remains cool and impassive as he nods.

“We’re close,” he says. “We know we are. We’re just missing a crucial piece of information, and if your...skillset...is truly as accurate as you claim, we might be able to stop this monster from—”

I cut him off with a bitter laugh. “Funny. Isn’t that what you called me?”

He stares blankly. “What do you mean?”

“‘Monster.’ That’s what you called me, up on the stand. You called me a deranged monster, you said I was a cold-blooded killer that deserved the death penalty.” I glare at him harder. “Did you honestly think I’d forget?”

Johnson sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“He’s killing kids,” he says quietly. “Kids. Just put aside our history for one second, and—”

I slam my handcuffed fists on the table, and he flinches. “Our history, Detective? You mean, locking me up while my son’s killer is still out there? That history?” My voice has raised to a shout, and I know that behind the one-way mirror, officers are getting antsy. “If I’m the murderer you think I am, why should I give a damn about saving some kids?”

He’s silent for a moment.

“We’re willing to reduce your sentence,” he finally says.

“Go to hell.”

“And we’ll consider reopening your case.”

That gives me pause.

I don’t want to help them. God knows I don’t want to help them. Not after what they did to me. I still can’t believe Johnson has the balls to come begging me for help when he testified so adamantly against me.

But deep down, I think some part of me knows that it’s not his fault. Not his fault my son was killed, not his fault for walking in on something he couldn’t possibly understand.

And Danny’s never going to get the justice he deserves, not as long as that case is closed.

So, with a long-suffering sigh, I nod.

“Fine. When do I start?”

------------

The answer is, apparently, right away.

I’m escorted from the prison immediately, the jeers and shouts from my fellow inmates following me all the way out the doors.

They never liked me much. I suppose I wouldn’t either, if I’d heard the same things they had.

The drive to the morgue is uneventful. I make no attempts at conversation, and neither does Detective Johnson or the officer in the driver’s seat. I get the feeling that, despite the amount of officers coming to witness the “investigation,” none of them—besides Johnson—really want me there.

I don’t want me there.

“Do we need to have some sort of contract in writing before I do this?” I ask as I’m led down a cold, sterile-smelling corridor. The Police Chief snorts.

“If your intel is good...and that’s a bigass if...we’ll figure out an agreement.”

His tone makes it sound less like a promise and more like a threat. I figure it’s the best I’m going to get, at this point. Johnson pushes open the doors.

A body lays on a slab, covered by a sheet. My pulse quickens, and I try my best to steady my breathing.

Come on. You can do this. Do it for Danny.

The sheet is pulled back to reveal a young child’s face...or, what’s left of it, at least. Broken and bloody, resembling a jack o’ lantern that’s been left on the porch too long more than anything else. The arms and torso are covered in deliberate-looking lacerations, and though the worst of them have already been cleaned and stitched up by the coroner, it hardly makes the sight any easier to look at. I turn away, eyes squeezed shut.

“Well?” the Chief asks. I open my eyes to see him gesturing to the body impatiently. Half a dozen officers crowd in the doorway, unwilling to enter the room but horrifyingly fascinated enough to watch. Johnson has his arms folded and is studying me with an indiscernible expression.

“Just a minute,” I say quietly. “Just—just give me a minute.”

“Do you...need anything?” Johnson asks after a brief silence. I shake my head, even though my brain is screaming that, yes, I do need something, I need to leave, I need to get as far away from here as possible, away from the prying eyes and the smell of blood and the too-small body on the table—

I lean down and sink my teeth into the child’s shoulder.

Distantly, I hear gasps and retching behind me as I chew. Tears spring to my eyes at the horrible coppery taste in my mouth, bile rising to the back of my throat as raw flesh squelches between my teeth...but I swallow, hoping that the single bite was enough and that I won’t have to take another.

And then the vision comes.

A wave of disorienting, foreign senses, bits of sight and sound and smell that aren’t my own and nearly send me to my knees. I grip the edge of the steel table for support and gasp. And then I know. I can’t explain how, only that it must be similar to the way dogs can tell a million things with their noses alone. I just know.

“Caucasian male,” I say, blood dripping from my lips and landing in fat droplets on the floor. I stare at them, head swimming. “Mid-thirties. Dark hair, 5’9’’, drives a Ford Explorer. Works in...I don’t know. Some fast food joint. It was around eight o’ clock when he killed him, and they were in a forested area. That’s—that’s all I got.”

I glance up to see Johnson scribbling the information down in a small notepad. Beside him, the Chief watches me, expression a mixture of astonishment and disgust. I hold his gaze for a moment.

Then, I bend over and puke.

------------

“We got him,” Johnson says, case file in hand, closing the door of the interrogation room behind him. I breathe an involuntary sigh of relief and slump in my chair. I’d been worried that they would make me try again, if they didn’t catch the killer fast enough.

Johnson sits down across from me, steepling his fingers. All of the fire that’d been coursing through my veins during our first visit is gone, replaced with a bone-deep guilt that I haven’t felt since...well, that I haven’t felt in a while.

“This lends credence to your testimony,” he says. “It should be enough for us to reopen your case.”

I start to nod, then stop, furrowing my brow. “...Should be?”

Johnson sighs. “Chief wants to hold off on any investigations just yet. Says there’s no conclusive proof that this wasn’t just a lucky coincidence.”

I groan and put my head in my hands. Figures.

“But,” Johnson continues, “he says that if you lend us your assistance on some cold cases, he might be able to...speed things up.” He slides the case file across the table.

I stare down at it. A sinking feeling weighs in my gut. Despair. Guilt. Exhaustion. Grief. It’s a hundred things all rolled into one, and it’s nothing new.

But now, it’s accompanied by something else. Something that feels a little like hope.

I look up, meeting Johnson’s eyes. I think of the trial, of cuffed wrists, of justice. I think of red droplets on a white floor, and bodies too small for an autopsy table. I think of my son.

I lick my lips.

“When do I start?”

[quillingyousoftly]

🖤

Written for day 6 of Rumrollins Week, for the prompt "You weren't supposed to be here."

AO3 link for tags and whatnot.

Jack stumbled out of yet another pub. A group of people dressed in black leather threw him unfriendly glances as he righted himself and smoothed down his pewter slacks. He hadn't dressed appropriately for the Low Town and he had one too many beers to drink; this little trip to Madripoor was becoming more dangerous by the minute.

He turned his back on the group, placing his hand on the handle of his gun stuffed in an open holster beneath his dress jacket. He wasn't afraid of danger or death; if he was, he wouldn't have come here. He wasn't worried about strangers either; he only cared about finding one person.

His search had proved unsuccessful so far.

He rambled down the street, booze thrumming in his veins, the stink of the city assaulting his nostrils, and the colorful neons painting the nightlife in bright shades. The streets were packed, the citizens desperate for a moment of fun in their otherwise tough lives, and as Jack squeezed through the crowds, he cupped his right front pocket with his free hand to protect his wallet from some sticky fingers. His mind raced as he passed a pub after pub. He felt like he'd already visited each one. Had he been wrong after all? Perhaps Brock wasn't in Madripoor at all, and Jack was just wasting time.

He shook his head. No sign of Crossbones didn't mean Brock wasn't here; after all, with his face all over the news, he hardly needed that old fake identity he used to hide in Madripoor. He wasn't a SHIELD agent anymore, but an ex-Hydra; someone Madripoor should welcome with open arms. Jack could hardly think of a better place for him to seek refuge in.

Maybe that was it. Maybe it was too obvious.

Or maybe Brock got wind of Anatoli Knyazev looking for him and hid from him. One could never be too discreet in Madripoor, and when one was asking questions looking for someone, well, he was bound to get noticed. Jack cursed, ducking into a maze of dark alleyways devoid of crowds, and took a deep breath. He checked the time; it was nearing two. He still had half the night before what was left of SHIELD found out their double agent went triple. 

He looked around, suddenly realizing he had no idea where he was. He stopped his walk, panting. The streets were dark and devoid of life, not counting one raccoon rummaging in a dumpster and cockroaches passing before his feet. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. If it were up to him, Brock would be hiding in the High Town, but he knew well enough Brock thrived in places like the Low Town. Almost like he didn't believe he deserved better.

After observing the cockroaches for half a minute, Jack realized he was hearing sounds of life nearby; a muted EBM music to be exact. He followed the sound, crushing a couple of cockroaches under his oxfords, and reached an unmarked, hole-in-the-wall club. It looked like a secret spot, and Jack narrowed his eyes. For the past few hours, he hadn't seen a better place to hide in.

He crept in closer, watching the entrance. The door swung open and closed several times as people dressed in leather walked out for a smoke or a breath of the air they grew so used to they didn't notice the stink. Jack spied at least two bouncers hiding just behind the doors. Once again, he cursed his choice of clothes; there was no way he'd be let in. Not all was lost though; surely there was someone around whose clothes Jack could 'borrow'.

He sneaked around the club, searching for someone dumb enough to wander around drunk and alone, but as he came close to the back of the club, he heard something even more promising: sex noises. He crept up, holding his breath, eyes fixed on two joined silhouettes hidden in the shadows. 

He froze before even realizing why. Those were two men, alright, unlike what he thought at first, but it wasn't it. He could take down two drunk men with their pants around their ankles easily. 

It was the voice he heard, familiar but strange; the figure of the man bracing himself against the wall, so known to Jack but changed. He hesitated another two seconds--what if he was wrong?--but hell, he'd recognize the love of his life anywhere. No matter the changes.

He moved like a jaguar as he jumped behind the stranger fucking Brock. He wrapped his arm around his neck; he was roughly his size, but not as buff. He cried out and thrashed, but Jack held him tight, moving just his head backwards until he heard a snap. The dead dick fell out of Brock's hole as the body slumped to the ground, and Jack was relieved to see it had a condom on. He kicked the body away and stepped right behind Brock.

"Ya done already?" Brock asked, his voice gravelly as if he had drunk a gallon of gasoline. Jack suppressed a shudder as he realized it wasn't far from the truth.

Brock's masked head turned, and Jack grabbed it to force it back in place. 

"I'm just getting started," he said, opening his pants.

Brock's shoulders tensed as he noticed the change in his companion's voice. He went even more rigid when he saw the dead body lying not so far away from his feet. He thrashed when Jack pressed the blunt head of his cock against his open hole, and Jack had to wrap one arm around his frame--much thinner than he remembered--and press him close against his chest to still him.

"Shhh, calm down, baby," he soothed, sliding inside Brock's lubed hole right past his prostate, his breath hitching. "You're safe."

Brock stilled again. "...Rollins?" he choked out. "...the fuck--you weren't supposed to be here."

"No? Where else could I possibly be?" Jack slid out, then thrust back in powerfully, forcing a moan past Brock's lips. He placed a kiss on an uncovered strip of naked skin on his neck. 

Brock grunted and grabbed Jack's arm holding him, but didn't fight back; he pressed his hips closer to Jack's if anything. "Following the false tracks I left for SHIELD in Monaco, for example?" 

Jack grabbed Brock's right thigh and raised it, so he could slide even deeper, and they both moaned at that. Brock dropped his head, bracing it against the dirty brick wall. 

"And they're following them. But I know you. I'll always know where to find you. You can't hide from me."

Brock's free hand grabbed his hip. "Well, then at least quit playing around and fuck me good before you arrest me. I was getting close there before you went all attack dog on my friend, you jealous fuck."

"Arrest you?" Jack whispered in his ear. "You really think that's why I'm here? Don't break my heart like that." He gave Brock another powerful thrust, punching out another moan. "I found you to join you. To be with you."

Brock's hips moved against him, trying to force a faster pace. It was hard to keep his mind clear with that familiar, silky heat welcoming him home. "Not falling for it... twice..." Brock panted out.

"I'll prove my loyalty to you." 

Jack took Brock's hand in his and braced them against the wall. A cockroach crawled over them, but he paid it no mind. He gave Brock what he wanted, fucking him fast and hard, each needy, broken sound he pushed out of Brock's throat bringing him closer to the edge. Brock's body finally went rigid, twitching with every pump of cum he painted the wall with, then slumped against it. Jack could barely focus on holding him up as he followed soon after, spending himself inside him.

They kept themselves upright against the wall, crushing several cockroaches under their bodies. Jack wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, tucked his spent cock inside his boxers, and zipped up his slacks, then looked at Brock. His forehead was still pressed against the wall, his breath wheezing, and Jack reached for the hem of his black mask to pull it off.

Brock jerked back, almost tripping over his cargo pants still around his ankles. "Fuck off," he said, bending over to pull his pants up. Jack watched him silently. When Brock finally looked up, it was the first time in ages Jack saw his eyes, the same shade of hazel he loved so much, but reddened as if recently irritated.

"What now?" he asked, his voice full of aggression, but Jack heard a note of uncertainty and hope. 

He sighed. "That's not how I planned our meeting," he admitted. "I didn't expect to find you getting riled in the ass behind some seedy club."

Brock flipped him off and walked over to the body. He patted the pockets until he found a pack of cigarettes. He took one, lit it, and hid the pack inside his own pocket. Jack still hadn't moved.

"We have much to discuss," he continued. "I have a place in the High Town."

Brock took a long drag, then held it in his lungs with his eyes closed. He let the smoke out through his nose and looked at Jack, eyeing him up and down.

"Fine," he said finally, his voice even rougher than before, throwing the barely started smoke away. "But if there's a SHIELD tac team waiting for me there, I'm blowing m'self up with you lot."

Jack grinned. "All there's waiting for you is another kind of blowing. If you're nice."

Brock rolled his eyes. "Lead the way," he ordered, turning away from him. 

Jack could swear that just before he did, his mask stretched in a smile.

[winterscaptain]

absence.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: the next installment is here! this is the second-to-last piece in the berry hill section of a joyful future. as it has been lately, this one requires little ajf context, but i would recommend reading berry hill and waldosia, if you haven’t already. (thanks to aimz @ssaic-jareau, kira @good-heavens-chris-evans, and sabina @writefasttalkevenfaster) edit: this has been heavily revised as of april 29th, 2021. the changes and additions address continuity errors and ongoing subplots. 

words: 7k (prev. 3.8k) warnings: language, vomit mention, really accurate satellite phone protocol (eat your heart out, cm writers), beard!hotch, jack hotchner content, one last slow burn

summary: “absence is to love what wind is to fire; it extinguishes the small, it inflames the great” - roger de bussy-rabutin. au!march-september 2011

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next? updated: april 29th, 2021

There’s a moment where he stops at your desk on the way out of the bullpen, but you just stare at him. He opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it. After a moment, he finally says, “Jack is with Jessica tonight.” 

You have no idea what your face looks like, but it’s enough to drop his shoulders and send him on his way, defeated.

+++

You let yourself into his apartment, slamming the door behind you. He’s been waiting for you, leaning against the windowsill across from the door. 

“How dare you.”

He sighs and presses a hand to his forehead. “You have to understand that I -”

“Bullshit, Aaron. I don’t have to understand a goddamn thing. What are you thinking? We need you.” 

His head tips up, and he looks through you. The haunted look in his eyes almost makes you falter - it so acutely reminds you of the days following Haley’s death - but you keep your resolve. He doesn’t say anything, just lets you yell at him until it's out of your system. You could never actually hate him and he knows that, which makes some of it easier, but not all of it. 

The tears start and pick up speed as you continue, nearly at a shout. “You've known for seven months that you were going to leave for Pakistan. I read the brief. Seven. Fucking. Months, Aaron. Since September, you’ve known and you didn’t tell us about the task force assignment in fucking Pakistan!” 

You pause, but the final nail in his proverbial coffin leaves your mouth without permission. “Emily died, and you’re still leaving?” He flinches. “You’re leaving me and Jack. You’re leaving our team. I never thought you could do something like that to us. Maybe them, but not me. Never to me. I mean, after everything we’ve -” You cut yourself off and raise the back of your hand to your mouth, unable to finish the unbearably painful thought.

He’s not sure which part is the most painful - the fact that you list yourself with Jack instead of with the BAU, the fact that you say ‘our team,’ or the tone that drips with hurt. The sob that rips through your chest breaks his heart. He leans heavily against the arm of his couch, knocked down by the weight of your tears. 

No. The hardest part is knowing he deserves it, that you aren’t saying anything that isn't unfair or untrue. 

“I can’t even look at you right now.” 

He can only watch you as you walk back out, leaving the door open behind you. 

About twenty minutes later, he receives a text.

9:34pm I’ll be there tomorrow at 12:30 to take you to base. Be ready when I get there. 

He crawls into bed about half an hour later, and receives another text.

10:05pm Goodnight. 

Fuck. 

+++

The ride to base ride is mostly silent, and you know something’s wrong. It’s nothing you can articulate or even really put your finger on, but it’s something bigger than just his imminent absence.

He’s boarding a C-130 supply transport with a few Marines and various agency task force members to an outpost in Pakistan. It will no doubt be a long and deeply uncomfortable flight. His go bag, packed with desert fatigues and a couple of creature comforts, looks smaller than usual at his feet. 

“How long?”

He sighs and shakes his head. “Task force operations are need-to-know.” There’s so much he can’t tell you, and it eats at him. Because it’s you, and he’s been an ass, he concedes a little. “Probably a couple of months.”

“We’ll be okay, Aaron.” 

A little laugh leaves him, and it pulls a smile from you. 

“What?”

“Remember when you chased me down last night to tell me the team couldn’t do this without me?” 

You roll your eyes. “It’s still true, but we’ll manage. We always do.” There’s a moment of silence, and you continue. “And you’re going where you’re needed. That helps.” 

It’s true. Your anger had cooled (just a little) overnight, and you decided you didn’t want to be upset with him when he leaves. 

You already miss him. 

“Don’t think I’m not still mad at you.”

He looks out the window, and you can hear the wheels turning in his head. Jack is on his mind, and so are you. There’s nothing more nauseating than the thought of leaving you while you’re still hurting from Emily’s loss. “I know.” 

Why are you going through with this, Hotchner?

Oh, right. You’re a coward. 

“I just don’t want our last conversation before you leave to be a fight.” You sniff, but don’t look at him as you continue driving down the highway. 

I am perhaps the most undeserving man on the planet. 

He says, “Thank you. I don’t want that either,” but he hopes you can hear what else he can’t say. 

I love you. I’m sorry. 

+++

“Alright, you’ve got everything you need?” You stand next to him on the tarmac, shading your eyes from the sun. 

Aaron hikes his bag higher on his shoulder. “Think so. You gonna be alright?”

You nod and reach for him. He embraces you, tucking his head into your shoulder. “You be safe, Aaron Hotchner. If you die out there I’ll kill you myself.” 

He chuckles, and you hope the sound is enough to keep your heart from breaking too much over the next couple of months. Your eyes close as he presses a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll check in when I can.”

Shoving against his chest, you turn him around and push him toward the plane. “Get outta here.” 

He takes one last look over his shoulder when he reaches the loading ramp and offers you a wave. You return it. 

+++

You manage to get to the highway before the tears start. The only person you want to talk to is Emily. She’d know exactly what to say, and she’d make sure your days off were full of fun and good company. You pull off on the side of the road, your head falling into your hands, sobs wracking through you.

When you’re able to keep driving, your chest hurts beyond belief. 

Without her, these months seem to stretch before you forever. 

+++ april 2011 +++

It’s not the first time you’ve ended up in his office alone, but it’s the first time you’ve really noticed the evidence of his absence. 

The picture frames on his desk started gathering dust, so you brought a little duster to the office. His desktop computer has stopped making noise, so you turned it on and off once out of pity. His phone hardly rings, unless it's the NSA trying to get a hold of one of you for a sat phone call, so you and Morgan take turns taking forwarded calls. 

The silence is overwhelming and seems to pull something intangible from you. It’s exhausting. 

“When’s the last time you slept?” 

You turn, finding Penelope in the doorway. You’re not sure how long she’s been there, watching your acquiescence to the bees that seem to have invaded your brain in the last couple of weeks. 

“I slept last night,” you tell her. It’s not technically a lie. 

She doesn’t look impressed. “Did you sleep through the night, or are you just trying to play one of your Jedi mind tricks on me?” 

With a sigh, you cop to it. “No, I didn’t sleep through the night.” You look out the window to the bullpen, and you know she sees something on your face. 

“I don’t like it either.” She looks over her shoulder, finding Spencer and Ashley playing a game of Go on the desk. Unsurprisingly, Spencer’s winning. Rossi and Derek speak quietly by the little kitchen, looking just about as tired as you feel. 

The short-handedness is getting to you. “There’s just…” You search for something to say. “There’s just so much to do.” 

Penelope looks back. Her mouth twists. “And we’re down a couple’a hands.” 

That’s an understatement. 

+++

“I would understand if you needed some time to think about it.” Erin leans forward in her chair, elbows on her desk. “With your team cut in half, even I wouldn’t feel comfortable sending you to another unit without some time to train a replacement or two.” 

“Or three,” you add.

She looks at you and nods. “Exactly.” 

You pick up the letter from the Special Agent in Charge in Los Angeles. You’d be his right hand - essentially the liaison between operational support divisions and units operating in the field. It’s a hell of an opportunity, a huge promotion, and a significant bump in pay. 

“Can I take you up on the offer to think about it?” You slide the letter across the desk again. 

Her eyes are soft, and you almost feel close to her in that moment. “Of course. Take your time. It’s a position created just for you, so there’s nobody else in line for it.” 

“Thanks.” 

+++ may 2011 +++

“Ready or not, here I come!” You call across the apartment, sneaking through the familiar rooms with practiced ease. 

Aaron’s been away for close to a month, and you’ve settled into a routine. Cases, of course, keep you busy. Derek’s rather good at playing unit chief - decisive and collaborative - but you miss Aaron’s steady, even hand. 

Really, you miss everything about him. You try not to think about him too much. 

You fail, often. 

Avoiding thoughts of Aaron gets even harder as you creep into the master bedroom. The smell of him hasn’t left. Past the doorway, the air is spicy, masculine, and warm. You squint at the bed. One of the pillows moves, just a little, and you pounce, pulling the covers back and grabbing the wiggling pillow. 

Jack screeches and throws himself at you. You catch him and fall back on the bed, laughing. “I found you!”

Jess is off running errands for the afternoon, taking some well-earned time off. You’ll more than likely spend the night over here tonight to give her more of her weekend. It’s never any trouble to stay with Jack. You adore each other. 

Usually, Jack leaps right to his feet for another round, but he stays put after his fit of mirth passes, sprawling across your chest. 

“What are you thinking about over there?”

He sighs, and brings his little hands under his chin, propping his head up so he can look at you. He’s six (and then some), now - still very much a boy - but the pensive look on his face starkly reminds you of his father. “When’s Dad going to be home?”

You push some hair off his forehead. “I’m not sure, my love. I’m hoping it’s only a couple more weeks, but it could be a little longer than that.” 

He sighs, and it breaks your heart a little. You turn on your side, and he curls into you, resting his head on your arm and tucking under your chin. “Are you and my dad best friends? I have a best friend named Connor and he says best friends are really important and I was just wondering.”

You laugh a little. “Yeah, I think so. Your dad and I have known each other for a long time.” His little hands play with the collar of your shirt. There’s more to his question. Jack’s just like his dad and takes a bit of ferreting out. Luckily, you’ve had plenty of practice. “What are you curious about, little bug?”

“Do you miss Dad?”

A track of Aaron’s laugh, his smile, the way his arms feel around you flies through your head. “Yeah, I miss him a lot.” 

“I’m happy you’re here so we can miss him together.” You can almost hear Aaron’s voice in Jack’s. It sounds just like something he would say, and probably has said, talking to his son about Haley.

“Me too, buddy.” You kiss the top of his head. “Me too.” 

Jess returns about an hour later, groceries in-hand, to find you and Jack curled together in Aaron’s bed, snoozing the afternoon away. She snaps a picture with her phone, saving it in an album she keeps for Aaron. After she puts the groceries away, she escapes, leaving a note. 

You’re on your own tonight and tomorrow. Have a good time with breakfast - he’s been picky lately. 

XO, Jess

+++

“You know,” Jess says, a little out of the blue one afternoon. “Haley told me something once.” 

You snort. “I’d imagine she told you a great number of things.” 

“Well, sure. But I mean about you and Aaron.” 

It’s pretty stupid that your body decides to panic over absolutely nothing. If this was a polygraph, you’d fail outright. And yet, nothing’s happened between you and Aaron. You’re just friends. 

Yeah but you love him. 

And he probably loves you, too. 

But we're all to chickenshit for that.

What a-fucking-bout it?

You take a little breath and a sip of your tea. “Oh?” You hope the query sounds casual enough and doesn’t give away the cool sweat blossoming over your palms. 

Luckily, Jess isn’t a profiler. 

“Haley told me - and this was the summer before she died, so it’s not like she told me under duress or anything - that she thought there may have been something between you and Aaron after the divorce.” 

She says that like it’s the simplest thing. You’re not sure what to say, so you keep your eyes on the grain of the coffee table, tracing the lines with your eyes. Eventually, you decide to answer in the simplest, most honest way possible. 

“There’s never been anything between Aaron and me. He’s one of my best friends and I care about him.” That sounds evasive even to your own ears. “I care about him a lot.” 

Jess hums. “I know, but Haley always had a sense about these things. And she knows Aaron better than anyone.” 

Her slip into the present tense makes your chest pull. 

“I don’t say that to put you on the spot or anything.” She shrugs. “I just think you guys would be good together. You’re good for him and I think he’s good for you, too.” 

She’s more right than she knows, but you can’t think about it for too long. You miss him too much. 

Out of a need to respond, you offer a half-hearted, “Maybe.” 

Jess reaches out. “He’ll be home soon. When he gets back, I think you should at least think about it. Or talk about it.” She shakes her head. “Or something.” 

“I have -” You cut yourself off, not really meaning to share. 

She squeezes your knee. “I know you have. So has he.” 

+++ june 2011 +++

Back to back cases - five of them, to be exact, pull you through the next four weeks by the ear. Formal leadership wears on Derek more and more by the day, and you find yourself making just as many decisions as he does. You’re immensely proud of him, but the whole thing is exhausting. Spencer does his best to slip back into his normal role, but Emily’s loss continues to wear on him. You don’t blame him.

Most days feel held together by duct tape, with you and Rossi acting as the adhesive. All that and the offer in Los Angeles you’ve hardly had time to process. 

Thus, your evening with Jess is both well-earned and much needed. 

“Wanna crash here tonight?” She sets a mug of tea down on the coffee table in front of you and sits heavily back on the couch. “It’s pretty late.”

You check your watch and find it is indeed late. Before you can answer, your phone rings, and you answer it with an apologetic glance toward Jess. “Hey, Morgan. What’s up?”

“We have sat call notification from Hotch. Can you come in?” He sounds exhausted. 

“Yeah, I can be there in twenty. Is everything okay?”

He sighs. “Yeah, looks like a routine check-in.” 

Jess sighs, knowing the drill. She goes to the kitchen and pours your tea into a travel mug. 

“Are you calling anyone else in?”

“Nope. Just you. See you when you get here.” He hangs up. 

You stare at your phone as Jess sits next to you again. “We have a call from Aaron coming in, and I have to head to the office.” She hands you your travel mug, and you take it gratefully. 

“You’re welcome back here - I can set up Aaron’s room for you. We’re a lot closer to the office than your place, and I don’t want you to drive if you’re too tired.” She sets a hand on your knee, and you reach over to embrace her. 

“Thanks, Jess.”

+++

When you arrive, Derek’s already on the phone. “... So, no leads?... Right.” He looks up and catches your eye. “Here, Hotch.”

You take the phone. “Hey.”

“Hi.” He sounds relieved. “Are you doing okay? How’s Jack?”

His questions make you smile. “We’re good. He’s good. I just left the apartment - Jess and I were having some grown-up movie time.”

You’re warmed by his laugh. “Good. Glad to hear it. I was just telling Derek that the leads out here have gone cold, but we’re still working.”

“Ah. Any chance you’ll be home soon?” You avoid Derek’s searching gaze. 

“It doesn’t look that way, no. We’re picking up on some chatter out there, but nothing firm. We’ll have to keep out for a couple more weeks at least.”

Your heart drops, but you hide it as best you can. “Alright. Anything you need from us back here?”

“Just keep doing good work.” You know he can’t say much more than that, with more than a couple of NSA guys in between you on the line, not to mention the archival recording of the call. Even then, you know he means looking for Doyle. “That’s all I need from you.” 

“We can do that.” You give him a quick rundown of some recent cases, all surface-level. You’re mostly stalling, using up incredibly expensive satellite time just to hear his voice. 

You hear him sigh. “Alright, I gotta get back. Tell Jack and Jess I love them.” 

“Of course.” You hand the phone back to Derek and wait while they finish up. Your eyes wander over the volumes of law books in Aaron’s bookshelf, the pictures of Jack and Haley and Jess behind his desk. Wandering over to his chair, you sit down and rest your head on your arms. 

Your eyes wander to a photo taken a year and a half ago at Haley’s service. You’re not sure who took it, but you’re crouched on the ground talking to Jack, while Aaron stands behind him with a hand on his head. Jack's little hands are in yours, and he’s smiling a little. 

Of all the photos to keep on his desk...

Derek hangs up the sat phone and puts it back in the lockbox. He crosses the office and leans against the desk beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

+++

When you get back to the apartment (indeed much closer than your home), Jess is asleep in the guest room, and Jack’s still out like a light. 

You change into your pajamas, stuffed into your go bag, and curl up under the covers on Aaron's side of the bed. His pillow smells faintly like him, and you burrow into it. 

The bed feels far too big and far too cold without him. 

+++

“JJ!” You stand to greet her. “What are you doing here?” 

She holds up her credentials. “I’ve been reinstated as a profiler on temporary assignment, so don’t get too excited. It’s a contingent favor for the FBI and I’m sure the State Department will call to collect sometime soon.” 

You clear your consults and subpoenas off the desk beside you. “Good to have you back.” Looking over at the intimidating stack of files you ask, “Need anything to do?”

+++ july 2011 +++

The next time a sat call comes in, you can’t go into the office. Jack has the flu and is absolutely miserable. You can’t, in good conscience, leave Jess to her own devices. Between the vomit and the sleeplessness and the tears, four hands are absolutely necessary. 

“Derek, I can’t leave. Jack is literally puking his guts out as we speak, and I don’t have any new intel for Hotch.” 

Morgan huffs into the phone. “Come on. You know you’re the only one he actually wants to talk to and the only one who has any actual updates about Jack.” 

“You just have to tell him that I’m up in the middle of the night with his son, who has the flu. Isn’t that enough of an update?” You don’t really mean to snap at him, but the lack of sleep has made you a little punchy. 

“Fine. If he -”

“Yeah, I know. If he gets upset, just blame me. He can deal with me when he’s not in Pakistan. As long as there are five time zones between us, I’ll take my fucking chances.”

“Fair enough.” 

He hangs up, and you return to the hall bathroom, where Jack’s cheek is pressed against the toilet seat, his forehead clammy and face pale. Jess is taking her turn to sleep - you’ll switch off in an hour. 

“Hey, bubba.”

He mumbles something that sounds like, “Hi.”

“Can I get you some crackers or maybe some Sprite?” 

Jack shakes his head and lifts himself up, holding his arms out. The risk of illness far from your mind, you gather him up and lean against the cabinets, rubbing his back.

“Can you try to close your eyes for me?”

“I don’t feel good.” There are a few tears in his voice, and it breaks your heart a little. You’ve so been there. 

“I know, baby. I know. Just close your eyes for a minute, okay?”

He does, and his breathing evens out eventually. He’s still feverish, but you’re happy he’s sweating, at least. It could break by morning at this rate. 

The makeshift towel-bed on the bathroom floor looks more than inviting. You gingerly shuffle over and lay down, keeping Jack flat against your chest. 

It’s the best sleep you’ve had in weeks.

+++

“Strauss offered me that transfer to LA again.” 

Derek looks up at you from his report, his brows drawn low over his eyes. “You gonna take it?” 

You heave a sigh. Before you can say anything -

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” He puts his pen down, giving you his full attention. “What’s stopping you?” 

So many things. 

There are only a couple of them you can say aloud. Luckily, they have the benefit of being true, albeit incomplete. “I love this work. I love this team. I don't know if I want to be a lackey for an almost-politician.” 

“And?” 

He’s got you. He knows there’s more because he knows you. Even then, you can’t bring yourself to say exactly what it is that’s holding you back. So, you hedge your answer, knowing he’ll understand. 

“I can’t -” leave Aaron and Jack. You clear your throat. “I can’t leave this team. Maybe that makes me a coward or suggests a lack of adventure or something, but I can’t do it.” 

“It doesn’t,” Derek says. “It makes you human.” 

You smile a little. 

“And for the record, I don’t want you to leave. And I don’t think Jack and Hotch do, either.” 

A little incredulous laugh leaves you. Derek simply smiles, but doesn’t say much else. It makes your point for you. 

Nobody else knows you like this team. 

+++

The hardest days are the ones where you end up by yourself. Derek’s picked up kickboxing with Penelope, Spencer has withdrawn almost entirely, JJ has her family, and Rossi retreats to the cabin by the lake with an alarming degree of regularity. 

Thank God he’s not as cranky as Gideon. 

That would be too spooky. 

Everyone is out of the office, scattered to their respective distractions. You sit on the floor of Aaron’s office, leaning against his desk. Your laptop sits open in front of you, but you’re only half paying attention to the movie playing. 

It was only this afternoon you realized his office smelled more like stale paper, your house, and Tiger Balm than Aaron, and it broke your heart a little. Your only solace was his apartment - the evidence of his existence was inescapable there. With Emily gone for good, you often needed the reminder. 

His office phone rings. You pause the movie, stand, and answer it. 

“Agent Hotchner’s office.” 

NSA is on the other side, dry and professional. “We have an incoming call from Agent Hotchner. Is Agent Morgan available?” 

You tell him he’s not, but that you’re the next in line to receive task force updates. In an equally dry and professional tone, you relay your credentials and your unique intel code. 

“Thank you. Please stand by.” Click. 

You roll your eyes. 

God, they’re boring. 

Sitting down at Aaron’s desk, you wait for the armed guard to arrive with the phone. As per protocol, you’ll sign for the call and remove it from the lockbox yourself. You’ll return it for pickup when the call is completed. 

The guard shows up and you step through the motions, finally getting the phone to your ear. 

“Hey.” 

“Oh, it’s you.” He sounds surprised, but not displeased. 

You laugh a little. “Yeah, it’s me. Morgan’s unavailable at the moment.” 

“I see. Is Jack feeling any better?”

“Yeah. He’s been alright for about a week now. It was a pretty nasty bug, but he’s a trooper. Any new chatter down your way?” You trace the wood grain of his desk with your finger, only a little absent-minded. 

“There’s a little bit of activity on the border. We’re monitoring the situation. Is everything going okay over there?”

“Yeah, for the most part. We’ve been feeling the heat a little since Seaver transferred to Andy’s unit, but we’re managing alright. Dave’s called JJ back in to lend a hand, and she’s doing really well.” 

He hums. “That was a smart idea.” 

“I’ll tell him you said so.” 

“Oh, please don’t. It’ll go straight to his head.” 

You smile. “Fair point. Any updates on the timetable?”

When are you coming home? Please make it soon. 

“Not at the moment. I think we’re getting closer. Few more weeks.” There’s something behind his voice you can’t quite grasp, but you let it go. 

“Alright. Keep us posted.” 

“Will do. You know the drill.” 

“I sure do. I’ll relay the information to the team, tell your son you love him, and talk to you in a couple of weeks.” 

You can almost hear his smile. “Exactly. Talk soon.”

“Be safe, Aaron.” 

“Hey, before you go,” he says. “Can you, um -” 

You smile, tracing the wood grain on his desk. “I’ll tell Haley you said Happy Birthday.”

“Thanks.”

+++

Jess’s hand only shakes a little as she lights the candle and holds the cupcake between the three of you. While she takes care of the cake and begins to sing with Jack, you hold the camera, filming the impromptu party so Aaron can see it when he comes home.

“Okay, Jack you have to help Mom blow out the candle,” Jess says, holding the cupcake in front of him. With a great amount of glee, Jack extinguishes the candle with a big breath and a laugh. 

You turn the camera on Jess, who says, “We couldn't let Haley’s forty-first go unrecognized - she’s officially old and we had to let her know.” 

With a laugh of your own, you turn the camera around and wave before turning it off. 

“Can I eat the cake now?” Jack asks. 

Jess nods, pulling the candle and setting it aside on your picnic blanket. “Of course, but after we eat some fruit, okay? I don’t want the ants to get to the basket before you do.” 

The July sunshine beats down on the three of you, picnicking beside Haley’s resting place. It is, in fact, her forty-first birthday. You can only imagine the look on her face she would have adopt when you reminded her of her age. 

“Oh please,” she’d say. “When you get to be as old as me, you’ll never hear the end of it.” 

Jack sits in the sun, munching on a little apple slice. You reach over, rubbing a little splotch of sunscreen into his skin. He already has a little sunburn from your adventure to the District earlier in the week and you’re not about to make your life even harder. 

Aaron’s absence, even in its fourth month, is glaring. Jack has mostly stopped waking in the middle of the night looking for him and having regular meltdowns, but he always looks up when the front door opens with an expectant look that breaks your heart. He’s an adaptable kid, but months without contact from his father have taken their toll. If you’re honest, it surprised you a little bit. 

With a little bit of perspective, months are different than days, or even a week or two. Jack relies on Aaron more than you realized and the difficulty of helping Jess where you can has only further illuminated your ignorance.

“Will Mom always have a birthday?” Jack asks. 

Jess looks over at him. “What do you mean?”

He thinks for a moment, a little pensive. “I mean, because she’s not here. Do people who aren’t here still have birthdays?” 

“They do,” she replies. “That’s why we have to celebrate for them. They aren’t here, but it’s still special.” 

He nods, a kind of understanding look on his face that makes you think he knows exactly what that means. 

+++

“Yeah?”

You smile. It’s been a minute since you heard his voice, over the phone or otherwise. “Hey, Dr. Reid. How’s Vegas?”

“Hot. But it’s nice to be home.”

“How’s your mom?” You trace aimless patterns over the mat on Aaron’s desk, watching the suede imprint and erase as you go.

He sighs. “She’s alright. I think she’s about ready to kick me out, though.”

“It’s only been three weeks,” you laugh. “Surely you can make yourself useful?”

“I sent in her most recent publication to the journal, so I’ve outgrown my use until I find her a new thesis.”

You can almost see it - the two geniuses, mother and son, bickering over a game of chess or fourteenth-century novel. “Better find her a new thesis, then.”

Spencer’s thin smile is audible through the phone. “Guess so. How are things over there?”

“It’s a little hectic. It’s just me, JJ, Morgan, and Rossi now. Penelope’s still working with us regularly, but counter-terrorism keeps pulling her for ‘special projects,’ whatever that means.”

You don’t mean to guilt him into coming back or anything - you know he needs the time to recharge. He’ll come back when he wants to or feels he needs to but at this point, there’s hardly a difference between four and five agents on the team. You need Aaron. And Emily.

“With the amount of summer task forces coalescing, that doesn’t surprise me.” He pauses. “I’ll probably spend a few more weeks here unless there are any developments between now and then.”

By developments, you know it means any confirmed sighting of your target. “That sounds like a plan. We’ll be glad to have you back but take your time. You’ve more than earned it.”

“Thanks.”

+++ august 2011 +++

“How’s Jack?” 

“He’s doing alright,” you tell him. “He misses you.” 

I miss you.

Aaron sighs. There isn’t time for everything he wants to say, even less for the things he could. “I’m probably going to miss his first day.” 

“That’s what I figured.” It's hard to think about and probably going to be harder than you can imagine, especially if there’s a case that takes you away from home. “Jess will take lots of pictures and I’m sure he’ll be happy to tell you all about it when you get home.” 

It’s hard to keep the bitterness from your voice, but neither one of you could have anticipated this would go on for this long. ‘Over the summer’ seems a little abstract until the end of the summer arrives. 

This isn’t his fault. It isn’t. You know that. 

But it’s his fault for going in the first place. 

Conceptual anger isn’t useful. That’s another thing of which you’re keenly aware. 

And yet…

“Thank you for being there for them,” he says, as if he’s reading your mind. “I know this isn’t easy.” 

There’s nothing you can really say, but you hum anyway. 

The pair of you are just eating satellite time now, so you say goodbye and good luck before tipping your head back against his office chair. 

When the tears slip down your cheeks, you’re not sure if you miss him more than you’re mad at him or the other way around. 

+++

“Chief Strauss?” You knock lightly on her door and she beckons you in, just finishing up a phone call. She gestures to the little sitting area in the corner of her office, and you make yourself comfortable on one of the couches.

She hangs up and joins you. “Have you thought more about the offer?”

“I have. Thank you for your patience. I know it’s been a little while since we first spoke about it.”

Erin waves her hands, brushing off the implied apology. “The BAU’s work in the last few weeks has been exemplary. I’m impressed, especially considering the significant funding and personnel obstacles you’re facing at the moment.”

You laugh a little.  “I hope that doesn’t make anyone think working with this many people is acceptable, ma’am.”

“No,” she assures you. “I’ve made that very clear.”

There’s a small moment of silence before you speak again.

“I won’t be accepting the position in Los Angeles.”

Strauss sighs but doesn’t look surprised. “That’s as I expected. I will, however, add something that I did not share with you before to further inform your choice.”

You sit up a little straighter, a little more attentive.

“The push for a transfer is also in an effort to protect your reputation. I know the BAU has continued investigating Ian Doyle and while that is noble, it could go very wrong. And that much is above my head. DHS, ATF, NSA - they could all be upset by your unofficial involvement. This could go as high as Congress and could result in your permanent termination from the bureau, making you ineligible for work in federal law enforcement.”

“Yes, ma’am. High risk, high reward.” You shrug. “Or at least, that’s what Dr. Reid tells me.”

A wan smile pulls at her mouth. “Yes. As long as you’re comfortable with the consequences.”

“I am, ma’am.”

“Good.”

+++ september 2011 +++

“Alright, buddy! You ready to go?” 

Jack adjusts the straps on his little backpack while Jess finishes putting his lunch together. “I’m ready. Just need lunch.” 

“It’s right here!” Jess says, bringing his Captain America lunchbox to him and strapping it to the outside of his backpack. “You’ve got a ham and cheese sandwich, a juice box, some carrots, and a brownie. Does that sound okay?” 

He nods. 

“And if it’s not enough, we can always get some more food after school okay? It can be a special treat.” 

Jack grins and you all head off to the car together. 

+++

The little meltdown arrives when you and Jess move to leave him at the door of his classroom. Jack’s brown eyes get wide and rapidly fill with tears as soon as you take a step away from him. 

“Jack, baby, c’mere.” You drop to your knee and open your arms. He steps into them and you can feel his shaky, hiccuping breaths against your shoulder. 

While you hold him, you hear Jess debriefing his new teacher about their current situation, and the way things are in general. Dad in Pakistan, dead mom, goes by Jack rather than Jonathan, the whole nine. 

“You are so brave,” you whisper into his hair. “You are so smart. You are a good friend and you are safe.” 

He nods. 

“I’m so sorry your dad can’t be here, honey, but he’s going to be so excited to hear all about it as soon as he gets home. And I'll tell him how brave you are on our next secret superhero phone call.” 

‘Secret superhero phone call’ was the best way you could describe using the sat phone (and why Jack couldn't talk to Aaron himself) so you just went with it. 

Jack nods again, sniffling a little and pulling back. You reach for him, wiping his tears with your thumbs. 

“I love you so much, bud.” 

“I love you, too.” 

You kiss his forehead, reminding him, “I might have to get on a plane for work, but otherwise I’ll see you after you’re done with your first-ever day of school, okay? This is so exciting!”

He finally smiles, and your work is done. When he steps into the classroom, he doesn’t look back.

+++

Thankfully, you’re not pulled for another case until the end of the week, so you’re able to see Jack through his first-ever week of school. 

It hits you more than once that you’re the person next to Jess right now while he hits these milestones. Long gone is that toddler that would giggle in his mother’s arms as she danced around the living room to Hall and Oates. In his place is an insightful little boy with a rapidly burgeoning sense of humor and a wickedly kind smile. 

You love him.

+++ 

The entire team got an emergency call, so you're all gathered in the roundtable room when Aaron walks in, looking all the worse for wear and -

Is that a beard?

Wait. He’s back. 

You just spoke to him on Monday, with news of a “few more weeks,” even in the face of developments on the Doyle case.

Fucking bastard knew he was coming home, didn’t he?

All of your joy in seeing him evaporates, and you narrow your eyes at him. Just like the last time you were in this room together, there’s an apology in his gaze. 

“Welcome back.” Derek doesn’t sound surprised, and your head whips toward him. He doesn’t look at you. 

Unbelievable. 

“Thanks. Everyone, have a seat.” You follow Aaron’s instructions, and sit, crossing your arms. It’s childish, sure, but the balance of personal and professional life has flown out the window. 

This feels like a personal slight, rather than a professional one. You try to push it away, but it lingers in your sternum like a lit flare. It’s uncomfortable, and you hate it. 

“Why?” Derek sounds a little concerned. Your anger cools a little bit. Derek doesn't actually know anything. “What’s going on? Is everything alright?”

“Seven months ago I made a decision that affected this team.” You notice, brow furrowed, that JJ stands beside Hotch like an ally. They both have odd looks on their faces. “As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle.”

No. 

“The doctors were able to stabilize her. She was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration.” 

No. 

“Her identity was strictly need-to-know. She stayed there until she was well enough to travel. She was reassigned to Paris, where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security.” 

No. 

There’s silence, and you can’t tear your eyes from Aaron.  

“She’s alive?”

“We buried her...” 

Penelope and Spencer’s comments rush past you and you feel much like you did in the waiting room on that horrible, horrible night seven months ago. 

“As I said, I take full responsibility for the decision. If anyone has any issues, they should be directed toward me.” 

His eyes finally meet yours, and you find your vision blurred. You blink away your tears. 

It was a necessary lie. 

You go into this business expecting to be lied to. 

Not by Aaron. 

That’s not the issue and you know it. He left. 

He missed Jack’s first day of school. He was gone for five months. 

He left us. 

“Any issues?” Derek’s disbelief is marred by hurt, but you can’t reassure him through your own shock. “Yeah, I got issues.”

He’s cut off by Penelope’s glance toward the doorway. 

The team, save for JJ and Hotch, rushes toward her. You’re stuck to your seat until she approaches you. At her touch, you come back to life, throwing yourself into her arms. Her name sounds strangled leaving your mouth. “Emily.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.” Her grip on you is tight, but your arms, looped around her shoulders, don’t feel like they’re attached to your body. 

She lets you go and continues to speak. Derek’s frozen, and you can’t imagine for a minute what’s going on in his head. Emily wraps around him. He’s stock still, his eyes misty. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when he brings his hand to her shoulder, his cheek falling onto the side of her head. 

It’s back to business faster than you can blink, and now you’re sure you’re not the only one ready to kill Aaron where he stands. Derek is livid. 

They stare at each other while Spencer starts asking questions. Eventually, they focus back. Aaron crosses to you, contributing where necessary. 

You don’t acknowledge him. It’s horrible. You hate being so angry with him, but there’s nothing to be done. 

You can’t be upset at him about Emily. There’s too much to understand, and yet the initial shock of it is like a never-ending bucket of cold water poured over your body. 

Selfishly, you realize you’re upset with him because he didn’t tell you he was coming home. It’s so small when there are other, much bigger, issues to address. 

Emily’s lie is professional. Just part of the job. This one feels personal.

You’re a child. Let it go. 

He knew and he left. 

He missed Haley's birthday.

He knew and he left. 

He shouldn't have gone. 

He didn’t tell you he was coming home.

[deans-baby-momma]

Truth or Dare-Part 6/20

Summary: The Winchester sibling trio has been through so much in the last decade. From the night of their parents’ 30th wedding anniversary party where Sam and Dean eased Y/N from her innocence to Sam becoming a happily married lawyer with a kickass nurse of wife to the three of them now living in the same town they grew up in under the same roof where each of them came of age.  Y/N is a working mother of three,  her days spent helping the townsfolk make proper and suitable financial decisions while bustling about escorting her two oldest to school and her youngest, Mary Ellen, to daycare; Dean’s garage is the premiere body shop for classic restorations and  car maintenance; people from other state’s bring their vehicles to them to be repaired. Business at Winchester Wheels  is booming; Sam is the legal council for Winchester Wheels and has been since he moved back home almost 5 years ago. He has his work cut out for him dealing with the people Dean pisses off and threatens to sue the garage on at least a monthly basis.

After one lust-filled night, the siblings become more than family.  They become lovers. The three of them, together and separately.

One big loving family.

So when Y/N’s boss calls for her to take a much needed vacation, the six of them hit the road. What will happen? Will it bring them closer together or break them apart?

W/C: 1115

Warnings:  more jealousy, ACTUAL jealousy, Lisa, pissed off reader

"Dean?" Y/N questions as he opens the passenger side door of the rented Tahoe. "Why are we taking the vehicle? Aren't we just gonna walk down to Miss Kitty's?"

"Nope," is the only answer he gives her until he is seated behind the wheel. "Our first date deserves something a little more special."

Y/N looks over at him, stunned.  'He had really put some thought into this,' she thinks to herself as they pull out of the hotel's parking lot.

Dean places his left hand on the steering wheel to guide the car then grabs her hand with his right, lacing their fingers together before resting their joined hands on the console.

When they pull into the Dodge House Restaurant and Saloon, Y/N's smile widens. The sign above the building indicates that they offer 'the biggest buffet north of the Mason-Dixon'. Leave it to Dean to find a place with an unlimited supply of food.

After they park, Dean gets out and rushes around the car to open Y/N's door. She smiles brightly at him as she exits the vehicle. He is definitely pulling out all the stops to make her feel special and cherished. 

After getting their fill of steak, chicken and anything else you can think of, Dean drives them to their next stop, The 8 Seconds Bar.

"Where are we going now?" Y/N giggles as she takes in the establishment.  "Eight seconds for what?"

Her question is answered as soon as they enter. High top tables are placed sporadically around the room with more private booths along the wall to the right. To their left was a long wooden bar top with stools perched in front. 

The place was pretty hopping, country Western music heard under the din of the patrons' conversations. 

What stood out to her was the large mechanical bull in the middle of the room surrounded by a large cushioned area. The name of the bar finally made sense.

"Are you going to…?" She asks, nodding toward the beast.

"Hell yea," Dean smiles as he lays an arm around her shoulders and leads her toward the bar. "Two Jacks and Cokes, easy on the Coke," Dean orders as they settle on two stools at the bar.

Once the bartender returns with their drinks, Y/N sips as she turns on her stool to people watch.

"You having fun so far?" Dean leans in so she can hear him.

"Of course. This is the best first date ever. You might even get lucky later," she tells him with a wink.

Dean smiles and chuckles. "Putting out on the first date eh?"

"Maybe. If you play your cards right."

Sadly, after a few hours and one bull ride later, it looked as if Dean had folded and had no chance of getting back into the action.

It all started going downhill shortly after Dean conquered Tucker the Bucker, he began acquiring the attention of another patron at the bar, a woman they both quickly learn is named Lisa.

Lisa is almost as tall as Y/N but has the body of an athlete, muscular arms and a narrow tiny waist that is all showcased in the flowered halter top she is wearing. The shorts she is sporting barely make it to the top of her thighs, making her tanned legs look miles long. She is the epitome of what Y/N is not!

Y/N watches as Dean blushes at the attention she is giving him, offering to buy him drinks and touching him on his arm or shoulder.

Y/N glares at the bitch each time but Lisa just ignores it. 'How dare that whore thinks she has a chance with my man!' she thinks as she watches Dean try to shrug off her advances. 

After a half-hour, Lisa is practically hanging on to his every word and always has her hand on him. Y/N is getting fed up and livid.

'Why doesn't she take a hint? Why doesn't Dean tell her he is taken? Wait, is he enjoying the attention? Is she someone Dean could see himself fucking? Is he tired of me? We have been together for almost a decade and I'm pretty sure Dean has been faithful and loyal during that time. Does he want another pussy to get his dick wet?'

Sure, Dean had been on dates before-to keep up appearances, of course-but now Y/N wonders if her assumption that he hadn’t slept with any of the girls he’d taken out was correct. Had he been fucking them too?

The self-deprecating thoughts keep coming as Y/N sits there watching the scene in front of her, holding back the tears burning behind her eyelids.

When the song that's playing stops and before the next one begins, she hears Lisa proposition Dean.

"Why don't we get out of here and I'll ride you better than you rode Ole Tuck?"

That does it! Y/N jumps up and pushes her way in between her brother and the slut in front of him.

"Why don't you go find someone else to fuck? My boyfriend isn't interested in a whore like you."

"You-your boyfriend?" Lisa asks, wide-eyed and shocked.  "I-I thought you were his sister or something. The resemblance is uncanny."

"I'm not his sister," Y/N proclaims. "I am his girlfriend, his lover, the mother of his kids. Yea honey, that's right. We have three beautiful children. So run on along and leave us alone!"

Lisa turns and takes off across the bar before Y/N can blink. She turns to look at Dean, who is smiling ear to ear,  a look of pride coloring his face.

"That was awesome," he chuckles.

Y/N rolls her eyes and stomps toward the door, not really caring if Dean is following her or not.

She doesn't have to wait long before Dean joins her outside, unlocking the car as he walks toward it. She rips the door open and climbs in, slamming it shut. She is fuming!

Dean slides in behind the wheel and just sits there, staring straight ahead. 

"If you want to go back in there and take her up on her offer, go," Y/N seethes. 

Dean sighs and puts the key in the ignition turning the engine on.

"I don't."

As they head back toward the hotel, Y/N is trembling with rage. When he pulls into a spot, before he even puts it in Park, Y/N jumps out and slams the door again.

Dean sits and watches through the windshield as Y/N unlocks the room and storms in. 

'Fuck!' he thinks to himself. 'What have I done?'

A/N: Uh-oh!!! Their first date isn’t going to end well is it???

@lostinaseaoffictionalbliss @spnbaby-67 @tftumblin @sea040561 @delightfullykrispypeach @larajadeschmidt13 @atc74 @vicariouslythruspn @squirrelnotsam @death-unbecomes-you @sandlee44 @blacktithe7 @hoboal87 @mogaruke @deanwanddamons @onethirstyunicorn @supraveng @deandreamernp​