#fic series in question is thirty-five ways he said ‘i love you.’ on ao3 by an orphan account

[akechi-if-he-slayed]

im reading persona yaoi in ap lang oh im Kms..

[exasperatedcrowleystan]

The mistletoe conspiracy

Pairing: Crowely x reader, Dean x Castiel

Written for: @spnchristmasbingo​

Warnings: none, but there a couple of curse words.

Summary:  you and Sam have placed a bet on Dean and Castiel, and set the limits for it. You can't push them, but the mistletoe tradition gives you an opening. When Crowley decides to help, for the sake of creating mayhem, the rules are bent.

A/N: you can find this fic on AO3, here. The whole series can be found here. It’s a series, so you can read each one individually, but they are written to work better together!

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You and Sam are discussing in one of the library nooks, keeping your voices low to avoid unwanted attention. When you realize that, subconsciously, Sam is signing the words, you tease him a bit, smiling.

“You picked up new habits, uh?”

He looks confused for a moment, then he realizes that his hands are still signing something. He grins, definitely at ease. “Yeah... good ones, from time to time.”

“Yeah... anyway, creating the right circumstances cannot be seen as disqualifying.”

“You can't shove them together and tell me that it's not a manipulation!”

“You don't think you can conspire without your favourite demon, right?” Crowley's voice behind you makes you both spring and turn to him. “Guess I should have made myself heard.”

“Yeah, you should have” Sam deadpans, making Crowley grin.

“What were you discussing with such secrecy, then? I thought that with the new world order you finally realized the benefits of telling things. Are you feeling nostalgic already?”

Before Sam snaps, you explain to Crowley what's going on. If you didn't, he'd just keep tormenting you until he gets an answer, spoiling the whole thing.

“We have a few bets going on in the bunker, about Cas and Dean. Sam insists that if I should weaponize the mistletoe to encourage them, it would be unacceptable. Clearly, he's just scared to lose fifty bucks.”

Crowley thinks about it for a moment. “I want in.”

“It's not a pool, Crowley. And I wouldn't take money from you in any case.” Sam spits out, a sour look on his face.

“Come on Sam... what's the harm in letting him in?”

“Why is he still here again?” Sam asks you, definitely annoyed.

“Because I asked him.”

A moment of silence and bedazzlement falls on the three of you. Since you arrived, Crowley just stayed around you, coming and going, but mostly sticking by your side. The most you did was not protesting about this. Admitting you actually want him there... that's not something Sam or Crowley were prepared to hear. Surely you were not prepared to say it.

Sam manages to untie his tongue first, and gives you a knowing look. “Of course you did. Fine... mistletoe allowed, then, but no pushing, ok?”

“Yeah, got it.”

“Eileen and I are going out for a milk run and then dinner. We're picking up the last things for Christmas dinner and a few more bottles. We'll be back later tonight. If you think of anything while we're gone, just send me a text, ok?”

You nod and try to focus and understand Sam's words, but the feeling of Crowley's stare on you is hard to ignore. When Sam leaves you two alone, you finally look at Crowley. He's studying you, apparently.

“What?” you snap, unable to stand the tension or his silence. He knows how to make you uncomfortable, and he enjoys it immensely, or so you think. The truth is a bit more shaded than that.

“Nothing. I just don't recall you asking me to stay.”

“Well... I called you, didn't I?”

“Yes, but...”

“And I asked you to... come pick up chestnuts with us, and you helped with the decorations, right?”

“Correct.”

“So... that settles it, I guess.”

He nods, biting lightly the inside of his cheek. You noticed he does that when he's thinking about something, and you'd die to know what's now going on in his mind. Instead, you look at the high ceiling of the bunker. You're going to use the doors for your plan, that's for sure.

While you walk away, Crowley follows you, once again, without even having to ask for it. He still looks like he's plotting something, and your curiosity can only be kept at bay for so long.

“What are you planning?”

“You know... there might be an easier way to convince Dean and Castiel to act on their ridiculous mutual pining and free us all from this tired show.”

“Of course you just happen to have a plan lying around.”

“You know me. Now... do you want to hear it, or the less you know about it the better?”

“What do you want in exchange?”

“Can we consider this your Christmas present?”

“Hell, no!” you laugh it off. You surely are not expecting the former king of Hell to give you anything, and in any case you wouldn't waste your present on something that's just a matter of time before it happens.

“... half of the revenue of your bet, then?”

“Half of my... what do you plan to do with twenty-five dollars?”

Crowley surprises you brushing the tip of his fingers on your cheek, closing in on you. “Do we have a deal?”

Without even talking, you nod at him. He leans closer to you, his grin impossible to ignore. You instinctively move closer to him, inhaling his scent and trying not to gulp, but he draws back.

“Good. I'll see you later, love.”

“What? I thought you'd help me!”

“I will, I keep my word. Do your thing, I'll do mine. Oh, and... tell the kid. I'm sure he'd like to be involved.”

You don't even have time to protest that Crowley is gone, leaving you alone. You take a deep breath, trying not to overheat and be irritated. You just openly told half of the Winchester family that you are the reason why their once nemesis is casually spending the holidays with you, and said nemesis just decided to bail. “Fucking typical.” Is all you mutter through you teeth before heading to Jack's room.

About two hours later, you and Jack are done. You skipped dinner, but during the holidays it's not really possible to stop eating, so neither of you is hungry. Jack has been touching the mistletoe and working a bit of his mojo on the twigs to keep them fresh. He then hanged them around with his powers, following your precise instructions.

Dean has kept to the Dean cave for the whole time, while Castiel is in the library, reading and just showing up from time to time to cast a curious glance or an amused smile at Jack, who seems absolutely ecstatic about this new discovery.

What you don't realize, is that Jack is indeed a kid, but he's also much more acquainted with feelings than what you think. He's not part of any of the bets placed in the bunker, which might as well find a new life as a gambling den, but he's been looking closely at all of you. And he brought Crowley back for a very specific reason.

“So... do you think it's going to work?”

You wink at him, confident. “Sure. We basically plastered the doors with mistletoe. They are bound to find themselves under these together, especially if you think about Cas' idea of personal space.”

“Oh. So... what shall we do now? Just... sit here and wait?”

“Well... Crowley has a plan for this, too. I think it's fair to assume that tonight we're going...”

“SON OF A BITCH!” Dean's voice echoes through the bunker, interrupting you. By now you've learned to read the interjection like any other of his phrases, and he doesn't sound on high alert, just very exasperated. Jack looks at you, quickly catching on.

“Crowley's plan?”

“You heard how pissed he is? Of course it's Crowley.”

Not even thirty seconds later, Crowley stumbles in the war room from the corridor, walking backwards to not turn his back to a furious Dean. The same Dean who has what looks like a halo of mistletoe floating about a foot above his head.

“Crowley, if you don't take this thing off I'm ganking you, I swear to God.”

“God is dead, Squirrel, and your ex girlfriend is hands off, remember?”

Dean lunges at Crowley, who simply moves aside, avoiding the assault. “You know, it really goes well with your eyes.”

“Alright, listen here you son of a bitch. Now you're gonna take this off, or I'm ripping your head off.”

“Now, Squirrel. That's not really in holly jolly spirit, is it?”

Despite your best attempts, both you and Jack cannot stifle a laughter. The look of Dean, going around with a gracious little mistletoe crown gracefully hovering above his head while he tries to catch Crowley is simply too amusing to stay serious. Unfortunately, judging by Dean's stare, he's not enjoying the whole situation as much as you do.

“Y/N, this is entirely your fault for bringing him here.”

You openly laugh at him. “I don't know, Dean. I think it gives you the right touch of holiday spirit.”

“Take this thing off or so help me!”

When Castiel joins you in the war room, he tilts his head on a side for a moment, looking at the scene in front of him. Crowley is now standing next to you and Jack, while Dean is glaring murderously at you all.

“What's going on?”

“That damn bastard stuck this stupid thing on my head and it won't come off!”

“I see. How?” Castiel asks Crowley, who just smirks.

“It does come off, actually. You just need to respect tradition. It's magic, so I wouldn't waste grace on it.”

“What?” Dean seems shocked at the idea, and looks at you, awkward and angry. “Well, after all you brought him here...”

“I wouldn't do that, Squirrel.” Crowley's tone is controlled, but extremely threatening. You shoot him a questioning glance, but he keeps staring at Dean, who grabs the twigs and tries to pull them away again, with no success.

“Crowley, I swear.”

Castiel sighs and looks at Dean. A surreal silence falls on all of you, while you all try to anticipate what's going to happen and simultaneously look away. Well, except Crowley, of course.

“Come on, Feathers. Your protégée is under the spell of an evil demon. Your action is needed.”

If looks could kill, Crowley would probably be reduced to a smoking pile of ash on the floor by Castiel and Dean. With a sigh, Castiel moves closer to Dean and puts his hand on the unwanted ornament over his head.

“He's right. This is magic.”

“Yeah, Cas, we established that already.”

“I'm just trying to help.”

“Well...” Dean hesitates. He'd rather die than do this in front of Crowley, but all in all... it's not going to be that big of a deal. And if things go as he plans for them to go, it won't be the only time he's going to have to. Not judging by how close to you he's standing now, at least.

“What is it, Dean?” Cas asks, and Dean is left speechless once again. Finally, the urge of not wasting another chance outweighs everything else: the expectations, the fears, the doubts and the shadows creeping in the darkest corners of his brain. The only thing that matters now is that Cas is there for him, once again, and he is not going to waste another chance like he did with all the other.

He leans in, moving closer to Cas, who just stays still, the faintest hint of an understanding smile pursing his lips.

Their first kiss is barely a kiss, the lightest brushing of lips against lips, eyes fluttering close for a moment, and then a quick, awkward drawback. Dean is so up in his thoughts that he jumps when he feels something falling on top of his head. Smiling, Castiel takes the twigs in his hand and walks to Crowley.

“Next time you want to practice magic, I suggest you involve a willing participant.”

“That didn't go too bad, didn't it?” he remarks with a very satisfied grin on his lips.

Knowing that Dean won't stay quiet and awkward for much longer, you wisely opt for getting away from there. You also know, by Castiel's look, that they could use some privacy. You nudge Crowley and Jack and hint at the end of the library with your head. You quickly walk away and give the two the space they need.

Once Jack happily sinks in an armchair, you head for one of the cabinets and fish one of the good bottles and two glasses, offering one to Crowley. He steps close to you, and carefully takes in the sight of you. He looks at your hands holding the glasses, moving them on the small space, the focused stare on the neck of the bottle when you try not to spill even the little drop that sticks to the glass. He loves the care that you put in every small gesture, and when you offer him his glass his fingers graze yours lightly while he takes it.

“Thanks, kitten. To what shall we toast?”

“To another one of your brilliant plans, I'd say.”

“And to you winning a bet.”

You smile and click your glass against his one. “Cheers to that!”

You smile, happy to see Dean and Castiel finally acting on their feelings. It was long due, and the idea of Crowley, despite being really simple, was exactly what was needed.

You are so focused on finishing your scotch that you don't notice Jack walking away, leaving you two alone.

Meanwhile, Crowley is staring at you, completely absorbed in his thoughts. He could spend hours studying the way your eyes twinkle reflecting the lights of the hall. He could write pages filled with love and lust about the way your lips curl in a barely-there smile. He'd pass his time grazing your neck with the tip of his fingers, just to kiss the goosebumps away from your body.

You feel the weight of his stare on you, and turn to look at him with a curiosity so innocent that he can't hold back a smile.

“What is it, Crowley?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You were... looking at me. I thought you wanted to tell me something.”

He shrugs, taking your empty glass from your hands and setting it down next to his one. “I appreciate beauty. Is it so strange?”

“And you look at me?”

His smile doesn't dim while he answers you. “Where else?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Make me?”

You laugh, awkward. He always finds a way to keep you on your toes, and he surely has no will to be subtle about it... but that's him. That's the demon you grew to care for, definitely too much.

You missed him more than you'd ever thought possible to miss anyone when he was gone, and when he was brought back... you were happy. So happy that you didn't care about Dean or Sam staring at you, and just went to hug him. If they noticed how emotional you were, they were graceful enough not to mention it. You almost lost it when Crowley hugged you back.

Just when you are finally about to take a step back, something brushes the top of your head. You curiously look up, just to see a small branch of mistletoe floating midair.

“Crowley?”

“Not my doing, kitten. Maybe someone is expecting you... us to follow tradition.”

“I...”

Your stare falls on Crowley's lips, only to find them curved in the softest smile he's ever given you. You nod, not trusting your voice enough to speak. He places a hand on your cheek, brushing your cheekbone with his thumb. You study his dark green eyes, taking in the imperceptible streaks of blue almost hidden in the dim lights.

He moves as close as possible to you, stopping just a second before touching your lips. “God, you're beautiful.”

You close the distance between you and smile against his lips. You smile for everything: his words, his hand on your cheek, the warmth of his soft lips.

He kisses you gently, without hesitation or rush, savoring the moment and your taste on him.

His hand rests on your skin, while you open your mouth and deepen the kiss. His tongue touching yours sends a pleasant shiver down your spine and you inhale sharply. You can feel his signature smirk making an appearance while his hand slides on the nape of your neck and buries through tour hair, pulling you as close as possible.

When you finally break the kiss, you rest your forehead against his one, grinning. “How's that for tradition?”

“I'm sure we can do better than that.”

“You know... I've heard the naughty list is incredibly funnier than the nice one.”

“I'd be a lousy demon if I couldn't move you there.”

You giggle and peck his lips, taking his hand and heading to your room.

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Thank you for reading my work! If you enjoy it, I hope you’ll leave a like, a comment, or reblog it (I really need reblogs with the problems I’m having with the site).

Please, DO NOT REPOST MY WORK OR PART/S OF IT, even if you give credits. Thank you for your support!

[vanilla-bean-buttercream]

You Bit Me?!

Summary:

When Logan decided to become a doctor, he knew the full moon was going to bring in all sorts of problems for him. He was prepared to face people who would bite him for no reason, at least, until he was actually bitten by someone. He didn’t have time for this. He was graduating college. He was studying for finals. He didn’t need to crave inhuman amounts of food, get sick off of a special treat, or have heightened senses that set him on edge. There had to be a totally plausible medical reason for all of this. And, no, Lychanthropy is not one of them, Patton.

Statistics:   

Pairings: N/A

Main Characters: Logan, Patton, Virgil, Roman

Minor Characters: Deceit, Emile, a few oc’s

Warnings: Biting, arguing, binge eating, meat consumption, food poisoning, crying, swearing (two times), guns, descriptions of injury, blood, unsafe medical practices, death mentions, threats of death (no one dies though), you’re gonna have a bad time reblogging this on mobile because it’s so long

Word Count: 21,730 

Some helpful links:

- An alternate version on Ao3

- A beautiful art piece drawn by @starry-shake​ 

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Author’s Note:

Well, hello there! This story was the original big bang fic for @ts-storytime I wanted to write, but because I let it slip and there was a certain artist that was hellbent on getting me, I decided to write another. (They succeeded so I’m glad I did haha)

Anyway, this is actually only half of the story I wanted to write, but then I realized I would much rather turn it into a short story series, kinda like how I did TSAoJ (what is it with me and splitting up supernatural stories huh?) so keep on the lookout for that later maybe~

Anyway, I’ve kept some of you waiting too long. I hope you enjoy, and don’t get bummed if you can’t reblog it on mobile. A short reply with a thumbs up is literally all I need <3

-Cat

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Logan sighed as he stared at the price of Crofter's. According to the sticker, he just missed the sale Patton told him about, and he’d have to pay an extra 20 cents for it, which for a college student on a tight budget, was a lot. 

Oh well. Patton could live without an extra box of goldfish crackers.

As Logan reached up to grab the jar, it vanished. Logan froze and blinked, his brain failing to process how the item disappeared so quickly.

“Oh wow, the last jar,” a loud voice said to his left. Logan turned his head slowly. A person with a wide grin and eyes that almost looked gold examined the label. “This must be my lucky day.”

An uncomfortable heat burned Logan’s gut. He cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”

The Crofter's stealer looked up and turned their grin into a charming smirk. “Well hello there. How can I help you?”

“By giving me that.” Logan held out his palm expectantly.

“This?”

“Yes, that.”

“I don’t think so. I got it first.”

“But I was here first. I was reaching for it.”

“Well, you’re too slow.”

Logan growled in his throat. “I’m going to ask once more nicely. Hand over the jar.”

The person leaned in close to Logan’s face. “Make me, nerd.”

Logan reached out. He wrapped his fingers around the jar and tugged. The person pulled back. For about thirty seconds, this moment jam-packed with action created such a fuss, multiple people stopped to watch. Some even pulled out their phone to film it.

Finally, Logan got the upper hand. He pulled the jar from the person’s grasp and gave a triumphant little “ha,” totally missing the stranger's deep growl.

One moment Logan treasured his victory, and the next he howled in pain.

It took a moment between the shocked gasps from the crowd and his own distressed noise to realize that, yes, this stranger did, in fact, bite him. Hard. On the forearm.

“Did you just bite me?” Logan questioned.

The person recoiled as if Logan bit them back. Their huge eyes froze along with their breathing.

“I-” they stammered several times.

Logan examined his arm. A small drop of blood that didn’t quite grasp the severity of the situation trickled down his wrist with two perfect indents of human teeth wrapping around his skin.

“If I gather an infection from this, I’m sending you the bill,” Logan grumbled and walked off, leaving his flabbergasted attacker behind.

“Wait!” they called out, but Logan didn’t want to speak to them any longer. He ran off with his jar of Crofter's before the stranger could steal any more of his pride from him. Logan checked out and exited the store. Thankfully, some observers kept the biter at bay and far away from him. 

The whole walk home, all Logan could think about was the bite on his arm. Sure, he could fix it in a heartbeat, but this was a grown human being wrapping their teeth around his arm over a jar of jam, not some toddler. What could have possibly possessed them to do that?

Even if Crofter's was the most valuable food in the world, one did not simply bite another person to obtain it.

Logan entered his dorm room and locked it behind him. He’d be dead before that person came into his safe space and bit him again, or worse, threatened to take his precious jam again.

“Oh, welcome back!” a voice called out from the computer desk. They turned on their swivel chair and beamed.

“I’m afraid I forgot your goldfish,” Logan informed, watching the other person deflate with a whine. Logan walked over to the desk drawer, set the groceries on the counter, and dug around for some gauge to wrap up his arm.

“Logan, what happened?”

“I had a slight disagreement with someone in the grocery store, and they decided to cast their dental impressions with my arm.”

“So in other words, they bit you?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause, and Logan braced himself.

“That’s a story I’d like to sink my teeth into.”

Logan sighed and grabbed the bandage out of the drawer. He sat down on the bottom bunk bed and began unwinding the ball.

“I’m afraid the story is not as exciting as it sounds, Patton,” Logan responded.

Patton left his spot on the computer chair and sat beside Logan. He watched Logan fumble with the bandage before taking matters into his own hands and wrapping up Logan’s forearm. Meanwhile, Logan retold the story, and Patton listened.

“Well, that wasn’t berry nice at all,” Patton mused.

“Please spare me. I’m in enough pain as it is,” Logan grumbled. 

“Isn't there something you can do to make sure it doesn't get infected? I mean, it doesn't look deep, but it did bleed.”

“Yes. Common treatment includes amoxicillin, but that's out of the question for obvious reasons.”

Patton quirked a brow. “But I thought you were allergic to penicillin.” 

“Amoxicillin is a form of penicillin, Patton.”

Patton tied off the bandage and let out a short sigh through his nose. “Well, I hope this guy doesn't just go around biting people.”

Logan leaned and rested his back against the wall. He ran his fingers over the white bandage and sighed through his nose. Hopefully, this would do.

Logan thought back to the confrontation. What could he have done differently? Perhaps there were more jars elsewhere and he missed them. Was being bitten for a sweet treat really worth it? 

A plate plopped into Logan’s lap, and he gazed upon five crackers spread with Crofter's jam. Patton sent a smile before returning to his work on the computer. Logan lifted a cracker to his lips with a slight smile.

Yes, this was all worth it.

--

The following days were rather boring compared to the excitement of being bitten on the arm by a total stranger over a jar of Crofter's. Finals were upon them, and Logan spent most of his time inside studying. After his 5 years of work, he’d be dead before he let failing one class stop him from graduating the hell that was college.

His roommate, however, happily spent his free time out and about with his posse of weird friends. Logan wondered how Patton attracted the most fascinating human specimens to his person.

For example, there was Virgil, who looked like a walking case of constant anxiety. Those wide hazel eyes studied everything. Maybe something bit him unexpectedly as well, and now he expected the unexpected at all times. For someone who chose to draw such little attention to himself, he sure made a scene with his appearance. Dark eyeshadow and eyeliner permanently stained his skin and gave him a wolfish appearance.

Then there was Damian, who Logan swore could not keep a story straight even if he wrote it down prior. The slippery son of a gun always weaved Patton’s gullible mind into intense fairytale stories that even sounded foolish to a child, but Patton always defended Damian’s tall tales, saying how Logan didn’t know Damian’s life and for all they knew, he could’ve run into a prostitute with one eye in the middle of a dark alley and got a blowjob for free.

The only normalish friends he gathered were those from his Theater class. Logan had to admit, Thomas was fun to be around every once and a while… when he and Patton weren’t breaking out into song over the littlest things.

He discovered that when he mentioned something was hit or miss when discussing chance.

Logan cradled his head in his right hand as he attempted to memorize every name for every bone in the human body. It should’ve been easy. Logan loved to study. However, with the bored mother bird sitting on her eggs and her partner trying to serenade and entertain her in the tree next to him, Logan couldn’t focus. That constant twitterpated tweet-tweet tugged at his thin nerves.

“Will you shut up,” Logan growled at the window. Of course, the birds ignored him. He thought about opening the window and throwing a few pencils in their general direction.

If the birds weren't bad enough, now he started to get a headache. The words in his book blurred together, and when Logan looked up at the clock, he couldn’t read the numbers.

Logan took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and pointer finger. Perhaps he needed a break. He released his eyes and blinked into the way too bright sun.

Oh, it was almost noon. No wonder he felt exhausted; he’d been at this for five hours.

Logan slid his glasses back on. The numbers on the clock blurred, and Logan squinted. He lifted the lenses off of his face once again, and the numbers cleared up.

That was... odd. Did he grab Patton’s glasses by mistake? No, even with Patton’s glasses, he shouldn’t be able to tell what time it is across the room without his glasses on, as they were both nearsighted.

Logan set his glasses down on the desk and leaned back in his chair. The world clarified in moments. Well, almost. He still had no clue why he could see without his glasses.

Logan looked into his mirror and examined his eyes. They were the same bright blue from his birth, clear, no signs of alterations that he’d noticed. He didn’t have contacts, so doubling his prescription by accident was out of the question.

What was going on?

The door to the dorm room opened, and the smell of grease and grass flooded the room. Logan almost covered his nose.

“Hey, I brought you lunch, since I know you probably didn’t take a break to eat already,” Patton spoke. He closed the door with his foot and set two bags of fast food on Logan’s desk. The smell overpowered Logan’s thought process.

“Thanks,” he managed to mumble.

Patton pulled out his food and started eating. From here, Logan could practically taste the ketchup sliding down Patton’s fries and sticking to his fingers.

“Yeh mkay?”

“Patton, please don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Patton swallowed. “You’re not wearing your glasses.”

Logan took a deep breath and replied, “You are correct. I was getting a headache from all the studying.”

Patton made a hum of acknowledgment. He held out the wrapped veggie burger to Logan. The smell hit Logan’s head like several hammers and sent his mouth into a drooling frenzy. With all the pain of studying, he forgot how hungry he was.

Within a minute, Logan devoured his veggie burger and moved on to the fries, leaving a rather flabbergasted Patton on his bed.

“Wow, slow down Logan,” Patton said with a light laugh. “Your food’s not growing anywhere.”

Logan sent an annoyed glance Patton’s way but made no further comment.

Patton had just finished his fries when Logan tossed his trash away. He let out a nervous giggle and shook his head.

“You know, I think that’s the first time you finished eating before me.”

“I was hungry.”

“I guess so,” Patton responded. He sighed and put his burger into his lap. “You know, Logan, you spend so much time studying. I wouldn’t mind playing a card game with you.”

Logan leaned back into his chair and eyed Patton with a raised brow. “You do know it’s finals week, yes?”

“Well, yeah, but if you don’t take a break, you’re going to burn yourself out. Please? I know you like Spit.”

Logan ran a hand through his hair. He glanced out at the noisy birds and shrugged his shoulders. “Okay, fine, one game won’t hurt.”

Patton squealed and leapt off the bed. He dug through the drawers for the deck of cards he brought to school with him. Logan watched Patton fish around for a moment. Finally, Patton pulled the deck out and sat cross-legged on the floor, and Logan joined him soon after.

“So, the usual stakes?” Patton asked as he shuffled.

Logan sighed and nodded his head, “Though I don’t plan on losing.”

Patton split the deck and handed one half to Logan. They set up the game, and Patton waited for Logan to finish calculating his moves. They counted to three, and the game began.

While Patton's speed outmatched Logan's own, the other watched Patton’s cards and anticipated his moves, breaking Patton’s combos when he could. This went on for about ten minutes until Patton ran out of cards.

Patton slammed his hand on the floor one second before Logan. Logan’s hand smacked down onto the back of Patton’s hand, and Patton let out a sharp gasp.

A low rumble sounded from Logan’s throat. It almost sounded like a growl. 

The room held its breath. 

Patton looked up into Logan’s eyes, which stared at the back of his hand, and nervously laughed. 

“I win,” he responded in a fake chipper voice.

Logan lifted his hand off of Patton's own. Patton drew his hand to his chest and examined the red mark Logan left behind. He blinked back the tears in his eyes.

“Patton,” Logan called out, searching for Patton’s attention through the pain he caused, “Are you injured?”

“No, you just scared me is all,” Patton replied. Logan watched Patton warily. Patton chewed on the inside of his cheek and picked up the cards. “Best two out of three?”

Logan sighed. “I don’t think so. I really should get back to studying.”

“Oh,” Patton replied. He patted the cards until they were in a neat pile and placed them back in the drawer. “Okay then. We can go get the ice cream now and come back so you can study some more.”

“Sounds satisfactory.” Logan got off the floor and picked up some spare change from his other pants pocket. The two roommates then left their dorm to get ice cream.

--

Logan never felt this sick in his life.

The past three days, he couldn’t keep any food down. His limbs felt like they were going to fall off, and even the smell of food upset his stomach. Patton did his best to care for him, but he was a full-time college student and could only do so much.

Logan rolled over on his bed and took the now dry washcloth off his forehead. He eyed the clock on the wall for the fifteenth time, thankful for once that he could see without his glasses for some reason. Maybe his vision caused this sudden sickness. 

Of course, it was possible to get food poisoning from ice cream.

The birds outside went to sleep hours ago, and Logan couldn’t be more thankful. He put the cool side of the pillow over his head and groaned into his mattress. Great. He was getting a migraine. Just what he needed. 

Why was the week before finals the week he got sick as a dog?

“Logan?” Patton’s unusually calm voice called through the apartment, “are you here?”

Logan moaned in confirmation.

“I’m really starting to get worried about you. Maybe it’s time to go to the hospital,” Patton said as he closed the door. Logan poked his head out from under his blankets.

“Yeah,” was all Logan’s raspy voice would allow him to say. It sounded like he smoked a hundred cigarette packs a day. He wanted to avoid any unnecessary medical bills, but at this point, he’d do more damage to his body waiting than any medical bill could do to him.

Patton grabbed a jacket from the closet and slowly lifted Logan’s blanket. The loss of heat caused a shiver to constrict every muscle on Logan’s abdomen, and he curled his legs up into his chest.

“Hey, kiddo,” Patton cooed and held out the jacket. “Put this on and I’ll help you get down to the car, okay?”

“I don’t want to move.”

“I know, but we have to, or you might get sicker.”

“I’m already sicker- sick. I’m already sick.”

“Logan, please?”

Logan sighed and sat up on his elbows, his stomach pinching and protesting. He panted three times before he sat up all the way. Patton rubbed Logan’s back and sat beside him.

“There ya go. See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Logan rose a brow, and Patton chuckled. Patton eased Logan’s arms into the jacket, noting how much Logan’s body shook from the change in temperature, and helped him down to the car. Logan took his glasses off three minutes after having them on, claiming they made his headache and nausea worse, and Patton placed them in the extra glasses case he kept in the glove compartment in his car. 

Good thing the hospital was only five minutes away. Bad thing that doctors took forever to see their patients. Logan ran to the bathroom at least twice before they were called in to see anyone.

“So, you think you got a case of food poisoning?” the doctor asked as they scribbled down on their clipboard. Logan nodded his head the best he could with it on his knees. Patton rubbed Logan’s back.

“It happened maybe an hour or so after we had some ice cream,” Patton informed the doctor.

“Any history of lactose intolerance?”

Patton furrowed his brow. “I don’t think so. Logan and I eat ice cream all the time, and this is the first time he’s ever gotten this sick after eating it.”

The doctor hummed. “I’d advise him to stay away from any products with milk in it for a few hours just to make sure. It’s possible to develop lactose intolerance through illness, though rare, and I want him to drink extra water or tea, and stay away from energy drinks, soda, or coffee. Vomiting does cause dehydration.”

Logan rolled his eyes. He knew all this. He didn’t waste 5 years in college to have some doctor tell him this was a simple case of lactose intolerance. However, when he opened his mouth to protest, a strong wave of nausea hit him, and he clenched his teeth shut.

“Thank you,” Patton said as the doctor ended their visit. He turned to Logan and sent a sympathetic smile. 

“I hope you don’t think this is just lactose intolerance,” Logan grumbled.

Patton allowed his smile to drop and sighed through his nose. “I don’t know. Maybe we should give it one more day then come back if it gets any worse.”

Logan made a pitiful moan of confirmation before Patton assisted him in standing up straight. He put most of his weight on Patton and shivered again. In the end, Logan lost the rest of his strength, and Patton ended up carrying him bridal style to the car and up to their dorm room.

For the rest of the night, Patton stayed awake and made sure Logan was properly taken care of. The two of them lay together on the bottom bunk. Patton ran his hands through Logan’s hair as he hummed any soothing song he could think of. He bought numerous water bottles to keep on hand and helped Logan when he had an emergency bathroom run. Thankfully tomorrow was Sunday, and they both had no classes.

Logan shivered again thinking about all the work he’d missed the past three days.

“You don’t have to do all this,” Logan groaned at three in the morning.

Patton put down his mug of hot chocolate and sent a tired smile. He replied, “Logan, I’m your brother. Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’re only my stepbrother,” Logan retorted.

“Only?” Patton scoffed. “We were best friends first. I’d still be taking care of you even if dad didn’t adopt me.”

Logan allowed a hum of confirmation to escape his nose. “I suppose we were just meant to be together.”

“Heart and mind,” Patton replied and ran a hand over Logan’s forehead. “At least you don’t feel so warm anymore.”

“Perhaps it’s finally passing.” 

Logan wondered what kind of damage his internal organs suffered without proper care and rolled over. Patton’s calm voice reached through the silence of the room and sang a lullaby from his childhood. Logan recognized the tune and closed his eyes.

If he imagined it hard enough, he could picture his father humming the melody to chase away the thunder’s rumble. It even soothed his stomach for the first time in three days. Logan welcomed the euphoria of sleep after being denied for so long. He repeated the common causes of food poisoning in his head, noting salmonella from dairy usually took a maximum of three days to work itself out of the system and hoped this would be the end of his misery.

This would be the last time he ate chocolate ice cream from that store for a while.

--

Logan sighed as he ran a hand through his hair for the fifth time. Catching up on his schoolwork while studying for finals ate away all his free time. Patton tried several times to help, but Logan usually chased him away with his assertive temperament. Thankfully, Patton knew Logan well enough that he didn’t take it personally. He knew Logan was frustrated.

If there was one thing Logan was thankful for in his life, it was Patton’s ability to see the best in people like him.

Logan tried to force his glasses up his nose out of habit, but he remembered nothing rested there. He felt naked without them. However, with his sickness getting better, he didn't want to take a chance and mess around with his vision. Perhaps he'd pop the lenses out and wear just the frames around. Someone would notice he didn't have contacts eventually.

Logan glanced over at the time. Four am always snuck upon him. He glanced outside at the nearly full moon glowing through their window and sighed. He knew when Patton woke up he’d regret staying up this late. He did promise Patton he'd stay up no later than three am, but passing was of the utmost importance. Graduation was less than a week away, and Logan didn’t want to ruin his chances of leaving this hell. Sleep could wait.

He’d turn into a lunatic if he stayed here another day.

Logan clicked off the lamp and curled into bed. He didn’t realize how much his eyes ached until he closed them.

--

A low rumble shook Logan awake. His eyes snapped open, and he sprung up in bed. What was that? Was there an earthquake? Did Patton trip and fall again? His head snapped around and landed on the clock.

Nine in the morning. 

“Patton?” He called out. No chipper voice answered, and he slid out of bed to glance at the top bunk. Patton’s unmade bed greeted him with several blankets and stuffed animals. One, in particular, stared into Logan’s soul, as if it knew what he did and would squeal to Patton the first chance it got.

The rumble sounded again, and Logan cradled his stomach. He hummed and laughed at how silly he’d been. Of course he’d be hungry. Not only did he miss his usual breakfast hour, but he didn't eat much in the past seven days. Of course, the first three didn’t count because he was ejecting everything from his body at alarming rates, but they still counted towards his poor diet.

Perhaps it was time to grab something to eat.

Logan shuffled through the box of granola bars he and Patton kept on hand when they left the dorm in a hurry. He pulled out a granola bar with peanuts and almonds and tore the wrapper open. One of these could hold him over until lunch so he didn’t mess up his schedule too badly.

As he sat down on his bed, he scrolled through some unread messages on his phone. Most of them were a group text between him, Patton, and their father, and Logan noticed he’d finished his granola bar before he finished reading the first text. His stomach continued to growl. In a split decision, Logan opened another bar and began to munch on it.

Patton: I know you’re worried, but Logan’s strong.

Dad: I kno, but w/the stress of finals, I don’t want him overstressing himself :(

Patton: Even if he was, I’m taking care of him, just like I promised. He’s usually sleeping 8 hours a day and eating all three meals.

Dad. Good. :)

Patton: And once finals are over, we’ll be home with you all summer! Well, I will. Logan will probably find a job right after school. They’d be crazy not to hire him.

Dad: When did my little boys get so big?

Logan smiled and sent back a quick text.

Logan: Approximately 8 years ago when I stopped growing.

As his hands reached into the box to grab another granola bar, Logan hit empty cardboard. His brow twisted in confusion. Strange, he just bought this box yesterday, and there was supposed to be 18 bars in it. How many did Patton have for breakfast?

Logan put the box down and glanced at the pile of opened wrappers in his lap. He dug through them and counted fifteen wrappers.

Oh. He must’ve been hungrier than he thought.

Logan’s phone vibrated again, and he noticed a text from his father arrived in the group chat. He opened the message to read “Lol :P” from his dad and closed the lock screen on his phone.

As Logan stood to clean up his mess, he doubled over and gripped onto his stomach. Its growl shook the mattress. How could he still be this hungry after eating so many granola bars?

Logan opened the snack cabinet once again. He grabbed his jar of Crofter's and some crackers, and then returned to his bed. His next class wasn’t for another hour, so he could sneak in another meal before he headed out. He popped the lid off and dipped the cracker straight into the jar.

As he snacked, Logan twisted his once bitten arm around and examined the skin. Strange, the scabs from the bites had already healed. He shrugged it off, wondering if his mind amplified the situation more than it called for. 

For a few minutes, he continued to text his father back and forth. Patton was still in class, so he expected him to join the conversation later. His dad asked about Patton to make sure Logan held up his end of the bargain as well and watched out for his little brother.

Logan: He’s no longer a child. Patton is quite capable of taking care of himself and others.

Dad: I kno, I just worry. He’s 2 good 4 his own good.

Logan: Patton needs to make his own mistakes as well. You and I will not always be there to protect him from those who wish to do him harm. It’s a hard lesson one has to learn when they raise a child. You cannot always protect them from everything.

Dad: … who says I have to :P I’m ur dad. I’ll always worry a little bit about u 2.

Logan rolled his eyes and put his phone away. He licked the excess jelly from his lips and checked the damage he did to his jar and crackers. He already consumed over half of the jar, and he had three out of four cracker packs devoured. 

When did he develop such a healthy, or maybe unhealthy, appetite? Logan was always known as the picky eater of the family. And sure, he had a high metabolism, but he hadn’t eaten this much food in an hour even in his teen years when he grew six inches in three months.

At least his stomach didn’t hurt anymore.

Logan put the jar away and got his things together for his next class. He sent a quick text to Patton asking if they could have lunch together in the courtyard and put his satchel over his shoulder. The walk to his next class gave Patton enough time to respond with an enthusiastic “YES,” and Logan wondered if he should mention how he tore through 15 granola bars, most of his new jar of crofters, and almost a whole box of crackers in an hour.

The classroom held a light buzz of excited chatter from students ready to graduate within the month. Most of them had been through this hell with Logan since he started. There were a few undergraduates in the class, but not many.

“Good morning, Logan! Glad to see you’re feeling better.”

“Ah yes, good morning, Emile.” Logan sat down beside his friend of three years and put his satchel down between their seats. Emile leaned in on the counter and furrowed his brow.

“You look a little confused today. Everything okay?”

Logan rose a brow. He’d never understand how Emile could pierce through his stoic expressions and peg what conquered Logan’s mind.

“I’m merely concerned about passing graduation after all the work I’ve missed.” It was a half-truth. Logan caught Emile’s eye, and Emile sent a gentle smile back.

“Well, you know, if you need anything, I'll do my best to help.”

Logan nodded and replied, “Thanks.”

The professor silenced the room, and the class began.

Logan did his best to pay attention to the test. For some reason, his mind focused on what he was going to grab to eat for lunch this afternoon. Knowing Patton, he’d suggest the food court, but Logan couldn’t take the noise of so many people in one area. His stomach started to ache again, and Logan cradled it. He rested his forehead down on his paper and took deep breaths in.

And that’s when he heard it growl once again.

The sound deafened Logan’s attention to his thoughts. He raised his head from his book and noticed it brought a few other thoughts to a halt as well. Several students whispered and giggled, and Logan felt heat rise to his cheeks.

Emile chuckled beside him. He reached into his bag and pulled out a package of cheese crackers.

“Here, I think you could use them more than me,” Emile whispered.

Logan’s cheeks burned redder than before. He took the crackers and wished they came in quieter packaging. 

Another growl sounded from his stomach, and Logan leaped out of his chair. He could leave the last three questions blank. He grabbed his things and hurried out of the classroom before his stomach could disrupt class again. A few students laughed as he exited the room, and Logan’s ears started to burn from embarrassment. Emile called his name, but he couldn’t be bothered to turn around.

At least the class was almost over and he wouldn't have to go back again. Emile could catch up with him later, as he always had a habit of checking up on Logan to make sure he was okay.

“Logan!” Patton’s voice called out. He turned, and Patton bounced up to Logan’s side. Patton’s backpack jingled behind him. He continued, “Your class is out already? I didn’t expect to meet you for about fifteen minutes.”

Logan opened his mouth to say something, but his stomach growled and interrupted him. He put a hand to his gut and pursed his lips.

“Logan,” Patton’s voice came out in that low warning tone he used when he was upset, “did you skip out on breakfast?”

“Trust me, I had more than enough,” Logan mumbled back. 

Patton eyed him over, but he left it alone. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Okay, I trust you. Hey, where do you want to get something to eat, since you know, your stomach keeps growling?”

Logan put a hand on his stomach and massaged it. 

“You wait here. I’ll be right back,” Logan ordered. Patton opened his mouth to protest but nonetheless listened. Logan took a deep breath and walked off to a place he never thought he’d visit ever again. He’d probably regret this, but ever since he woke up, he craved it. He knew Patton’s order by heart so he could pick up his food as well. Besides, he owed him for the past three days when he made sure Logan’s face didn’t end up in the toilet.

When Logan returned with their food, Patton’s jaw nearly hit the ground. He stood up from his spot on the low stone wall and pulled a bag from Logan’s hands.

“How much food did you order?” Patton asked.

Logan spoke through the bag in his teeth, “Enough to satisfy this insane hunger I woke up with.”

They placed the food on the stones, sat down, and sandwiched the food bags between their hips. Logan searched around the bags until he pulled out Patton’s order of chicken fingers and fries with extra ketchup and pulled two bottles of water out of his bag.

“Logan,” Patton mumbled as he peeked into one of the bags, “did you order… cheeseburgers?”

“I did, along with a chicken sandwich and quite a few chicken nuggets. I’ll share a few with you if 6 aren’t enough for you,” Logan replied.

Patton pulled his lips into a puzzled grimace. “But, Lo, you haven’t touched greasy fast food in about 13 years, ever since-”

“I’m aware.”

“So why now?”

“Because I’m hungry, that’s why,” Logan answered. He unwrapped one of the cheeseburgers and took an inhumanly big bite of it. Patton waited to make sure Logan didn’t choke and unboxed his own chicken nuggets. 

For the first few minutes, the awkward silence choked Patton instead.

Almost every time Patton finished a chicken nugget, Logan would finish off a cheeseburger. Patton wondered if Logan inhaled them at this point. He stopped on his fifth chicken nugget and watched Logan with curiosity. Logan showed no signs of slowing down nor notice that Patton stopped to watch him.

“Logan,” Patton called out. Logan stopped mid-bite and looked over at him, “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” Logan answered. He finished his bite and swallowed whatever reply he formed in his head.

Patton played with his fingers. “It’s just… you were so sick for those three days. And now you’re eating cheeseburgers. The other night, I heard you whimpering in your sleep, and you growled at me when we were playing cards. I know you’re stressed about finals and you don’t like talking about your feelings, but I’m really worried about you. If something is going on, please tell me. Please?”

Logan set the cheeseburger onto the napkin on his lap and turned to Patton. His lips pulled into a quirked smile, and he took a deep breath in and out. “Thank you for the concern, Patton, but I assure you that everything is satisfactory.”

Patton sighed through his nose and mumbled, “I was afraid you’d say that.” Logan quirked a brow, and Patton continued, “Logan, I do trust you, but please promise me if you ever feel comfortable enough telling me what’s going on you’ll tell me, okay?”

Logan stood up and grabbed the empty fast food bags. Patton tried to get Logan to stop, but he had already walked away to put them into the garbage bin. He returned and closed the space between him and Patton, their shoulders and thighs touching, and put his hands on his knees.

“I know you’re worried, but I can promise you that nothing has changed in my life. Well, aside from me being bitten and this monstrous appetite, nothing has at least.” Logan examined the area of skin where the teeth marks were almost a week ago. 

Patton clasped his hands and stared at them. “Okay.”

“Patton, you were my first and my closest friend. You’ve seen me at my worst, and you’ve still supported me nonetheless. You were there when I came out to our father, and you were there when we buried my mother. I have no reason to hide something serious from you because I know there are no risks.” Logan put a hand on Patton's own and gave it a squeeze. “If there was anyone I’d tell all my secrets to, it’d be you.”

Patton couldn’t help the smile that appeared on his lips. He nodded his head and sighed.

“Okay, I trust you.”

“Thank you. Now, I saw you were failing your algebra class. Would you like me to review with you for your final?”

--

Logan groaned as he pulled his blanket over his head. He curled in on his stomach and massaged it. He knew eating all those cheeseburgers would come back to haunt him. The clicking noise of Patton typing on his laptop above his head stopped, and Logan held his breath.

“Lo, you okay down there?” Patton asked.

“I’m fine,” Logan responded. “Just suffering some indigestion from overeating.”

“I told you to stop at the chili cheese dog and loaded nachos this afternoon.”

Logan grumbled an incomprehensible response.

Patton sighed and shut his laptop lid. “Want me to come down and rub your stomach like our mom used to?”

“That’s unnecessary,” Logan replied, but he had already heard the thump of Patton’s feet on the floor of their dorm. He rubbed his face into his pillow and sighed. “Go back to bed, Patton.”

The blanket lifted off Logan’s shoulder, and the cool breeze clenched Logan’s stomach muscles and tightened his fetal position further. He let out a low groan.

Patton sent a sympathetic smile, “Hey there, kiddo.”

“I’m not in the mood to be patronized,” Logan growled and grabbed the corner of the blanket. He rolled over and wrapped himself up like sushi.

Patton put his hands on his hips and sighed through his nose. “You know, if I told anyone that Logan Shea was being childish right now, no one would believe me.”

“That’s a negative thing?”

“No, but I- never mind. Hey, why don’t I make you some peppermint tea?”

Logan paused and tossed his head over in Patton’s direction. “With honey?”

“Extra honey just for you.”

“I guess that would suffice.”

Patton hummed and went over to their portable stove top to set a kettle on the burner. Logan fished his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the time. In three hours, it’d be midnight, and he would have to take his first final in the morning. He should be studying, not laying in bed.

Logan pushed the blanket off him. Goosebumps rose on his skin, and a shiver tore through his body. He caught sight of the full moon peeking over the trees and shining through the curtains of his dorm. Huh, he always liked sitting under the light of the moon. Perhaps it would bring some dopamine into his system and ease his stomach.

A childish thought, but he’d try anything at this point.

As Logan set his feet onto the floor, pain jabbed his kneecaps and toppled his balance. Logan cried out as he fell. The thud alerted Patton, who turned around and rushed over to him.

“Logan?” He cried out as he knelt down, “are you okay? What happened?”

Logan opened his mouth to reply, but his heart pounded in his chest, and he feared if he opened his mouth again it would jump out. His whole body started to throb. Logan clenched his teeth and realized his legs ached like when he got growing pains as a child. The floor slid out from under him, and he felt like he was falling.

Patton retracted his hand. Logan’s body burned like an inferno. He ran over to the counter, turned off the burner for the tea, and started to drench a paper towel in cold water.

A loud growl gripped Patton's attention. He spun around and dropped the towel on the floor. Logan’s body rapidly grew hair. His fingernails elongated into claws, and his nose pushed away from his face into a long snout. Clothing tore as Logan’s body grew, and it couldn’t contain his new size. The only thing that clung to him was his tie, now loosened around a thick mass of black fur. 

Patton covered his mouth in a silent scream. He backed into the counter. His eyes flashed over to the door, and he wondered if he’d have enough time to get out of here before anything happened.

Paws thundered on the floor as Logan stood up on his hind legs and hit his head off the ceiling. He whimpered and brought a pawed hand up to rub the spot. Logan shook his head, his ears making a flapping noise as he did so, and sat back on his hind legs. 

Ice blue eyes settled on Patton and froze Patton in place. Logan’s tail wagged as he took three steps toward Patton. Patton’s throat finally let out a sharp whimper, and he crawled onto the countertop. With Logan between him and the doorway, there was no way to escape now.

Maybe if he was lucky, this was just a horrible nightmare and he’d wake by falling off the top bunk again.

The now wolf Logan tilted his head to the side, much like a dog when someone spoke to it and it didn’t understand. He brought his nose close to the counter and sniffed Patton’s legs.

Patton blinked the tears from his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath. He looked around the counter for anything to defend himself with. He didn’t want to hurt Logan, but if it meant saving his life, he might have to.

Logan brought his head close to Patton’s own. Patton twisted his head to the side and held his breath. Logan’s leathery, wet nose brushed Patton’s cheek, and Patton squeezed his eyes shut. A slobbery tongue licked one of the tears off Patton's freckled face. Patton sucked a sharp gasp through his teeth. 

The wolf whined and nuzzled his nose under Patton’s chin as if trying to comfort him. Patton clenched and unclenched his hands. The wolf’s tail wagged back and forth behind him, and Patton slowly reached up to run a hand through Logan’s fur. It felt coarse and thick to the touch. He slipped his hand over Logan’s fur several times before the knot in his stomach released. 

Petting his brother was not on his to-do list today, but sometimes that’s just how life went apparently.

Logan’s teeth gripped the collar of Patton’s polo. He dragged Patton over toward his bed. Patton tried to slip out of his shirt, but before he could, the wolf tossed him onto the bottom bunk. Patton cried out as he rolled onto his back. The wolf climbed onto the bed as well, the bunk bed groaning in protest under their combined weight.  

Patton tried to roll off. The wolf grabbed him around the middle and pinned Patton against his chest. Patton’s body shook. The wolf’s ears perked up as he stared down at Patton, and he licked the tears off Patton’s face once again. Patton spat the drool off his lips. Logan’s tongue then started grooming Patton’s hair, making it stick up in all different directions. Patton wanted to brush it back to normal, but with the way Logan pinned both Patton’s arms to his side, he had a feeling he’d wake up with a permanent cow lick- er wolf lick.

When Logan was satisfied with Patton’s new hairstyle, he laid down and cradled Patton under his chest like a doll. He nuzzled his nose under Patton’s neck and let out a content sigh.

Patton spat the fur off his lips. He attempted to wiggle out of Logan's grip, but the wolf let out a warning growl, and his whole body froze. Patton's eyes searched the room for their digital clock. With Logan's body pinning down his arms and legs, he had a feeling he wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. 

Patton stared up at the ceiling of their bunk and tried his best to go to sleep. Hopefully, when he opened his eyes the next day, he’d have a heck of a tale to tell Logan.

--

Disappointment woke Patton up as he realized that last night did in fact happen, and now he had his near naked brother lying on top of his body.

Patton found he could easily wiggle out from under Logan now and put as much distance between him and Logan as he could, but not before covering Logan up with his galaxy blanket. He tripped over the shredded clothes on the floor and landed on the counter's edge. Patton twisted his body and tried to wrap his mind around what happened last night.

In all the years Patton knew Logan, he’d never guess that he was a werewolf.

No, that couldn’t be right. Logan never changed before. He would’ve known it. He and Logan spent many nights camped out under a full moon and staring at the stars, so what changed in that short amount of time?

Logan groaned, and Patton held his breath. He ran a hand through his black hair and sat up on his elbows. Half asleep blue eyes caught Patton’s startled expression, and he sent a quirked smile.

“Good morning,” Logan greeted.

Patton let out a nervous laugh. How much of last night did Logan remember? Obviously not much if he was in this chipper of a mood.

“Uh, good morning,” Patton replied.

Logan shivered, and he looked down. He gasped and brought his blanket closer around his body. A blush tinted his face red. Logan swallowed hard and stared at the floor. His arms gripped the side of the bed as he leaned over the edge and caught sight of his torn clothes on the ground.

“Patton,” he whispered, but his mind couldn’t formulate a continuation. He wrapped the blanket tighter around his chest and started to shake.

Patton walked over to Logan and sat beside him. He chewed on his lip.

“How much of last night do you remember?” Patton asked.

“Not much,” Logan mumbled back. He furrowed his brow and licked his dry lips. “What happened.”

“Weeeeell,” Patton played with his fingers. “You’re going to think I’m nuts for thinking this, and I swear I’m telling the truth, but let’s just say… you were a real animal in bed last night.”

“That’s not even remotely funny, Patton.”

“But it’s true.”

Logan brought his fingers out from under the blanket to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Please tell me I did not get intoxicated and defile someone last night.”

“You didn’t.” Patton paused. “At least, I don’t think you did.”

Logan sighed and rubbed his arms. “Then what happened?”

Patton took a deep breath and relayed the events from last night. Logan listened with a stone face. For a while, Patton even wondered if Logan was listening, let alone taking him seriously.

When Patton finished, Logan remained silent. 

Patton swallowed hard and sent a wary smile. “At least you didn’t hurt anyone-”

“I don’t want to believe it, but with all the events that happened over the past two weeks, I’m finding it relatively hard to deny it.”

Patton blinked in surprise. “Wait, you really believe this?”

“Think about it. My aggressive appetite and hunger for meat, my sudden intolerance to ice cream- chocolate to be exact, my rapidly healed eyesight,” Logan examined his forearm where he was bitten. “There's no other possible cause."

“Yeah, I guess it makes sense.”

“It’s no wonder my mind has tried to think up a solution for this problem.”

“Uh-”

“I’ve been stumped for so long, this brings everything into perspective. However, when I wake up, I’m going to have to try and figure out if my arm is infected and caused this fever dream. I knew my allergy to penicillin would detriment me at some point."

“Logan-”

“But first, I have an exam to get to. Even if this is a dream, I don’t want to fail.”

Patton tried to get Logan to wait and listen, but Logan dressed and walked out the door before he could reason with him. Patton flopped down on Logan’s bed and lifted his glasses to press his palms into his eyes.

Convincing Logan last night happened was proving to be more difficult than he thought.

--

Thankfully, the rest of Patton and Logan’s time during finals went rather well. Logan’s hunger subsided, and he was back to his normal eating habits. The two of them had started packing up their things to return home, and Patton decided it was time to start saying goodbye to all his friends before the summer hit and they were apart for three months.

Patton bounced around campus, passing students and professors left and right. He said hello to the few he knew and kept an eye out for those who he searched for.

“Damian!” Patton called out. He waved and ran up to his friend.

Damian turned around, his brown eyes catching Patton and sending a smile. However, it soon disappeared, and he covered his nose.

“Patton,” Damian said through his hands.

Patton froze in his tracks and tilted his head to the side a bit. “What’s wrong?”

“Did you forget to shower this morning?” Damian asked. “What did you do, roll around in garbage?”

Patton rubbed a hand over his neck. It was true; he hadn’t showered this morning. However, he didn’t think that he smelled that bad.

Damian grabbed Patton’s arm, making him jump. He started twisting it all over, then pulled his head to the side and examined his neck. He brought his nose close to Patton’s neck and took a deep breath.

“Uh, Damian,” Patton said with a nervous laugh. “What’s going on?”

A sigh of relief left Damian’s lips, and he ran a hand through his hair. “Nothing. Just wanted to see if it was really you that I smelled.”

“Okay,” Patton replied. 

Damian wrapped an arm around Patton’s shoulder and brought him in close. He said, “You know, I think you should spend the summer at my house. I think we could use some quality bonding time together.”

“The whole summer?” Patton squeaked.

“Why not? I think you’d enjoy the Arizona air. It’s actually breathable, unlike this humid swamp.”

“I don’t know, kiddo,” Patton replied. He gave a slight laugh. “I mean, I know you’re cold-blooded, but some of us sweat, and if you think I smell now-”

“How about a month then? I think my parents would love you.”

Patton chewed his lips. “Thanks but no thanks.”

A deep frown set on Damian’s lips before he sighed through his nose. “Well, if you change your mind, you have my number. And if you ever need help-”

“Patton,” a voice called behind them. Both Patton and Damian turned. Patton popped on a friendly grin, while Damian sent a cocky smirk.

“Virgil, so nice to see you,” Damian cooed, “You’re like a zit on prom night.”

“Shut it, mosquito breath,” Virgil growled.

“Hey Virgil,” Patton spoke. He moved to walk away from Damian but found his friend's fingers digging into his arm. “Uh, Damian, kiddo, you can let go.”

Damian hesitated before retracting his hand. He stared down Virgil as the latter shifted closer to Patton.

Virgil opened his mouth to speak, but he paused and smelled the air. His golden eyes glanced over at Patton, who sent a sheepish smile.

“I didn’t shower this morning, sorry,” Patton responded.

“I hope it wasn’t your fault,” Damian remarked. Virgil’s neck hair bristled. 

Patton pushed between the two of them and offered a too wide smile. “Hey, easy. It’s the last day. Is it really that hard to be nice?”

Damian snuffed and hissed, “To him?”

“Yes. Yes, it is,” Virgil growled.

Patton sighed. He scratched his head and opened his mouth to talk more, but Virgil grabbed his hand.

“Can I talk to you in private?” Virgil asked. He looked over his shoulders and caught Damian’s intense stare.

“Sure, kiddo,” Patton responded. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Virgil already pulled him away and far out of earshot from anyone else. Patton opened his mouth to ask what was going on when Virgil shut the family bathroom door and locked it behind them. For a moment, all Virgil did was stare at the door.

“Patton, I have a really crazy question to ask you.”

“Oookay.”

Virgil started pacing. He opened his mouth a few times to ask, but he closed it soon after with a growl. Patton stayed silent and watched his friend work out his nerves. Finally, Virgil stopped and took a deep breath.

“Patton, who have you been with the past 24 hours?”

Patton pulled out his fingers and started counting, “Well, my brother mostly. I said goodbye to Mr. Mare this morning, then I went to get coffee and donuts with Thomas. Then I saw Damian, and then you showed up-”

“No, I mean, like-” Virgil squeezed his hands through his hair.

“Breathe-”

“I KNOW-” Virgil snapped. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, I’m just-”

“Take your time.”

“Can you stop interrupting me?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” He zipped his fingers over his lips.

Virgil blew a heavy breath through his own lips. He spat out, “Patton, do you know anything about werewolves?”

Patton froze. He sucked in a deep breath and let out a too cheerful laugh. “Now, kiddo, what kind of question is that?”

“I can smell that you’re nervous.”

Patton snapped his jaw shut. Virgil stood with his back facing Patton, and he clenched and unclenched his hands.

Virgil continued, “Pat, I… well I mean, my whole family actually- we’re all werewolves. Me, Roman, my mom, my dad, my aunts and uncles, cousins- you get the point. I know this sounds stupid and crazy, but I… the way you smell is not a normal human smell, and I’m worried.”

Patton reached out to touch Virgil’s shoulder, but he retracted it and instead clasped his hands together in front of his chest.

“Well, I-” Patton started. He chewed on his lip. Virgil turned around expecting Patton to continue, and Patton added, “I mean, I may have recently run into one.”

“Wait, what? Are you okay? They didn’t bite you, did they? Well, I mean, I would’ve known if they bit you because I’d be able to tell if you were a werewolf too but-” Virgil paused. “Who is it?”

Patton swallowed hard. He eyed Virgil carefully, who took a step forward. Patton took a step back. Virgil froze, and Patton glanced down at the floor.

“You’re not going to hurt them if I tell you, are you?”

“I- I don’t know, Pat. Not all werewolves are nice, and I just- I want to make sure, okay?”

“I can protect myself,” Patton responded, puffing his chest out a little.

Virgil snorted through his nose. “Okay, fine, but with the way Damian and I were touching you today, I want to make sure they don’t get territorial or anything.”

“Territorial?” Patton repeated. His voice came out in a near whisper, “Is he going to pee on me?”

Virgil let out a bark of a laugh and startled Patton a bit. Patton nervously chuckled. 

“No, but he might come after us, and I’d rather not have another territory struggle on my hands,” Virgil replied.

Patton opened his mouth to ask, but he decided to finally open up instead. “It’s my brother, Logan.”

Virgil furrowed his brow. “Wait, but I’ve smelled Logan on you tons of times. He always smelled like a human.”

“Well, this was… rather recent,” Patton said with a nervous chuckle.

Virgil’s face grimaced, and Patton swallowed thickly.

“Was he bitten over a jar of Crofter's?”

“Uh, yeah, but-”

“That fucking moron!”

“Excuse me?”

“Pat, Roman was the one who bit Logan.”

Patton paused, and Virgil pulled out his phone. Virgil swiped through until he pulled up Roman’s contact and jabbed his finger on the call button. Patton opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but Virgil held up his finger to silence him and put Roman on speaker.

After three rings, Roman’s voice picked up.

“Good morning, My Chemical Bromance, to what do I owe the honor-”

“You turned Logan Shea into a fucking werewolf,” Virgil growled.

The line grew silent. A wary voice called through, “Who is Logan?”

“Patton’s brother.”

“Oh,” was the only response they got for 30 seconds. Patton wondered if the line went dead. Roman continued, “Wait, the same Patton who hangs around with you and Flea Balzary?”

“That’s the one,” Virgil responded.

“Who’s Flea Balzary?” Patton asked.

The other end of the phone grew silent. Virgil asked if Roman was still there, and he got a cleared throat in response.

“Virgil, who else is with you?”

“Just Patton,” Virgil replied.

“Hi,” Patton chirped with a small wave.

Roman breathed a heavy sigh, and he spoke, “Well, hello there, Patton. I’m sorry we had to meet this way- well sort of. We haven’t actually met, but- Logan, is he alright?”

Virgil looked up at Patton for confirmation.

Patton played with his fingers as he answered, “He, uh, he doesn’t think he’s a werewolf.”

“I honestly wouldn’t expect him to. Tell you what, Patton, you bring Logan over to our dorm, and we’ll explain everything. I mean, he’s going to be a werewolf for the rest of his life now, and no level of sane thinking is going to ever deny that.”

“Okay,” Patton replied.

Roman continued, “Oh, and Virgil, I don’t appreciate you chewing up my jersey.”

“You left it on my bed. I told you not to.”

“Then put it on mine like a normal human being.”

“Never.” Virgil hung up the phone before Roman could reply to him. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry to get you all mixed up in this.”

“It’s no problem,” Patton responded. He let out a sigh of relief. “Honestly, I was starting to wonder if it never happened and I really did dream up the whole thing.”

Virgil sent a sympathetic smile. “I wish I could tell you this was all a dream.”

--

Logan sighed as he followed Patton and Virgil off to Virgil’s dorm. Honestly, he didn’t have time for this. There was still so much to pack, and their father would be there in the morning to pick them up. He had to double check to make sure he and Patton both didn’t leave anything behind.

Patton kept trying to bring lightheartedness into the conversation, but between Virgil’s nervousness on revealing a family secret to a complete stranger (even if he was Patton’s brother) and Logan’s irritation, he couldn’t get anyone to respond. 

Eventually, they got to the Freshman’s dorm, and Roman opened the door with an all too eager smile.

“Come on in,” he greeted with an arm open wide. Virgil rolled his eyes and stepped in. Patton followed after and earned a genuine smile from Roman. When Logan stepped in, Roman took a deep breath and tried to keep his smile from disappearing.

“I hope you’re not going to bite me again,” Logan snapped.

“Depends,” Roman replied and earned a kick in the shin from Virgil. Roman yelped and glared at his brother, who closed the door behind Logan.

“Lo, this is Roman. He wants to apologize for biting you,” Patton spoke.

Logan raised a brow and folded his arms. Roman twisted his hands together and swallowed his nerves down his throat.

Roman spoke, “Yes, well, that was an unfortunate accident.”

“Unfortunate?” Logan barked. “You bit me over a jar of Crofter's. I can understand the sentiment, but I would never harm another human being over it.”

“I’m sorry! I wasn’t in the best of moods at the time,” Roman snapped back. He ran a hand through his hair. 

“Obviously. However, apology accepted. Now, Patton, can I go home? I have a lot of work to get done.”

“Not yet,” Virgil spoke up, and Logan turned his attention to him.

“We have something to discuss,” Roman added. Logan turned his attention between the three people in the dorm and sighed.

“I really don’t have time for this.” He turned to leave.

Virgil stared him down, a low growl sounded through his throat, “You really need to hear this.”

Logan’s gut twisted with dread. Something about the look in the two stranger's eyes sent warning signals screaming through his brain. 

“What’s going on?” Logan asked, taking a step back. He grabbed Patton’s hand and partially stepped in front of his brother to shield him from the other two.

“Logan, when I bit you,” Roman started, “You see, sometimes when a pureblood werewolf bites someone- even if they’re not shifted- well it can sometimes lead to the person becoming a-”

“Logan, Roman turned you into a werewolf,” Virgil spat out. 

Logan opened and closed his mouth three times before he finally turned to Patton and said, “You’re playing a practical joke on me, aren’t you?”

“No!” Patton protested and held his hands up. “I swear, Logan, we’re being serious right now.”

“You’re still on about this werewolf business? Patton, werewolves are not real. They’re make-believe. They don’t exist.”

“Could you tell the government that? Because I really don’t want to pay taxes,” Virgil mumbled.

Logan sent him a rather nasty glare, and Virgil rolled his eyes.

“Logan, I swear on my father’s grave that we’re being honest,” Roman said and put a hand to his chest. “I can’t prove it to you now, but if you wait until the night of the full moon-”

“I honestly don’t have time for this,” Logan growled. He turned and pulled Patton’s hand along with him. “Come on, Patton, we have work to do.”

“But-”

Roman growled, “Logan, please be reasonable!”

“I am being reasonable! It’s you lot who are insane.”

“Tell me you remember what happened the night of the full moon, and I’ll let it all go,” Roman snapped back.

Logan opened his mouth to speak. He closed it and opened it again.

“I was in my room, I fell asleep, and then I woke up the next morning. Nothing extraordinary there.”

Roman growled in frustration and scrubbed his hands down his face.

“You-”

“Fine, you don’t want to believe us, just go,” Virgil snapped.

“Virgil-”

“No, Roman, obviously he doesn’t want to listen. There’s no point wasting our breath on him.”

Patton pulled on Logan’s hand and urged, “Please, Logan, please just listen to them. They’re only trying to help.”

Logan eyed his brother over. He glanced up at the other two before taking in a deep breath and exhaling through his nose.

“The only way they’re going to help us now, Patton, is if they help us pack to go home.”

Patton’s head lowered. Tears of frustration pricked at his eyes, and he clenched his teeth.

“Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

Logan shook his head. He mumbled, “You can stay here and play pretend, but I have work to do. Meet me at the car in an hour if you want me to drive you home.”

Logan pulled his hand from Patton’s grasp. He walked out the door and slammed it behind him.

Patton’s shoulders tensed as the door slammed shut. His body stiffened, and he blinked his eyes so tears would not fall onto his cheeks.

Virgil blew a heavy breath through his lips. “That went well.”

“I’m sorry,” Patton apologized. He played with his fingers. “I didn’t mean to waste your time.”

“Worry not, Patton. I could smell werewolf all over him,” Roman answered. “Whether Logan chooses to believe it or not, he is a werewolf, and he will end up shifting on the next full moon.”

“Can’t you both shift into werewolves and show him?” Patton asked.

“This isn’t a movie. We can’t shift at will,” Virgil answered.

Patton sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He walked over to the door, turned the handle, and paused before leaving.

“What do I do? I mean, when he shifts on the full moon.”

Virgil snuffed. “Stay out of his way and hope he doesn’t eat you.”

Roman sent his brother a nasty look before he turned to Patton. “Virgil and I will try our best to be there.”

“Are you kidding me? Do you know how much of a bad idea that is?”

“Do you have a better one?”

Virgil opened his mouth to answer but closed it soon after. He crossed his arms and grumbled under his breath.

“Don’t worry, Patton. You won’t be alone in this. If Virgil won’t help, I will do my best to be there for you when he transforms on the next full moon. You have my word.” Roman walked over to Patton and held out his phone. “Here, take my number. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me.”

Patton nodded his head and sent a grateful smile. He copied Roman’s number into his contacts and sighed through his nose.

“Thank you.”

“No problem at all, little puffball,” Roman spoke. “I have a feeling we’re going to need each other later on.”

--

Logan shifted his car into gear and pulled out of the college parking lot for the last time. Well, at least until he drove Patton back in three months.

Patton rolled his window down and waved goodbye to a few friends. He settled back down into his seat and let the window open. The mild spring air tossed his hair around. His eyes kept flickering over to Logan, and the latter sighed through his nose.

“You have a question?” Logan asked.

Patton squeezed his hands together. “Are you okay? I mean, this is the last time you're going to be here.”

“I’m still under the assumption that this is all a wild hallucination due to sleep deprivation and I’ll wake up in my dorm bed before taking any of my finals,” Logan replied, “but yes, I am satisfactory.”

Patton nodded his head. He leaned his elbow on the window sill, and his eyes watched the trees pass by in a blur. 

For a while, the ride home was silent. The campus was about an hour drive from their home, and they both knew the roads by heart. Ever since they were little, Logan dreamed of going to this college and becoming a doctor so he could stop anyone from suffering the same fate his mother did. They took so many visits to the campus when they were little, and their parents saved up for years so they could go. Realizing that Logan’s dream was soon a reality warmed Patton’s heart. All the years of financial struggles were about to pay off, and he hoped his own journey would be just as successful.

Their familiar childhood suburb pulled into view. Nostalgia gripped Patton’s heart as he watched familiar street signs pass. He caught sight of the park where he and Logan first met all those years ago. Memories played in his mind like a movie.

Logan accidentally pushed Patton's sandcastle over while following an ant trail, and Patton cried for a half hour before he was consoled. Logan offered to help him build it back up after he calmed down. The two of them worked for hours, and quite a few kids asked if they could join in. Soon, it was a playground production. They built a sandcastle that covered the whole sandbox, and their parents were so proud.

Then a dog chasing a frisbee ran through it and ruined it.

Patton chuckled. Logan glanced out of the corner of his eye and quirked a brow.

“Something on your mind?” Logan asked.

“Just remembering stuff,” Patton responded. He sighed. “Remember when you fell off the fire pole because you were too afraid to hold on with your legs?”

Logan shuddered, “Don’t remind me.”

“Okay, I give that memory a break.”

“Patton.”

“What? You have a bone to pick with me?”

Logan contemplated pulling over to the side of the road and making Patton walk the rest of the way home.

The sight of their home came into view, and a wave of relief eased Logan’s tense muscles. Here, everything that happened in the past two weeks or so could go away. Here, he was just a young man who was returning home from college.

No werewolf nonsense here.

Logan pulled the car into the driveway and put it in park. For a moment, Patton and he stared up at the familiar whiteboards in silence, appreciating the moment for what it was. Then Patton exited the car, and Logan followed soon after.

“It’s quiet,” Patton pointed out.

“It’s suspicious,” Logan mumbled. “We did tell them our arrival date was today, did we not?”

“Maybe they had to run to the store,” Patton responded. He inserted his key into the lock and gave it a twist.

From outside, Logan could hear whispers from inside. He grabbed Patton’s hand on the door handle, stopping him from opening it. 

“Someone’s inside,” Logan grumbled. He smelled the air, and several scents lingered on the doorstep. Multiple people were here. Some of the scents he didn’t recognize and sent alarm bells through his mind.

Patton turned to Logan and quirked a brow. “It’s probably mom and dad.”

“No,” Logan growled. He nudged Patton away and placed his own hand on the door handle. Logan took a deep breath in. He twisted the door handle and swung the door open wide.

“SURPRISE!!”

Logan’s glasses slid down his nose a little as he froze in the doorway. Patton peeked around Logan and started to laugh.

“Aww, a surprise party?” Patton shouted over the clapping and cheering.

Their mom and dad, who stood up from behind the couch, walked over to their two boys. Patton ran forward and nearly knocked his mom over, who wrapped her son up in the biggest hug she could manage. Logan missed when his father arrived in front of him.

“Well, how’s it feel to be a graduated college student?” his dad asked as he clapped a hand down on Logan’s shoulder. Logan recoiled. He nearly flashed his teeth at his dad but regained his composure. 

He was a human for god’s sake, not some wild animal.

“No different than when I woke up yesterday morning,” Logan responded in a cool voice. 

“I wouldn’t expect any less from you,” his father responded. “Go eat some cake, relax, and try to have a good time, okay?”

Logan gave a short nod and finally released the breath he’d held in his chest.

Patton blended into the crowd unsurprisingly well. Social gatherings were always his forte, while Logan usually trailed behind him like an awkward toddler. The younger brother bounced from aunt to uncle to cousin, telling each one all about his college adventures. Some looked politely interested while others engaged Patton, asked questions, and gave input to keep the conversation going.

One aunt Logan noticed kept a particular distance from him, and he caught her eye. The mere sight of her sent chills down Logan’s spine. Not only that, but every time he got too close to her, he began to feel sick, but it cleared as soon as he stepped away from her.

That was… odd.

“Logan!” Patton called out, breaking his brother’s concentration. Logan rose a brow and turned to Patton, who held out a cup of lemonade to him. Patton continued, “You know what they say: when life gives you lemons-”

“Thank you,” Logan said as he took the cup. 

“I know you hate surprise parties,” Patton mumbled. He looked down into his own cup.

“It’s exhausting,” Logan responded, “and since my nerves are a mess, my senses are heightened. I can see and smell too many things at once.”

Patton nodded his head and took a drink.

Logan continued, “I’m going to attempt to escape to my bedroom. Keep everyone away if you can.”

“I can try,” Patton responded, “but Aunt Alice has been asking about you a lot. She’s asking some… really odd questions.”

“Her especially,” Logan mumbled. He scanned the crowd one last time for his estranged aunt and walked up the stairs to his room.

“Logan!” his father called out, making the hair on Logan’s neck rise, “the party’s down here. Don’t tell me you’re already calling it a day.”

“I’m exhausted from finals and had to drive the whole way home. I’m not in the mood for a party,” Logan responded.

His dad deflated a bit. “Oh, well, I’m sorry if we upset you-”

“Patton seems to be enjoying himself, so it wasn’t a wasted effort. I shall return once I take a nap.”

His dad sneezed, and Logan blessed him.

“Okay, we’ll save you some cake.”

Logan recalled his three day illness. “Only if it’s vanilla.”

“One slice of vanilla cake with Logan’s name on it going in the fridge.”

His dad sneezed again and rubbed his nose. He mumbled about someone having dog fur on their clothes and hugging him.

Logan sent a genuine smile before retreating up the stairs to his room. The second floor muffled a bit of the chatter, but Logan could still hear it like he was still in the living room. He’d have to invest in earplugs at this rate.

As Logan approached his room, a heavy scent reached his nose. He paused a few steps outside his doorway and took a deep breath in. It seemed to come from his room. Logan tiptoed to his door and put a hand on the handle. The strange scent overpowered his own, and he swallowed his dry throat.

Logan twisted the door open and examined the room. His galaxy bedspread rested against the wall, and his computer desk guarded the corner opposite of it. His window cracked and let in a light breeze, the lace curtain flapping a bit. 

His dresser sat against the wall. On top of that, Logan noticed someone had been burning incense. The smell was sweet and earthy, and it turned Logan’s stomach. For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to enter his room. He closed his door and took a few breaths of fresh air.

That’s strange. He usually loved the smell of incense.

Logan turned from his room and headed toward the bathroom, but he noticed someone standing in the doorway. Logan paused and watched his Aunt Alice light up a stick of incense and leave it on the bathroom sink. Logan took a deep breath of fresh air and approached the room.

The sick feeling returned to his stomach.

“Aunt Alice, we have air fresheners on the back of the toilet,” Logan informed.

His aunt turned to look at him, her green eyes studying him with contempt. She curled her lip into a grimace and walked out of the room. The strong smell followed her out. Logan stopped himself from covering his nose and held his breath.

“I’m aware,” she replied.

“Then please extinguish the incense in the bathroom. I’m afraid you’ll aggravate Patton’s asthma.”

“Ah, yes, I forgot about that,” she grumbled. She dug around in her purse and grabbed some sort of perfume. “I wouldn’t want any harm to come to my second favorite nephew.”

Logan’s lungs burned. He resisted the urge to breathe until his aunt turned around. The strong smell burned his lungs further, and he hid a cough behind his shirt sleeve. Alice extinguished the stick with cold water and placed it on the counter to cool. 

“Thank you,” Logan responded as she closed the bathroom door behind her. 

She eyed Logan over once more and curled her nose. Logan watched her descend the stairs. His shoulders relaxed, and Logan failed to realize just how many of his muscles locked from the conversation.

What was that stuff? Why did the smell burn Logan’s lungs and make him want to vomit?

Was… maybe what Patton was going on about him being a werewolf had some truth- no. That was ridiculous. Werewolves don’t exist.

Logan hastened back to his room. He covered his nose with his shirt collar and walked in. The smell slipped through the threads and burned his nose. His head spun. Logan reached out and grabbed the unlit tip, and it burned his fingers. He let out a sharp hiss. Logan raced toward the bathroom to put out the stick as quickly as possible. 

After placing the extinguished incense down on the counter, Logan examined his fingers. Redness coated his fingers, but it didn’t look too severe. The stick’s burn was too far up and shouldn't have injured him whatsoever.

What was this stuff?

Logan walked back to his bedroom. He placed a moveable fan in front of his window and positioned it to spread fresh air into the room. Within a few minutes, the smell disappeared enough for Logan to shut his door, and he took a deep breath in.

After fishing his phone from his pocket, Logan googled scents that would repel werewolves just for curiosity's sake. He came up with wolfsbane, but apparently, that had no smell. 

With a buzzing mind, Logan walked out of his room and leaned over the stair railings. He spied Patton talking to some family members and waved his hands to grab Patton’s attention. 

Patton turned toward him. He smiled and waved back.

“Patton, I need a word with you,” Logan yelled over the chatter.

Patton excused himself from his guests and walked over to the stairs.

“What’s up, Logan?”

Logan shifted his weight from one foot to the next. He asked, “You wouldn’t happen to have Roman’s number by chance, would you?”

“Roman?” Patton’s eyes widened, and a grin spread across his face. “I do. Why?”

“I just-” Logan ran a hand through his hair- “I wish to get better acquainted with him is all.”

“Oh, okay,” Patton said with a wink.

Logan’s cheeks flushed. “I am not crushing on him. I merely wish to discuss the Crofter’s incident in more detail. Perhaps we could reconcile.”

“Ooookay,” Patton replied, his smile still wide. He fished his phone out of his pocket and scrolled until he found Roman’s number. He showed it to Logan, who copied it into his phone. Logan cleared his throat when he finished and thanked Patton for his time. He climbed the rest of the stairs and hastened into his room.

At least the smell dissipated a bit in the rest of the house. 

Logan sat on his bed, rested his forehead in his palm, and grabbed his hair. With a gentle tug, he stared at Roman’s contact number in his phone. How did he word this without alerting the other of his situation? It could be a coincidence that his aunt had burned a smell that affected him so much. It could be a coincidence that all this werewolf stuff would affect him.

Logan opened the messenger and stared at the blinking cursor for a moment. He finally typed a coherent sentence.

Good afternoon, Roman. This is Logan Shea, the person you bit over the jar of crofters. I am messaging you with a question. Hypothetically speaking, are there certain smells that affect a werewolf? I’m curious, and you seem to be into werewolves. If you wish to answer, I would be grateful to know. If not, I hope your day ends well.

Logan waited a moment or two before hitting the send button. That sounded formal and not urgent whatsoever right? He never understood tone over text. How many times had he asked someone a simple question only to get accused of being angry? 

Logan sighed and set his phone on his bed. He didn’t expect a reply so quick, and definitely not several messages popping up afterward. 

Roman: Lavender is a good. I love the smell of lavender

Roman: OH! And it gets rid of mosquitos and stuff because they don’t like the smell. Great for leaving your window open at night

Roman: I heard oranges is a good one too

Roman: But I used to live next to an orange grove when I was little so I might be a bit biased

Roman: Frankincense is pretty nasty tho even Virgil agrees

Roman: Lemongrass is good for when you need to think or ya know clear your head and stuff

Roman: Also white sage is a no no. It’ll kill any wolf that inhales too much of it

Roman: That answer your question?

Logan mumbled about Roman eating up so many texts. Wasn’t it easier to send multiple sentences at once with the correct grammatical format? Logan sent a quick “Yes, thank you” and received some sort of yellow face blowing a heart at him. He set his phone on the counter and plugged it in to charge.

It amazed him how serious Roman took this werewolf business.

The door muffled a bit more of the party downstairs, and Logan sat down on his bed with a book he neglected to take to college with him. He opened the cover, appreciating that new book smell, and hoped that by the end of the book, he’d have some sort of understanding on how to obtain and keep a stable job.

--

Two weeks passed by without much alarm. Logan searched for any sort of job in the medical field. Two called him back for an interview so far, but since it was only the beginning of his search, Logan didn’t bet all his money on grabbing it. After all, he was still young.

Patton played games online a lot with his friends from college. Even though he and Damian were from different time zones, the two of them still found time to get together and play. Patton blamed that mostly on Damian’s horrible sleeping pattern, and no amount of telling him to go to sleep ever fixed it.

Then, three days before the full moon, the insatiable hunger hit Logan’s gut again. Not only that, but he found himself eating greasy foods once again. If Logan’s parents noticed, they didn’t say anything. Patton insisted Logan didn’t smell like grease, but Logan could smell his shame.

The closer the full moon got, the more nervous Patton became. What was he going to do with Logan when he sifted? How would he hide him from their parents? He couldn’t let Logan run free. Logan could hurt someone. It was a miracle he wasn’t hurt when Logan shifted the first time.

Someone must’ve been looking out for him because his parents got a call from his sick great uncle in Canada who asked if they could come to visit. They’d be gone for the week. In fact, his parents were surprised when Patton declined to go with. He loved his great uncle, especially the stories he told, but Patton knew if he left Logan alone, something bad was going to happen.

Patton eyed the basement door. It… might hold Logan. He didn’t know how strong the werewolf was, but it might work. It was all he had.

So the day of the full moon, Patton gathered as many spare blankets as he could, throw pillows, a bowl with water from the kitchen sink, some cheap chew toys he found at a pet store (just in case), and a rawhide bone. He placed them in the basement and made a little nesting area for Logan to lay in.

“What are you doing?”

Patton jumped as Logan’s voice called from upstairs. The steps creaked as Logan descended them.

Patton forced a smile on his lips and replied, “Oh, you know, just making a soft area while I watch tv.”

Logan looked around, his eyes landing on the dog bone on the floor.

“With dog toys?”

“Um… yeah.”

“Patton-”

“I didn’t hide a stray dog upstairs this time, I swear!”

Logan rubbed a hand over his face and sighed heavily through his nose.

“We can’t keep it.”

“But-”

“No buts, Patton. You know dad is allergic to dogs.”

“I know, but-”

“Where is it? I’ll drive it to the rescue center if you need me to.”

Patton lowered his head. Maybe he could use this to his advantage. He sighed through his nose and put his hands in his pocket, his shoulders tense.

“No, Logan, it’s my dog. I’ll do it.”

Patton walked past Logan and climbed the stairs. He sent one last look down, making sure Logan had everything he needed and hurried up the last few steps. 

As he got to the top floor, he closed the basement door and double locked it.

Patton paused, letting the events sink in. He just locked his brother in the basement. Logan was going to be pissed when he found out. Still, it was close enough to nighttime that Patton hoped he wouldn’t have to worry about Logan remembering it.

Patton took five steps back and eyed the door. Logan would be fine. There was a bathroom in the basement. He set water down. Logan would be fine. There were blankets in case he got cold. There was even a window he could watch the full moon rise through. Logan would be fine. He wouldn’t pound on the door and demand Patton let him out. He wouldn’t scratch it down. He wouldn’t break through.

He would be fine.

Patton would be fine.

The door handle jiggled, and Patton held his breath. It hesitated before twisting again.  

“Patton?” Logan called out. A pause. “Patton, this isn’t amusing whatsoever. Let me out right now.”

Patton’s heart raced in his chest. He chewed on his lip. Maybe if he pretended he wasn’t here-

“Patton! Open the door right now. You can’t keep me locked down here forever. We can’t keep the dog.”

The other side of the door grew quiet, and a naive part of Patton hoped Logan gave up.

The door shook as Logan slammed his shoulder into it.

“Patton!”

Patton covered his ears. He could turn on the television and pretend Logan wasn’t there. He could go upstairs and listen to music. He could get on a voice chat with Damian and try to distract himself.

The door banged again, this time as Logan pounded his fist on the wood.

“Patton, unlock the door right now!”

Patton squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed thickly.

“No.”

Patton held his breath and listened. Logan grew eerily quiet on the other side of the door as if he waited for Patton to continue.

“This is no time for childish games. Open the door. Now.”

“I can’t.”

“And why not?”

“Because.”

“Because why?” 

“I just can't.”

“Patton, that's a horrible excuse!”

“I don’t want you to hurt anyone!”

The house deafened as Patton’s yell reverberated throughout it. Logan’s voice did the opposite, going quiet like a whisper.

“Patton, I’m not going to hurt the dog, and I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to hurt anyone. I know I'm angry, but I won't hurt you. I promise. Please, open the door.”

Patton whispered back, “You don’t know that.”

Another pregnant pause stilled the house. Patton fiddled with the sleeves of his cardigan and looked outside. The sun barely peeked over the trees.

Patton continued, “Logan, whether you want to believe it or not, you did get turned into a werewolf. I saw you. You pinned me down on my bed and held me there all night. You were huge and had black fur and- I don’t know if the basement is even going to hold you. And whether you want to or not, when the full moon rises, you’re going to turn into a werewolf again. And I can’t let you out, because I don’t want you to hurt anyone.”

It took a moment for Patton to realize he started crying. His body shook, and he wiped them away with his cardigan’s sleeve. 

It really was happening again. His brother was going to turn into a werewolf, and he was all alone. He had to face this alone. He had to be the one to keep his brother under control. He had to be the one who would hurt Logan if need be. 

The other side of the door stayed quiet. Patton chewed on his lip. Did Logan hear all that? Was he changing now? When would it happen? Anticipation rose goosebumps onto Patton’s skin.

If the real Logan was still in there, Patton needed him to know this wasn't out of malice. 

“Logan, I love you. I’m sorry. If there was something else I could do, I would.”

Patton walked away from the basement door and into the living room. He curled up into a ball on the couch and rolled himself in a blanket like sushi. Since it was the next room over, he’d be able to hear every sound from the other side of the basement door, but it was far enough out of the way that he could pretend the sounds didn’t exist.

“Patton,” Logan’s voice called. Patton’s attention perked up. Logan sighed, and he continued, “When the night is over and I don’t change into a werewolf, promise me you’ll let me out of the basement.”

“I promise,” Patton whispered, then repeated it louder so Logan could hear. He probably heard him the first time, but Patton wanted to be sure.

The sound of Logan going down the basement stairs took all of Patton’s nerves away. Patton breathed a sigh of relief, and he burrowed his head into the soft blanket.

The living room clock ticked. Seconds felt like minutes. Minutes passed like hours. Patton held his breath.

Soon. Any minute now.

A strangled breath cried out from the basement, and all of Patton’s anxiety returned tenfold. 

Here it comes.

The moon glowed through the living room curtain. Patton made sure to leave the living room lamp on so his neighbors knew someone was home and didn’t call the police. If Logan made too much noise, they still might, but at least they’d be calling the police on Patton and not some stranger.

Logan’s scream turned into a growl, and Patton did his best to cover his ears while still remaining locked in the blanket.

Silence choked the house.

Patton popped his head out of the blanket and looked toward the basement door. Logan hadn’t made a sound in at least a minute. Did he shift? Was it over? What was he doing? Was he lonely? Would he be okay? What would he do if he had to pee?

Claws scratching steps clicked on the stairs. Patton’s whole body froze. He could hear Logan’s heavy breath on the other side of the door. Two sniffs preceded a low growl.

The door banged, and Patton jumped.

An annoyed growl shook the walls. The door banged again, this time as claws scraped against it. Patton prayed the door would hold. Logan’s snarl followed soon after.

The door banged and cracked.

Patton yelped as he heard wood splinter.

It wasn’t going to hold.

Logan banged into it again, and the door cracked louder.

It wasn’t going to hold!

The door slammed against the wall beside it like a gunshot and shook the house. Patton covered his mouth as he screamed. He tried not to shake. Maybe if he laid still Logan would leave him alone.

Claws on tile scraped through the kitchen, and Patton heard the floor creak under Logan’s weight. Two sniffs whispered in the air, and the footsteps creaked closer to the living room.

Patton tried to swallow, but his throat closed up. 

Logan’s nose pressed into the blanket, and Patton whimpered. The suction from Logan’s sniff pulled the blanket off his hand, and he retracted it like it burned.

Patton's heart pounded in his ears. 

Logan didn’t hurt him before. Logan could’ve hurt him before, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t hurt him now.

Logan promised he wouldn’t hurt anyone.

He promised.

Teeth gripped the edge of the blanket. Logan ripped the blanket out of Patton’s hold. Patton tried to curl in on himself, to make a smaller target, but there wasn’t enough blanket left to cover him.

Patton gazed into large blue eyes. If he ignored the black fur and wolf snout, they looked just like Logan’s human eyes, only bigger.

No wonder people say the eyes are a window into the soul.

Logan whimpered, and he nudged Patton’s arm with his nose. His tail wagged as he pressed his head completely under Patton’s arm. His nose booped the tip of Patton’s own nose, and Logan let out a low whine.

It’s just me, he seemed to say. Don’t be afraid. 

I promised.

Patton allowed his hand to gloss over Logan’s black fur. It felt the same as the night Logan shifted the first time, soft and warm, and Patton couldn’t help but smile. 

Logan withdrew his head, and Patton pushed himself into a sitting position on the couch. Patton noticed Logan still wore his tie, just like the first night he shifted. 

For a moment, Logan stared at him. Then, he jumped onto the couch.

“Oh no! No wolves on the couch,” Patton scolded.

Logan watched him, his ears alert.

“I mean it, mister. Dad will freak out if he sees dog hair on the couch. No. Down.”

Patton wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or if Logan really did roll his eyes, but the wolf pushed his paws off the couch, circled twice, then rested in the middle of the living room floor with a soft groan.

Patton couldn’t help his giddy giggle. When he wanted a pet, he would’ve never guessed it would be his brother.

“Do you still like science and stuff? We could turn on some VSauce or something. I know you like watching Michael.”

Logan’s ear twitched to show he was listening, but he didn’t look up at Patton.

Patton turned on the television and pulled up the YouTube app. He clicked on the video that popped up first and let autoplay run. That way, even if he fell asleep, Logan would have something to entertain himself with. 

Somewhere between the videos, Patton got enough courage to sit on the floor. Logan watched his every move, but he didn’t approach. Patton slid until his hip pressed against Logan’s back, and he let his fingers ghost over Logan’s fur.

If Logan minded he didn’t say anything.

For a while, Patton petted Logan in the muffled background sound of unwatched videos. His eyes grew heavier with each stroke, and when he looked at the clock, it read one in the morning. Patton yawned, and he scolded himself for not getting more sleep the night before.

The next time Patton looked at the clock, it was three in the morning. His head rested on Logan’s chest as he hugged the wolf around the middle.

Logan growled below him. The rumbles of his deep voice shook Patton awake.

Or maybe that was the creaking of the porch steps outside that woke him.

Patton gripped his hand into Logan’s fur, and he pressed his chest into Logan’s back. Whatever was on the porch couldn’t get in. It was fine. They’d be fine.

A key clicked in the latch, and Patton held his breath.

This was not fine.

A snarl curled Logan’s lips back. Patton gripped his hands around Logan’s muzzle, silencing the wolf and holding his breath.

The door closed, and Patton bit his lip.

Who was here? Should he risk calling out? What if they came into the living room and saw a giant wolf? What would they do?

Footsteps came closer to the living room. Logan’s muscles tensed below him.

“Hello?” Patton called out, trying to keep his voice as even as possible.

The footsteps stopped. The whole house held its breath.

“Mom, Dad, are you home?” Patton asked.

Silence answered him.

Patton pressed Logan into the floor as he stood up. 

“Stay,” he whispered, hoping that for once in his life Logan would listen to him. “Please, stay.”

Patton stepped away from Logan and tiptoed toward the kitchen. He peered around the corner and nearly screamed when he stared down a crossbow.

“Patton,” a harsh voice whispered in the dark behind it.

Patton squinted in the low light, and then his eyes widened.

“Aunt Alice?”

She pulled Patton into a hug and squeezed his chest a little too tight.

“Are you alright? You’re not hurt, are you?”

Patton shook away his shock and answered, “No, I’m not. I mean, yes, I’m okay, but- why are you here?”

Alice spied the door to the basement cracked in two. Her eyes narrowed, and she clenched her jaw.

“I’m guessing Logan did that.”

Patton blinked and forced a smile. “Uh, don’t be silly, auntie. Logan’s not that strong.”

“Cut the act, Patton. I know he’s a werewolf.”

Patton swallowed thickly. His eyes darted to the crossbow in his aunt’s hands and then back up to her face. His mind formed one question, but his imagination filled in several answers.

“What makes you think that?”

“The day of the party, I could tell Logan was acting strange. I always carry a bit of wolfsbane in my purse when I’m out, just in case. It doesn’t create a smell, but it makes any werewolf sick to their stomach, and it keeps them well away from me. I could tell how uncomfortable Logan felt around me, and it wasn’t because my perfume was too strong.”

“Maybe he was just tired and didn’t want company.”

“No, this was different. I’ve seen the reaction way too many times. Now, where is he? Please don’t tell me he got out.”

Patton bit his lip. What should he say? Would his aunt try to hurt Logan if he told the truth? What if Logan came around the corner of the living room door and she saw him? What would Logan do? Too many questions fogged Patton’s mind and hid his words in his throat.

“Nevermind. You stay here. I’m going to check the house.”

“No!”

“Patton, this isn’t Logan we’re talking about. This is a werewolf. They’re deadly and unpredictable. Your brother isn’t there anymore.”

That’s not true, Patton wanted to argue. He opened his mouth to argue. However, a low snarl from behind shook every ounce of courage from him.

Alice pulled Patton close to her chest with one arm and held the crossbow with the other. Her eyes narrowed, and her feet backtracked, pulling Patton with her.

Logan observed the situation. His teeth bared, and the hair on the back of his shoulders stood on edge. Claws dug into the carpet.

“No, Aunt Alice wait!”

“Stay behind me, Patton. He can’t hurt you. I won’t let him.”

“But he hasn’t hurt me all night! He’s not going to hurt anyone!”

Logan took a step forward. Alice shoved Patton behind her and took a shot. Logan flinched at the last second, and the arrow grazed his left shoulder. It lodged itself into the carpet. Logan yelped.

Patton watched Alice load another arrow into the crossbow. She lined up her shot. Patton pushed the crossbow up, and the arrow flew wide into the ceiling.

“Patton-!”

Logan leaped.

Alice grabbed Patton’s hand. She pulled him to the side and toward the kitchen door. Patton tried protesting, but his aunt shoved him out the door before he could argue. Alice slammed the door shut as Logan's head slammed into it. Logan cried out and began furiously scratching the door, the whole time snarling and howling.

“In the car,” his aunt urged.

Patton set his jaw. “I’m not leaving him.”

“The hell you’re not! Patton, he tried to attack you.”

“No, he tried to attack you because you shot an arrow at him. You tried to kill him!”

“Only to keep you safe.”

“I was fine until-” the kitchen door cracked- “you came along! He was just laying on my living room floor. And he just held me the first night he shifted. He’s not going to hurt anyone as long as you leave him alone!”

Alice grabbed Patton’s hand a little too hard, and he hissed in pain. She yanked him to the car and pushed him into the back seat. Before Patton could recover, she shut the door, got in, turned on the car, and sped out of the driveway.

Patton regained his balance, only to be knocked over again as his aunt went around another sharp turn. He hit his head rather hard off the window, and for a moment, he saw white. Patton shook off his daze as the car pulled to a stop but didn’t turn off. 

Alice got out of the car, opened Patton’s door, and pulled him outside.

“Stay here,” she ordered. She shoved something cold into Patton’s hands, and Patton stared down at a pistol. “And if anything comes to hurt you, shoot it.”

Patton watched his aunt get in her car and drive back toward his house. His heart panicked.

“No! Aunt Alice, wait! Please!”

But the car sped well out of earshot. Patton’s cries for mercy fell into the grass like his knees.

No, this… this couldn’t be happening. This was all just a bad dream. He’d wake up the next morning, and Logan would be under him in the living room. They’d both be okay.

A sob choked Patton’s breath.

It had to be a dream.

But.

But what if it wasn’t? What if his aunt actually killed Logan tonight? How was he going to tell his parents? How would his dad react to not only losing the love of his life all those years ago to a bullet but his son as well?

Patton got up on his feet. For a moment, he felt dizzy and caught his balance. His head ached, and he massaged his temple, which now held a rather large bump on it. No doubt it’d be black and blue by the morning.

Patton surveyed his surroundings. The park. She dropped him off at the park. It was only a 10 minute walk from here, and if he ran, he might make it in time.

He could save Logan yet.

The bushes beside the creek rustled, and Patton squeezed the weapon in his hand. No breeze blew. Two golden eyes stared out of the bush leaves, and Patton whimpered as he took a step back.

“Patton,” a voice in his mind whispered. It sounded… familiar… like-

“V-Virgil?” Patton stammered out.

Two hazel eyes turned into a large wolf with gray, brown and white fur. Behind it, another emerged, its stark white fur and golden eyes practically glowing in the moonlight.

“Oh, Patton, thank the stars you’re alright,” Roman’s voice spoke next.  

How the two wolves were talking, Patton didn’t know, and quite frankly he didn’t care right now either. Roman came, just like he promised. Patton didn’t know whether tears of panic or relief pricked his eyes, but he wiped them away as quickly as he could. His fingers squeezed the weapon in his hand. He wanted to throw it as far away as he could, but it might hurt someone, and he couldn’t live with himself if-

“Patton, why are you out here all alone on a full moon?” Virgil asked. “Where’s Logan?”

Patton shook his daze away.

“Logan’s back at my house. You have to help! My aunt knows he’s a werewolf, and I think she’s trying to kill him.”

Roman growled deep in his throat, and Virgil nudged Patton’s hand to brush his head against Patton’s side in comfort. His nose tapped the gun in Patton’s hand, and he yelped as he jumped back.

“Patton-” Virgil started, but he didn’t finish. His eyes stayed locked onto the gun.

Roman spied his brother’s reaction and turned his head to the weapon.

“Patton, why do you have a silver gun? Who gave it to you?”

Patton eyed the weapon in his hand before he answered, “It was my aunt. I think she’s dealt with werewolves before. She said she found out Logan was one because she had wolfsbane in her pocket.”

“One shot with that and Virgil and I would be dead within the hour. Silver bullets are fatal unless we’re able to somehow get the bullet out.”

Patton’s gut twisted.

“Oh my goodness, she’s really going to kill Logan!”

“Okay, okay, calm down. We’re going to stop your aunt, we’re going to save Logan, and we’re going to get out of this in one piece.”

Virgil raised his head into the air, but he couldn’t catch a trail on Patton’s scent.

“Which direction is your house in?”

Patton pointed to his left and answered, “It’s a few blocks down the road not far from here.”

Roman nodded his head, and he walked over to Patton. He pressed his back into Patton’s hand and looked up at him.

“Get on my back. Quickly. We’re both faster than you.”

Patton nodded his head. Roman lowered his back, and Patton swung a leg over. His hands dug into Roman’s white fur. Unlike Logan’s, Roman’s fur was soft and thick as a chinchilla. It felt like a cloud.

Roman stood, and Patton’s feet lifted off the ground. He braced himself in the middle of Roman’s back, surprised the wolf could support his weight and whimpered as Roman took off toward his house.

The wind dried Patton’s eyes and blurred his vision. He heard Virgil following on Roman’s tail. Both brothers let out sharp breaths through their nose. Patton could feel Roman’s strong muscles rippling below his legs, and he patted the side of Roman’s head.

“Turn here. My house is the third one down.”

Roman did as he was told. He ran down the street and skidded to a halt outside of Patton’s house.

Alice’s car was parked in the driveway, its engine still pinging from recently stopping. The screen door to the house lay ajar against the wall, and the front door had a slight crack in it. 

Patton swallowed vomit back down his throat. They were both in there, and who knew if Logan was still alive- no. They made it. They had to.

Roman lowered his body, and Patton slid off the side.

“Perhaps it’s safest if you stay out here. I don’t know how much help you’ll be against your aunt.”

“But-”

“No, Roman’s right, Patton. You need to stay safe. You’re only human after all.”

“But-!”

“We’ll be fine. This isn’t our first encounter with a hunter.”

Roman’s eyes hardened, and his muscles tensed. Virgil’s head lowered slightly, and Patton’s curiosity rose.

Patton let out a long sigh.

“Please stay safe.”

Roman rubbed his head against Patton’s hand as he walked past and let Patton’s fingers trail down his back. He stalked toward the house, his head lowered and tail straight, and crept up the porch steps.

Virgil nosed Patton’s hand and gave it a gentle lick. Patton wrapped his arms around Virgil’s neck, and Virgil backed up slightly. However, he resisted the instinct to pull away and rested his muzzle on Patton’s back.

“Please stay safe,” Patton repeated.

Virgil let out a long sigh before pulling away. He followed in Roman’s pawprints before sending one last look at Patton and disappearing in the house.

--

Creak.

Roman waited in the kitchen for Virgil to join his side, and he slowly maneuvered toward the stairs. Virgil stayed close on his tail as they crept up the stairs together.

Creak.

Small puddles of blood climbed the stairs with them, some distorted by pawprints.

A low growl rumbled above them, and Roman froze in place. Logan’s scent grew stronger, as did the scent of blood.

A gun clicked.

“I’m sorry, Logan. You really were my favorite nephew, and I swear I’ll avenge you for this.”

Roman wasted no time climbing the rest of the stairs. He reached the top, and sharp eyes met his. He caught the woman standing outside of a door, gun raised and ready to shoot.

A rumbling snarl thundered with his paws as he charged at her. The woman, who must’ve been Alice, panicked and took a shot. It went wide. Roman lunged. His paws easily shoved her to the ground. The woman yelped.

Roman’s paw pressed into her chest, and he heard ribs creak under his weight. He bared his teeth. Alice moved her arm to shoot again. Roman grabbed her forearm with his teeth and ripped into skin. Blood saturated his fur. His teeth tore muscle and scratched bone. Alice screamed beneath him. The gun clattered from her hands.

A fist pounded into Roman’s nose. He whimpered and let go of her arm, taking a step back to shake the pain in his nose. Alice lunged for the gun. She scrambled backward and aimed.

Roman charged forward. He knocked into her into the wall. The gun banged with her head. The shot lodged itself into the wall, nearly hitting Roman’s face and taking some of his fur with it.

Alice’s eyes rolled into her head, and she slumped unconscious onto the floor.

The ticking clock down the hallway synchronized with Roman’s breath.

Roman licked the blood from his lips and took two steps back. He eyed the woman in front of him before snorting through his nose and raising his head high.

“That’ll teach you for messing with my pack,” he growled.

Virgil pushed past Roman and into Logan’s room. A black bundle of fur growled, and ice blue eyes stared at him.

“Easy,” Virgil whispered and lowered his body to the floor, his ears flat in submission. “We don’t want to hurt you, Logan.”

Logan panted heavily. His ears rested against his head, and he barely focused on Virgil in front of him. 

“Patton. Where’s Patton?” he panted over and over again.

“He’s safe,” Virgil informed. 

The stress in Logan’s eyes seemed to waver a bit, but it came back soon after.

“I have to keep him safe. I promised.”

Roman padded in behind Virgil, and Logan’s hackles raised. He stared at Roman and bared his teeth.

“Easy, I’m not going to bite you this time,” Roman said with a hint of mirth.

Logan tried to push himself onto his feet, but he whimpered and collapsed back down on the ground with a heavy plop. Virgil walked over to Logan and nosed his chest. The scent of silver rose his fur.

“Roman, he’s been shot. If we don’t get the bullet out soon-”

Roman twisted his body around and dashed down the steps as quickly as his feet could take him. He pushed through the front door.

Patton stopped his pacing in the front yard and met Roman halfway.

“I heard gunshots. Is everyone okay? Is Logan okay?”

“I’m afraid not. We need your help. Logan has a silver bullet in his chest, and if we don’t remove it so his body can heal, he’s going to die.”

Patton stopped the panicked choke in his chest and raced into the house. He tried to ignore the bloodstains on the floor and his unconscious aunt with her arm torn to shreds in the hallway. He stood in Logan’s doorway and spied his brother.

Logan’s tail wagged as he spotted Patton. He tried to stand, but he whimpered and collapsed once again. His struggling breaths shook his body with a slight whimper.

“It’s under his right shoulder,” Virgil informed.

Patton walked in and knelt beside his brother. He stroked Logan’s head, and Logan leaned into Patton’s touch. 

“Hey there, kiddo,” Patton whispered. He massaged Logan behind the ear, and Logan rested his head in Patton’s lap. Patton blinked away his tears and continued, “I’m gonna help you, Lo, but I need you to raise your head a little.”

Logan sighed heavily. He whimpered before bringing his head back up. 

Patton sucked in a sharp breath. Blood stained the carpet and soaked the front of Logan’s fur. Patton’s fingers brushed over the fur until he heard Logan yelp. He drew his hand back as Logan took a nip at him.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Patton’s gentle voice shushed him. He stroked Logan’s back a bit. “But I might have to if we want you to heal. I have to pull the bullet out, or you’re going to... to die.”

Logan’s eyes stared up into Patton’s own. They looked so, so tired. Logan blinked slowly, and he bent his ears backward. He rolled off of Patton, exposing his chest and the wound under his shoulder as well.

With that, Patton leaned down and started pushing fur out of the way. His hands stained red. The thick fur finally parted, and Patton found the hole the bullet wedged itself into. He checked Logan’s face for any sign of pain and was both relieved and nervous that Logan remained so calm this time.

Virgil started pacing. Every once and awhile, he’d stop, stare at Patton, make sure Logan wasn’t trying to hurt him, and then continue his pacing again.

Roman, on the other hand, was perfectly content laying on the floor with one front paw out and the other folded onto his chest. Every once and awhile, his ear would swivel, listening to the sounds outside the house for danger, and then returned his attention back to the two in front of him.

Patton poked his finger in the hole. Logan’s muscles tensed, and he swallowed thickly. Patton waited a moment, holding his own vomit in his throat. 

Logan was the doctor, not him. He shouldn’t be doing this. He could hurt Logan worse than he already was. Removing a bullet is the exact opposite of what someone should do if they’re shot.

But what choice did he have? They couldn’t exactly take him to the vet right now, and leaving the bullet there was out of the question. 

If only Logan could talk him through this.

Wait.

“Wait!” Patton spoke, “Roman, Virgil, I need you to talk to Logan for me. He’s a doctor- well studied to be a doctor. I need to know what to do to get rid of it.”

Roman stayed quiet for a moment, and then he spoke, “He says you’ll need gloves because he doesn’t really want your germy hands in his chest. And tweezers.”

Patton nodded and stood up. Logan whined as Patton left the room and ran to the bathroom. He flipped the bathroom light on with his shoulder and froze at the medicine cabinet.

His hands had so much blood on them.

Patton tried to ignore the blood and opened the medicine cabinet. He shuffled around the contents, grabbing gloves and nearly knocking the tweezers down the drain. He resisted the urge to grab the Disney bandaids and hurried back to Logan’s room.

Patton turned on the lights, sat down on the floor once again, and scooted closer to Logan. He put the gloves on. 

Once he had proper lighting, parting the fur to find the hole was easier. However, that still left the bullet to retrieve.

Patton swallowed.

With a shaking hand, Patton pressed the tweezers into the hole. Logan yelped and jolted up, but he stopped himself from biting and pressed his head back into the carpet. Patton found it harder and harder to breathe as he reached for the bullet.

Virgil’s nose nudged Patton’s shoulder, and he spoke, “Logan says you’re doing great. Keep breathing. You can do this.”

Patton swallowed his nerves. The metal of the tweezers tapped the bullet, and Patton chewed on his lip as he grabbed onto the sides. The first pull only slipped off. Patton sucked in a sharp breath.

“Okay, okay,” Virgil whispered, “That’s okay. Try again.”

Patton tried once, twice, three times more before he got the bullet to budge. He stopped paying attention to Logan’s face. Instead, he stared at the bullet wound and carefully moved the tweezers until the bullet came into sight.

Patton’s breathing sped up as the tweezers slid off the bullet once again, and it stayed inside the wound.

“No,” he whispered. He tried to grab it again, but it slipped deeper in.

“Calm, Patton, stay calm,” Roman urged as he stood. He placed his head on Logan’s neck to hold him still. “You almost have it. Just one more try.”

Patton nodded and swallowed hard. His hand shook a little less as he reached for the last time to grab the bullet. Without thinking, Patton yanked his hand back. There was a sick sounding pop, and Logan yelped.

The silver bullet bounced across the floor and rolled to a stop in the center of the room.

All the breath Patton held left his chest at once. He smiled and let out two hysterical laughs.

“I did it. It’s out!”

“You did great,” Virgil mentioned and rubbed his head against Patton’s hair.

“Now what? How long will it take to heal?” Patton asked.

Roman sighed. “I’m not sure. All we can do now is wait.”

Logan’s breathing evened out, and the whimper disappeared from his stressed panting. He tried to sit up once again, but he yelped and laid back down on the floor. 

Patton moved so he sat at Logan’s back. He pulled Logan’s head into his lap and stroked the side of Logan’s head. His fingers trailed farther and farther down Logan’s side until they rested at the base of his ribs.

“You’ll be okay, Logan,” Patton whispered, over and over. Maybe more so for his sake than Logan’s own. Patton began to hum the lullaby that his mother sang when they were kids, and Logan allowed his eyes to close.

Exhaustion knocked Patton forward, and he stopped himself from passing out. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he started to feel like it was four in the morning and he got two hours of sleep.

But if he fell asleep, he couldn’t watch Logan. What would happen if Logan didn’t make it through the night? What if this was the last time he’d see him? He wanted to spend every moment-

Roman’s side pressed up against Patton’s back. Patton jolted awake as Roman laid down behind him.

“Get some rest, Patton. You earned it.”

“But, Logan, what if he-”

“If anything happens to him, we’ll let you know,” Virgil responded. He curled up against Logan’s bed and rested his head in his paws.

Patton leaned back into Roman’s soft, warm fur. He let a long sigh leave his lungs.

He barely remembered falling asleep.

--

The next morning, Patton tried to ignore the fact that he fell asleep on his brother’s floor, with his naked brother's head in his lap, laying on top of a naked stranger (well, really only his head was on Roman’s bare chest), and Virgil laying curled up against Logan’s bed with at least a little modesty from the bed’s blanket. 

Patton brushed the wound on Logan’s chest. Judging from the sticky dried blood, it stopped bleeding hours ago. The flesh was still tender though as Logan flinched when Patton poked it. Patton drew his fingers back. Logan stayed asleep, and Patton let out a long sigh. He noticed another scratch along Logan’s shoulder that was almost healed. That’s the shot his aunt took when she first came.

Wait.

Aunt Alice!

Patton slid out from under Logan and stumbled into the hallway. He looked down the hall.

Gone.

His aunt was gone.

Patton held his breath. Did she just leave? Did someone take her? Did Virgil and Roman dispose of her body?

Patton chewed on his lip as he left to go check his phone for any missed messages. His throat dried up when he realized he had missed texts from the very person he was looking for.

My dearest Patton,

I feel like I should apologize. I did come to your house with every intent to keep you safe, but I was too lost in my hatred to realize it wasn’t necessary. When I woke, I saw you sleeping with those two wolves and your brother. They didn’t hurt you. In fact, they were protecting you.

I may not have given up my hunter ways, but I certainly will leave you, Logan, and his pack alone for now. Please stay safe. If you need help, you know who to call.

-Auntie Alice

PS - I’m delivering Logan’s favorite crofter thumbprint cookies as an apology. He won’t remember me shooting him, and I’d prefer it that way. He’s still my favorite nephew… no offense ;)

Patton read and reread the note over and over again. He sighed in relief. One problem down.

Now he just had to figure out how to make all the blood disappear and how to replace the doors Logan broke without his parents noticing.

That was easy… right?

Patton first went to his room and grabbed three of his favorite house robes. The others would probably be cold when they woke up. He draped them over each person, putting a red Mickey Mouse robe on Roman, his favorite fuzzy gray one on Logan, and a powder blue one with calico cats on Virgil. Thank goodness Patton was taller and bigger than everyone.

Afterward, Patton climbed down the stairs, careful not to step in any of the blood puddles, and walked into the kitchen. He spied the broken door to the basement.

Well, no use cleaning on an empty stomach. His parents wouldn’t be home for another four days, after all.

Besides, the wolves-er werehumans- would probably be hungry when they woke up.

Patton grabbed a package of apple oatmeal and started cooking it on the stove. He grabbed some raisin toast and set it in the toaster to pop down when someone was ready for breakfast. No one liked cold soggy toast. He also set tea in the kettle for Logan and put some coffee in the coffee maker. He hated coffee, but Roman and Virgil might appreciate some.

As Patton stirred the oatmeal, the stairs creaked.

Logan entered the kitchen clutching Patton’s robe around him like a lifeline and looked around the house in a near daze like state. Patton couldn’t tell if he was just tired or if it was a state of shock.

“Good morning,” Patton chirped.

Logan stared at the basement door for a few minutes before he answered, “Good morning, Patton.”

Logan reached out to grab a kitchen chair, missed, tried again, and sat down. He stared at the wall in front of him and rubbed a hand over his face.

“It really did happen last night, didn’t it?”

Patton pinched his cheeks into a smile. “I usually don’t like saying I told you so but-”

“I’m sorry.”

Patton closed his jaw with an audible click. Did Logan just… apologize? Flat out?

Logan’s blue eyes drifted over to Patton, and he sighed. His lips stumbled to find words before he continued.

“I didn’t want to believe it. However, with all the evidence stacked against me, the insatiable hunger, the aversion to certain smells, the toxicity of chocolate, and the sudden height of sight, sound and smell, I could no longer cross out the possibility that werewolves did, in fact, exist, and that I was one of them.”

Logan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He stayed silent for a few minutes before adding on, “I did shift into a werewolf last night, did I not?”

Patton nodded his head. He set the oatmeal off the burner and onto a warming pad. After, he reached for Logan’s star mug and poured some earl gray tea. Patton presented the warm mug to Logan, who took it with a word of thanks and sat at the other side of the table. Fingers wove together and placed themselves on his lap.

“You didn’t hurt anyone, though, so don’t worry.”

Logan’s blue eyes flashed open, and Patton recalled the calm stare of the wolf the night before.

“Then how did I achieve the wounds on my chest and shoulder?”

Patton sucked in a breath and forced a smile. He let out a nervous laugh and answered, “Oh, well, I mean- it’s not because you hurt anyone. It’s more like they were out to hurt… you.”

“Me? What possible cause could they have to hurt me?”

“Um, well, they were a… werewolf hunter, I think.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No! Actually, they wanted to keep me safe. They thought that you were going to hurt me.”

“What stopped them?”

“Roman and Virgil. I think it was mostly Roman though.”

Logan nodded his head and sighed through his nose. He ran a hand through his messy hair and swallowed the dryness in his throat.

“Mom and dad are going to flip when they see the door.”

“Yeah, there’s no way they’re going to find it a-door-able.”

Logan glared, and Patton sent a proud smirk.

The stairs groaned a second time, and Patton had to strain his hearing to pick up the light footsteps. Golden eyes flashed over the railing as Roman descended the stairs and stopped in the kitchen doorway.

“Good morning,” Roman practically sang.

Logan turned around in his seat, and Roman smiled a bit too wide at him.

“How are you feeling, Logan?”

“My chest is in pain, but otherwise, I believe I will make a quick recovery.”

“Oh,” Roman flashed his eyes up to Patton before returning to Logan. “How much of last night do you remember?”

“Not much. The last thing I recall was contacting you, actually.”

Patton’s eyebrows pinched together. 

“You called Roman?”

“Texted, actually,” Roman corrected. “He told me, and I quote ‘I’ve attached the directions to my house. Please come retrieve me from the basement. Patton has locked me here thinking I am a werewolf and I can no longer deny it might be true.’ I never thought he’d reach out to me of all people, but I imagine it was because I was the one who extended the invitation a few days ago.”

“Roman and I have been in contact with each other,” Logan replied. “He’s been… rather knowledgeable on the subject of werewolves, and it was beneficial to my research.”

“Uh-huh,” Patton said as he leaned into the table, cupped his cheeks in his hands, and leaned on his elbows with a wide grin. “Glad you two are getting along.”

Logan’s cheeks flushed, and he sent a glare. Patton practically read the “I will kill you if you say anything” rolling off Logan’s stare, and he giggled.

“By the way,” Roman said and raised his nose in the air, “something smells fantastic.”

“Oh! I’m making oatmeal,” Patton said with a smile. He walked into the kitchen and stirred the oatmeal in the pot. “Would you like some?”

“Praise you,” Roman said and stood up from his chair. “I’m starving.”

Logan watched Roman walk over to Patton like a starving puppy waiting for its breakfast. He took a sip of his tea and listened to the steps groan behind him once again.  

Without turning, Logan greeted, “Good morning, Virgil.”

A grunt answered him, and Logan sipped his tea to hide his smirk. Virgil plopped himself in the chair beside Logan, wrapped the robe around him tighter, and tried to blink his sleep away.

“You okay?” Virgil asked. 

“I’m satisfactory. How about yourself?”

“Eh, I’ll live. I think.” He watched his twin chatter with Patton as they argued about milk and cinnamon belonging in oatmeal. A smile softened his face.

“What happens now?” Logan asked. 

Virgil turned his hazel eyes to Logan, and he sighed. 

“Well, you can live a mostly normal life except that, you know, you’re going to shift into a werewolf every full moon from now until you die.”

Logan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I just finished college. I did not want to walk from one nightmare into another.”

“It’s not so bad,” Virgil replied. “I mean, you can hear people talking smack in the neighbor’s house.”

“Why would I care about someone making a cartoon punch sound effect?” Logan mumbled.

Virgil opened his mouth to explain, but closed it and shook his head.

Roman and Patton finally arrived in the kitchen. Roman placed a cup of black coffee in front of Virgil, who graciously took it and sipped the hot liquid like chocolate milk. Patton passed out four bowls of oatmeal, and they started conducting breakfast.

“So, now that I am a… werewolf-” the word still refused to leave Logan’s tongue- “where do I live? Is it safe to stay here with Patton and my family? Will anyone else come to hurt us?”

“I mean, you have one of two choices,” Roman said and held up a finger. “One, you can come live with Virgil and me in our pack, which I’m sure would welcome you with open arms, or two, you can stay with Patton and come to our house for nights with a full moon. You two only live about 3 hours away from us.”

Logan swallowed his dry throat and squeezed his hands together until they turned white. He caught Roman’s eyes, who looked patronizingly sympathetic.

“It’s your choice, Logan,” Roman offered.

“I will think about it. For now, I’d like to continue my life here, with Patton. Then, on the night of the full moon, I will go to your house and transform.”

Virgil shrugged and sipped his coffee.

“There is the problem though of Patton being part of your pack,” Roman answered. “You’re going to want to know he’s safe, and your wolf form is a lot more… primal than your human form. It’s going to want to physically see Patton.”

“Well,” Patton offered, “I can go with. I mean, Logan didn’t hurt me the last two times. He shouldn’t hurt me the other times, right?”

Roman and Virgil shared a knowing look, and Virgil sighed. 

“Yeah, it might work. I don’t know how the rest of the pack will feel about it though.”

“Oh, you know mom is always happy to have strangers over for supper,” Roman said with a laugh. Virgil glared at him, and Roman’s laughter died down. “But in all seriousness, it shouldn’t be that much of a problem. We can just explain the circumstances to her, and hopefully, everything will be right as rain.”

Logan squeezed the sides of his tea mug. He sighed and stared at his reflection in the glass. His eyes stared back at him, and he wondered if they looked the same when he was a wolf. He’d have to let Patton take a picture of him. 

For science, of course.

“If you believe that is the right course of action, I'll do so without hesitation.”

“Well, I guess it’s settled then,” Roman announced. “Welcome to the pack, Logan.

End

[keelywolfe]

FIC: The Elephant in the Room ch.1 (baon)

Summary: Jeff has started working at the Embassy. He's got a new job, a new car, and a new place to live. Now if only the rest of his life could fall into order, that'd be great. Any time now...any time at all...

Tags: Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Prejudice Against Monsters, Angst,  Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Past Suicidal Thoughts,  Mental Health Issues, Friendship

Notes: Don’t skip the tags, okay? Not wanting to trigger anyone. 

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

If someone on the street had told Jeff a year ago that not only would he be working at the Monster Embassy, but he’d be living in New New Home with a Monster as a roommate and helping out his best friend (who was also a Monster and only called him Andy) on the weekends with weird experiments to entertain the local kids, well. Truthfully, if anyone had tried to tell him that fortune on the corner of Euclid Avenue, Jeff probably would have walked a little faster and hopped on the next bus.

Weird to think it was only a little over year ago. Not that they’d gone out for an anniversary dinner or anything. That would’ve been weird, yeesh, opening up some champagne to celebrate their ‘didn’t let someone kill you’ moment. Come to think of it, it was probably a good thing no one brought it up because that seemed like exactly the kind of thing Stretch would celebrate, complete with paper hats and balloons. Maybe next year they could celebrate getting arrested together, instead.

For today though, Jeff was on a mission.

He’d spent the morning at the Embassy with Cathryn, one of his co-workers in Public Relations, a short, plump Monster who distinctly resembled a cat. So far, everyone was very nice, and if Cathryn was a little giggly and a lot gossipy, she was also very good at her job. A knack for information gathering was not necessarily a bad thing in this department.

This afternoon he was supposed to be heading to ‘Classic Books’ to wrap up everything with Thomas. He’d already be on his way except Stretch was supposed to be coming with him and he was currently late. Not that it was his fault; Stretch had suggested they meet in the middle at the Beanery instead of Jeff driving all the way back to New New Home and it looked like the bus was running behind.

Not that Jeff would have minded making the drive. His new little car ran like a dream and if he still felt a little guilty having it, he soothed it with the knowledge that he was going to work his ass off at the Embassy to make up for it. It’d been a long time since he’d driven much and he’d never owned a car of his own. But there was something freeing about having a car; no waiting for buses that only went to certain areas and left him to walk through the heat or the cold, slushy mornings.

Or ran late.

He could go out whatever the time was without worrying about making the last bus, down the roads of Ebott and to the Embassy. Which, okay, was pretty much as far as he’d driven so far, today would be his first trip downtown and he was impatient to get on it.

Eh, it was all right, though. He was pretty sure it was less the time saving and more the coffee behind Stretch’s suggestion. There were already two cups sitting in the drink holders, still too hot to drink, but that was fine. This time, he was the one who got to buy the coffee and Stretch wasn’t here to stop him. That was how friendship was supposed to be, give and take, fighting over the check and actually being able to pay it. This time, Jeff was playing to win, and Stretch was going to have to deal.

Thinking of which, the bus pulled up just then, and people streamed off, Humans and Monsters alike headed for the Beanery. Stretch was about a head above everyone else, clambering down the stairs on the bus, almost tripping as he tried to pull out his headphones at the same time. From the sidewalk, he looked around briefly, brightening as he caught sight of Jeff. He waved across the parking lot and then he was suddenly there, right next to the car and hopping into the passenger side. Jeff had seen that trick about a hundred times now and it was still startling. He wondered what other Humans thought when they saw it, wondered if the PR department worried over it.

“hey, handy andy!” Stretch said cheerily, sliding into the seat. He only made it about halfway, grimaced immediately and reaching down for the lever to push the seat back as far as it could go. It was enough for him to settle his legs so they weren’t crammed into the dashboard, even if it almost put him in the backseat.

“Sorry,” Jeff chuckled, “no one else has ridden with me yet.” The seat probably wouldn’t get moved too much again, come to think of it, almost everyone Jeff knew was well over six feet tall. Then again, Blue, Sans, and Red would all be lying if they tried to claim they topped the ruler at five feet, so depending on who needed a ride, it might get quite a workout.

“it’s all good,” Stretch said dismissively. His eye lights landed on the coffee cups and lit up, “ooh, sacrificial beverages, whatcha get me?”

Jeff tapped one of the cups with a finger, “Pumpkin spice latte with an extra shot and sprinkles. I know that’s not quite up to your usual standards, but I didn't want to chance being creative. Only took Debbie like thirty seconds to make.”

“of course it did,” Stretch scoffed, “she’s a professional.” He snatched up the cup greedily and took a deep swallow, heedlessly of the steam still pouring out of the little drinking hole. Honestly, being able to eat or drink something no matter how hot was a damned handy trick, a seriously underestimated superpower. Jeff had already burned his tongue on his first sip.

He left Stretch to savor his rich caffeination and started the car. But before he pulled away, he glanced automatically to make sure Stretch had his seat belt on. Edge was infecting him with his protectiveness, and he trusted Stretch, but he’d promised. From the way Stretch rolled his eye lights, he caught the look, but he didn’t say anything, only moved his arms pointedly so Jeff could see the strap across his chest.

Good enough.

The noontime traffic wasn’t too bad and Jeff guided them through it carefully, not quite confident enough in his driving skills to relax completely, especially with a passenger. Not that Stretch seemed very worried, he only chatted about his week between sips of coffee, and Jeff couldn’t help laughing as he heard about Edge’s chicken rescue mission.

“…i mean, seriously, a chicken and about six kids, all following behind him like some kind of demented conga line,” Stretch laughed. “edge in the lead and you know i love him, but he always looks so serious, i swear, sometimes i think he’s afraid he’ll give himself another crack if he smiles in public. so there he is, leading them straight-faced as an accountant and nugget is on his heels like a lovesick idiot. me, i have to bribe them with food to get them to come with me anywhere and they’d follow edge into a kfc.”

Jeff laughed too, imagining Edge solemnly leading a chicken along the street. “Wish I could’ve seen that.”

“yeah, i never have my damn phone on me when he decides to get up to the chucklefucks. pretty sure it’s a conspiracy.” He took a long sip of his coffee and Jeff took advantage of the pause to ask a question of his own.

“How did your visit with Alphys go?” He’d already known about it from Blue, but to his surprise, so did Cathryn. Gossip about Stretch was prime material for the Public Relations department, which was a little unnerving until Catty pointed out that whether he liked it or not, Stretch was an unofficial symbol of Monsterkind. His Twitter following was massive as was his Instagram, and he’d been in the news several times now over attacks on Monsters. If his health problems ever went public, it would be plastered across the internet. The P.R. department needed to be ready if that ever happened to handle any fallout.

Knowing that made Jeff a little uncomfortable and that was a conversation he wanted to have with Edge. He wasn’t about to allow his friendship with Stretch to be used in any capacity and he wanted that to be clear from the start.

Stretch scowled at the question, hunching down in his seat. “fine.” That was a pretty firm hint that he didn’t want to talk about it, but to Jeff’s surprise, he went on with an impressive amount of disgust, “she thinks i should quit smoking.”

“Really? Why?" Jeff had always been under the assumption that cigarettes didn’t really have much of an effect on skeleton Monsters, unless—he involuntarily glanced at Stretch’s midsection, hidden beneath his baggy sweatshirt.

Stretch paused with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth, staring at him with narrowed sockets, then burst out laughing. "holy shit, no! you knucklehead, i'm not pregnant!"

Jeff cringed down over the steering wheel. Well, that was a year’s worth of embarrassment all dumped out at once. “Fuck, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have even thought that.”

"it's okay," Stretch was still snickering. "i get it, it's a little confusing for humans. not all monsters have kiddos in what you guys would consider a traditional way. just for reference though, nope, can't get pregnant, my anatomy don't work that way. neither does edge’s fyi, so you can skip picturing him in a maternity getup. can’t wait to tell him you think he’s enough of a stud to knock me up.” He grimaced then, a shadow eclipsing his humor. “actually, never mind that. let’s keep it between us.”

“Okay.” Every time Jeff got answers from Stretch, he ended up with a basketful of more questions. “Can I ask you something personal?”

“more personal than checking if i’m preggers?” Stretch grinned, “i’ve never stopped you before.”

“Why don’t you work at the Embassy?” Stretch blinked slowly, his good humor visibly fading, and Jeff hastily added, “I mean, everyone else in your family does, even Red. I only wondered, it’s not a big deal if you—"

“eh, not really my thing,” Stretch said carelessly. He shifted to look out the window, his fingers absently peeling away the cardboard sleeve around his cup in long ribbons. “they do good stuff but i…” Stretch trailed away and ducked his head, swallowing hard, and that casual façade faltered. For a moment, there was nothing but the radio, playing a soft counterpoint of incongruous pop music as Stretch spoke again, strangled and low, “because when we first got here i was teetering on the edge of suicide. took a while to get past that and once i decided jumping off a bridge wasn’t for me, well. didn’t really feel like starting a nine to five.” Stretch shrugged. “the place i came from wasn’t so great.”

Jeff swallowed hard against the knot of emotion that settle into his throat, the taste in his mouth like metal shavings. He knew Stretch had some issues; he’d told Jeff himself that he had PTSD, but not why. It was probably shitty the way he managed to keep bringing it up, but somehow, he couldn’t feel too bad about it. That Stretch had been honest with him meant something and maybe he wasn’t sure exactly what, but it was about being friends. That much he knew.

Stretch abandoned his mutilated coffee cup in the drink holder and let his hand drop on to his knee, the skinny bones clenched into a fist. Jeff hesitated, wavering, then finally reached over and touched the back of it lightly. Immediately, Stretch turned his hand over, his fingers closing over Jeff’s tightly. They pinched a little, unforgiving bone against his fleshy fingers and Jeff didn’t care, only held on tight as he asked quietly, “You mean under the mountain?”

“that, too,” Stretch agreed. His other knee was bouncing, agitated energy spilling out, and Stretch let out a shaky sigh, his grip forcibly relaxing. “anyway, i still have some issues,” he laughed again, sharper, “issues, back issues, microfiche, i’ve got the works. took a while for me to even be able to go to the embassy if you want to know the truth.”

“Why?”

“the labs. had some bad times in another lab. i’m getting past it, doing all the good chitty-chat with my therapist, but i still don’t want to work in one full time. my own little setup is enough.” His smile was still a little weak. “guess i’m meant to be a homebody. good thing edge doesn’t mind.”

“Why would he?” Jeff teased, lightly, “he’s got the good end of the deal, he gets to come home to you!”

Stretch’s next laugh was more honest. “thanks, andy.”

“No problem,” Jeff said. He had more questions, always more, and what did this have to do with Stretch's issues with cats? Whatever it was, Jeff was letting it go for now. They'd probed deep enough into the back issues of Stretch's mind for the moment. Stretch promised him once that eventually he'd explain everything and Jeff believed him. One of the first things he'd ever learned about Stretch was that he kept his word and if he needed time to do it, Jeff would let him have all he needed.

He let Stretch keep his hand until he was ready to let it go and when he did, instead of shaking away the ache, Jeff picked up his own coffee. It was only lukewarm at this point but that was fine. Pumpkin spice lattes tasted pretty good any which way you drank them.

~~*~~

tbc

[azfellandco]

Hiya! So, please feel free to ignore this, but I just listened to Good Omens for the first time with considerable enjoyment, and I was wondering whether you have/know of any good fic rec lists for the book?

hi and welcome and i’m glad you enjoyed the book!! 

General

Something Ordinary by literature_and_ocean_waves (9k)

Summary: “You kidnapped the Antichrist?!”Aziraphale’s shrill screech echoed harshly throughout the dingy bookshop.

Crowley looked sheepishly at his expensive, snakeskin shoes. “Kidnap is such a strong word,” he said. “I rather like liberate.”

This is following what, if you ask me, is a plot this fandom can never write enough of: what if Crowley had kept baby Adam and he and Aziraphale had tried to raise him together? 

Never Mind the Gravitation by Argyle (2k)

Summary: Sure, there’s life on Mars. But Crowley can hardly call it living.

This is not as angsty as that summary makes it sound. …okay it is a little bit, but in a bittersweet kind of way, and it’s so funny as well. This is one of those fics that has the tone of the book down really well and it takes what I feel is an inherently sad concept (humanity moving off world and the places Aziraphale and Crowley call home changing again) and makes it feel hopeful and optimistic. Also scifi is my real true love so like… of course I love this fic. 

Even Without Looking by maniacalmole (18k)

Summary: Aziraphale gets requested by the heavenly court to prove that romantic love is real, and makes a valiant effort. He’s read about it so many times, in all the most romantic books. How hard could it be?

Everything maniacalmole has written is brilliant, funny, whimsical, and so in character, but this one is my favorite. 

Habitual by goingsparebutwithprecision (4k)

Summary: In which Crowley wears lipstick and Aziraphale is flustered.

The mutability of angelic/demonic gender and sexual presentation is one of my favorite things about these characters and about writing for them, and this fic is one of the first I read that got me really thinking about it. 

Guests On Memory Lane by Holoxam (5k)

Summary: “Whatever you go around telling yourself, angel,” Crowley said over his morning-coffee, “some of us have to work for a living. The girls and I can get into some shenanigans around the shops, you know.”Aziraphale looked up from his Telegraph, and sent Crowley a wary glance. He was torn between asking Crowley if he remembered his fruitless attempts at influencing the presumed antichrist back in the 1980’s, and sternly telling him off for even thinking about attempting to corrupt humans at such a young age.The Dynamic Duo babysit Anathema’s cousins for the weekend.

Crowley and Aziraphale being friends with Anathema? Yes, please. Crowley and Aziraphale taking care of children? Yes, please. 

Teen

Five Times Crowley Wanted Aziraphale by Mitsuhachi (3k)

Summary: Wanting and wanting and wanting, in many ways over many years.

This and it’s sequel, Five Times Aziraphale Wanted Crowley (The One More Night Remix) (rated M, mind the tags) are one of my favorite fics in this fandom. I love historical stuff especially that traces Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship over vast tracks of time and this delivers on that in a huge way. 

here i am, leaving you clues by Lvslie (10k) 

Summary: It’s all the same burning bookshop, and I’m always inside shouting your name. 

[Aziraphale is recalled to Heaven, but leaving proves more difficult than anticipated. Written for the tumblr prompt: ‘Actually….I just miss you.’]

Another one that I just adore. This fic is poetry in all the best ways and I think about the summary line, “it’s always the same burning bookshop”, pretty much every day of my life. There isn’t a plot as such (or if there is I’ve forgotten it because I am mostly just focused on how beautifully written it is) but I highly recommend it anyway. 

Everything Leslie has written for this fandom is like this, actually, beautiful and poetic and sort of dream-like. 

Modern Love by punkfaery (7k) 

(I podficced this last year)

Summary: “The crux of it, Crowley decided, was that demons were not supposed to want.

Or – well, that wasn’t strictly true. Certain things, such as material wealth and the corruption of innocents and the eventual triumph of Hell over Heaven, and possibly Earth as well, were perfectly all right. The fact that he didn’t particularly care about any of these things just served to add a little extra salt to the wound.

It wasn’t a question of wanting. It was a question of wanting the wrong things.”

Crowley, Aziraphale, and a series of religious buildings.

No Pain, No…Loss? by NotASpaceAlien (7k)

Summary: Aziraphale has a horrifying realization and decides he needs to lose weight.

This is so goddamn funny. I love Aziraphale with all my heart but he is very foolish sometimes and this fic… is such a good instance of that. 

There’s No Pancake Too Big For My Heavenly Father To Flip by dwarvenbeardspores (6k)

Summary: After a few exceptionally busy months, the forces of Heaven and Hell attempt to outwit each other in Aziraphale’s kitchen.

That is, Aziraphale makes pancakes and Crowley eats them.

I love cooking, and cooking headcanons, and Aziraphale and Crowley cooking for each other. This fic is delicious. 

Read everything by this author, actually, everything they’ve written is wonderful. 

Mature

Goodbody by copperbadge (3k)

Summary: Aziraphael’s new body is causing some problems.

Again, I love a good exploration of the relationship between angels and demons and their bodies and this fic is so much fun on that count. 

Only Human by abstractconcept (9k)

Summary: Aziraphale loses his job. Humor/romance A/C

Fics exploring the fallout of Aziraphale and Crowley’s disobedience towards their bosses in trying to avert the apocalypse is definitely A Fic Type in this fandom and this one goes the route of “one of them is fired and turned into a human”. It even takes a humorous angle on this and not the obvious angst route. 

Explicit

fires of the flesh, both literal and figurative by mercuryhatter (3k)

Summary: Pretty standard “there’s a sex curse and Crowley has to have way too many orgasms or be discorporated” stuff.

Genderfluidity/trans Crowley!! Discussion of feelings!! Fuck or die!! What’s not to love? I really love this fic. 

No Cause for Alarm Clocks by HJ Bender (archived by the GO_Library_archivist) (2k)

Summary: A short story detailing one of Crowley’s infernal household gadgetries, and why he’ll never have sex in front of it ever again.

This is wild and funny and I have read it about thirty times. 

Figurative Language by alamorn (2k)

Summary: It’s two years after the apocalypse that wasn’t and the only thing that’s changed is Aziraphale’s dick. That is to say, he has one now.

A Classic. I have read this probably thirty times, as well. 

Rarefied Air by Vulgarweed (4k)

Summary: Earth is getting older, news is getting worse, and an angel has to go to extreme heights to get any peace and quiet at all. But as close as you can get to Heaven, you’re still never far from Hell. (Hell hasn’t frozen. Crowley nearly has.) Giftfic for Allthisnonsense in 2006 GO Holiday exchange. 

This is another author who has written a lot of really good stuff but this one is my favorite. 

And here is my ao3 as well, I’ve written a lot of GO fic in the last year. Here are some of the ones I’m most proud of. 

Where a Heart Would Fit Perfectly (Teen, 2k)

Summary: Aziraphale shrugged and gestured for Crowley to sit down, “I’ve come back from the battlefield; no need for all that muscle anymore.”

“You’ve gone a bit in the other direction, though, haven’t you?” Crowley said conversationally as he took a seat and flagged someone down for a drink. “You’re a bit… pudgy.”

In 600 BCE Assyria, two man-shaped beings meet up after a long absence.

Nothing Like The Sun (Teen, 6k)

Summary: One tended to go through a number bodies in six thousand years, even if one was as cautious or sturdy as Aziraphale. Crowley, who was neither cautious nor sturdy, had gone through a large number. He’d changed appearance so many times that in Aziraphale’s memory he was often just his eyes, for no matter if Crowley was tall or short, lithe or stocky, blond or raven-haired, his eyes stayed the same.

Touch Me Gently (Explicit, 2k)

Summary: Aziraphale had started manicuring his nails.

Yours, Truly (General, 3k)

Summary: A love in selected letters.

Snapshots (General, 2k)

Summary: Five photographs on the wall of Aziraphale’s shop. An expansion of a headcanon I posted on tumblr.

And that’s about what I got! Happy reading, anon. 

[bevioletskies]

bring it on home to me [1/5]

summary: The fight of everyone’s lives may be over, but for Nebula, Peter, and the rest of the Guardians, the search for the person they love most has just begun.

a/n: MAJOR spoiler warning for Avengers: Endgame, though I am a little vague about the events of what happened. Regardless, please don't let me spoil it for you!

Fic title is, of course, from the song Bring It On Home To Me by Sam Cooke.

word count: 2.6k | ao3 | tag

Peter woke to a cold bed, his teeth chattering and his feet numb, and promptly rolled over to blindly pull his tablet off his bedside table - if one could call it that, given that it was an old crate he’d found in a junkyard on Knowhere - and attempt to remotely adjust the Benatar’s temperature controls. To his utter lack of surprise, it didn’t work. He wasn’t sure Rocket’s recent rewiring of the ship was to blame, but he was sure he was going to say so at the next team meeting, anyway.

He stumbled out of bed, got dressed, considered for a total of thirty seconds as to whether he wanted to shave the slow-growing beard he’d been developing with little success over the last few months or so, and then waved it off, making his way out of his tiny little bunk and into the ship’s communal area. There, sat at the console table, was Nebula, her feet propped up on its surface and her inky black eyes fixated on him like she knew he was coming (she probably did).

“You eat yet?” Peter asked, yawning loudly. She recoiled at the sound.

“No,” she said shortly. “Our rations are lacking. We need to make another stop before we unnecessarily starve ourselves to death.”

Peter grinned. “I like that you said ‘our’. Gives me the warm fuzzies.” Nebula glared, her eyes following him all the way around the room as he tapped into the ship’s operating system on the main holoscreen. She didn’t miss the way his face fell the slightest bit, the way he took a sharp inhale to prepare himself for his next line of questioning. “Find anything yesterday?”

“Nothing. The same as the day before that, and the day before that, and the weeks and months before that,” Nebula said. She turned away, suddenly finding it too hard to look at him, to know that every emotion written on his face was on par with every emotion that stirred in her chest. “We know that. You know that.”

He swallowed, his hand hovering over the screen. Subconsciously, or instinctively, really, he’d taken himself to the criminal records that the Nova Corps had written up on them what felt like decades ago. The picture that stared back at him looked familiar but not quite close enough, the detailed write-up that sounded like someone he knew but not the someone he knew now. Or maybe had known.

“Don’t mean we have to accept it,” he finally said, turning to look at her. “I’m done being passive. Passive is gettin’ us nowhere. We don’t have the right to call ourselves the Guardians if all we do is sit around like a bunch of a-holes.”

“Then it’s good that I’m not one,” Nebula retorted. Peter shoved the screen aside and stomped right up to her, face-to-face, slamming his palms down on the table. He almost detected a twitch in her otherwise stone-cold expression, a betrayal that revealed how affected she truly was.

“You’re a Guardian, Nebula, okay?” His voice was dangerously low, the kind of pitch and tone he usually reserved for when he wore his mask, but there was no finger on the trigger of his quad blasters, just the wetness of his eyes and the intensity of his gaze. “No matter what anyone says. Including yourself.”

She stared back, standing up slowly; he followed her inch by inch. “I’m far beyond letting anyone tell me who or what I am. So you take your self-hatred for what you’ve done and what you didn’t do, and keep it to yourself, Quill. When you stop by the nearest planet to pick up supplies, I suggest you drop me off. This is no longer a ride I want to be on.”

The closest planet they came across was like many others they’d been on before - nondescript in every shape and form, lacking distinguishing features or unique characteristics that would make it any more memorable than the last. For Rocket, all he wanted whenever they touched down somewhere new was a junkyard and a bar, preferably within spitting distance of one another so he could walk in sober and stumble out drunk.

Upon returning to their landing site an hour after they’d first arrived, he apparently came back just in time to see Nebula stomp her way down the Benatar’s ramp and out the loading bay, snarling at the nearest attendant who had gingerly approached, wondering if Peter needed any help with the engine. Peter was stood by the nose of the ship, running his fingers through his hair agitatedly, but made no move to follow her. “She’ll be back,” he was saying to a concerned-looking Drax and Mantis by the time Rocket joined them. “Look, Rocket came back and he talks about leavin’ all the time!”

Rocket fixed him with a long, haunted stare. “Don’t even joke about that, Quill.” Peter’s face crumpled. Rocket turned and made his way up the stepladder and directly into the ship’s engine, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. It was hard for anyone to look anyone else in the face these days, but Peter was especially difficult to take, Nebula even more so for how numb she seemed to be.

He poked around aimlessly for a few minutes, trying to find the cause of their latest ship-related issue. If it wasn’t the computer system, it was the pipes, or it was the engine, or it was the fact that the Benatar was a piece of crap when they got it and was still a piece of crap now. Rocket huffed impatiently, nudging the casing with his foot. “C’mon,” he grumbled. “What kinda engineer would I be if I can’t fix the damn engine?” Another swift kick, harder this time, but all it resulted in was a stubbed toe and a bruised ego. It was a testament to how distracted Peter was that he didn’t even bother chastising Rocket for it, instead disappearing back inside the ship with the others in tow.

Another low growl, and Rocket sat back on his haunches defeatedly, pushing his toolbox aside for the time being. He leaned forward, resting his head in his paws, pulling at the bits of fur that seemed to be falling out of his temples in worryingly large patches, the grooves where his claws had dug near-permanent welts into his cheeks. “I am Groot?”

Rocket lifted his head to see Groot approaching him apprehensively, still clutching his beloved handheld Defender in one hand, the other outstretched in Rocket’s direction. “What d’ya think? We shoulda gotten rid of this rustbucket a long time ago.”

“I am Groot,” he protested, climbing up to sit beside him, his legs swinging over the edge of the ship’s hood. “I am Groot.”

“Yeah, well, nothing’s ever gone right for us, why should it start now?” Rocket let out a hysterical laugh. “Out of the last five jobs we had, two were a complete and utter failure, and one shorted us on units. All ‘cos Quill’s too busy dragging us around the galaxy to find her. ‘Cept that wasn’t her. That wasn’t...that wasn’t our Gamora. That was a Gamora. And I dunno if she wants to be ours, or if she can be in the first place. But he’s done it, Groot. He’s gone and lost his mind, and now we’re the ones who gotta pay for it.” The engine sparked pathetically. “More like not get paid for it.”

“I am Groot.” They both fell silent, Groot politely ignoring the loud, shaky breath Rocket took that certainly wasn’t related to the engine issue. Then, Groot began to hum. It sounded a little thin and reedy in his voice - “tree puberty”, as Peter had so delicately once put it, looked and sounded a lot like human puberty - but it was instantly recognizable.

“Don’t - don’t do that, man,” Rocket said half-heartedly. “We haven’t heard that since you were no bigger than a boot.”

“I am Groot,” he shrugged. He still remembered every note, let it linger in his head sometimes when he needed it most; only he remembered it in her voice, heard the joy when she first remembered the lullaby her parents had sung to her as a baby, how she sang it to him when he was fussy or scared or just wanted to keep her by his bedside for a few more minutes. He’d grown out of it eventually, scoffing at everything and everyone around him like a typical stubborn adolescent, but now he longed for it again, even if just for one more time. “I am Groot?”

“Nah, I don’t think she would’ve known how to fix this.” Rocket twisted a series of wires around his finger, nearly slicing through them with his claw in his absentmindedness. He quickly withdrew his paw before it could happen. “Hell, I’d ask Nebula if she wasn’t in such a...Nebula mood.”

He glanced around the hangar where they’d parked, how very average it all seemed - sky-high ceiling heights, long stretches of metal and concrete as far as the eye could see, and people of all kinds milling about, fawning over a cool ship someone had brought in or arguing over how to best fix the reason they’d landed here in the first place. They had been in a place very similar to this the first time she asked him if she could help, mere weeks after the Guardians had officially formed, with everyone still cautious and nervous and new to existing alongside other people.

“I spent years helping Nebula with her implants,” she had said with her arms folded across her chest, watching him yank at the wires fruitlessly. “Let me take a look.”

“Ship mechanics and implants ain’t the same thing,” Rocket had retorted without sparing her a glance. “Look, I’m sure you were a big ol’ help to your wacko sister, but leave the engineering to me. You go...swing your sword at somethin’ or whatever.”

“You insult me by insinuating I’m only useful in a fight.” The cadence of her voice had been even, measured, but there was a hint of danger to it that gave Rocket the impression he wasn’t going to win this one. “I’ve also shadowed some of the best engineers in the galaxy and made countless minor repairs before. At least let me watch so I can learn. No one ever gets anything done just standing by.”

Rocket had sighed, moving aside so she had room to hover over him, her gaze intensely focused on the meticulousness of his work. “Is that what you told yourself when you first went after the Orb?”

“Yes.” The quickness, the sureness, even, of her reply had surprised him. “I spent years watching Thanos destroy homes, destroy families. Knowing his plans for the Stone, I couldn’t watch any longer.”

“But your sister could? She’s a real piece of work.”

“Watch yourself, Rocket.” She had reached out, gripped his tiny wrist with her long, battle-calloused fingers far too tightly. “My sister and I, we’re like you. Built for someone else’s purpose. Taken apart to fulfill another’s desires. Her lack of morality may disappoint me, but I can’t deny that not too long ago, I still felt the same way.”

He had yanked his arm out of her grasp, shaking it, mulling over her words. “So what changed? Why did you turn your back on the big purple man, and not her?”

“It could be anything that kept her from doing so - disposition, personality, personal traumas…” She had trailed off, tapping one fingernail gently on the glint of silver in her cheekbone, a particular piece that outlined the sharp planes of her bone structure a bit too well. “...repeated body mutilation and a craving for validation that will never come would break anyone’s spirits. You know that as well as we do.”

Rocket had cleared his throat, turned his attention back to the work at hand. “Alright, honesty hour’s over. You gonna pick up a wrench of your own or what?”

“I am Groot.” Groot’s voice brought Rocket back to the present, his chest aching with something he could identify, but wanted to deny. Melancholic longing had always been part of his life, but never his vocabulary, and he wasn’t about to start now. He didn’t want to sound like one of the morose love songs Peter had taken to playing on the ship through to the early hours in the morning. He didn’t want to wake up crying, chest heaving, gasping for air, the way Peter did sometimes, the way they all pretended he didn’t do, for the sake of what was left of his dignity. “I am Groot?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Stop starin’ at me, you’re making me nervous,” Rocket spat, his tone harsher than intended. His ears drooped when Groot’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed. Groot hopped back down onto the stepladder and started walking back to head inside the ship, his footsteps heavier than they had been when he first came out. “Wait, Groot...look, we’re all on edge, I don’t mean to be a dick about it. C’mere, let me show you how this junkpile works.”

Groot sighed, his shoulders heaving, and he went back into the ship without another backward glance. Rocket stared after him, his chin dropping to his chest as he hung his head. He could vaguely hear Peter and Drax arguing inside, with Mantis trying her best to moderate without using her powers, something Peter had sorely been against as of late, something about not wanting to numb himself to how much everything hurt (Rocket hadn’t really been paying attention, mostly because it hit too close to home).

“I am Groot.” Rocket lifted his head to see Groot walking back up to join him. Instead of carrying his video game, he was carrying a familiar-looking book, one that was dusty from lack of use, its spine still in perfect condition. He held it up to Rocket in a sort of peace offering, smiling tentatively. Rocket’s breath shook as he accepted it, brushing away the residue so the title could be read: Engineering Basics, Volume XI: Spacecraft.

“I can’t tell this is a gift or an insult,” she had said dubiously when Rocket first gave it to her. It had been two months since their encounter with Ego, and everyone was finally starting to feel more settled, more at peace with who they were and who they were with.

“You said you wanted to learn,” Rocket had protested. “Look, I spent a whole fifteen units on this!” She had fixed him with a look. “Okay, so I found it at yesterday’s trading post, the attendant said it was a gift from his parents, never used, wanted to get it off his hands. Isn’t it the thought that counts or some crap?”

She had laughed, an unexpectedly soft, musical sound that made Rocket’s ears perk up. “If you say so, Rocket. And thank you. I’m not sure when I’ll have the time with everything that’s going on right now, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

“I am Groot,” he said gently, now placing a hand on Rocket’s.

Rocket inhaled. “Guess she never got around to it. Thing’s never even been opened!”

“I am Groot,” he said, looking pensive. Groot looked younger then, a little bit more like his toddler self, his eyes round and liquid and perpetually in a state of nervous, uncertain energy. The lullaby continued to play in his head; he felt the ghost of a slightly calloused hand cup his cheek as if to say hello, goodnight, goodbye.

Nodding slowly, Rocket opened the book, running his paws over the glossy pages that were otherwise untouched. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I miss her, too.”

a/n: I just watched the movie yesterday and I have to get on a plane tomorrow but I just really, really needed to get some feelings out! This is more of a character relationship study than a strict "The Search For Gamora" fic, mostly because I needed a place to explore all the little headcanons I have about her relationships with each Guardian. And I know Thor was there with them at the end, but as much as I adore him, I wanted to strictly keep the focus on the team, so let's just say he left for a hot minute to check in with Valkyrie in New Asgard or something.

This fic probably exists in a dozen other forms already but regardless, this was oddly therapeutic to write and I hope you enjoyed it all the same! Thanks so much for reading, likes and reblogs would be much appreciated, and see you next time :)

[bubblemoon66]

Doesn’t She Know (It’s the End of the World)

Fandom: Skulduggery Pleasant Rating: T Warnings: Major Character Death Pairing: Valkyrie Cain/Skulduggery Pleasant Genre: Angst, Suspense Wordcount: 3715 Summary: According to the clock on the Bentley's dashboard, it was 06:23. About 37 minutes before the world had been scheduled to end. Notes: Written for the Skulduggery Pleasant Fic Exchange 2018. Based on a prompt by @edwardssallow Title inspired by the Skeeter Davis song.

You can also read this fanfiction on AO3, FF.net and Wattpad.

It was a clear, crisp spring morning. All blue skies, not a wisp of cloud in sight.  And the promise of a sunny afternoon to follow, if the meteorologists were right and the sensitives were wrong.

According to the clock on the Bentley's dashboard, it was 06:23. About 37 minutes before the world had been scheduled to end. 

Valkyrie Cain was worried, but not as worried as most people would be under the circumstances. Her life so far had been one series of apocalyptic disasters after another. She hadn't grown used to them exactly, Armageddon wasn't something you could get used to, but she had learnt to deal with them in her own way. Denial, mostly. With a dash of fatalistic humour and a superiority complex thrown in for good measure. The way Valkyrie saw it she could either accept that the world was going to an end on her watch or not. And life was much much easier to bear when she chose the second option.

The Bentley, Valkyrie and Skulduggery Pleasant were currently speeding through the Tipperary countryside. It would have made for a nice drive had they not been going twice the speed limit around a hairpin bend in a rural lane. Unfortunately, that's what they were doing. Valkyrie's stomach twisted as they whipped around another corner. Overgrown hedges scraped the car's bodywork. Tires screeched. There was a smell of burning rubber and hot metal. 

There was tension in the car, but nobody wanted to acknowledge it. Is was there though, regardless of what they wanted. It was in the set of Skulduggery's jaw and the pit of Valkyrie's stomach. It was in the space between them, displayed on the dashboard in fluorescent red light. 

06:24. 06:25. 06:26. 

"I don't suppose there's time to stop for a coffee?" Valkyrie asked lightly, once the tension had become too much, even for them.  Of course, she knew there wasn't time. They both knew, but that wasn't the point. 

"After," said Skulduggery, in a tone as light and fake as her own.  "I'll take you to that cafe by the river. And we can sit and talk under the awnings while you sip one of those overpriced frothy concoctions you've developed an obsession with."

"It's called a caffelatte and you know it. You've bought me enough of them. And it's too cold to sit outside."  

 "It'll warm up. The day's only just beginning."

 06:27. 06:28. 06:29.

The alarm clock in her parent's bedroom would be going off any second now. If she closed her eyes, she could hear its shrill shriek. She wondered if she should phone them, but dismissed the idea almost immediately. A call this early in the morning would only worry them. And they worried about her enough as it was. 

"How close are we?" Valkyrie asked.

"Eight miles,"

"Do you think they have a coffee machine there?"

"Do you think of anything besides where to get your next caffeine fix?"

"Not in the AM," was her reply. She stole another glance at the clock.  06:30. Thirty minutes to go. "It's kind of inconsiderate scheduling an apocalypse for seven in the morning." 

"Genocidal maniacs aren't exactly known for their consideration," 

"If I was planning the end of the world, I think I'd leave time for a lie in and a full Irish breakfast." 

"Not everyone has your vision, dear."

06:31. 06:32. Seven miles. Six miles.

"They must have a coffee machine. Or at least a kettle. I mean, I just can't see anyone destroying the world before their morning cuppa. Unless they're destroying it because they don't have their morning cuppa, I guess I could understand that."

 Skulduggery tilted his head, in that way of his when he was amused.  Good. That had been her intention. 

"If you're desperate for caffeine there's chocolate in the glove compartment,"

Valkyrie checked. There was chocolate in the glove compartment. A pack of four full-sized mars bars to be precise, her favourite.

"You spoil me," she said. 

"I know,"

Valkyrie closed the door to the compartment without touching the chocolate. Nerves wracked her insides and made the concept of eating anything impossible. 

"Not hungry?" Skulduggery asked gently. He must have known how she was feeling, but that wasn't the point of his question. 

"I stopped eating chocolate for breakfast. Unless it's inside of a pastry or drizzled over waffles." 

"Since when?" 

"Since I hit thirty," 

"I saw you eat an entire box of chocolate dipped strawberries in bed Valentines day morning." 

"Doesn't count. The fruit negates the chocolate. It's practically diet food."

Skulduggery laughed. "You know, I would love to live in a world governed by your logic. Just for a day, to see what it's like."

A small smile crept across Valkyrie's lips, "That would be fun."

06:34. 06:35. Five miles. Four miles. 

In the distance, she spotted the water tower on the hillside. It was tall, built from ancient grey stones eaten away by time. 

The smile fell from her face, "We're nearly there."

Figures stood guard around the base of the tower. At this distance, they looked human. But she knew from the sensitives' reports they were nothing more than empty shells reanimated with hot air and magic. Hollow Men. Unpleasant to deal with, but not the worst thing they had faced, not by a longshot. 

06:35. 06:37. The tower loomed closer. 

Her family would be sitting down to breakfast around now, still in their pyjamas. Alice would be on her phone no doubt, texting one of her friends to arrange a meetup before college. Her mother would be in the middle of buttering a round of toast. While her father fiddled with the radio antenna until someone reminded him that he had to turn it on at the wall before it would relay them the morning news.  

06:38. 06:39. The Bentley raced up the dirt tracks scored into the hillside. Mud flew through the air. The engine roared. Hollow Men turned to look at them; their movements, clumsy and slow.

"Ready?" Skulduggery asked.

"Always," she said. 

They flung the car doors open in sync. Fire and white lightning flying from their hands. The hillside lit up like a Christmas tree aflame. Heat and light consumed the leathery skins, igniting the gas inside with a pop. 

It took them a minute, or perhaps two, to clear the ground between the car and the base of the tower. 

There was a door, made from solid oak and cast iron. As ancient as the stone walls, but far steadier looking. There were sigils carved into the wood. She couldn't read them, but she could guess they were there to keep out intruders. 

"Can we deactivate these?" she asked. 

Skulduggery traced the pattern of a sigil with a gloved fingertip, then shook his head. "Not in time. We're going to have to go through the walls." 

She nodded. 

He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. Valkyrie closed her eyes. There was a rumble. They melted through the stone together. It was cold and rough. Her skin felt raw like she had been caught in the path of a sandblaster. It was an impressive piece of earth-magic, even if it was unpleasant. 

A moment later, they stumbled out of the wall.

Valkyrie opened her eyes. She wasn't sure what the inside of a water tower was supposed to look like, but she suspected it wasn't this.

"Woah," she said. 

"Woah, indeed,"

"I know we're a bit short on time, but do you mind if I take a moment to state the obvious?"

"Go ahead,"

"It's bigger on the inside,"

"I know. I can see that,"

Valkyrie took a deep breath. Taking in the impossibility of it all. The corrugated metal beams supporting the high ceilings, the fluorescent tube lighting stretching down long corridors, the steel grates fixed to every couple of metres - all of it the wrong shape and size to fit inside the tower. She took it all in. And then exhaled.

"We're going to have split up, aren't we?" 

Skulduggery glanced at the watch on his wrist, a 440th birthday present from her. "I'm afraid so." 

"You take the corridor on the left. I'll take the right."

He nodded. "Call me the second you find anything," he said, before shooting off down the left-hand corridor, propelled by the air and magic. 

Valkyrie ran. Boots pounded against the metal floor, echoing like thunder. Her heart hammered against her ribcage, blood roaring.

She ran and ran and ran. The corridor seemed to go on forever. Beam after beam after beam. Vent after vent after the vent. 

Later, when all this was over, she would take time to marvel over it. Maybe she'd even take her family on a day trip up here. Her dad would appreciate the weird sci-fi-ness of it all. Her mum would just be glad that Valkyrie wasn't shutting them out from her life again.

Valkyrie's legs began to ache. Her lungs burned. She was slowing. How far had she run? How much longer did this corridor go on for? How much time did they have left? Why the hell hadn't she passed any doors? What was the point of a corridor if it didn't lead anywhere?  

Valkyrie stopped running. 

There wasn't a point. That was the point.   

She ran her fingers over the corrugated walls. They were cool and rough to the touch. It felt solid. It felt real. She knelt down to inspect one of the grates. It was too dark to see what underneath. She took a few steps forwards and inspected the next grate. And then next. They were identical, down to every last nut and bolt. The way she had come looked identical to the way she was going. And she now, she realised, she was going nowhere. 

Her phone rang. She answered. 

"Have you noticed anything odd about this place?" Skulduggery asked through the receiver. 

"It's not real,"  she said. 

"Yes, I noticed that too. It's a bit of a problem."

"Any idea of how we get out of the weird magic-simulation-thing?"

"None, at all. You?"

"Nope,"

They stood there in silence. Painfully aware of the seconds ticking by. 

"Maybe we could try hitting it really really hard," suggested Valkyrie. "That's worked for us in the past."

"I suppose it's worth a shot," There was a muffled metallic clang from the other end of the receiver. "I don't think it worked."

"Damn,"

"Could you use your aura-vision to see what's going on?"

Valkyrie considered, "I could try."

Doubt plagued her mind, but she ignored it; screwed her eyes shut and concentrated. When she opened her eyes the scene had changed. She saw two worlds overlapping. Another impossibility she couldn't understand. She didn't have time to understand. Later, she'd think about it later.

The reality that she had been experiencing glowed in a nauseating shade of green. Somewhere behind it were stone walls and an ancient door in pale yellow. And in a beautiful vibrant red, was the outline of a man, stood maybe four metres to her left. 

 "I can see you," she said, rather breathlessly into the receiver. 

"Can you reach me?"

"I think so. Hang on."

She put the phone back in her pocket and took a tentative step through the two realities nestling on top of one another. Her stomach somersaulted and bile rose up in her throat. When nothing worse happened, she took another step and another. Until she back where she belonged, by Skulduggery's side. And he was holding her like a drowning man. 

"I think I might be sick," she said, as the world which may or may not have existed spun. 

"Please don't be. I don't want to save the world covered in vomit. Can you see a way out of here?"

"There's a door. The one we couldn't get through earlier."

"Anything else?"

Valkyrie looked around. "There's a maintenance ladder fixed to one of the walls. The tower walls. Not the ones you can see. It's about ten steps in front of us, directly across from the door."

"Can you take me to it?"

She nodded, taking his hand. They moved through time and space together. 

Valkyrie did not know exactly what Skulduggery saw when they moved. She liked to think it was something really impressive. Like her melting through a steel wall, hair billowing behind her like it did in the movies. 

As soon as she touched the ladder, Valkyrie's normal vision snapped back into place. The world came with it. They were stood now, in a room that made sense. Next to a rusted ladder fastened to crumbling stone. 

Valkyrie knees buckled.

"Steady," said Skulduggery, catching her. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. Just need a minute."

"I'm not sure we have another minute to spare."

Hands shaking, Valkyrie took the phone out of her pocket. 06:55. Shit. 

"We need to go up," she said. "Now."

A familiar arm snaked around her waist. "Hold on."

She held on. They hurtled upwards, as fast as a bullet. There was a hole in the ceiling where the ladder was, they shot through it. 

The upper part of the tower was wider than the base. It was just as ramshackle, but gloomier. The light from the high windows barely reaching the floor. Skulduggery set them down. He clicked his fingers and a flame appeared. 

A man lunged. He through a stream of energy at Skulduggery, who dodged, the bolt missing them by a hairbreadth. The wall behind them exploded into a cloud of mortar. The man crashed into Valkyrie. He dragged her to the floor. Legs straddling her waist. His hands started to glow again, lighting up with power. She kneed him in the groin and rolled. They landed in a shaft of light, coming from the newly made hole in the wall. She was on top now, forcing him to the floor, pinning his arms above his head with one arm, so he couldn't aim. 

"Where's the doomsday clock, Eschat?"

Eschat grinned. A feral thing. Broken yellowed teeth and rotting gums. "Not telling," he sang in a shrill voice. 

Valkyrie punched him in the face. Fist shattering cartilage. Blood trickled from his broken nose. 

"Still not telling," he said. Then he started giggling. 

 It wasn't right for a grown man to giggle like that, thought Valkyrie. Especially an old man with rotten teeth, uncut nails and long matted hair. It was just asking for trouble. 

She punched him in the face again. He spat out blood this time. 

"Eschat," she growled. "You know who we are. You know what we do. And you know what we'll do to you if you don't tell us where the clock is right now."

"Doesn't matter," he sang. "Doesn't matter. We're all going to die in a minute anyway."

Valkyrie spared a glance at Skulduggery. He was moving quickly around the room. Darting from wall to wall. Searching through the rubble of the wall.

"Have you found anything?" she called. 

"No. Not yet," he said, back towards them. 

"Keep looking. It's here. It has to be."

"You'll never find it," said Eschat. 

Skulduggery paused and turned to look at them, "Try his pocket."

The shit-eating grin faded from Eschat's face. 

Valkyrie rummaged through his clothing. It wasn't an easy thing to do, not when you were trying to pin someone's arms to the floor. She tried his jacket first and found nothing but gum wrappers in the outer pockets. She moved to the inner pockets. Nothing in the right one. But there, in the left - her hand closed around a small metal object. A pocket watch. She could feel the patterns engraved into the casing, could feel their power. 

 "Got it," she said, wriggling it free, pulling it towards her. 

That was when Eschat struck. Freeing one of his still-glowing arms, he went for her head.  She had to throw herself off him to avoid having her face melted off.  The shot went wild, blowing a hole in the ceiling. The watch went flying from her grasp. Dust and chunks of stone rained down on them. Blinding her. Covering Skulduggery. 

"Shit!" she gasped before her lungs seized up. She coughed violently, uncontrollably as mortar filled them. 

 Eschat was throwing more streams of energy. The movements were wild, erratic. If he had been aiming, it might have been easier to dodge. But he wasn't, he was throwing blindly. Tearing down the building one blast at a time. 

Valkyrie scrambled to her hands and knees, still coughing. Sifting desperately through the rubble. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

Skulduggery burst through a cloud of dust, hands ignited. He crashed into Eschat and the two went flying to the other side of the room. 

More streams of energy flew through the air. The floor in front of her exploded. She clambered back, scrabbling across the stone before it crumbled away. Blood trickled from a dozen cuts where debris had hit her. She didn't have the time to care.

Keep moving.  Keep moving. Keep moving.  

Her hand brushed something cold, metallic. Relief struck Valkyrie like a train. She grabbed the watch, flicked open the case. 

15 seconds. 

She realised that she no idea how to stop it. 

10 seconds. 

The sense of relief was torn from her. It couldn't end like this. She needed-

5 seconds. 

An idea. Her only shot. 

Valkyrie dropped the watch, balled up her first, and brought it down. Hard. 

Three things happened as the clock struck seven. Firstly, the pocket watch alarm went off. Secondly, Valkyrie's fist connected with the metal casing. And finally, Eschat Imera let loose a final stream of energy that brought the tower crashing down. 

Valkyrie's world collapsed. There was a boom. Stone rained down. Blue skies rushed by. The ground quickly approaching. Her hand reached for something to grab, tightening around the only thing it could - the remains of the pocket watch - as she fell. 

Valkyrie never hit the ground. She slammed into one of the ladder rails. The rusted metal had been bent and snapped in half as the tower collapsed, leaving a sharp point at one end. That edge was what stopped her. It slammed into her back piercing the skin; piercing the tissue and the muscles. Rail emerging bloodied and sinew covered from her chest. 

"Oh," was all she could think of to say as she hung there suspended in the air. Weightless for a moment, before the metal gave way and she fell again. 

Skulduggery caught her this time. Grabbing her arm, pulling her close. Her shoulder had to be dislocated after a grab like that, but it didn't hurt. 

They floated gently to the ground, light as a feather. She buried her head in Skulduggery's shirt. They touched the earth. Her legs buckled, only Skulduggery's arm around her waist kept her upright.

"Valkyrie," he said. "I'm sorry."

She looked up at him and then down at her chest; saw the way the bloodied metal had skewered her and knew she was going to die. 

 She pressed the watch into Skulduggery's gloved hand. "Did we win?"

Skulduggery didn't say anything. He took the watch. Looked at it and dropped in the dirt. His expression unreadable. 

"Tell me this wasn't in vain," she said. 

"It wasn't in vain,"

"I saved the world?"

"A hundred times over,"

She sighed, "It's not as painful as I thought it would be."

"You're in shock,"

Skulduggery set on her on the ground. Gently. Gently. He knelt next to her, placing her head in his lap. She reached up to stroke his cheekbone. The movement was more difficult than she had anticipated. Her arm felt heavy, clumsy. Like it no longer belonged to her. 

 "Do you want to call your parents?" Skulduggery asked. 

"No," she whispered, letting her arm fall. "It'll only make them sad. I just want to talk to you."

"What do you want to talk about?"

"We could start with how much you love me,"

"You already know how much I love you. You don't need me to tell you."

She smiled faintly. "Then tell me something I don't know."

"I used to breed wolfhounds,"

"Did you really?"

"Of course, it's not something I'd lie about,"

"Did you have a favourite?"

"Ol. Great big brute, but soft as butter. He liked to sit on my feet everytime I stood still for more than a second."

"You used to complain when Xena did that,"

"Only to wind you up,"

Valkyrie's vision was beginning to fade. The edges were growing darker. She closed her eyes. Breathed in as deeply as she could. 

"Can you hear that?" she asked. 

"Hear what?"

"That ticking noise,"

"I can't hear any ticking noise,"

Valkyrie opened her eyes again. She struggled to turn her head towards the sound. Her eyes fell on the small silver disk lying in the dirt. 

"It's coming from the pocket watch,"

Skulduggery tilted her chin back towards him.  "You're imaging things, dearest."

She stared up into empty eyesockets. "Are you lying to me?"

"It's not something I'd lie about," he repeated. 

Valkyrie closed her eyes again. 

"Stay with me," he said. "For just a little longer."

"Until the end?" she murmured.

Skulduggery didn't say anything. He moved, shifting her weight slightly. There was a pressure on her mouth. Teeth pressing against lips. Bone meeting flesh. Neither too hard or too soft, but over too quickly. 

"I wish you'd kissed me sooner," she breathed.

"And I wish we stopped for coffee," he said. "And sat under the awnings and talked."

"Don't be daft. It's too cold."

"It's not that cold out."

"I'm cold."

He kissed her again. She felt like they were back in the sky, drifting, weightless. She wished this moment could have lasted forever, but it couldn't.

"Will you be okay?" she asked. Only able to speak in the faintest whisper now.

"I'll be fine."

Now she knew he was lying. She opened her mouth, tried to speak. Tried to tell him as much. 

The earth trembled. With a great effort, Valkyrie willed her eyes back open. Skulduggery looked back at her. There was a flash of white light.  And then, there was nothing.   

[thelastspeecher]

Stan Pines, Farmhand - Chapter 16: This is How the World Ends

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   Chapter 5   Chapter 6 Chapter 7   Chapter 8   Chapter 9   Chapter 10   Chapter 11   Chapter 12 Chapter 13   Chapter 14   Chapter 15   Chapter 16   AO3

Holy shit, it’s finally done!  I’ve been working on this fic since October, and this AU series for over a year!  But it’s done!  I mean, as done as I’ll ever be; the multichaps are over, and all that’s left are random posts or ficlets I might make about it.  Thank you guys for all your support, it has been lovely, and so wonderful to write this, with all the love you guys have given me for my nonsense.  I love y’all, and I hope this is a satisfactory ending.  In this, the final chapter, plot lines are resolved, there is yelling and hugging and reconciliation, and Angie tells Ford off.  Enjoy~

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August 14, 2012

               Emily winced as the shouting from her parents’ bedroom reached new decibels.

               “I’ve never heard them fight like this before,” she said quietly.  

               “I wanna know what they’re saying,” Mabel said.  “But the last time Grunkle Stan caught me eavesdropping, he grounded me.  And then he said that if he caught me again, he’d cut off my ears, so I couldn’t do it anymore.  He probably won’t do that, but I asked for some cute earrings for my birthday, so…”

               “Ya don’t wanna risk it,” Emily finished.  Mabel nodded.  “I can try to listen, if ya want,” Emily offered.  “It’s not like they can really ground me anymore.”  Mabel beamed.

               “Thanks!”

               “You got it, cuz.”  Emily ruffled Mabel’s hair on her way to her parents’ bedroom.  She pressed an ear against the door.

               “I’m not gonna apologize for protectin’ you.  You and the kids,” Stan said firmly.

               “Ya didn’t protect me!  Ya lied to me!”

               “Bullshit.”  Stan’s short response was enough to stop Angie in her tracks.  

               “Excuse me?”

               “That’s bullshit.  I protected you.  I protected the kids.  Do you have any clue what woulda happened if I hadn’t kept all of this a secret?  Even with all the precautions I took, Bill still almost got the house this summer.” Emily’s eyes widened.

               Dad knows about Bill?  Did he overhear Uncle Ford talkin’ ‘bout him?

               “Who the hell is Bill and what does he have to do with ya lyin’ to me fer thirty fuckin’ years?!”  Emily’s jaw dropped.  

               I didn’t know Ma even knew real swear words.

               “Bill’s the asshole demon that possessed Ford and pushed ya down the stairs thirty years ago,” Stan said.

               Wait, what?  Bill hurt Ma?

               “All the more reason ya should’ve talked to me ‘bout this!” Angie said fiercely.  “If Bill is such an evil, manipulatin’, powerful bein’, ya needed someone to help ya out.”

               “Clearly, I didn’t,” Stan snapped.  There was a long, drawn-out silence.

               “Clearly,” Angie said in a subdued voice.  

               “Angie,” Stan started.  Emily could picture him moving toward her mother, reaching out his arms to comfort her.

               “Leave,” Angie said.  Emily blinked.

               That’s not usually how fights end with them.

               “…What?” Stan asked, like Emily, taken aback.

               “Leave me be, Stanley Pines.  I need some time to myself.”

               “You just got back, though.”

               “I know.”  Emily winced at her mother’s choked-up voice.  “I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want to be apart from ya.  Yer not the only one with old issues resurfacing.” Stan said something so quietly that Emily couldn’t make out what it was.  “Yes,” Angie said.  “So ya can understand why it hurts me to send ya away.  But- but we can’t sleep in the same bed tonight, Stan.”  

               “…Fine.”  There were footsteps.  Emily moved away from the door just before it opened.  Stan looked at his daughter.  “Squirt, how many times do we have to tell ya not to eavesdrop?” he said tiredly, closing his bedroom door.

               “I wasn’t eavesdropping!” Emily protested.

               “Kid.”

               “Okay, maybe I was.  But it was for a good cause!”

               “Mabel asked ya?”

               “Yeah, but I was gonna do it anyways.”

               “Figures.”  Stan took a seat on the floor in the hallway.  Emily sat down next to him.

               “Are ya sure you’ll be able to stand up again?” she asked.  Stan sighed.

               “Now’s not the time,” he said.  Emily looked down.

               “Sorry.”

               “Not yer fault.  Nope, it’s my fault.  All of it.” Stan groaned.  “This isn’t how today was supposed to go.  The first day of seein’ yer ma in months, well, if I hadn’t messed up like this, there’s no way we’d be spendin’ it in separate beds.  Can’t really do what we planned on in-”

               “Dad.”

               “Right.”  

               “It does suck, though,” Emily said.  “You thought Ma would be happy to have Uncle Ford back, and that Uncle Ford would be happy to be back and wouldn’t punch ya.  And ya didn’t think you’d be worried about yer twin stealin’ yer family from ya.”  Stan looked at Emily, startled.

               “What?”

               “Dad, I was there.  I was there durin’ yer very questionable run for the mayor of Gravity Falls.  I was there when ya started gettin’ worried over Uncle Ford and Dipper playin’ that weird graph paper game.  The same one Danny ‘n Daisy like fer some reason.  I’ve seen how nervous ya are that Mabel and Dipper like him better.”

               “Damn.  You’re too smart for yer own good, kiddo,” Stan said quietly.  

               “I know.”  Emily leaned against Stan.  “Things’ll work out.”

               “Ya keep sayin’ that.”

               “That’s ‘cause it’s true.  It’ll just take a while is all.”

               “Don’t have much summer left fer that.”

               “So?” Emily asked.

               “Never mind.”

               “No, tell me!”

               “Nope.  Help me up, will ya,” Stan said.  Emily groaned.

               “I guess.

----- 

August 17, 2012

               There was a gentle knock on Ford’s door.

               “Come in,” Ford said, concentrating on shaving.  The door opened.

               “Uh, Stanford, why are ya holdin’ a lighter so close to yer face?” Angie asked, staring at him.

               “Hmm?  Oh, I’ve found that this is much faster than traditional shaving.”

               “And more dangerous,” Angie said.  She took a few steps into the room and closed the door behind her. “Stanford, I didn’t get a chance to talk to ya yet.  Between the jetlag and the…emotional roller coaster, I’ve been too exhausted.  But I’ve gotten some rest, and feel refreshed. Which means we need to discuss what happened thirty years ago, and what’s happenin’ now.”

               “Okay.”  Angie took a seat on the couch and patted a spot next to her.  Ford reluctantly joined her.

               “Look, I’m glad to see ya.  But you made one hell of a mistake back then,” Angie said shortly. “Fidds told ya not to get dark magic involved, but ya still made a deal with a demon, and just about all of us paid the price.”

               “I’m sorry about that.  I didn’t think Bill was-”

               “Ya didn’t think a literal demon was bad news?  Stanford, yer supposed to be a genius.  Act like it,” Angie snapped.  Ford stared, surprised to hear such a cruel tone from her.  “Ya don’t owe me an apology just fer makin’ a deal with Bill.  Ya owe me an apology fer pushin’ me down those stairs. Ya put me in a coma.  My arm was broken.  I had to go through speech therapy ‘cause my stutter came back.  And my fam’ly was put through hell worryin’ ‘bout me.  Worryin’ ‘bout Fidds, and Stan, and you.  Stanford, we were terrified fer you.”  She sighed. “And then Stan told us that you were dead.”

               “I know.  I’m not very pleased with that.”

               “Don’t matter whether yer pleased with that.  Ya still owe some apologies.  And ya need to thank Stan fer bringin’ you back.  Emily told me ya never did that.”

               “I’m not going to thank Stan for endangering the entire universe,” Ford snapped. “And I’m sick of your judgmental tone!” Angie glowered.  Ford immediately regretted his words.

               “Yer over fifty years old, Stanford Pines.  So why are ya actin’ like a child?  And I should know what a child acts like.  I raised five of ‘em.”

               “…Five?”

               “Someone had to help Fidds with Tate.  You left a mess behind, and instead of thankin’ folks fer cleanin’ it up, or apologizin’ fer makin’ it, yer lashing out at yer own damn fam’ly.  My tone may be judgmental, but I’ve got good reasons to judge ya.  I have no clue what is so broken between you and Stan that ya can’t even recognize what he did fer you.  Was it perfect?  No. But it was still an enormous undertaking.”

               “I can’t thank someone who put my safety above others’.”

               “That’s what Stan does,” Angie said softly.  Ford looked down, her words connecting with the guilt he’d had in the back of his mind.  Angie played with her hands.  “Okay, I just have one thing left to say ‘fore I go hide from my husband some more.”

               “What?”

               “Don’t try to keep Dipper and Mabel away from the weirdness of Gravity Falls.”  Ford stared at her, thinking about what Stan had told him.

               “Why not?”

               “They’re kids.  They’ll mess with things ya tell ‘em not to.”  Angie sighed.  “Over thirty years of bein’ a dad, you’d think Stan would’ve figured that part out. But I prefer that you encourage them to look into things.  To be curious.  That way they know how to be safe ‘bout it.  Stan was right, Gravity Falls is dangerous.  But only if ya don’t know what yer doin’.  So show ‘em.  But show ‘em how to be safe, too.  No matter how difficult it is to break yer habit of throwin’ caution to the wind.”  Angie smiled weakly.  There was a hesitant knock.  

               “Yes?” Ford said.  Dipper opened the door.  

               “Great-Uncle Ford, I was wondering if you had any research you wanted to do today.  Mabel wants me to help plan our birthday party, so I thought I should check in first.” Dipper noticed Angie sitting next to Ford.  “Oh, hi Grauntie Angie.”

               “Howdy there, kidlet,” Angie said.

               “Actually, Dipper, yes, I do have something I could use your assistance on,” Ford said.  Dipper’s eyes widened eagerly.

               “Really?”

               “Yes,” Ford said.  Angie patted Ford’s leg.  

               “I’ll leave you two kooks to do yer research.”  Once the door had closed, Dipper looked at Ford.

               “So, what do you need me to help with?”

               “You recall the containment for the rift, yes?”

               “Yeah.”

               “Well, it’s cracking.”

----- 

               Emily hesitantly opened the door to her parents’ bedroom.

               “Ma?” she said cautiously.  Her mother looked up from the book she was reading and smiled.

               “Hey there, sweetling,” Angie said, putting her book to the side. Emily sat on the bed next to her. “What’s the reason fer ya stoppin’ by? Thought you were workin’ in the gift shop right now.”

               “I had Wendy cover me fer a few minutes,” Emily replied.

               “That Corduroy girl is somethin’ else,” Angie said.  

               “Yeah.  Look, Ma, here’s the thing.  Dad is- he’s really upset.  Like, really upset and-”  A stormy expression gathered on Angie’s face.  “-and that’s clearly not what I should be talkin’ about.”

               “I know yer dad feels bad fer what he did,” Angie said slowly.  “And he should.”

               “I know!  I know he should feel bad.  But maybe give him a break?” Emily suggested.  Angie shook her head.

               “No,” Angie whispered in a broken voice.  “No, I can’t.  Not yet. He lied to me longer ‘n you’ve been alive.”

               “Ma-” Emily started.

               “Leave me alone,” Angie said suddenly.

               “What?”

               “Em, I need some time alone.”

               “But-”

               “Emily Marlene Pines, leave me be!” Angie snapped.  Tears were standing in her eyes.  Emily bit her lip.

               “Sorry, Ma, I didn’t mean to-”

               “I know you didn’t, but I just can’t handle talkin’ ‘bout yer father right now,” Angie whispered.  She rubbed her eyes.  “Go, sweetie. I don’t want ya to see me cry like this.”

               “Ma-”

               “I mean it!  Get goin’!”

               “O-okay,” Emily stammered.  She stood up and walked over to the door.  Before she left, she looked back at her mother.  Angie’s head was in her hands, her shoulders shuddering from the force of her sobs.  

               “Yer ma’s still angry, huh?” a voice asked, the second Emily had closed the door behind her.  Emily spun around, startled.  Stan was in the hallway, looking abashed.  Emily rubbed her face.

               “Dad, I think she’s beyond angry right now.  Ya know how important tellin’ the truth is to her.  Everyone’s upset, including Mabel and-”

               “Wait, Mabel’s still upset?” Stan interrupted.

               “Uh, yeah.”

               “I thought I talked her down.”

               “Well, I saw her a few minutes ago and she was crying.  And I was goin’ to ask Ma fer help, but I brought you up, and that pissed her off, so I had to leave ‘fore I could ask.”  Stan frowned.  Emily recognized the look.  “What are you thinkin’ ‘bout?”  Stan rubbed his chin.

               “I’ve been wonderin’ if I should try that McGucket conflict resolution thing with Dipper and Mabel.”

               “Is that the same thing you and Ma had me do with Daisy?”

               “Yeah.  It worked with me and Ford, and we were way past what Dipper and Mabel are dealin’ with, so it should work for them.”  He sighed. “I’ve just been hopin’ that I wouldn’t need to, that they’d figure it out on their own.”

               “Dad…”

               “I know, I know.  I shoulda tried to fix things sooner.”  They heard the bell of the gift shop door jingle.  Voices carried to where Stan and Emily were standing.

               “Dipper and Uncle Ford are back,” Emily said quietly.  She looked at her dad.  “Now’s as good a time as any.”  

               “Yer right.  Go fetch Mabel, I’ll handle the nerds.  A fam’ly discussion is long overdue.”

----- 

               Soos walked into the living room, closely followed by Angie.

               “I brought her, dudes,” Soos said, gesturing to Angie.  She frowned.  

               “Jesus, you weren’t serious about the salamander you claimed to have found, were ya?”

               “…No,” Soos admitted.  Angie sighed and took a seat on the floor.

               “Fine.  What’s goin’ on here?  An intervention?”

               “I think so,” Mabel said slowly.  Her eyes were still red-rimmed from crying earlier.  “But I don’t know what it’s about.  I mean, after the last one, I stopped using glitter in everything I bake!”

               “This isn’t about glitter,” Emily, who was standing near one of the exits, said.  “It’s about how everyone in this house is upset, but no one’s doin’ anything ‘bout it. Ma’s avoiding Dad, Uncle Ford won’t explain whatever he’s doin’ in the basement, and I guess forgot how manners work, and now Dipper and Mabel are havin’ issues, too!”  Angie looked at Dipper and Mabel, concerned.

               “Is that true?” Angie asked.  Mabel looked away.  “What happened?”

               “Ahem, I’m the moderator,” Emily said. Angie raised her eyebrows. “…Ma.  But anyways, yeah, Dipper and Mabel, go ahead and explain what happened.”

               “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dipper said, crossing his arms.

               “Yeah right, apprentice,” Mabel scoffed.  Dipper stared at her.

               “How do you know about that?”

               “The walkie-talkies!  Doy!”

               “Wait, catch me up here,” Angie said, “Dipper’s an apprentice?”

               “Great-Uncle Ford asked me if I wanted to be.  I’d stay here in Gravity Falls and help him with his research,” Dipper explained.  Angie crossed her arms and glared at Ford.

               “He asked ya that, huh?”

               “And Dipper agreed!” Mabel burst out.  She sniffled.  “He’s- he’s gonna stay, and I’m gonna leave, and-”

               “But this is a huge opportunity for me,” Dipper said to Mabel.  

               “It’s a horrible opportunity for me!” Mabel shouted.  “You’re- you’re supposed to be the person I can count on.  I don’t wanna leave Gravity Falls behind, but- but when I thought you were gonna come back home with me, that was all right.  Now you’re not?  I- I don’t wanna grow up without you!”

               “Hold on,” Angie interrupted.  Mabel and Dipper looked at her, but she was still staring at Ford, clearly furious.  “Stanford, ya didn’t consult anyone about any of this.”

               “I-” Ford started.

               “If yer goin’ to ask a boy to leave his fam’ly behind, talk to ‘em first! I mean, I don’t think Caleb and Amelia would actually be comfortable with this.  But now ya went and got his hopes up over somethin’ that, logistically, won’t happen.”

               “Caleb and Amelia would be ecstatic, given my educational background and experience,” Ford said.

               “Just ‘cause yer smart don’t mean ya make good decisions,” Angie snapped. Ford glowered.

               “The boy needs space to develop his intellect!  He’s been suffocating, tied down by a twin that he’s never been apart from!”

               “Is that what you really think?” Mabel whispered.  Dipper stared at his twin, devastated.

               “No!  I- I never said that, Mabel, I promise!”

               “But you were gonna leave me.”

               “I-”  Dipper stopped.  “I don’t want to,” he said quietly.  “I don’t think I ever wanted to.  I just got caught up in, y’know, the coolness of it all.  Being an apprentice to the author of the journals.  Saving the world and whatever.  But I’d be spending my teen years cooped up in a basement, and without you.  And I don’t want that.”  Mabel smiled weakly at him.

               “And Mom and Dad would freak,” Mabel said.

               “Yeah.  They would,” Dipper said.  “Awkward sibling hug?”

               “Sincere sibling hug.”

               “See, Mabel?” Stan said, watching the two embrace.  “Like I told ya, you’ve got your brother with you. You’ll be fine.”

               “You’ll be fine, too, Grunkle Stan,” Mabel said confidently.  She patted Dipper on the back twice and they broke apart.  Stan smiled, but it was clearly insincere.  

               “If you say so, kiddo.”

               “Actually, Dad, that’s a really good segue,” Emily said.  She looked at Dipper and Mabel.  “You two can leave, if ya want.”  

               “And miss out on all the juicy gossip?  Please,” Mabel said, waving a hand.  Dipper nodded.

               “Yeah, like we’d leave of our own free will, when things are gonna start getting good?”  Emily looked over at Stan.

               “Dad, you can decide if they stay or not.  It’s yer business that we’re dealin’ with next.”

               “Great,” Stan muttered.  He sighed. “They can stay.  They’d eavesdrop even if we kicked ‘em out.”

               “You know it!” Mabel chirped.  Stan cracked a half-smile.

               “All right, then.  Onto Dad’s issues,” Emily said.  Stan closed his eyes with a groan.  “Who wants to go first, Ma or Uncle Ford?”

               “Ladies first,” Ford said, gesturing towards Angie.  Angie frowned.

               “Sure, yer quite the gentleman when yer tryin’ to avoid talkin’ ‘bout yer feelin’s,” she said snidely.  “You Pines folk ‘re all stunted emotionally, I swear.”

               “Ma,” Emily intervened.  Angie sighed.

               “Guess I’m up first.  Stan, ya did the wrong thing fer the right reason.  But I can take care of myself.  I don’t need unsolicited protection.”

               “I know,” Stan said.  “But when ya were comatose in a hospital bed, or gettin’ frustrated over how slow yer speech therapy was goin’, really didn’t seem that way.”

               “The lyin’ went on past that,” Angie replied.

               “Yeah.  It did. I’m sorry, Angie.”

               “This is the sort of thing married folks aren’t supposed to have. Secrets that go on fer thirty years. Is it any wonder I have issues lookin’ ya in the eye?” Angie asked, her voice breaking.  “Is it any wonder I can’t hardly be in the same room as ya? All that time, all that time spent together, happy, raisin’ our kids.  Now those good memories are- are poisoned.  ‘Cause you were lyin’ durin’ ‘em.”  Angie bit her lip and looked away.  “Sometimes…sometimes I wondered if ya were cheatin’ on me.”

               “What?  Angie, I would never-”

               “Cheat?  But how can I trust ya ‘bout that now, knowing yer lies?”  Angie shook her head.  “Maybe the blame’s on me, too, though.  I ain’t blind.  I knew somethin’ was happenin’.  I knew there was a reason you were runnin’ yourself more ragged than usual, that there was a reason ya suddenly developed an interest in what Stanford was workin’ on, that there was a reason ya had us move into yer dead twin’s house, and start up, of all things, a tourist trap.  I told myself you were just grievin’ in yer own way.  But I knew there was more, and if I hadn’t been too scared to actually figure out what else was goin’ on, maybe- maybe we wouldn’t be in such a rough spot right now.”  Angie finished her speech with a decrescendo, getting quieter as she neared the end, until the last few words were almost a whisper.

               “Angie, when we got married, you said there wasn’t anything that could make you leave me,” Stan said.  He swallowed. “Is that still true?”  Angie looked down.

               “It hurt every day I was in Maine,” she said softly, after a pause that was far too long for Stan’s liking.  “But not from old age.  From missin’ you.  I’m furious ‘bout all of this.  But I love you and the life we built together more ‘n I’m angry.”  She looked up, and there were tears standing in her blue eyes. Eyes that still had the same brilliance Stan had first seen forty-one years ago.  “Stanley Pines, I can’t think of a single thing that would make me leave.” Stan smiled weakly at her.  “Even with the lyin’, and my nightmares comin’ back, and everything feelin’ like it’s fallin’ apart, I- I can’t get over how much I love ya.  I ain’t leavin’.  I ain’t plannin’ on ever leavin’.”

               “I’m sorry that I dragged us into this mess,” Stan said.  

               “It- it is what it is, I s’pose.  All’s we can do now is try to move forward.  Work on the trust stuff a bit more.”  Angie and Stan shared a tentative smile.  Ford, who was standing near the tank Angie kept her favorite amphibians in, frowned.

               “Nightmares?” Ford asked.

               “Nothin’ to write home ‘bout, I don’t think.  Had ‘em a bit ‘fore Stan showed up at the farm, had ‘em a bit ‘fore you showed up at the farm, and they started up again while I was doin’ research in Maine this summer.”  Angie shrugged.  “But they stopped when I got back.  Put me in an awful mood fer Stan tellin’ me he got you home, though.  I was so exhausted and frustrated, even without the nasty things I was dreamin’.  With all of it together, I almost didn’t come home.”

               “Shi- shoot, Angie, if you didn’t come home,” Stan said, “I…I don’t know what I’d do.  Send the kids home?  Kick Ford’s a- butt for bein’ the reason?”

               “Mm.  Prob’ly both, knowin’ you,” Angie said.  She suddenly registered the concerned look she was getting from everyone else in the room, other than her husband.  “Wh- what’s the problem?”

               “Bill has the ability to cause nightmares,” Ford said.  

               “So?  The human psyche can make ‘em, too,” Angie said.  Ford nodded.

               “Yes, but the timing seems odd.  Your nightmares tend to have surges at crucial points.  Stan arriving at your house, and therefore not becoming a homeless criminal.  Stan and I meeting at your house, and therefore patching things up before we became too distant.  Stan telling you that I’m back, and therefore we can put a stop to Bill’s insanity once and for all.”

               “When yer stressed-” Angie started.

               “We set somethin’ up around the house,” Emily interrupted.  “It keeps Bill’s influence out.  He can’t peek into any minds here, can’t cause any nightmares. And yer nightmares stopped when ya came back.”  Angie was silent.

               “Violynn said that yer nightmares got so bad the first time, that yer folks almost didn’t leave,” Stan said quietly.  Angie looked at him.  “If yer folks didn’t leave when they did, they wouldn’t have found me.  And the second time, they talked about not lettin’ Ford come over.  And now…”

               “…Now I almost broke yer heart, which would’ve ruined everything else,” Angie whispered.

               “If Stan and I got in a physical altercation, or the kids went home, Bill would have found it much easier to gain access to the rift,” Ford said. “Frustration, anger…those emotions are ones Bill relies on.  He can finetune righteous fury until it fits his own perverted needs.”  Angie put her head in her hands.

               “I have a million questions,” Angie said quietly, “the first one bein’ what ‘the rift’ is.  But- I don’t think I’m ready fer the answer right now.  I thought it was bad enough, that demon puttin’ me in a coma.  But playin’ with my mind?  I-”

               “Yeah, it sucks,” Dipper said firmly.  Angie nodded.

               “Sure does, kiddo.”  After a long pause, Emily cleared her throat.

               “So…Dad and Uncle Ford?”

               “Are we seriously still doin’ this?” Stan demanded.

               “Yes.”

               “It’s been a long day, I think we could use a break,” Ford said.

               “Nuh-uh.  If we stop now, we won’t ever finish,” Emily said, shaking her head.  “So.  Dad and Uncle Ford.  Talk.”

               “Ford, up yours.”

               “What?!” Ford said.

               “Dad.  Not helpful.”

               “Fine.  Ford, thirty years ago, ya asked me to abandon my fam’ly, to save yer skin. Sure, that fight might’ve ended in me pushin’ you through the portal.  But it never woulda gotten that far if you didn’t put your own bullsh- crap above everyone else,” Stan snarled.  Ford glowered.

               “I put my problems above others’? Stanley, you were willing to risk the universe’s safety for your family, and then later, for me!”

               “I did what ya asked me to!” Stan snapped.  “You asked me to help you.  I did it.  And after thirty years of breakin’ my back to do what ya told me to do, we won’t even talk! Goddam- gosh dangit, Ford, I thought we were past this!”

               “So did I!” Ford shouted.  Dipper and Mabel exchanged a wide-eyed look.  “So did I,” Ford said, in a more reasonable tone.  He ran a hand through his hair.  “Why do we keep having this argument, over and over again?”

               “‘Cause whenever ya have problems, it always happens at the worst time,” Angie suggested.

               “Ma, yer not allowed to contribute,” Emily said.  Angie rolled her eyes.

               “No, that- that sounds right,” Ford said.  “Maybe we are emotionally stunted, unable to talk things out, until it builds and builds, and the only possible result is explosive.”

               “Does that mean yer gonna thank me?” Stan asked.

               “Only if you apologize to me,” Ford replied.  Stan frowned thoughtfully.

               “I’ll think about it.  But no matter what, I ain’t apologizin’ in front of the kids.  They’ll think I’m soft.”

               “You already said sorry to Grauntie Angie about ten times,” Dipper said.

               “Eh.  That’s different.”  

               “Are we done?” Ford asked Emily.  Emily nodded.

               “Actually, yeah.  Huh, and it took less time than me and Daisy did.”

               “Stanford, what is the rift?” Angie asked suddenly.

               “Essentially, it’s a rip in the fabric of the universe, a portal of sorts between our dimension and that of Bill’s.  It was created by Stanley turning on the portal,” Ford explained.

               “The big problem,” Dipper jumped in.  He stopped and looked at Ford, who nodded.  “The big problem is that Bill can come through it if it gets too big. So Great-Uncle Ford sealed it in a snow globe.”

               “The containment device is more durable than a snow globe, but continue,” Ford said.

               “But now, the containment device or snow globe or whatever it is, is cracking.”

               “Which means that the rift isn’t actually contained,” Angie said slowly.

               “Yes.  Dipper and I went to the UFO site today, to find alien adhesive to seal the containment device shut,” Ford said.

               “Seems like yer tryin’ to put a bandaid over a gunshot wound,” Angie said. “That ain’t goin’ to work in the long run!”

               “I just needed to buy some time, until I find a better solution,” Ford said.

               “Didn’t you meet anyone in other dimensions who might be able to help out?” Emily asked.  Ford paused.

               “Actually, yes.  But Jheselbraum is busy, and I don’t have a way of visiting her dimension.”

               “Does she have a cellphone?” Mabel asked.  “You could call her.”  Ford rubbed his chin.

               “No, she doesn’t have a cellphone…but you’re right.  I could call her.  Through other means, of course.”

               “Great!  And now that all the end of the world things are taken care of, we can finally start planning the birthday party!” Mabel said enthusiastically.  Angie chuckled.

               “You really have a one-track mind, don’t ya, darlin’?”

----- 

September 2, 2012

               Ford stood on the porch of his house, if it could be called that anymore, given the discussions that were going on about the Mystery Shack’s future.

               “I can’t live here anymore,” Ford said abruptly, the night of the “intervention”.  He, Stan, and Angie were enjoying some much needed alcoholic beverages.

               “Why not?” Stan asked.  

               “It’s just changed so much.  It’s not the same place I left.  Even if I wanted to live in a house that also functions as a tourist trap, I can’t do that if it doesn’t feel like home.”

               “Then where will ya go?” Angie asked, idly stirring her rum and coke.  

               “Not sure.  Unless…maybe I could get the Stan O’War up and running.”

               “What?” Stan said.  “You- you wanna go on an ocean adventure?”

               “Yes.  I think it would be a nice break from all of the…”

               “Drama,” Angie suggested.

               “Bullshit,” Stan said.

               “Well, yes, this summer has been full of both of those things.”  Ford looked down at his glass tumbler.  “But I don’t think I could crew her on my own.”  Stan was silent.  “I don’t want to take you from your family, Stan-”

               “My kids are all grown up, Angie’s busy findin’ evolutionary missing links.  All I do is sit around, bein’ old,” Stan said.  He grinned.  “Finally doin’ a trip on the Stan O’War sounds pretty great to me, Sixer.”

               “You two could use some bondin’ time,” Angie added.  “So’s long as ya don’t disappear off the face of the earth, I think I can handle bein’ apart from Stan fer a few months.  Done it before.”  She looked at Stan.  “But the two of ya wouldn’t be able to leave fer a bit, y’know.”

               “Oh, yeah, there’s a thing.  The whole fam’ly’s goin’.  I can’t go until after it.”

               “That’s fine.  The extra time will be useful.  I can put some affairs in order, adjust the ship to be suited for my research, et cetera,” Ford said.

               “Or you could come to the party,” Angie suggested. Ford blinked.

               “Um, I don’t know how wise that would be.  I don’t even know what it’s for.”

               “A birthday.  Yer welcome to come,” Angie said.  She picked up on his hesitation.  “But you can think about it a bit ‘fore ya make up yer mind.”

               “Geez, Angie, what do ya take us for?  People who think before doin’ things?” Stan asked sarcastically.

               “Clearly ya aren’t, since ya haven’t discussed what you’ll do with the Mystery Shack.”

               “Shut it down, obviously,” Stan said.  Angie stared at him, aghast.

               “And break poor Jesus’s heart like that?”

               “Why do ya call him by his full name?”

               “Why do ya not realize how much this dumb ole place means to him?” Angie retorted.  Stan sighed.

               “Like always, you have a point.  Soos is a good kid.  He shouldn’t have to watch the Shack shut down.”  He frowned thoughtfully.  “Hmm. I bet the Mr. Mystery suit would look good on him.”  Angie smiled.

               “That’s more like it.”

               Ford shook himself out of his memories and watched his twin load up the Stanleymobile.  Emily tossed Stan a large duffel bag.  Stan caught it, but stumbled slightly under the weight and force of the throw.  Ford smiled as Emily laughed.

               “Yer losin’ yer touch, old man,” Emily said teasingly.  Stan rolled his eyes and stuffed the duffel bag into the trunk.

               “I’m just goin’ easy on ya.  What with you bein’ my daughter and all,” Stan said.  Emily snorted.

               “Sure, Dad.”  Ford heard the front door open.  Angie walked past with another bag of luggage.  

               “Geez, how much crap do you guys have?” Stan asked.  Angie went over to her husband.

               “This is yer stuff, darlin’.  And it’s the last of it.”  Stan took the bag from her and put it in the car, then closed the trunk.  “All right, you two, we ain’t stoppin’ fer a while. Bathroom break now or hold it,” Angie said briskly.  Emily shook her head.

               “I’m good, Ma.”

               “Then let’s load up,” Angie said.  Stan opened the door of the Stanleymobile for her, eliciting a laugh. Angie kissed him on the cheek before getting into the back seat.  Emily joined her mother.  Stan closed the door.

               “So, where are you headed, again?” Ford asked.

               “We’re gonna stop by San Diego to pick up Emmett, and then go to the farm,” Stan replied.  “The whole fam’ly’s gonna be there to celebrate the triplets’ birthday.”  He looked at Ford.  “Includin’ Fidds, Tate, and Tate’s kids.  You made up yer mind about comin’?”  Ford rubbed the back of his neck uncertainly.  On the one hand, he was eager to see his son and grandchildren. On the other, it had been thirty years.

               The McGuckets probably wouldn’t want to see me.

               “You probably need the extra space for Fiddleford,” Ford said.  Stan shook his head.

               “Nah.  Fidds headed out yesterday,” Stan said.  Angie rolled down the car window.

               “I didn’t sit in the back seat fer nothin’, Stanford!” she shouted teasingly. Ford cracked a small smile.

               “I really don’t know if I should intrude…”

               “Intrude?  Ford, it’s pretty damn difficult to crash a fam’ly gatherin’ if yer fam’ly,” Stan said. “Seriously.  Ya comin’?”  Ford looked at his house.

               I don’t think I can call it that anymore.  He looked back at his twin, his sister-in-law, and his niece.  His smile grew broader.  

               “…Yes.”

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi, I wanted to ask you if you know any fanfictions about Johnlock texting/letters/internet messages, something connected with that? :)

Hi Lovely!

I thought I didn’t have many of these, so I was so excited that I would be able to get this done in 10 minutes... it’s now 4 hours later and I finally got a rough list done for you and I STILL can’t find the one I wanted to add to this list! I’m so angry, because I THOUGHT it was an FFNet fic, but i can’t find it urg. Oh well. I hope you like what I have picked for you instead!

SEXTING / TEXTING:

Unquantifiable by 221b_hound (M, 2799 w, Ao3) - John remains a terrible and foul-tempered patient, but he does try to make up for it with pet names and text message silliness. In the meantime, Sally Donovan visits Baker Street for a hint about the Milverton case, and has to deal with a Sherlock Holmes who can’t find words big enough to thank her for saving John’s life at the warehouse. For afters, there’s a viewing of The Princess Bride. Part 33 of Unkissed

Happy anniversary by Salambo06 (E, 3772 w., Ao3) - John inhaled deeply, feeling his cock pulse under the silk gown, and he let his eyes travel on the lean body in front of him. Sherlock was kneeling on the bed, their bed, and the picture had been taken so John could perfectly see his bare chest and pelvis. But what mattered most, what made John harden rather quickly, was the pair of panties Sherlock was wearing in the picture. Black, string over each hip and laces that outlined Sherlock’s erect cock barely hidden under the soft underwear.

A Brand of Gold by aquabelacqua (M, 12,757 w. Ao3) - John sank deeper into the pillows, let the mist and blur of the wine settle around him, let it shore up his nerves and dim the warning signals that flashed dully in the back of his mind. He let the rest of the disappointment about Lucy and his strange accommodations and about the weekend as a whole fade into obscurity. He let the vital, missing piece snap into place as surely and as cleanly as if it had always been there. He was flirting with Sherlock Holmes. **MUST READ**

Come Home by hudders-and-hiddles] (E, 3763, Ao3) -  When John leaves for a medical conference, Sherlock tries to entice him back home.

A Study In Auto-Signatures, Sniper Dolphins, and Sex Holidays by cwb  (E, 32,690, Ao3) John and Mary go on their sex holiday, and Sherlock is grumpy and pining about it. Part 1 of HOT DOLPHIN SEX **MUST READ**

The Real Meaning of Idioms by feverishsea (T, 21,691 w., Ao3) - After two weeks away, John finally texts Sherlock. He doesn’t expect Sherlock to respond. He doesn’t expect Sherlock to keep texting him. And he really doesn’t expect things to spiral out of control so rapidly.

Bread and Wine and Curry Once a Week by cwb (E, 8737 w., Ao3) - "I am not agitated. I’m just tired of it. The insinuations, the comments, that I have no… no interest in relationships, or sex.“ John and Sherlock muddle through a relationship. **FAVE!**

Entanglement by orphan_account (G, 3218 w., Ao3) - On Christmas Eve, snow covers London, John visits Harry, and Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson untangle some knots. Lovely pining Sherlock fic. Love this one!

Definitions by siennna (T, 101,528 w., Ao3) - Throughout his life, Sherlock Holmes has always taken facts and held them close like treasures, because in a world of complex emotions, unpredictability, and the unknown, logic has never failed him. Puzzles can always be solved and equations will always have an answer; he seeks and finds comfort in the steady absolution of facts and the knowledge that everything has a definition: an unchanging, consistent meaning. However, at age thirty-five he discovers the exception to all of his neat, tidy logic when he meets John Watson, the one person who evades definition and refuses to be easily categorized—and who makes Sherlock question his own previously unshakeable ideas about everything from life to love. (Apparently a WiP, but it feel complete enough, as the “last chapter” has been waiting for over 2 years)

Tease You Till You Come by phoenix089 (E, 6090 w., Ao3) - Initially, Sherlock was rather put out by John’s lack of presence on the case. But then he starts to recieve pictures, several of them, of an unexpected nature. The case is forgotten rather quickly after that.

Text Me When It’s Over by immaculately-flawed (K+, 1K+ w., FFnet) - After the fall Sherlock starts writing texts to John. Of course, he never sends them… Until he does by accident. Post Reichenbach fic but not angsty.

Texts and Tea by JillianWatson1058 (K, 959 w., ffnet) - A John who is woken up at 2:30 in the morning is not a happy John. Sherlock, frankly, doesn’t care. He just wants his tea.

Message Not Sent by Queerasil (K, 762 w. ffnet) - Sherlock texts John after the fall and during the hiatus. The messages are sent, but never received. Sequel to WORDLOCKED, TSTM, and Wait, How Do You Play This Game Again?

Iunctum by Fudgyokra (K, 221 w., FFNet) - He stood still for a long time, staring not so much at the words he’d been sent, but at the signature that marked them: A simple ‘SH,’ neatly tucked at the close of the words ‘I’ve missed you.’” A 221B ficlet; Sherlock’s return from the fall.

The Art Of Communication by StillWaters1 (T, 2K+ w., FFNet) - Lestrade was used to getting odd, non sequitur texts from Sherlock. But when “John went out for milk” was followed by a terse “two hours ago,” Lestrade immediately understood three things: John was missing, Sherlock was quietly panicking, and this could all end very, very badly.

LETTERS / EPISTOLARY

Letters by Jenna Flare (T, 2K+ w., FFNet) - John leaves letters on Sherlock’s grave as a method of coping. Sherlock reads them every week. Sherlock/John, John/Mary. T for swearing. Post-Reichenbach

Letters From Beyond by LittleBabeBlue (K, 637 w., FFNet) - A letter for John was found in Sherlock’s coat after he jumped. Post-Reichenbach.

Dear John by starwarsfreak95 (T, 601 w. FFNet) - Not all Dear John letters are bad. Sherlock tries to explain to John why he did what he did and how much John means to him.

Pen Pals by WerewolfDoctor (K, 2K w., FFNet) - Most people don’t become pen pals by one of them writing a not-suicide note. Then again, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson have never exactly been normal, have they?

In the Dark Hours by hubblegleeflower (E, 51,639 w., Ao3) - John, wounded and silent, drifts back to Baker Street for healing…and then goes home again. He visits, gets more upbeat, chattier, smiles, jokes… and still goes home again. Sherlock wants him to move back in - it just makes sense - but John shows no signs of doing so. This is the story of how John and Sherlock learn to say what needs to be said when they’re both so very, very rubbish at talking.

There’s Something Living in These Lines by teahigh (orphan_account) - (M, 4676 w., Ao3) - Two men, complete opposites in almost every way, who speak only in letters and pages torn from books.

Correspondence by Cleo2010 (T, 8031 w., Ao3) – Sherlock’s been spirited away on a case for Mycroft. Part of the deal was that he and John could communicate via letter until the case was completed. Maybe the cliche is true, absence does make the heart grow fonder. Or perhaps something is growing on the feet in the fridge. Read their letters month by month. Written after series one.

White Blank Page by SarahCat1717 (M, 11,936 w., Ao3) – Post-fall, Sherlock is off eliminating Moriarty’s crime web. He finds he misses John. He can’t divulge that he still lives, but he placates his need to communicate with John and still feel a connection with him by sending him blank letters. But over time, this writing exercise lends itself to Sherlock exploring his feelings for his friend. What will happen when Sherlock returns to London and the man he has been “writing” to regularly for the past two years? NOT S3 compliant. Mary who?

Get It All in Writing by aceofhearts61 (T, 2423 w., Ao3) – Sherlock and John write each other love notes. Part 8 of A Love with No Name

and stand there at the edge of my affection by coloredink (G, 2683 w., Ao3)

Winter of Life by You_Light_The_Sky (T, 5178 w., Ao3) – It was an experiment, really. On Christmas, Sherlock wrote to Santa asking for a friend. He got a broken toy soldier instead. This is the story of how he finds him again and again.

Dear John by wendymarlowe (E, 3 Parts, 30,802 w. Ao3) – With Sherlock dead, John eventually (under duress) makes a profile on an online dating site. And falls into a long-distance relationship with an enigmatic partner who reminds him of Sherlock in all the right ways. (Hint: it turns out to be Sherlock.)

BLOGS / SCRAPBOOKS / JOURNALS

The Case of the Vanishing Blog by Hekateras (K+, 2K+ w., FFNet) - Sherlock is in it for the hunt. John is in it for the action. Even so, the events at the Pool leave a mark on both, unwilling as they are to admit it.

One-Way Mirror by StormyNight108 (K+, 830 w. FFNet) - Post-Reichenbach one-shot. It’s been months since the incident, where a man lost his best friend. Slowly but surely, John’s life is starting to turn up a little. That night, his blog is updated to share good news to his followers, and one anonymous commentator is quick to share his happiness. It’s about as close to his friend as he can get right now.

Don’t Go Without Me by MirabileLectu (T, 1K+ w. FFNet) - Deep in the recesses of the cluttered space under John’s bed, far from the prying eyes of nosy landladies, there is a box.

To Sleep, Perchance to Smother Your Flatmate with a Pillow by Linpatootie (G, 5308 w., Ao3) - Sherlock wants to conduct a sleep study of sorts. John contemplates smothering him with a pillow. Part 1 of Two Coffees One Black One with Sugar Please

Journal of Truths by Goddess_of_the_Night (T, 2317 w., Ao3) - When John escorts Sherlock back to Baker Street from the tarmac, he discovers a journal that Sherlock has kept secret…that he has kept secrets in. What he sees when he opens it is nothing like what he expected. He expected scrawling notes of observations, or maths equations, or drawings of plants…anything but what he actually finds: confessions.

You fit me, Sherlock Holmes by orphan_account (G, 10,077 w., Ao3) – An unfortunate series of events leads to John accepting being a part of Sherlock’s study in physical intimacy. As the days pass by, John realizes he might be in for more than he bargained for. He doesn’t entirely mind.

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder by cypress_tree (E, 10,669 w., Ao3) – John helps Sherlock with an experiment: for an entire month, they are not allowed to touch each other and must remain at least one metre apart at all times.

The Great Sex Olympics of 221B by XistentialAngst (E, 58,611 w., Ao3) – John Watson thinks Sherlock Holmes should admit that he, Watson, is more of an expert on sex than Sherlock is. But Sherlock refuses to concede the point. He comes up with an experiment plan that will resolve the issue. The results will determine who wins the prize. But sometimes even the best thought-out scientific study has unexpected consequences.

POST-ITS / LISTS

I Believe In Sherlock Holmes by Cennis (K, 2+K w., FFNet) - When John came to Baker Street one Sunday about six months after the funeral and found an elegant wooden cane, expensive-looking yet sturdy, stuffed away in the shoe cupboard, he began ‘blogging’ again. It began with post-it notes. POST-FALL.

In case of emergency by AlessNox (K, 520 w., FFNet) - Sherlock is charged with making a list of what supplies they would need in case of an emergency.

The Three-Word Tin Collection by TheBookshelfDweller (K, 1K+ w., FFNet) - What happens when Sherlock has to store the things he wants to say to John while deconstructing Moriarty’s web, but the Mind palace proves an inadequate place to store them?

206 Reasons by whitchry9 (K+, 1K+, FFNet) - John won’t wake up, so Sherlock lists all the reasons why he should. Because he appears to be a bit besotted. How inconvenient.

Because Blah Blah Blah Happy by cwb (E, 4,578 w., Ao3) – John is entirely done with the milk situation and gives Sherlock a list of shit he’s pissed about. Sherlock sets out to make John happy. John is happy. Sherlock makes his own list. They are both very, very happy.

The Trouble With Being Subtle. by VictoryCandescence (NR, 5429 w., Ao3) - In which Sherlock experiments, John misinterprets, and everyone else stands back and waits for the light to turn on.

The Importance of Torn Papers by MyLittleCornerOfSherlock (G, 2427 w., Ao3) – Little things make a big difference, even little notes of thanks. Small reminders to show he cares.

Our Enthusiasms Which Cannot Always Be Explained by withoutawish (M, 32,961 w., Ao3) – The list that is tacked haphazardly on the refrigerator of 221B reads, ‘Kidney(s), and/or a full cadaver (preferably male, late 30s, under six feet tall), bag of fresh toes, sixteen cow’s eyes (corneas retained), dual exhaust hand –held flame thrower, an unopened first edition copy of Joseph Conrad’s 'Heart of Darkness’, and no less than ten abhorrently gruesome murders in the upcoming month.” The one neatly hanging next to it simply reads, “Sex.” One of these lists is not John Watson’s. If John Watson were to put what he really wanted in list form, to live in a land somewhere beyond ‘almosts’ now that Sherlock Holmes has indeed returned to him, he would never be able to look his flatmate in the eye ever again.

See Recipe for Details by pandoras_chaos (E, 4,981, Ao3) – John knows Sherlock’s mouth will never water over the sweet smells of baking chocolate biscuits or a lovely roast chicken, but he’s watched Sherlock nick mince pies out of Mrs. Hudson’s fridge often enough to deduce that the man does have taste, albeit confusing and obscure.So John makes a list: Things Sherlock Likes

And I have a few on my Marked For Later List which also have this theme. I HAVE NOT READ THEM, so I don’t know what they are like; I was waiting for them to finish before I do. As well, Alexx has a tonne of lists you can check out too!

The Pieces That Fall to Earth by Itsallfine (T, WIP, Ao3) - John and Sherlock have hit rock bottom, but with all their armor stripped away, they can finally speak honestly and find the truths that matter most.

Letters from Sussex by sussexbound (E, 3 Parts, 160,298 w., Ao3) – In the wake of the Mary/Moriarty affair, John and Sherlock have fallen out, and are living apart. But Sherlock isn’t content with this state of affairs–not one bit. He’s tired of dancing around the obvious.

A Small Drop of Ink, Falling by la_novatrice (fleurs_du_mol) (M, 4019 w. Ao3) – John starts keeping a notebook about Sherlock, for Sherlock to read. This is a small look into it.

Alexxphonix42′s Fic Rec List: Epistolary

Alexxphonix42′s Fic Rec List: Journals

Alexxphonix42′s Fic Rec List: Sexting and Texting

Alexxphonix42′s Fic Rec List: Wrong Number Texting

Alexxphonix42′s Fic Rec List: Met Online or Texting

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Without a Mark

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Summary:  Edge didn't really need an alarm but he certainly didn't mind being woken up another way.

Tags: NSFW, Morning Sex, Respectful Consent, Established Relationship, Possessiveness 

Series: By Any Other Name, Stocking Stuffer shorts

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Read More Below!

~~*~~

The alarm going off early in the morning was very familiar to Edge. Five-thirty am, no matter what time he’d gone to bed. He’d never needed as much sleep as his brother, or Stretch for that matter.

To be perfectly honest, he hardly needed the alarm. He would be awake even without it no matter the day or the time of year, whether the sky was wintry black or starting to show the deep purples of sunrise. This morning his alarm went off and Edge rose with it, perfectly familiar. The slim arm that wrapped around him as he turned it off, holding him in bed, was not.

“don’t get up yet,” Stretch murmured. His voice was still languid with sleep.

Edge sank back down, intrigued and willing to skip his morning run if Stretch had something interesting in mind. He wasn’t often awake when Edge got up and it was best to take advantage of it when he was.

To his surprise, Stretch pushed the blankets down, leaving himself bare bones and Edge in his pajamas. Wordlessly, he shifted to straddle Edge’s back, a hand between his scapulas urging him to stay down.

Edge struggled not to tense. This was different than their normal. Stretch's light weight was always welcome in his arms and lap. He'd never had it pinning him down before and it left him feeling uncomfortably vulnerable.

"Wait," Edge said low, and Stretch went still. He started to slide back off and Edge reached aback and caught one of his femurs to stop him. "No, don't move. Give me a moment."

Stretch stayed where he was. The warmth of his hands was starting to bleed through the thin material of Edge's pajama shirt, each finger-bone a delicate line of heat where they rested on his ribcage.

He focused on that. Edge loved Stretch's hands, the long, slender bones were pale ivory, marred only by a yellowed stain between two fingers left by his cigarettes.

His own bones were rough, scarred. It would be more difficult to find a bone that he hadn't broken. Stretch never seemed to mind, he stroked over the smoother bone the same as the scars, not lingering in any appreciable way. Those hands were always eager to touch him, to clutch at him, to cup his jaw, his skull, and now, to rest gently against him as he waited.

“All right,” Edge sighed at last. His own hands were gripped together beneath the pillow, but he still managed to close his sockets and focus on the careful movement of Stretch’s fingertips over him.

His pajama shirt was thin flannel. It was warm against the coolness of the room at night but no protection whatsoever against Stretch’s touch. Following the long curve of his ribs as far as they could before returning to his spine, the pressure increasing until Edge had to stifle a low moan into his pillow.

He rarely gave Stretch the opportunity to do anything like this; his own eagerness to touch often overshadowed Stretch’s amicable laziness. Perhaps he should allow it more often. Stretch’s hands moved cleverly, gripping his lower spine through his shirt with tantalizing skill.

His weight eased as Stretch moved lower, his knees on either side of Edge’s femurs. He never delved beneath clothing. Those slim fingers found sensitive places through fabric knowingly, the sensation teasingly blunted as they wandered over his pelvis, his iliac crests, the nodule of his coccyx.

Stretch shifted behind him and his weight was suddenly heavier, all down the length of Edge’s back. There was a telltale firmness against his pelvis through the back of his pajama pants. Slowly, Stretch moved against him, one hard drag of the shaft against his sacrum, then he paused.

"is this all right?" Stretch whispered. He was close enough that his teeth scraped the side of Edge’s skull when he spoke.

"Yes," Edge husked out. The rock of Stretch's pelvis against his own pushed his hips against the mattress. Edge was already hard, his magic had pooled down in his pelvic girdle the moment Stretch started touching him. The burn of friction from his pants against his cock was almost painful, unlike the softness of Stretch’s cunt or mouth. Strange and enticing, and Edge canted his hips, the angle increasing the pressure.

The rhythmic grunts breathed against his skull as Stretch thrust against him spoke of his pleasure, low and eager, despite the layer of cloth between them or perhaps because of it. Edge couldn’t say what was driving his husband, didn’t know why he was intent on rutting against him like this. He didn’t care; if Stretch wanted this, he was more than willing to give it to him.

The movement of his hips sped up, blunt fingertips digging in to Edge’s hip bones. That faint pinch of pain made him inhale sharply, letting it out as a moan as Stretch shuddered against him, his own breath hissing between his teeth and Edge could feel the wet blurts of heat falling across his sacrum and lumbar vertebrae, soaking into the thin material.

It may well be perverse that it was the feeling of Stretch’s come falling over him that tipped him into his own orgasm. If so, Stretch didn’t seem to mind; his fingers were dragging lazily through the wet streaks with obscene approval.

“there we are,” Stretch said thickly. His voice was blurred with satisfaction.

Edge turned his head enough to look up at him. His own satiation was colored with curiosity. “Is that what you wanted? To come all over me?”

A flush of orange rose in Stretch’s cheekbones, but he didn’t look away. “yeah, i did. problem?”

“Not if you’re going to allow me to shower before I go to work.”

To his bemused delight, that flush of color heightened and Stretch flicked his tongue over his teeth nervously. “can you wait a little longer?”

Edge only looked at him for a long moment, letting that bright flush linger, before saying, “Of course.”

The quiet sigh of relief that Stretch exhaled brought up questions that Edge wasn’t going to ask, not right now. Not with Stretch shifting them to spoon up behind him, heedless of the mess on the clothes and sheets.

If Stretch had the occasional urge to mark him in a more visceral manner than their rings, Edge certainly didn’t mind, particularly if he was willing to return the favor. He closed his sockets, absently tracking the time until he needed to get out of bed even as he pictured it, the stark crimson of his own magic on Stretch’s pale bones.

Something to look forward to for tonight.

-finis-

You can read more of this series on the Masterlist:

keelywolfe.tumblr.com/post/178224395713/masterlist-by-any-other-name