#here we see hunter looking HEALTHY for once. it's only been a few weeks but he is actually eating and hydrating regularly

[befuddled-calico-whump]

"I don't know what you're talking about."

previous // (T$$ AU Masterlist) //

[random-bi-writer]

Why I Think Ollie’s personality is different from Molly’s.

So apperantly people think that Ollie doesn’t have a character and think that he’s too similar to Molly, which made me really confused because Ollie seems way too different from Molly.

But then I realized that perspectives are really different and not everyone immidieatley sees the bigger picture like I do.

So here’s what I see and I’ll try to see why you guys think you see. This might be long. (I might include, how this affects their relationship as well.)

First off, I’m listing all the important similarities that Ollie and Molly have. (If I miss something, tell me.)

1) They’re both “Good” = Starting with the most obvious, Molly is a moral compass character and Ollie is a dork who also likes to help people.

2) Their families move a lot = Although the reasons are very different; the McGee’s have to move because of Pete’s job while the Chens move because of their ghosthunting business. (This will be important later.)

3) They’re both lonely = Molly clearly has attachment issues and there are implications that Ollie was bullied because his family are ghost hunters. (This will also be important later.)

These are all the similarities I could see, now I’m starting why I think they’re different.

Now, from what I’m understanding; people decide what your personality is from what they see you do and not include everything that involves about you.

So one of my teachers made us learn what shapes your personality and some of those were: Family and Past Experience.

And let me tell you, these alone makes Ollie and Molly very different.

The way they are raised affects their choices and mental health.

Ollie’s family moves around to hunt ghosts, and that’s only because Ruben was attacked by one.

And since neither Ollie and June seem emberassed by their situation, it’s very likely that the Chens met a ghost and double-killed.

Plus it looks like all of the ghosts they met were really bad;

There is no way this guy didn’t at least got attacked by a ghost as well, especially since he looks like he hates them more than his dad. (Might changed once we get more Chens episodes.)

Now this already affects Ollie’s morality; he wants to help people and make the world a better place, but he’s not going to hesitate to hurt someone.

Meanwhile, there’s Molly.

Pete’s job makes them move a lot.

We don’t know how much the Chens move, but Ollie only listed like 4 or 5 places. Meanwhile Molly has been in...23 places before moving in Brighton. (Yes, I counted and jesus christ.)

Considering how old Molly is; this can really affect her mental health. Because while Ollie can stay in one town for years before moving, for Molly it would weeks and months before moving into another town.

So it makes sense that Molly has attachment issues while Oliver doesn’t.

There’s also the fact that Molly can be very observant and might pick up a few bad habits as a child.

Now I’m not saying that Pete and Sharon are bad parents, they’re great parents really.

But you have to admit that they do not have the best mental health.

Pete has a hard time standing up for himself and has really low self eesteem while Sharon is a bit of an overachiever.

Molly was bound to inherit some traits from them and she ends up having Pete’s tendecy to lie to make someone feel better and Sharon’s anxiety.

Like I said, Molly can be very observant. She’s bound to notice how stressed her parents can be and does everything she can to make all of her family happy. (Evidence in It’s Always Sunny in Sunnyland)

So their home situations; Oliver is likely traumatized but has a healthy relationship with his family while Molly does have a healthy relationship with her family, she also feels like has to be the most reponsible out of all of them.

And this doens’t even cover about their peers.

There were implications that Ollie gets bullied for being a ghost hunter, but if you watch “Wanna Dance with Some-Ollie” it also shows that some of his peers like him. So there’s a chance that outside ghosthunting; people like Ollie for who he is.

Molly on the other hand, there are several implications that Molly’s previous classmates did not like her.

“You did the too friendly thing again.”

Molly is desperate to make friends, her eagerness can make a lot of people uncomfortable, which leads to classmates trying to ignore her.

And assuming why Molly wants a real human friend; the people Molly did befriended with cut ties with her as soon as she leaves the town.

Thanks to the episode, “A Faint of Art”, it’s implied that Molly does not feel perfect. And we’ve seen her try to change herself a lot of times for the benefit of others.

So...from what I can see;

Ollie is a confident, dorky boy who gets bullied from being in a ghosthunting family who doesn’t hesitate to hurt the dead and will do anything to help people.

Molly is a secretly insecure girl who doesn’t want to be alone and will do anything to make everyone smile.

[five-rivers]

Home

The building that housed Fentonworks had never been normal, no matter what neighbors and real estate agents might profess.

Things had happened there. Deaths. Wild twists of fate and shocking coincidences. People who lived there heard noises, saw things, felt things. Experienced sicknesses with no cause. Were cured of sicknesses without cause. Survived things that should have killed them.

It was a thin spot between worlds. Reality was a rippling membrane, frayed enough for things to shine through.

The construction of the neighborhood itself had been… strange. It happened much faster than it should have, as if there was a whole extra shift of workers on the project.

The townhouse that would one day become Fentonworks had stood out even in that mystery. Extra rooms, a basement deep enough to cause a nasty fight with regulators, features not approved by the architect.

It was a wonder they hadn’t hit any of the water lines or the sewage systems. A wonder- and an impossibility. So, the matter was ignored and dropped.

Then the next owners expanded that impossible basement, building another, secret basement and putting things in the walls- They were criminals, of course. It was expected for them to do illegal things. (Although exactly what they had done was… oddly uncertain.)

(Drugs, perhaps.)

Then, the lunatics. Then, the tiny cult that collapsed in on itself. Then the empty years, dozens of transient ghosts trying and failing to pass through, and the ghost hunters. So many ghost hunters, none of them particularly successful.

Then, the Fentons.

Then, little Jazz.

Then, little Danny.

Danny with wide eyes that saw too much.

And all the horrors that the Fentons could dream up, from living hotdogs to weapons that burned like stars and doors to places that should not be visited.

And this was Danny Fenton’s home.

.

The Manson estate was an odd case, even for Amity Park. Save for the basement, the entire building they lived in had been transplanted, brick and beam, from Germany.

Rich people were bizarre.

Even the Mansons couldn’t explain it. The man who had done it hadn’t been a Manson. The Mansons, who were relatively new money, all things considered, had purchased it from one of the man’s children. Anything to boost their prestige.

It was fancy, and it was old, a gothic and statuesque mansion worthy of its name. Still, it wasn’t quite fancy or old enough to merit the kind of expenditure moving it had to take.

Hence the rumors, squelched by the Mansons, that the place was haunted.

It wasn’t.

The rumors, however, were enough to get one Samantha Manson interested in the occult. Especially given how hard she saw her parents working to hide the rumors from her.

No. The mansion wasn’t haunted. For all it’s oddities and quirks – which only multiplied as the Mansons added more and more features to it – the building itself was mundane.

(The land it was built on might have been another story.)

And this was Sam Manson’s home.

.

The Foleys didn’t want to know what Tucker got up to in the attic, but liked to think that, with that one exception, their home was a nice one. It was on a nice street, in a nice neighborhood, just far enough away from Fentonworks to keep both sightings of the Ghost Assault Vehicle and resultant property damage and property taxes to a minimum. Within walking distance of the high school, a supermarket, and a park.

They kept the fridge and pantry stocked. Their food might not have always been healthy – red meat was an element of almost every meal – but it was always available and filling. They made an effort for the dietary restrictions of Tucker’s friends of course.

All the rooms were kept clean and neat. Even Tucker’s, by way of bribes. Everything was organized, everything had its place. Except, perhaps, for the stray shoe or piece of schoolwork.

But that attic.

It really hadn’t been anything, before Tucker asked if he could move his computer stuff up there. Just a storage space, one too difficult for either Angela or Maurice to climb up there often. They didn’t consider themselves old, but they couldn’t call themselves young either. Not with a son Tucker’s age.

Once Tucker had realized the attic was there, he had been fascinated. And, well, once he was old enough for them to not worry about him falling off the ladder, they let him go up.

Some days, it seemed, he didn’t come down.

Better than his faintly disturbing Ancient Egypt phase, where he kept bringing pictures of mummified corpses to the table. Or, worse, the werewolf phase.

And this was Tucker Foley’s home.

.

Amity Park had claimed the distinction of ‘most haunted town in America’ long before the Fentons opened their portal. In fact, that was the reason the Fentons had set up shop there, in the first place.

No haunted town was complete without at least one haunted house. Amity Park had several. Not to mention a haunted hospital, a selection of haunted schools, a haunted museum, a haunted pool, a haunted crosswalk, a haunted mall, a haunted football field… The list went on, essentially ad nauseum.

Of course, that list mostly consisted of places that became haunted after the Fentons built their portal. But even before then, some places offered their dubious charms to tourists.

Mostly gullible ones. More than half of the claims of hauntings before the portal opened were fraudulent in their entirety. These places quickly went broke and got abandoned when real ghosts started showing up.

One of these was the ominously named Raven House, which stood in the hills on the west edge of town.

The story the tourists of years gone by had been told was that a widower had lived out here, all by himself and that one day, he stopped coming to town, or paying his bills, or even getting his mail. When the mailbox at the end of the long driveway was full, the mailman decided to go check on the widower. What he found was a flock of ravens and a skeleton, entirely picked clean of flesh.

No such death had occurred there, nor in any part of Amity. No such person had ever lived in the house, either. The last owners, before the company that decided to market the house as haunted, were a couple with two children.

It wasn’t until months after the portal started up that it became haunted in truth.

.

���This place isn’t haunted,” said Danny, panning his flashlight over cobwebbed corners on the ceiling. “I don’t think it ever was.”

“That’s what, strike five?” asked Sam.

Danny shrugged. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Four, actually,” said Tucker. “We counted the hospital as inconclusive, since we don’t know if anyone was there before Spectra.”

Danny nodded. “It’s weird, though, isn’t it? That no one lives here, I mean. It looks like a perfectly nice house.”

“Décor’s a bit… eh. Trying to hard to be haunted,” said Tucker, poking a raven decal on the wallpaper.

“I like it,” said Sam. “Needs cleaning, though.”

“Hey,” said Tucker, “you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking, are you? Because I’m pretty sure that’d be illegal.”

“It isn’t as if anyone else is using the place,” argued Sam. “It could be a great backup hideout, if we ever had to… you know.” She glanced at Danny. “Plus, we’d be doing them a favor, really, keeping things clean and lived in.”

“I think it’s an okay idea,” said Danny.

“Yeah, but you think lots of dumb things are good ideas. Like showing up at a party hosted by people who publicly humiliate you on a regular basis.”

Danny grumbled something about trauma responses that sounded like a direct quote from Jazz and something else about that incident being ages (aka weeks) ago. Then, he brightened.

“We could get one of the little ectoplasm generators to power everything,” he said. “Remember all that stuff we lifted from Skulker and Technus? We could actually use it. Study and test things without worrying about whether our parents will walk in. I mean, your attic is great, but still.”

“Plus, we can have actual lab safety protocols. No offense, Danny.”

“I am the one that half-died in a lab accident, so… None taken.”

Tucker rubbed his chin. “Alright. I suppose I can see the appeal… But if we have stuff that can trace back to us, we could get in serious trouble."

“We’ll be careful, then,” said Sam.

“Anything I take from Mom and Dad has plausible deniability. They’ll assume ghosts stole it.”

“We also need to clean if we’re being serious about this. And get a fridge. And figure out the pluming situation.”

“Fridge is on the list. We have to be careful about the outside, too. If this place is suddenly well maintained, people will notice.”

“Sure, but that isn’t something they’d call the cops over,” said Danny. “They’ll just assume new people are moving in. If anyone sees it at all. We’re pretty far away from anything. But pluming won’t be too hard. We just need to bring our own water. Like, toilets flush using physics. If you dump more water in, they’ll go, no electricity required.”

“How do you know that?”

“I can’t even tell you how many time Mom and Dad blew out all our breakers with stuff in the lab,” said Danny. “You pick up a few things.”

“Well,” said Tucker, swinging his flashlight over to examine a discolored spot on the ceiling. “Then… Home sweet home, I suppose.”

.

There was a house in the hills in the west hills of Amity Park.

And this was the home of two and a half humans and half a ghost.

[that-one-weeb-but-starwars]

Asks: How about some Wrecker Fluff?

Y/N is on her period. She tries to hide the fact from the boys but Hunter can smell it and Tech knows because of his useless facts. Clones probably aren't taught much about the female anatomy as it's not "important" for a Soldier. Wrecker knows something's wrong and after Y/N explains the issue, he ends up bringing her stuff like chocolate and cuddling to make her feel better. Bonus points if she ends up losing her crap on a whole bunch of baddies. Whether it's Droids, bounty hunter, or something else.

I think this is cute- so Ima do it

Strong Muscles Stronger Gut| Wrecker

"Are you. Um..." Hunter spoke.

The two stood in the hanger, both alone.

"What?" Y/n asked.

"You uh...smell...stronger"

"I what!?"

"I mean! Well! You smell...diffrent." Hunter tried to explain, "You do atleast once a month for a week. Are you okay?"

Y/n rubbed her temples- oh so she had to have this talk.

"Yes. Im fine." Y/n spoke, "its a girl thing."

"A. Girl thing?"

"Yeah." Y/n spoke, "Every girl gets- well most, usually around pre teens."

"Its important then?" Hunter asked, "I uh. Know she won't want to go to me about it. She might. I- I don't know-"

Hunter started to ramble, mixing up his words with uhs and ums. He was talking about Omega.

"Can. Uh. You explain it to me? I know it affects you. I just...wanna be there for her you know?"

Y/n nodded, she had explained periods before to boys- men- young girls that were sobbing in the bathroom confused.

Y/n explained what was happening to her body, and what essentially Omega would go through. She told him- everything- spilled all the beans. Y/n had offered to show how much periods really hurt and he agreed saying "its only fair so I understand"

Y/n held his shoulder, he growing increasingly worried.

"What are they doing?" Wrecker asked as he watched them from a far.

Tech looked up from his work, Y/n holding and apologetic face as she then proceeded to slander his guts, kneeing his stomach as hard as possible.

Hunter doubled over letting out a spew of Mando as he went down.

"Yeah thats about a quarter of the pain. But it depends on each girl." Y/n told him, as he was slolwy getting up.

"Remind me never to call you weak even if we are just messing around." Hunter spoke Y/n holding his shoulder.

"Sorry about that..."

"Oh." Tech spoke understanding what was happening, "Y/n must be busy this week then."

"Busy?" Wrecker asked looking at the two, Y/n now in pain as she held Hunter's shoulder leaning over holding her stomach.

"Right now?! You didnt even do anything?!" Hunter complained.

"E-excatly- fuck! Fuck fuck! Ow..."

"Is she okay?" Wrecker asked Tech.

"It will go away- soon- unless. How many days has it been since mid week?"

"Uh..." Wrecker spoke, "three?"

"Makes sense." Tech spoke, "she has most of her pains three days in."

"Three days in of what?" Wrecker spoke.

"Menstruation." Tech spoke, "hand me the-"

Wrecker handed him a tool, "no not- oh yes this one thank you."

"What's Menstruation?" Wrecker asked.

"When a women, in this case, our lovely brutally honest Medic, Y/n." Tech infromed, "is going through a cycle once of month..."

Tech contuined to ramble- Wrecker. Well Wrecker didnt process one piece of information Tech was saying.

"What?" Wrecker asked.

Tech sighed looking back at Wrecker, "she bleeds and has cramps."

"Why is she bleeding? Did she get hurt?"

"Wrecker-"

"Is she okay-"

"Yes-"

"Then why is she-"

"Wrecker!" Tech stopped him, "her monthly bleeding means she's healthy, shes fine. Sure she is emmense discomfort and I certainly hate to see our sister like such, but thats what makes her strong- well also the fact that she can- at any momment be with child, carry the damn thing for almost a year give birth and take a squadron of droids down with just one blaster."

Tech looked back at Wrecker who still looked confused out his mind as Tech sighed, "You know somethings wrong?"

"Yeah." Wrecker answered.

"Go ask her."

"Good idea!"

Wrecker made his way over to Y/n and Hunter the pain Y/n was mild now, she could deal with it.

"Wrecker." They both greeted.

"H-hi."

Y/n looked at him worriedly, "something on your mind?"

"Can. I talk to you?" Wrecker asked, "alone?"

Y/n looked at Hunter, "I'll leave you to it." Hunter responded and left.

Y/n looked up at Wrecker worried, "Wrecker? Hun? What's wrong you look worried?"

"Tech says you're bleeding." Wrecker tried to explain.

"I'm bleeding?" Y/n asked- oh- oh here we go again.

"Y-yeah.." Wrecker spoke rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, "and I. Don't really ever understand what comes out of Tech's mouth....unfortunately...and I saw you in pain for the last three days. I just- are you okay?"

Y/n smiled at Wrecker, "Im fine."

"Oh. Oh good." He spoke, not seeming fully satisfied with what she had said, "but uh. Why are you bleeding? Can I stop- We stop you from bleeding?"

"Please I wish you could." Y/n spoke with a light chuckle, "No Wrecker, see women once a month go through a cycle, it unfortunately makes you bleed like you're birthing hell out of your guts but is one of the ways we stay healthy."

"Oh." Wrecker spoke, "so. You bleed to stay healthy? When I bleed Tech's always poking me with needles."

"Well... yes and no. The cycle once a month helps get rid of an egg- well its called an egg, but Im not a chicken alright?" Y/n explained.

Wrecker sat and listened intently to her, something that wasn't really common when learning about what would be considered a random thing to him.

Y/n was pretty impressed by him to say the least. She had never seen him so focused, and it was honestly kind of cute.

"But boys or men don't have it." Y/n told him.

"That doesnt seem fair! Why do you have to suffer?" Wrecker argued as Y/n shrugged with a laugh.

"You tell me." She smiled.

It went silent as he thought intently, "well nothing can make you feel better? While your on your period?"

"Well because of War I've been so busy with fighting That I've only used heat packs and compresses. Usually I just have to fight through it." Y/n spoke, "but I've heard of alot of women saying like affection makes them feel better."

Wrecker hummed in thought, "Hey! Wrecker! Y/n!" Omega called.

The two turning there heads seeing the girl across the hanger with the others.

"We're going to a Cantina for dinner! Come on!"

"Come on Wrecker." Y/n spoke.

They met up with the rest of the group, walking to the Cantina with as usual happy Omega. They sat down for dinner as usual. Talking back and forth with smiles. Wrecker would frown though everytime Y/n winced, closing her eyes taking deep breaths. She was obviously in pain.

"Can I leave earlier?" Wrecker asked.

"Uh, sure?" Hunter asked as Wrecker got up.

"Can I come?!" Omega asked.

"Oh. Uh..." Wrecker spoke, "not this time...sorry Omega."

"Oh." Omega frowned, "Okay then! I'll see you later!"

Wrecker left the group who was relaxing.

"Odd." Tech spoke, "Wrecker always likes to take Omega."

"Maybe he's found a girl." Y/n recommend leaning back and drinking her water.

"I doubt that." Echo spoke, "thats not him"

"Maybe he just wants to go back and sleep?"

"Now that sounds like Wrecker." Hunter admitted.

Y/n shrugged, the group talking casually. Until some bounty hunters came up to them.

"Well hello Doll."

Y/n only contained her arguement about physics with tech.

"Whats a princess like you doing hanging around a few clones?" The man spoke with a purr.

"Call me princess again and you'll have no cock."

The men laughed as the batchers kept quiet, it was bad to mess with her in one of her moods.

"Oh come on Princess. Whats a small fry like you gonna do?"

Y/n quickly grabbed her pistol from her tigh, aiming it at the guys head.

"I warned you didn't I?"

"W-woah now put the-"

She aimed the gun down shooting the man right in the Kenobis.

"FUCK! SHE SHOT ME IN THE DICK!"

"I fucking warned you!" Y/n argued.

"What the hell!" His friends shouted.

Y/n lifted the gun up, "It may just be on electric shock but I will turn it to live ammo!"

"You bitch!"

Y/n growled as they came at her, Y/n grabbing a bottle on the table smashing it against of there heads as they fell to the floor. The third ramming Y/n into the table as he pulled out a knife, Y/n reaching back grabbing a fork and stabbing the man in the shoulder.

He cried out in pain as he fell to the floor.

The group left the cantina after paying, no bystander daring to make a comment. The group returning to the Havoc Maurder.

"Wrecker! Wrecker! You should of been there!" Omega cheered rushing inside to find the large batcher.

Y/n rubbed her stomach in pain, "still bad?' Echo asked.

"Just a bit yeah..." she groaned.

"I can see if we have any heat patches" Echo spoke as Y/n nodded in thanks, the group walking in.

Omega came back out, "Y/n Wrecker wants you in the bunks."

Y/n nodded, Echo handing her a heat patch.

"Thanks."

Opening it with her teeth she walked towards Wrecker and her's shared bunk.

"Yeah Wrecker? Omega said-" She stood seeing Lula on her bed and a large paper bag.

"Hey!" He cheered holding lots of blankets in his hands and in his blacks.

"Hi." She spoke, "whats up?"

"Oh well I heard about the fight." Wrecker spoke, "and uh. I know you've been in pain for a few days so this is to make you feel better!"

Y/n cocked an eyebrow up still confused, Wrecker wrapping her in one of the blankets as she held it so it stayed in place.

"What in the bag?"

"Well me and Omega always go get sweets and it makes us feel good so..."

Y/n walked over seeing the mass amount of choclate bars,

"I bought a few." Wrecker spoke.

A few? More like a whole isle.

"And thought made you'd want a hug." Wrecker recommend, climbing into the bottom bunk, it was often they shared a bunk.

"Oh." Y/n spoke, "uh. Are you sure? I don't wanna...you know bleed on you by accident."

"You've bleed on me on the battle feild how is this any different?" Wrecker spoke with a smile.

Y/n chuckled, only Wrecker.

Wrecker had wrapped a blanket around him waiting with open arms to Y/n. Y/n smiled making her way into his arms, her blanket wrapped around her and his, Wrecker pulling another blanket over them. She smiled head in Wrecker's chest. He rubbed the middle of her back as she hummed in pleasure, her head barried into his warmth.

"Your like a heater..." she spoke muffled as he chuckled, rubbing up and down her spine.

"Do I ever tell you how much I love you?" Y/n purred, "especially your back rubs..."

He kissed her head as she smiled.

"Thank you Wrecker." Y/n told him.

"Anything for you, after all. Your always making sure we're all okay."

[hrina]

The Thrill of the Chase, Pt. I

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 3.6k REQUESTED: no

hi! it’s been a while since i’ve posted something on here lol, i wonder if anyone still remembers me 🤕

this is PART 1 of the hunter!AU that i’ve been writing. while the story is a patreon-exclusive, my patrons gave me permission to post the first chapter here on tumblr for anyone who’s curious about the kind of content i offer on patreon. 

if you want to read the rest of this series and unlock access to my other exclusive work, you can sign up for my patreon here. and as always, please reblog the fics you like and leave feedback for the authors, because we pour a lot of time and effort into our stories. happy reading 💌

~*~

Harry’s life is simple.

He performs only the essentials—wakes up and eats an apple for breakfast. Drizzles some lemon juice into his flask of water to keep his teeth healthy and clean. Shrugs on a few heavy furs. Lets Magnus outside to keep him from howling and pawing at the door. Sharpens his arrows. Knocks on the threshold of the cabin once for good luck. Goes hunting.

Upon returning, he crouches next to the firepit, laying out his kills and skinning them. He cooks one for himself—something small, like a squirrel, or a rabbit. Others, he saves for the market—fox, deer, coyote, boar. The pelts, tusks, and antlers are extremely sought-after (particularly by nobles), and often earn enough coin to carry him through the rest of the week.

He doesn’t entertain visitors, because who in their right mind would trek up the side of a mountain just to seek out one lonely hunter? Despite that, he’s come to appreciate his solitude. The silence is familiar—comfortable. Besides, Magnus proves both excellent and useful company, if the sheer volume of their kills offers any indication.

A simple life for a simple man.

Harry doesn’t need anyone else.

“Ready to go, mutt?”

He scratches behind Magnus’ droopy ears. One of the hound’s hindlegs thumps frantically in response. Harry chuckles, slinging his bow over his right shoulder and pulling open the cabin door.

“Come on, then.”

The sky is a dark, cloudy grey, and the smell of oncoming rain is unmistakable. Still, the two of them persevere, ducking past the trees at the edge of the clearing.

It’s a bad day to hunt.

With the threat of a storm looming just above the canopy, the animals have forgone their typical foraging patterns in favour of taking shelter. Harry only manages to kill a rabbit, and even then, it’s a messy shot. He usually gets them right through the eye—a quick, neat splice that results in minimal suffering. This time, however, his foot slips on a damp stone; he fumbles, and the arrow buries itself into the creature’s stomach.

“Fuck.”

The rabbit is still alive when he reaches it, its furry body heaving with shaky, uneven breaths. Harry kneels down, apologising quietly. His hand finds the scabbard strapped to his waist, and he draws a silver dagger from its depths.

He slits the poor hare’s throat just as rain begins to fall.

It’s easy work, after that. He pins the animal’s fluffy forelimbs together, tying them in place with thick, coarse rope. Magnus whimpers as Harry slides the creature’s limp body over his shoulder. He shoots the hound a tired look and shakes his head. Damp brown curls stick to his temples.

“Think that’s enough for today.”

The two of them have nearly made it back home—Harry’s boots squelch as he jumps over the small creek that flows close to the clearing—when Magnus perks up, lifting his snout and sniffing the air.

“What is it, mutt?” Harry asks.

Magnus releases a loud bark and takes off in the direction of the cabin. Harry sprints after him, one hand clutching his game while the other wraps around the leather grip of his bow.

“Magnus!” he yells.

The dog skids to a stop next to the wide trunk of a tree. He barks again and wags his tail feverishly.

Harry releases his bow, approaching with slow, cautious steps.

“What’s got you so—shit.”

You’re slumped in the mud, unconscious. Harry’s gaze rakes over your form, from your tattered blue gown to the leaves and twigs tangled in your hair. There are a few cuts littered across your face, arms, and chest. Rivulets of blood trickle down your wrist, spiderwebbing across your skin.

Magnus sticks his tongue out and pants.

“Good boy,” Harry mutters, bestowing a rugged caress atop the hound’s head.

He gathers you into his arms, paying no mind to the extra weight of your sodden dress. Your neck lolls over his bicep, sternum rising and falling with shallow, barely-there breaths. Harry carries you out of the forest and into the clearing. When he kicks open the cabin door, your eyelids flutter.

“Bear?” you mumble, lifting your head slightly. Your voice is grating, hoarse.

He looks at you. Your face contorts for only a moment before you slouch back into oblivion.

He sets you down onto the thick, woven rug splayed out in front of the hearth. He works quickly, shrugging off his furs and his game and discarding all of it without a second thought. Rain thrums against the roof, but the sound is lost amidst his heavy footsteps.

He hurries into his bedroom and pulls open the top drawer of his wooden dresser, fumbling for a glass jar and a spool of bandages. When his fingers finally make contact with the desired supplies, he darts back into the other room and kneels beside your motionless body.

He draws his dagger again, gripping the intricate material of your gown and slicing through it. Your corset proves far more challenging, practically embedded into your skin. He sets his knife aside, not willing to risk it. Instead, he hooks his fingers beneath the top of the girdle, rough knuckles brushing against your soft bosom. With a mighty tug, the structured fabric splits under his palms.

He screws open the lid on the jar and dips his thumb inside. The salve is sticky, viscous, and smells faintly of lavender. He smears it across your scrapes before inspecting your wrist.

The flesh is slashed and bloodied—how did you acquire such an injury? Canines? Claws? Harry uses the frayed edges of your dress to clean the mess. He then unwinds a few bindings from their roll, expertly bandaging your wound.

Once he’s finished, he sits back on his haunches, expelling a stale breath. His work is far from over—he needs to wash you, to scrub off all the dirt and grime staining your skin. He’ll go down to the creek with a cloth, he thinks, and saturate it with cool water. He’ll pick the leaves and branches out of your hair, and cover you in spare furs to keep you warm. He’ll prepare a hot meal so that you may eat when you wake. You’ll be ravenous, certainly.

These thoughts whirl around in his head, along with the realisation that you might expire here, lying on an old rug in the middle of a stranger’s secluded home. Still, he watches your chest rise, swelling with proof of your vitality. The sight puts him at ease.

Harry aims a cursory glance over his shoulder. Magnus is stationed at the door, wet snout resting on the ground. The dog gazes at your limp body with big, solemn eyes, as though he somehow understands the severity of the situation.

“Don’t worry, mutt,” Harry tells him, knees shuffling against the floor. “I won’t let her die.”

~*~

Three days pass.

Harry curtails the duration of his hunts. He kills only the essentials: a hare or a squirrel, something small enough to cook over the fire. He has enough coin saved up from his previous trades to last him another few trips to the market.

Every morning, he prepares a simple, homely meal for you should you wake. When you do not, he eats the food in your place—he’ll be damned if it goes to waste.  

On the fourth day, he carries a bowl of soup into his room. He’s expecting to see you tucked into his bed, still unconscious. Instead, you’re alert, sitting upright and studying your surroundings. The furs that previously covered your body now pool around your waist, exposing your naked chest. When you catch sight of Harry lingering in the doorway, you gasp, fumbling for the pelts and clutching them to your sternum.

“You’re up,” he says gruffly, stepping through the threshold.

You scramble back, eyes widening in fear. He pauses.

You’re afraid, he realises, tilting his head to the side. This may be more difficult than he initially thought.

“Soup,” he says slowly, holding out the small clay bowl in his hands. “You need to eat.”

“Who are you?” you ask. Your voice is patchy and frail. “Where am I?”

He sets the dish down onto his dresser before shooting you a stern, expectant look.

“Eat.”

Upon exiting the room, he strains his ears and listens carefully. The creak of a loose floorboard—you’ve climbed out of bed. The sound of nimble footsteps pattering across the ground—you’re moving toward the door. And finally, the quiet scrape of clay against wood, indicating that your hunger has prevailed.

He nods to himself.

You’re not dead. That’s a start.

~*~

That evening, Harry is perched next to the firepit outside the cabin. The orange sun crawls down the horizon, kissing the tops of the trees. He basks in the warmth, knowing that it will soon be eradicated by the cool chill of nightfall.

He fiddles with the spit poised above the flames. He caught another rabbit, today. The creature’s fur is laid out across the grass, scrubbed clean of blood. The rest of it cooks over the fire, darkening with each passing minute.

A faint creak reaches Harry’s ears. He perks up, glancing at the door.

You hover just beyond the threshold, leaning nervously against the strong wooden beams. Harry relaxes and turns back around. He uses a long stick to poke at the charred logs; the kindling pops, and a few embers float into the air.

“What are you doing?” Your inquiry is soft, shaky.

His reply is curt: “Dinner.”

You approach warily, bare feet treading through the grass. When you spot the hunk of meat roasting over the flames, a feeble gasp tumbles from your lips.

“That’s barbaric.”

Harry rubs his palms against his thighs. “That’s sustenance.”

He stands, and you retreat. His attention then falls to your torso. You’ve covered yourself with the furs from his room; they hang just past the swell of your bottom, rendering you exceptionally vulnerable. Goosebumps crop up on your bare thighs, visible in the golden light of the sunset.

He hums. “You need clothes.”

You look down at the ground.

“That would be nice,” you whisper at last.

He merely grunts in response.

You follow him back inside, albeit from a distance. He strolls into his bedroom, pausing in front of a large trunk shoved against the far wall. Twin latches click open, and he begins rifling through its contents. After a few moments of silence, he produces a pale linen shirt and a pair of dark leather trousers.

“Here,” he says.

He dumps the fabric into your arms. You huff in surprise, instinctively relinquishing your hold on the pelts covering your body. They fall to the floor in a heap, exposing every inch of your skin.

An embarrassed squeak echoes in the back of your throat. Harry averts his eyes, staring pointedly up at the ceiling.

“Put those on,” he murmurs.

You nod quickly, sidestepping his broad frame. Now that you’re no longer in his line of sight, he lowers his gaze. Part of him wonders if he should say something else, but he decides against it. His legs carry him forward, and he disappears through the door.

~*~

You emerge from the bedroom a short while later, smoothing your hands over your hair in an attempt to look a bit more presentable. Harry resists the urge to tell you that here, in the mountains, appearances are hardly significant. He doesn’t own a mirror—such luxuries can only be afforded by the rich.

His clothes are too big on you, but that was to be expected. You’ve rolled up the sleeves of his linen shirt and cuffed the brown leather trousers so that they cinch at your ankles. You’re anxious, incisors gnawing on your bottom lip and eyes darting around the clearing, like you’re waiting for a monster to burst forth from the bushes.

“Here.”

Harry cuts a sliver of meat from the cooked rabbit carcass resting on the spit. You sit down on a wide, round tree stump as he holds the food out in your direction.

At first, he thinks that you may vomit. Fortunately, though, he finds himself mistaken. After a long moment of deliberation, you accept the protein, bringing it up to your nose and sniffing it warily.

“It’s good,” he rasps, slicing off another strip for himself. “Rabbit—all white meat.”

He pops the piece into his mouth and chews. Slowly, you copy him, sighing happily as newfound flavour erupts over your tongue. You waste no time, then, impatiently shoving the rest of the meat into your mouth.

Harry’s lips twitch.

“Thank you,” you say after swallowing.

He simply nods. The two of you continue to eat in silence, grinding the remnants of supper between your teeth.

Eventually, your curiosity overwhelms you.

“What’s you name?” you ask, timid.

Harry sits back, wiping his dagger with the hem of his cotton shirt.

“Harry.”

“And how did you find me, Harry?”

A low chuckle resonates in the back of his throat.

“Wasn’t exactly hard. You were lying in a puddle of mud not far from here.”

Your lips part. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Three days.”

“Three days?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t remember any of it,” you say softly, playing with your fingers. You hesitate before elaborating: “But I—I remember seeing your face. I thought you were a bear.”

He recalls that day, how you lifted your head weakly and uttered the word before sinking back into unconsciousness. It led him to believe that you’d been attacked. Your side of the story, however, proves much more entertaining.

“Well,” he says, exhaling brusquely, “I’m not.”

You examine him with big, tender eyes. He shifts awkwardly under the intensity of your gaze.

“No,” you finally agree. “You’re not.”

He swallows and flips the conversation around.

“Who are you?”

You stiffen, caught off-guard.

“That is…hardly relevant.”

“Perhaps,” Harry says. “But it is fair.”

When you don’t reply, he continues.

“You’re a lady, aren’t you?” he guesses. “A duchess. Your gown was too pretty to have belonged to a commoner.”

“My gown?” You perk up at the mention of the dress. “Where is it?”

“Gone. I tore through it.”

You gasp. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“It was the only way to keep you alive,” he says simply. “Your corset was impeding your ability to breathe.”

“My corset…” you mutter, mostly to yourself. You grimace after registering the implications of his words, thoroughly scandalized. “So, you—you—?”

“Yes. I had to.”

“God,” you choke out, covering your mouth. “How dare you? You should have just—!”

“Let you die?”

His query successfully squashes your disapproval; your lips flatten into a thin line, and you say nothing else. Harry watches the creases in your forehead dwindle as you realise that he’s right. You fiddle with the collar of your shirt, turning to the side and regaining your composure.

“Thank you,” you finally murmur, trying to hide your face from his piercing stare, “for not letting me die.”

He grunts. “You’re welcome.”

Brief silence ensues. A light breeze blows through the clearing, tousling the curls atop Harry’s head. The gust is enough to extinguish the last few flames frolicking over the kindle, until glowing embers are all that remain.

“I am a lady,” you suddenly add, though you refuse to meet his eyes. “But not a duchess.”

Harry leans forward, prodding at the residual ash in the firepit.

“What were you doing in the woods?”

You tinker with the bandages wrapped around your injured wrist.

“I was to be wed,” you confess, peeking up at him. “But I—I could not bear to go through with it. One should not marry for duty, but rather—”

“For love?”

You pause at his intrusion, lips parted in surprise.

“Yes,” you breathe. “For love.”

Your gazes lock. He clears his throat, breaking the contact quickly.

“You ran away, then.”

It’s not a question. You nod, and he hums.

“What is it?” you ask, brows knitting together.

“Nothing. It’s just…I may find good fortune in this situation.”

“How so?”

He shrugs. “Any man with sense would carry you down this peak, deliver you back to your family, and collect a hefty reward.”

Though he’s not looking at you, he can tell that you’ve recoiled.

“Please don’t,” you whisper.

He examines your face in the periphery of his vision. Your eyes glisten with unshed tears.

Just then, Magnus races out of the cabin, his tail wagging eagerly behind him. He trots over to you, sniffing your shoulder and releasing a high-pitched whine. You use one hand to swipe hastily at your cheeks; the other migrates to his head, tickling his floppy ears.

Harry watches the interaction unfold, completely stunned.

“He—he likes you.”

You glance over at him, still wary of his previous threat.

“I suppose he does,” you say quietly.

Magnus paws at your thighs. You direct your attention back to the keen bloodhound, pressing a feathery kiss to the tip of his wet nose.

Harry blinks a few times, trying to pinpoint the reason for his mutt’s newfound behaviour. At first, he wonders if his eyes are simply playing tricks on his brain. Yet with each flutter of his lids, the sight before him only seems to solidify.

“He doesn’t usually take well to strangers,” he mumbles.

When you don’t respond, he clenches his jaw tightly. Countless thoughts zoom through his head, spinning like wheels, tangling like thread.

Any man with sense would carry you down this peak, deliver you back to your family, and collect a hefty reward.

Harry is not a sensible man.

~*~

The three of you retreat indoors when the last shards of sunlight fade from the sky. Magnus circles the large woven rug poised in front of the hearth. Eventually, he collapses onto the mat, his snout drooping over his front paws. You stretch your arms into the air and yawn gently.

Harry is the last one to enter the cabin; he shuts the door behind him.

“Thank you again for dinner,” you say lightly.

You spin around and nearly crash into the hard barrier of his chest. Reflexively, his hands fly up to grasp your biceps, steadying you. He peers down at your face in the darkness, his thoughtful gaze tracing the contours of your cheeks. Your eyes are wide, lips split apart as you suck in air.

“Sorry,” you say, frozen in place.

He only grunts, releasing your arms and stepping away.

Your attention lingers on him as he approaches a wide pile of furs stacked into the corner of the room. He’s been sleeping on the makeshift cot for the past three nights, and though his back is always sore the next morning, he has yet to find a better alternative.

“What are you…?” You hesitate, rethinking your question. “What is that?”

“My bed.”

“Do you…always sleep there?”

“No,” he rasps, lowering himself onto the thick pelts. “I prefer to sleep in my room.”

He shoots you a pointed look, and you frown when the realisation sinks in.

“We—we can switch,” you say, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “I don’t want to impose.”

“No.”

“I insist.” You try again.

“As do I.”

You clamp your mouth shut, unsure of how to respond. Magnus has already dozed off—his soft snores filter through the heavy silence hanging over your heads.

“He’s lovely,” you suddenly say, referring to the quiescent hound. “Well-trained, too.”

“I won’t take credit for that,” Harry grumbles, rubbing his palms against his thighs. “He was a palace dog.”

You blink. “W-what?”

“A palace dog,” he repeats. “I found him alone in the woods after a hunt. His leg was broken—the guards left him there to die.”

“That’s awful.”

He hums in agreement.

“You took him in, then,” you say. When he nods, you add, “It seems that you have a knack for nursing others back to health.”

He doesn’t reply.

“The hunts—” you start, chewing nervously on your bottom lip. “Do they…occur frequently?”

“Why do you ask?” Harry says. His shoulders wobble with a hollow chuckle. “Are you afraid of being caught?”

You inhale sharply, and he realises that yes, you are.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. Subconsciously, his voice drops an octave, taking on a soothing quality. “They don’t come around often. And even if they did, I doubt that a single runaway lady would be of much concern.”

You blow out a relieved sigh, though the uneasy expression on your face never wanes.

“You’re probably right.”

A few hushed seconds draw out, during which neither of you speak. Your bare feet shuffle clumsily against the cold floor. You appear to be waiting for some sort of cue—a sound, a gesture, anything.

“Er—” Harry breaks the peace, cocking one eyebrow. “I sleep naked.”

“Oh.”

The exclamation is unbelievably breathless. Your throat bobs amidst a difficult swallow, and you totter back.

“Of course,” you stammer. “I’ll just—”

With a trembling hand, you motion toward the entrance of his bedroom.

He nods wordlessly.

“Right,” you mumble, retreating. “Goodnight, then…Bear.”

At that, he pauses. Your cheeks twitch with a feeble smile, but you don’t comment on the sweetness of the simple endearment.

Harry remains completely still as you scurry into his room. He sits there for a prolonged moment after the door shuts, trying to make sense of his thoughts. Your features have been stamped onto the backs of his eyelids, practically seared into the skin.

At last, warm air spills past his lips, and he allows himself to utter the low, relentless reply pulling at his tongue.

“Goodnight.”

[dameronology]

everything i need {mando x reader}

summary: din has to rethink his life plans how that you’re by side - not that he’s complaining {i do have a taglist but it’s 1am and i simply cannot be arsed to find it, please accept my not very sincere and very tired apologies}

warnings: much language 

enjoy!! sorry for the lack of imagines lately, i’m back at work and working as a director on two of my group projects so i am neck deep in covid-related paperwork. 

- jazz

p.s this has not been proofread, because i am just that shit 

Din Djarin had never needed a reason to find a home. Settling down permanently wasn’t an option in his line of work. Permanence had never been part of his plan. 

Then again, a lot of things hadn’t been part of his plan. The Child certainly hadn’t; if you’d told him five years ago that his firstborn son was going to look like...well, like that, he probably would have drop kicked you into the next rim. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t imagine his life without the kid now, or that he would rain hell on anyone who would dare lay a finger on the toad-like toddler. His life had gone in a direction he never could have anticipated and his son wasn’t even the biggest detour. That was you. Din wasn’t even entirely sure where you’d come from or when you’d come into his life, but he would have first surrendered his ship and everything on it before even considering the notion of living without you. Whether it was simply luck, or whether there was some higher power who finally decided to give him a fucking break, The Mandalorian had a family. He was no longer a lone gunslinger with nothing to lose; now, he had everything to lose.

The fear that came with his newfound vulnerability was a small price to pay, however. In the quieter moments - when it was just you and him and the kid - he had no question in his mind that everything was worth it. Every fright, every concern, every agonising moment that Din spent overthinking and calculating a million and one ways to keep you both safe was completely and irretrievably worthwhile. It was a little unconventional but a family was a family. A clan of three. 

You didn’t often get to take breaks. They came every few months, usually whenever Din needed had had a particularly had job. You’d found your place halfway between helping him kick-ass and babysitting the Child (who at this point, was essentially your son too). It meant that days you were running across rooftops in Nevarro with a blaster in hand, and others you were running around after your kid, holding a diaper rather than a gun. The duality was astounding.

The last few weeks had been a little hard. There had been one bounty who had been relentless, and another who had tried to take a hit at you. It hadn’t taken long for you to put the bastard in his place but the Mandalorian had taken it a little more personally than you. Before throwing him into the carbonite, Din had broken a little more than six of the target’s ribs and given him a nice shiner on his left eye. He never minded when he was the one who had a punch or two thrown at him but when it was you? Din never took to it lightly. 

Once both bounties had been sent to their respective clients and you’d collected your rewards, Din had set the Crest’s path towards a jungle planet. It was one he had frequented a few years ago - before you, before the kid - and whilst it was a little desolate, it was safe. It was away from any Imps, any potential danger. It meant that you could both let your guards down for a bit and put your feet up. Plus, the Child had been dealing with cabin fever for the better part of two weeks and you were convinced you were going to lose it if you didn’t get the little fucker to some open space soon. Preferably one with lots of frogs, because he was not taking well to the freeze-dried food that you’d been fobbing him with him for the last few months. 

You were laying in an open field, weight propped up on your elbows as you glanced out into the grass over your sunglasses. Din was making his way back towards you, trudging through the long blades; the low evening sun was bouncing off the beskar of his helmet, causing you to scrunch your face up. You could tell from the way he was talking that he was exhausted. He’d been on kid duty all day (it was your turn tomorrow) and somehow, that was more tiring that any bounty. 

‘Where is he-’

Your question was answered before you could even finish it; the little creature suddenly appeared through the grass, hitting your shin with a thump. Digging his claws into your jeans, he scrambled up onto your legs, plopping into your lap and leaning against your stomach. He peered up at you with big brown eyes for a second, before twisting back around to rest his head against your chest for a nap. There went your evening plans.

‘Did he eat anything?’ You raised your arm out to Din, signalling for him to sit next to you.

Aside from his helmet, he had shed the rest of his armour. The material of the undershirt he was wearing was soft against your skin as you leant into his side, letting it a small hmph as you did. He instinctively wrapped his arm your waist - because even on a safe planet, Din was naturally protective - and pulled you closer, using his free hand to run a finger over the kid’s wrinkly head. 

‘I saw him swallow a frog whole.’ His modulated voice replied. ‘It’s still disturbing.’

‘Not as disturbing as when he ate the fish whole.’ You grimaced, glancing up at him. ‘The thing was bigger than him and he gulped it down. Biologically, it doesn’t work.’

‘Nothing about him makes sense.’ He said. 

‘The only thing that makes sense is that nothing makes sense.’ You joked. ‘But I guess we’ll find out a little bit more when we work out where the hell he actually came from.’

It was a subject you didn’t approach too much. You knew that one day, you’d have to hand him back over to his own species; it was all well and good to look after him when he was still small, but you had no idea what he was going to grow to be. Finding his home planet had sort of been a secondary quest for you and Din, between bounties. Given how slow the little bastard aged, time wasn’t too much of a concern. Knowing where to start was the problem.

‘I wish we could keep him forever.’ You quietly murmured. 

‘Me too, cya’rika.’ Din gave your shoulders a light squeeze. ‘But we have to do what’s right for him.’

‘I know.’ You nodded. ‘What do you think we’ll do after we’ve found his home? His species?’

It wasn’t something that Din had given much thought. He was so used to planning everything in the moment - hours ahead, at most. He hadn’t thought in terms of days, let alone weeks or years. It made sense to, because you weren’t going anywhere. He had an opportunity to have a life outside of being a bounty hunter; you’d shown him that much. He’d found a home with you - a sense of contentment and belonging - but in a physical sense, he’d never thought about settling on a planet. When he was younger, the idea of having his own children and his own clan had played on his mind, but it had faded as the years went by. Maybe it was time to revisit the idea.

‘We could get married.’ Din quietly suggested. ‘Start a clan of our own. Something permanent.’

‘I didn’t realise that the word permanent was in your vocabulary.’ You replied. 

‘It wasn’t. Not before you.’ He said. ‘There was a lot of things I never thought about before you.’

‘A clan?’ You intertwined your fingers with his, giving his hand a light squeeze. ‘In a few years, absolutely - but I am not doing it on that pile of junk.’

‘That pile of junk got us here.’

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head - but there was a smile on your face. ‘We don’t have to think about it now. One step at a time.’

There was silence for a minute, as you both pondered to yourselves. In the same way you hadn’t been part of Din’s plan, he hadn’t really been part of yours. When you’d met him, you’d never expected to fall in love with him. You couldn’t see his face, or his emotions or his feelings - but after a while, you saw him. It was though you had seen straight through the armour and right into his very soul without either of you trying. You were first person to see him as Din, and not as the Mandalorian. You understood his humanity, and the fact he wasn’t always a warrior; it meant he could let his walls down around you, and seek support and solace in a way he’d always thought to be terrifying. And it was, at first, but now it felt natural and healthy. He had you and you had him. Nothing else mattered.

‘I’ll go wherever you go.’ Din broke the quiet, eyes falling down to where the child lay in your lap.

‘You’d do that for me?’ You rested a hand on the side of his helmet; it was cold against your skin, but the gesture was there. ‘You’d give us all this up for me?’

‘I’m not giving anything up.’ He replied. ‘When I have you, I have everything I need.’

Din had always been blunt and straight to the point: sometimes it was a blessing, sometimes it was a curse. Right now, it was completely and entirely a virtue. It meant that you didn’t have to second guess his feelings for you, or worry about him leaving you. Everything he said to you was a promise. Talks of your future were mutuals goals, things to look forward to together. 

‘I love you.’ You pressed a kiss to the edge of his helmet. 

‘I love you too.’ Din replied. 

‘So let’s retire right now and get a moisture farm on Tatooine-’

‘- don’t push it.’ 

[the-six-espada]

TBB Spoilers below. A rant (please don’t pay me any mind, I might delete this :d)

I’ve been fighting the urge to write about this but I decided what the hell. Please note that I’m aware I am discussing the emotions and narrative of a fake show, with a fake universe and fake characters – I’m just dumping some thoughts I’ve had in the past few days.

I’m not aiming to change anyone’s opinion here – I’m well aware there are a lot of people who don’t like Crosshair as they’ve made it painfully aware in the past weeks, however I do want to calmly explain a few things and if you’re interested in reading them be my guest.

I can understand that a lot of people might not entirely comprehend the emotions I will try to explain party because they perhaps never experienced them and partly because I probably won’t word them accurately enough but I will do the best I can.

The contents of the last episode of the Season 1 Bad Batch series have left me a little broken. I’m really trying to not get too emotional but the contents of this series have triggered some emotional trauma I’ve buried (as I’m sure it did for a lot of people, but I will be speaking only for myself here) – I’m not blaming the show in any way. I love the show. It’s because of its good writing and setting that this hurts so much.

Crosshair being left again is really upsetting to me for a lot of reasons. The gaping distance created by the Bad Batch and Crosshair is so hurtful. Earlier on in the show, after seeing the complete disregard for their brother, I thought that perhaps there is part of this narrative that we are missing. Maybe the relationship between them wasn’t as good as we thought. Maybe at some point during their upbringing or the numerous missions they’ve been on together these guys figured out they hate their brother. Or at least don’t care for him. Which would be enough of a reason for them to completely not hesitate to continue their lives without him. However what I cannot understand is – how can you leave him stranded on a platform on a planet that is just water, where the only building on that planet has been blown up minutes prior, without his weapon and backpack.

They practically left him for dead.

You don’t care about your brother and you don’t want him to be on your team? Fine. You can’t get past your differences and work together or have a healthy conversation about your differences in opinions? Understandable. But please explain to me how leaving him with no weapon on a absolutely deserted planet makes any sense? Even if the Empire does come back to look for him (which in my opinion is highly unlikely) what do you think they will do to him? The only Empirial teammate he had and was left alive saw him and snitched on him to Rampart. They gave the order to kill him alongside the other clones. They most likely will either kill him or experiment on him. Hunter knows this. He might not be certain exactly what’s going to happen but he for a fact knows the Empire will discard him - he said so to Crosshair on two occasions.

So now in my opinion is just a question of basic human decency to at least drop him somewhere - on another planet at least I don’t know.

For the people who think Crosshair was too rude to his brothers in the last episode and was making too snarky replies. First, it’s not news that Crosshair in general does that - since day one he has been sarcastic and borderline “rude”. Whether or not his brothers found that annoying or not is up to debate but at least in my opinion they didn’t seem too bothered by it. Ask anyone with siblings - bickering is part of the family relationship. Second, I don’t know if you ever encountered someone after a dramatic breakup (doesn’t matter if it’s a friendship or a romantic relationship) but his behavior was presented very accurately. Please try to imagine getting into a fight with someone you had years of build relationship, people who you deeply cared for and trusted, people you probably loved. You get into a fight, you fall out and don’t hear each other for some time. Now you have a lot of time for these emotions to brew inside you - you will mainly feel sadness. Why did this happen? Why are they not reaching out? They know you are in pain so why aren’t they trying to remedy things? Queue all of the moments you had together, all the good memories, all the emotions you’ve shared and how much you devoted yourself to them. Was it all fake? Did they feel the same? Then comes anger. How could they? How could you? Why did you let yourself be this vulnerable with someone? Why are they not trying to communicate with you? Don’t they hurt the same as you? This segment by the way opens up a whole other door of trust issues and thoughts that lead you to conclusions to never let yourself be this vulnerable with others or have any kind of deep emotions for anyone else but we are not going to tackle that. (Not to mention that until that point Crosshair was already presented as a very closed off character and probably the only people he truly felt comfortable with were his brothers but never mind that now.) So you are angry and sad. Unfortunately even with all that hurt you don’t stop loving this person/these people because it just doesn’t work like that. In fact it is so painful because you love them. Time passes and you finally meet and the first thing that it’s itching at your tongue is to tell them they have hurt you. Which Crosshair did - he explained they’ve left him even though they were brothers and in a way betrayed him. Then comes the desire to inflict pain back - it’s completely irrational because a part of you wants to patch things up but another just wants to get payback. To say something, anything, to hurt them. It’s erratic, childish - exactly what we can see from Crosshair in this last episode. He takes every opportunity to bite back. And honestly I can’t blame him. That’s a totally normal response. I would like to point out that in a way the batch does that too - they are not warm to him in any way either, which again is valid since from their point of view they also probably feel betrayed by him. Also, the fact that he doesn’t feel the need to physically harm them (even though as he said it would have been totally justifiable from his point of view) but just make a few snarky remarks? Yeah, I would let that slide.

Honorable mention to the fact that no one apologized .. for anything. Even a casual “sorry, we left you” or “sorry, we didn’t bother to come looking for you” - nothing. I think at this point no one was expecting for the batch to start dramatically confessing their feelings but just a plain apology would have been a great start. It just confuses me so much. Hunter said to Omega “I’m angry at myself. We don’t leave our own behind.” and yet couldn’t express a simple gesture of apology to him? It makes no sense to me. I know that not everyone is emotional. Not everyone can have or express strong feelings for another human being in a relationship. But the complete lack of interest from the batch since day 1 about what is happening with their brother is baffling to me.

I’m gonna say this once and there are probably going to be people out there who don’t get it and that’s fine but: If you deeply care about someone and love them you would want them to come back. Against all odds. In spite of what they say. You would dare do the impossible just for the off chance something, anything, works and you get to have them back.

The Batch went back to save Hunter. On Kamino. In a situation where, honestly, they were going to die if it wasn’t for Crosshairs decision to give them a chance. They were walking in outnumbered against a person who knew and could predict their every move. And they knew that but they had to try. No such thing at any point was shown for Crosshair. They didn’t even try to get to him at the end. The only one who did was Omega. And I’m willing to believe that if Hunter or whoever stepped in after her conversations with him he was perhaps going to crack but.. no one even tried.

I don’t want to seem like I hate the show or the other characters. Words cannot express how good this show is and how accurately it’s written (in my opinion) but it’s just hurtful. And I believe a lot of us Crosshair fans are hurt because we can empathize. I’m not living under the illusion that my opinion of Crosshair is going to change anyone else’s - this is not what I’m trying to do. This is my post, take it or leave it. I just had thoughts and wanted to lay them out. If you read through all of this, thank you for giving it your time.

[katnissmellarkkk]

Chapter Four

“Dang it!” I bellow eight days later, as my body gives way and topples over, having used too great of force to yank a now dead primrose from the ground.

Yesterday morning I had come outside to discover the yellow evening primroses, the flowers Peeta had planted upon his arrival back in Twelve, had all but died.

And I didn’t even notice. I’ve been so distracted with everything else going on in my life—namely Peeta and his blonde companion—that I entirely forgot about the flowers. The flowers that my sister was named for. The flowers meant to represent her when she was no longer alive to represent herself.

The idea that I could forget the plant, that I let myself lag on the simple duty of keeping them alive and watered and healthy, felt as if I had let my little sister down all over again. It felt as if I’d failed Prim a second time.

And it’s more than I can handle. I can’t even endure the thought. The very implication that I am, in any way, dishonoring my sister’s memory is entirely unbearable. Even if it is just me implying it, inside my head.

But in any case, it looks like the primroses are too far gone and I don’t have even a chance at resurrecting them back to life. I took too long to notice their wilting, I was too caught up in other things, that I let the plants die and now there’s no going back.

For a split second I consider returning one of my mother’s many calls to ask for gardening advice. She has always had a green thumb and been able to grow whatever she set her mind to. I never had any of those skills. I was a hunter by nature, not a nurturer.

No, that was Prim. The soft and gentle one, who loved animals, who could heal any wound she could identify, who could garden and grow herbs just as well as our mother.

And I miss her so much. I miss my little sister so very much that I almost breakdown into tears right then and there, right in front of the dead primrose bush outside my house.

“Katniss?” I hear someone call in the distance. I recognize the voice instantly.

And rapidly get up and make a beeline towards my front door.

Unfortunately he’s determined to catch me. After eight solid days of evasion, Peeta is dead set on catching me at any given opportunity before him.

It’s almost funny how once upon a time it was him who wished to avoid me. It was him who craved distance between us, who acted icy and detached at every encounter, whether forced or by chance.

Now it’s him trying to force an encounter between us, trying desperately to make up for hurting me, trying to still be a part of my life, even after I pronounced our relationship finished.

The bread he left on my doorstep—that I immediately tossed in the garbage—is proof of that. The cheesebuns he left on my counter who met their demise to a flock of birds on my back porch is proof of that. The cookies he baked and passed through Greasy Sae when I went to trade at the new, rebuilt Hob is glaring proof of his efforts.

I did actually eat those but I made sure to do it in private, where Peeta would never know if his token was accepted or not.

Because I don’t want him to think we’re okay. I don’t want Peeta to believe me and him can still be friends, with Bailey Robyn, the uptight, controlling blonde still lingering over his every move.

Okay, maybe I’m being a bit overdramatic. Bailey isn’t residing over Peeta’s every action. She probably doesn’t even know he’s made all these treats for me. And she surely wasn’t sitting by his side in the corner of Greasy Sae’s booth when our eyes briefly met before I stubbornly stormed out.

But I feel like she is. I feel her presence overcast in every one of Peeta’s actions, in every deed he partakes in, in every moment I run into him. Maybe it’s only inside my head but it’s enough reason for me to avoid Peeta. It’s enough reason that I wish to stand by my words eight days ago and cut him directly out of my life. With a chainsaw if necessary, I wish to cut the invisible cord that has tied me and him together for so long now.

“Katniss!” Peeta calls again, his arms grasping my waist just in time to prevent my escape into the house.

“Go away,” I mutter under my breath, ire and ache still seeping off me even after a week separating this moment here with our last interaction.

“Why are you upset?” He asks, a little breathless now from the race to my front door. But even tired, concern still manages to leak into his tone. His blue eyes still show anxiety for my well-being.

And it’s still not enough to thaw me.

“You know why,” I say rigidly, pulling my front door open and shoving his hands away from me.

“No, no, I mean,” he quickly tries to correct his question. “I meant, what’s happened out here that has you upset?”

I audibly huff, my eyes about as warm as a popsicle in a snowstorm. The last thing I want to do is stand here and recount just about anything to Peeta, especially in regards to the way I’m currently feeling.

Especially after the last time we spoke about our feelings, when I chose to let him in and allowed him to see the vulnerable parts of me that I never trust anyone with.

Only for him to turn around and side with Bailey over me.

But knowing how persistent Peeta can be when properly determined—his intensity to train like a Career, Brutus’ murder and him warning District Thirteen about Snow’s incoming attack all fly to the top of that list—I merely gesture widely to my backyard, where the dead flowers lie.

It only takes Peeta a moment to click it all together, to his credit. Though I’m hesitant to even offer him that right now.

“I’ll replant them,” he instantly offers, like a dog begging to fetch his owner a carcass bone.

“Don’t bother,” I say, about as rude and uninviting as humanly possible. “It’s not your responsibility.”

I’m just stepping into the house when Peeta’s hand shoves on the door, hard enough to keep it open. For a split second, I contemplate putting all my strength behind it and slamming his fingers in the door. But even as mad as I am—even as wounded as I am—I won’t physically harm Peeta.

After all, he already lost his leg once about I tied it in a tourniquet. I may have saved his life but I also cost him half a limb and that thought alone stops me from nearly taking his fingers off too.

“Katniss, I want to,” he pleads and his eyes are so big and blue and I feel my heart involuntarily melt a bit upon at the sight. “I want to replant them.”

I release an unconscious breath, for the first time in over a week not completely hostile towards the boy with the bread, who in my eyes, completely turned his back on me. Or so it feels. “I’ll just end up killing them again, Peeta. I’m serious. Don’t even bother.”

“Then I’ll tend to them,” Peeta throws out, getting more and more desperate the more I refuse, it seems.

I’m about to brush off his offer once again when another voice joins us. “Oh, let him do it, sweetheart. The boy needs a hobby besides baking,” Haymitch chimes in, standing at the bottom of my porch, looking drunk as ever.

“You love that baking is his only hobby,” I shoot back at the paunchy, old man.

“Well, not anymore. Since you two started fighting he’s been making me fat. I need a break.”

I’m about to come back with another comment, probably one to suggest Haymitch doesn’t have to eat everything Peeta brings, when we’re joined by a third presence.

Of course, she has to join us. Bailey can’t seem to let Peeta go anywhere without her nowadays.

“What’s going on?” She murmurs, looking around at all our tense body language. Well, at mine and Peeta’s tense body language. Haymitch is currently sitting on the bottom step of my porch now, as relaxed as Buttercup is in the window.

Peeta opens his mouth to respond but then shuts it again, glancing back at me. I don’t know if it’s the fact that he doesn’t wish to discuss his offer to help me with his girlfriend or if it’s the fact that he clearly knows I dislike the notion of Bailey in my business, but either way I’m a little pleased when he closes his mouth and adverts eye contact away from the blonde.

Instead it’s my drunken mentor who elaborates. “The girl’s flowers died. Your boyfriend just wants to replant them.”

To my utter astonishment, Bailey seems amendable to the idea. “The flowers for your sister?” She inquires, looking right at me. I shoot her a quizzical—and perhaps slightly unfriendly—look out of the corner of my eye but she continues on anyway. “Peeta, you should help her plant them again. Especially since you let them die-“

But I’ve heard enough from her—and everyone else here, for that matter—and I turn to Peeta, my hand still holding the doorknob tightly, ready to slam it shut. “Fine,” I cave, my tone anything but grateful. “Go ahead and replant the primroses. If that’s going to help you, then go for it.”

I don’t wait to hear a response from any of the parties now camped out on my property. Instead I shove Peeta’s fingers off my door—first time I’ve touched him in eight days—and throw it shut with such a force I feel the walls in my entryway shake.

“She’s always been a spitfire,” I hear Haymitch mumble as three sets of footsteps make their way further from my porch.

I barely catch Peeta’s response. If I hadn’t been standing by the door, unintentionally listening to hear what they may be saying, I would have missed it altogether.

“That’s the best thing about her.”

/

It’s just mere hours later before I’m disturbed once again. This time not by a crew of three but by one solo intruder.

“Sweetheart?” Haymitch barks, evidently not too keen on the fact that I decided to turn every light in my house off after returning home from the Hob.

“Go away,” I mumble out, knowing well and clear that he can’t hear me from upstairs. I’m in my bedroom, lying in the safety of my own bed, in my own private sanctuary, where I do not wish to be disturbed by anyone at any cost.

Of course, it only takes a few minutes of bumping into things and cursing for Haymitch to track me down. “Girl, it’s six at night?” He says incredulously.

“So?” I snap, as he turns my light on, effectively blinding me.

“Did you just forget about dinner tonight?” He asks, his voice neither kind nor hostile. In all honesty, he just sounds puzzled.

“Why are you in my room, Haymitch?” I murmur, rubbing my eyes until they adjust to the beaming brightness and pulling myself upwards now. Off his dismissive glance, I let out a deep sigh. “I wasn’t hungry.”

Of course, we’re not really talking about me skipping a meal. I highly doubt Haymitch truly cares if I miss dinner by my own accord. He surely wasn’t too interested in my meal intake when he brought me home from the Capitol and dropped me off on my doorstep.

No, we’re referring to the weekly dinners me, Peeta and Haymitch have at the old man’s pig sty. The same dinners I’ve brought Delly along to, that Haymitch is constantly passing out drunk during, that Bailey has been crashing nonstop since arriving here in Twelve.

When I came home from trading at the Hob tonight, I decided I was done with those dinners. I don’t need to subject myself to bossy Bailey any longer, and my resolve to keep Peeta out of my life as much as humanly possible is still strong. Despite the fact that I agreed to let him plant the primroses in my garden again and tend to their growth, I still don’t wish for us to be friends. I still don’t want to subject myself any further to him and Bailey’s exhibits.

And I figured no one would mind my absence anyways. At least not for a few dinners. I knew eventually Haymitch would try to push me to come back and Peeta would probably ask me very sweetly to join again, but I didn’t think the first night I skipped would be a huge production.

And okay, maybe there is a small part of me who deep down hopes if I refuse to come, Bailey may be disinvited in order to make me feel welcome again. It’s a long shot and not one I’d consciously admit to counting on, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a small, minuscule part of me wishing for that to happen just the same.

Haymitch glances at me suspiciously now. “You’re always hungry, kid.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are. You’re the most enthusiastic eater I know.”

Okay, he is blatantly confused apparently. His drunken goggles are blurring his perspective of reality, it would seem.

In any case, I flop backwards on my bed and roll away, hoping if I ignore my mentor long enough he’ll just evaporate into thin air.

But for some reason, Haymitch is weirdly dogged tonight. “Come on,” he urges, shaking my shoulder a bit too roughly. “I know the boy always says you’re just like me, but this little display is over the top, Katniss.”

I roll my eyes. “Why do you even want me at those dinners, Haymitch? You have Peeta and Bailey there.” I can’t stop myself from throwing the extra emphasis on Bailey, as immature as it may be.

However, the old man isn’t interested in dignifying me with a response. “And Delly. And Johanna. And Annie Cresta.”

That catches me completely off-guard. “What?”

In the time since the war ended and I returned to Twelve—or rather, was exiled to Twelve—no one from the other districts have visited. I have barely seen anyone I know in the last few months, outside Haymitch, Peeta and Delly.

“Some of which are anxious to see you at dinner,” he adds, gesturing for me to get up.

I shoot him a mordant glance. “Johanna’s anxious to see me?”

“I said some. Meaning Delly and Annie,” he clarifies. Off my still hesitant expression, he reaches down and tugs on my wrist, trying to get me out of bed.

“Fine!” I exclaim, feeling strangely embarrassed now as I realize that our roles are suddenly being reversed. I’m the one who always forced him out of bed, who made him come to meals, who fought with him to hurry up and get moving.

In the end, I don’t bother cleaning myself up or trying to appear presentable. Johanna and Annie won’t care and Peeta doesn’t get to care anymore.

And it wouldn’t matter anyway. Even if Effie Trinket or my entire prep team were here, I’d never stand a chance of looking anything but plain next to Bailey.

It’s not that I care that she’s so blatantly pretty. It’s just that her looks are one more thing about her presence to be bothered by, and that list is getting long and extensive. Even after her apparent approval of Peeta gardening my primroses, even after no negative interactions in eight days, I still sense hostility with her. And I still can’t stare at her without feeling my stomach churn.

Because every time she’s around, I know I’m about to be the odd one out. For whatever reason, outside of Delly, the people I care for, hold a deep affinity for Bailey Robyn.

And it bothers me above anything I can express. It bothers me beyond words, beyond measure, beyond any sense of feeling.

“Look who I found,” Haymitch announces as we enter through the threshold of his filthy residence.

“Katniss!” Annie exclaims and tosses her arms around my neck, despite the fact that we’ve never been too close. I can’t even remember the last time we had a conversation in person. The only true communication between me and Annie is the letters she sends, the ones filled with details of her life in Four and Finnick’s son. The ones I rarely respond to, but always read just the same.

Still, despite the fact that Annie might as well be a glorified stranger to me, I return the embrace, instinctively at first and then, simply because I want to. Because no one besides Peeta has given me any sort of affection in months and I miss it. Now that Peeta has put conditions on our relationship, I am hungry for any physical touch at all.

It shocks me to realize, in that moment, just how completely starved I am, for closeness.

I hug Annie for far longer than I think anyone watching anticipated but she doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seems to welcome it too.

Then again, her husband died and left her with seemingly no family at all to help raise their baby. So perhaps she’s just as desperate for a human touch—I suppose besides her son—as I am.

I don’t receive the same welcome from Johanna, unsurprisingly, but as soon as me and Annie break apart, she shoots me a satirical glance and pulls on a piece of my hair.

“Ow!” I exclaim, my thick brows furrowing in confusion. “What was that for?”

“It was sticking up,” she explains with a shrug and then smirks. “Did you just roll out of bed and come here?”

“Did you?” Her outfit is just denim pants and a low cut t-shirt. Not that different from my attire.

“Yes. And I’m not ashamed of it.” She runs a hand over her hair which has grown out to about length with her shoulders. “But I know how to use a hairbrush, at least.”

I roll my eyes as she nudges me. “This is dinner,” Haymitch deadpans as he makes his way to the table. “Not a Capitol Beauty Contest.”

Jo examines the unwashed table as we follow the grumpy man’s lead. As of right now, the table is completely void of substance. “Doesn’t dinner imply food?” She asks and Annie laughs lightly, suggesting she was thinking along the same lines.

“Haymitch doesn’t believe in cooking himself,” I retort, earning a look from the old man. “He’s waiting for Peeta to arrive with food.”

“You’re more than welcome to provide the meal, sweetheart.”

“And what are you providing?”

“The residence the meal is served at.”

“And what a residence it is!” Exclaims a completely different voice, a higher pitched soprano.

And like clockwork, three blonde heads round the corner of the dining room, abruptly joining the party.

Delly looks as enthusiastic to be walking with Peeta and Bailey as I am to be in their company right now. Which she further evidences by hurrying to the seat at my right.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a grin,” Haymitch remarks as he pulls out a bottle of white liquor and pours it into a half-clean glass.

“Wonder why that is,” I murmur out loud before thinking better of it. After all, Haymitch seems to care for Bailey more than me nowadays. I should probably not stir the pot before the food is even presented before me.

But he doesn’t reply back. Even if he did, I doubt I’d notice anyway.

Because, in the flash of a second, the attention of the room is completely shifted.

I knew Bailey was coming with Peeta. She’s practically glued to his hip at all times of day, almost as if she’s afraid to let him out of her sight. But it would seem that Haymitch did not inform Johanna or Annie about Peeta’s new relationship, effectively catching them both by surprise at the additional dinner guest.

And there’s little room for doubt to anyone with eyes that they’re together. Their hands are practically singed as one, in an airtight grasp, her manicured nails intertwined with his long fingers.

For a split second I wonder if that’s what my hand looked like inside Peeta’s last week. I wonder if this is what Bailey saw before her, when she caught us roaming through town at the crack of dawn.

“Barley?” Johanna says in a shocked voice.

It takes a moment for her comment to compute in my brain. “Bailey,” I correct, trying to be helpful. Though I’m unsure where she even managed to get the name Barley at all. Especially if Haymitch didn’t warn her about the girl Peeta was bringing and I strongly suspect he didn’t.

Jo looks at me like I’m insane for the amendment before turning back to Bailey and Peeta. “You’re dating Bailey Barley?” She say incredulously.

Bailey Barley? Is that a nickname? Now I’m the one who’s completely lost at sea, feeling like there was a good chunk of time I somehow missed.

Bailey’s blue eyes stare into Jo’s now, not exactly friendly but not as belligerent as I’ve seen her before. As I saw her last week.

I don’t know nor do I understand what they’re silently communicating, but I do comprehend one thing without a doubt.

Johanna knows Bailey. Somehow, someway, Johanna knows Bailey even more than I do.

Peeta doesn’t seem too confused though. He doesn’t even seem fazed by the exchange at all. Instead he drops Bailey’s hand—not soon enough, in my opinion—and moves to set some kind of meat and potato meal down on the table.

“Where did you get the meat?” I ask abruptly, recognizing it as deer. I just shot my first in a long time only the other day. How on Earth did Peeta get deer meat around the same time I did.

“I traded a cake for it. At the Hob,” he explains nonchalantly, avoiding my bewildered eyes now.

I just stare at him for a second, debating on even further commenting.

The Hob is where I traded the deer after killing it. Peeta literally baked a cake and traded it for meat, just because I wouldn’t speak to him.

He literally traded a cake so I could eat the meat that I hunted myself.

Something about that scenario vindicates me slightly. And I have to wonder if I’ve become sadistic with time and solitude.

My attention though is pulled back to Johanna and Bailey now. “What’re you doing in Twelve?”

Bailey takes her seat, between Haymitch and Peeta, with grace. “Peeta and I met in the Capitol,” she states simply. “I decided to come here and spend some more time with him. Get to know him a little better.”

As if to punctuate her words, she places one dainty hand on top of Peeta’s and gives it a squeeze.

I can’t even fight my eye roll.

“I see,” Jo murmurs, casting a sideway glance at me, none too subtle. “Well, it looks like you did... that.”

Delly snickers into her water glass and I don’t miss the way Bailey shoots her an irritated glance. Peeta seemingly does though. Haymitch is already too tipsy to care if an actual fight breaks out among us, his white liquor kicking in quick.

Annie on the other hand, who I’ve always believed to often be oblivious to all those around her, decidedly cuts the tension here. “Well, I’m hungry. Peeta, pass me a plate.”

And just like that, we’re having one of the most awkward meals I’ve ever had to endure.

Read More On AO3

[howdon-aldi-death-queue]

NEW SAM FENDER INTERVIEW FOR NME

THE BIG READ

Sam Fender: “This album is probably the best thing I’ve done in my life”

The hometown hero has distanced himself from the ‘Geordie Springsteen’ tag, but there’s no shortage of rites-of-passage yarns and colossal tunes on the upcoming ‘Seventeen Going Under’

“You can see the ghost of Thatcherism over there…” says Sam Fender, pointing across the water to a vacant shipyard, where once the shipbuilding industry was so healthy that vessels towered higher than the rows of houses on the shore. We’re on the waterfront in North Shields, just outside Newcastle, and our photographer is snapping away for Sam’s first NME cover shoot.

The singer-songwriter stares stonily into the lens as wafts of seaweed and fishing trawlers are carried by the northern coastal breeze. He’s already been stopped for a few pictures with fans, but remains eager to point out the impact that Tory leadership has had on his working-class town over the last few decades. “It’s been closed since the ’80s, from the ghost wasteland of the shipyards. You’ve got all the scars of Thatcherism from The Tyne all over to the pit villages in Durham.”

It’s as good an introduction as any to the outspoken musician, whose 2019 debut album ‘Hypersonic Missiles’ was a record for his sleepy hometown to be proud of – tackling themes that range from male suicide (the heartbreaking ‘Dead Boys’) to world tensions (and the “kids in Gaza” he eulogised on its soaring title track). He set weighty topics against blisteringly well-executed Americana with the fist-in-the-air euphoria of Bruce Springsteen’s colossal choruses and sax solos. Much like his hero, Sam smartly weaves his own political standpoint and personal circumstance into gripping anthems of a generation, which earned him the ‘Geordie Springsteen’ tag.

“I can’t exactly bat off those comparisons, can I?” he says back in his cosy recording studio nearby. “At the same time, I don’t feel worthy of that tag. The first time I heard it, I was like, ‘That’s fucking sick’, but you don’t want to be riding off the coattails of The Boss for the rest of your life. I can write my own songs, they’re different and my voice doesn’t sound anything like Springsteen’s. I don’t have his growl; I’m a little fairy when I sing.”

He may have toned down the Springsteen vibes slightly on his highly anticipated second album ‘Seventeen Going Under’, due later this year, but there are still plenty of chest-pounding anthems capable of making your hairs stand on end: “I much prefer Americana to the music we have in our country at the moment. I love the leftfield indie stuff like Fontaines D.C, Squid and Black Midi, but I love a chorus and melodic songs. I think the American alternative scene has that down with Pinegrove, Big Thief, The War On Drugs.”

‘Hypersonic Missiles’ thrummed with a small town frustration almost that every suburban teenager could surely relate to. This was most notable on ‘Leave Fast’, where he sang about the “boarded up windows on the promenade / The shells of old nightclubs” and “intoxicated people battling on the regular in a lazy Low Lights bar”, a reference to his beloved local. But album two sees him fully embrace North Shields, an ever-present backdrop to cherished memories and harrowing life events of his youth and surroundings.

It’s no coincidence that the 27-year-old has turned inwards and penned a record about his hometown while being stuck at home like the rest of the country: “I didn’t have anything to point at and I didn’t want to talk about the pandemic because nobody wants that – I never want to hear about it again. It was such a stagnant time that I had to go inwards and find something, because I was so uninspired by the lifetime we we’re living in.

“I’ve made my coming-of-age record and that was important for me – as I get older, these stories keep appearing; I’ve got so much to talk about. I wrote about growing up here. It’s about mental health and how things that happen as a child impact your self-esteem in later life. On the first record, I was pointing at stuff angrily, but the further I’ve gotten into my 20s, the more I’ve realised how little I know about anything. When you hit 25, you’re like: ‘I’m fucking clueless! I know nothing about the world.’ It was a humbling experience, growing up.”

Early last year, before the pandemic hit, Sam was set to jet off to New York pre-pandemic to record in the city’s infamous Electric Lady studios founded by Jimi Hendrix. “Looking back, I’m thankful that it happened,” he says. “If I went off to New York and did my second album there… it wouldn’t have been the same record. I will go and do the third one in NYC, come hell or high water – I’m fucking out of here!

“The forced return home really informed the direction [of the record]. I was on the crest of this insane wave; we’d sold out 84,000 tickets for the [‘Hypersonic Missiles] arena tour that we still haven’t played yet. I’m still waiting to hear when it’s going to be rescheduled. It’s incredibly frustrating; I’ve got loads of frustrated fans. That was all cancelled on the day of the lockdown. I thought it was only going to be a couple of months and that it would be another swine flu thing, but fool me – I was stuck in the house like everybody else.”

It’s not the first setback that Sam has dealt with in his career. In the summer of 2019, he was ready to make his Glastonbury Festival debut with a Friday afternoon set on the legendary John Peel Stage, a rite of passage for any emerging artist, but had to pull out due to a serious health issue with his vocal chords. The mood in the room shifts dramatically at the mention of this devastating period: “I don’t want to focus on that, to be honest, because it’s just negative news and it’s in the past.”

“The further I’ve gotten into my 20s, the more I’ve realised how little I know”

Looking back now, he says, it was a tough decision, but ultimately the right thing to do: “We were doing so much at the time and I just burnt out. If you damage your vocal cords, you can’t take it lightly. If something happens like that and you keep going, you’ll fucking lose your career forever. I never want to end up behind the knife; I just refuse to put myself in that situation.”

The fact that his 2019 breakthrough ground to a halt again in COVID-decimated 2020 “was frustrating as fuck”, he says, “but I took solace in the fact that everyone was stopped in their tracks that time; it wasn’t just me.” This was in stark contrast to the singer’s experience of pulling the biggest moment of his music career in order to rest his vocal cords: “I didn’t talk for three weeks; I had to be silent and just watch Glastonbury on the TV, going, ‘This is completely dogshit’. But you can’t even say that out loud – you’re just saying it over in your head like a psycho. I’d take a pandemic over that any day.”

There was a brief flash of light when he headlined the opening night at the world’s first socially distanced arena, Newcastle’s Virgin Money Unity venue, to an audience of 2,500. Yet Sam’s not in the mood to wax lyrical about that, either. “It was amazing,” he says, “but it didn’t happen again.” A local lockdown in the North East brought the following shows – which would have featured Kaiser Chiefs and Declan McKenna – to a premature end in September: “It was another false start. We thought everything was going to get moving again but then we were just sat around [again].”

As for this reaction to the Government’s handling of the pandemic? It perhaps says it all that he’s selling face masks emblazoned with the words ‘2020 Shit Show’ and ‘Dystopian Nightmare Festival’ on his website. “I think everyone has said enough haven’t they?” Sam suggests. “I never want to see Boris Johnson’s or Matt Hancock’s face ever again. As soon as they come on the TV, I just turn it off.”

Political tension bubbles through ‘Seventeen Going Under’. Its second half boasts tracks such as ‘Long Way Off’, a brooding but colossal festival anthem brimming with angst and unease. “Standing on the side I never was the silent type,” Fender roars, “I heard a hundred million voices / sound the same both left and right / we’re still alone we are.” It’s gripping stuff; a Gallagher-level anthem ripe for pyro and pints held aloft.

Sam says the song is about feeling stranded amid political divisiveness here and in the US, epitomised when Donald Trump supporters stormed the Capitol in Washington back in January: “You’ve either got right-wing, racist idiots or you’ve got this elitist, upper-middle-class section of the left-wing, which completely alienates people like myself and people from my hometown.”

“The polarity between the left and the right has me feeling like I have no identity”

Closer to home, the last UK election, in 2019, saw the so-called ‘Red Wall’ crumble as working-class voters in the north defected from Labour to Tory. “The polarity between the left and the right has me feeling like I have no identity,” Sam says. “I’m obviously left-wing, but you lose hope don’t you? Left-wing politics has lost its main votership; it doesn’t look after working-class people the way that it used to. Blyth Valley voted Tory just north of here. Now, that is saying something! We’re in dire straits when a fucking shipbuilding town is voting for the Tories – it’s like foxes voting for the hunter.”

He’s even seen his own working-class friends peel to the blue side: “I’m like, ‘What the fuck is going on?’ I understand it, though. I’d never vote for the bastards because I fucking hate them and I know what they’re up to, but I get why people don’t feel any alliegiance to left-wing politics when they’re working-class.”

As ever though, Sam isn’t masquerading as an expert: “I’m not fucking Noam Chomsky, you know what I mean? I’m not going to dissect the whole political agenda of the Tories and figure it all out because I can’t. All I see is a big fucking shit sandwich – every day through my news feed – and it’s just, ‘Well: that’s what your dealing with.”

The singer is fond of describing North Shields as “a drinking town with a fishing problem”. Today he adds: “That’s been the backdrop of my life: all of these displaced working-class people. It’s a town that’s resilient that still has a strong sense of community. In a lot of big cities that’s dead. In London everything changes from postcode to postcode, but everything is quite uniform up here.”

When NME was awaiting Sam’s arrival outside the studio before the interview, a passerby clocked our photographer’s gear and asked, “Oh aye – are you waiting for Sam? We all know Sam – a good lad; very accommodating with nae airs or graces about him.” Another pointed to The Low Lights Tavern down the road, where Fender used to pull pints on the weekends: “He was a terrible barman, and he’ll be the first to tell you that. I think he got sacked about six times during his time there.”

Sam (who confesses of his bartending know-how: “He’s totally right!”) hit the local to celebrate when ‘Hypersonic Missiles’ won him a Critics’ Choice gong at the BRIT Awards in 2019, placing the trophy on the bar. “I owed The Low Lights one for being such a shit barman,” he says. “I wanted them to be proud of us because they fucking certainly wasn’t proud of us when I was around working there!”

“Celebrity stuff freaks me out. I’d rather just live my life”

He’s clearly a key member of the local community, then. How did he see the pandemic impact on his family and friends – especially when the North East faced the toughest Tier Four lockdown restrictions last December? Sam pauses before bluntly saying: “I lost more mates; there was suicides again. Mental health was the biggest thing. We lost friends who had drunk too much.”

A track on the new record, ‘The Dying Light‘, is an epic sequel to ‘Dead Boys’, with the poignant last line of the album ringing out “for all the ones who didn’t make the night”. Sam, unable to truly distance himself from The Boss after all, explains: “It’s very Springsteen. It’s my ‘Jungleland’ or ‘Thunder Road’ – it’s got that ‘Born To Run’ feel; there’s strings and brass [and] it’s fucking massive. It’s a celebration. It’s a triumph over adversity.”

He stresses that it was vital for him to be in regular contact with his friendship circle through that traumatic time: “It becomes important when you lose friends to suicide… You realise it’s always the unlikely folks. We lost a friend to suicide at the beginning of last year and it was someone you’d never expect. It really hits home; it’s important to check in on your mates.”

Sam has alluded in previous interviews to a health condition that he’s not yet ready to fully disclose, and tells NME that he spent three months shielding at the beginning of the pandemic: “I was alone for three months and that was very tough… When you’re completely alone and isolated, it’s impossible. I spent a lot of time drinking and not really looking after myself and eating shit food, but I wrote a lot of good lyrics.”

There’s a certain resulting bleakness to some of his new songs, but Sam also wanted light to shine through. “It’s a darker record, but it’s a celebration of surviving and coming out the other end,” he explains. “It’s upbeat but the lyrics can be quite honest. It’s the most honest thing I’ve done.”

You might expect a young hometown hero to rail at having been denied the chance to capitalise on his burgeoning fame in the last year or so, but Sam insists, “I still have imposter syndrome,” adding: “I don’t feel like it’s happened… I’m walking around the street and people ask for photos and it just feels bizarre. I’m like, really? I feel like I haven’t come out of my shell yet.”

Sam has rarely been one to court celebrity, and revealed in 2019 that he’d turned down the chance to appear in an Ariana Grande video. “It was an honour but I would have just been known as that guy in the video,” he tells NME. “All of my mates would have been flipping their heads off, but I don’t think she would really want an out-of-shape, pale Geordie. I’d rather just live my life, because all of this celebrity stuff freaks [me] out, you know?”

He might have to get used to it: things can only get bigger with the arrival of the new album. “As a record I think this one is leagues ahead [of ‘Hypersonic Missiles’],” he says, “I’m more proud of this than anything I’ve ever done. It’s probably the best thing I’ve done in my life. I just hope people love it as much as I do. With the first album, a lot of those songs were written when I was 19, so I was over half of it [by the time it was released]. Whereas this one is where I’m at now.”

“This is a dark record, but it’s a celebration of surviving and coming out the other end”

Still, he adds: “At the same time, this record is probably going to piss a lot of people off.” He’s referring to a line in one of the more political tracks, ‘Aye’, where he returns to his most enduring bugbear, divisiveness, and claims that “the woke kids are just dickheads”. Sam’s no less forthcoming in person: “They fucking are, though! Some 22-year-old kid from Goldsmiths University sitting on his fucking high horse arguing with some working-class person on some comments section calling them an ‘idiot’ and a ‘bigot’? Nobody engages each other in a normal discussion [online] without calling each other a ‘thick cunt’.”

He’s eager to make this statement, though, come what may: “I don’t fucking care any more. I’m not really sure how the reaction is going to be. People used to say things online about me and I used to get quite hurt about it, but now I’m like, ‘Well, they’re not coming to my house’… [But] I get so angry. In Newcastle we say ‘pet’ and someone was trying to tell me that was fucking offensive towards women. You’re not going to delete my fucking colloquial identity. It’s not even gender-specific; we say it to men and women. My Grandma calls me ‘pet’! That brand of liberalism is fucking destroying the country. We could be getting Boris Johnson and all them pricks out of office if we stopped sweating over shit like that”.

Sam might be outspoken, but he’s self-aware, too. When we were talking politics earlier, he said: “I didn’t want to start on ‘cancel culture’ because I don’t want to sound like Piers Morgan [and] I fucking hate that cunt. But there is a degree of it which lacks redemption; people fuck up. Everyone is a flawed character. If you’re not admitting that you have flaws, then you’re a fucking psychopath. The left-wing seem to be that way and the right-wing are fucking worse than they’ve ever been. Politically I have just lost my shit.”

In all of this uncertainty, though, it seems a sure thing that Sam Fender will take his rightful crown – as soon as the world lets him – with the colossal ‘Seventeen Going Under’. “It’s going to be a hell of a return,” he insists. “I know the fans are still there, you know? So I’m not really worried – I’m ready to go out there and do my thing. Finally!”

[jay-and-dean]

More like him

Dean x reader

So I had this request :

I loved it, but it was a real challenge because I thing it wouldn’t be really “Dean like” to go on a diet. It took me months to manage to be satisfied by it. I really hope you like it. Oh, and I added a little Smut, couldn’t help it.

For me this fic is kinda part of the Become that Girl “saga”.

Warning : Swearing. Sassy Sam. Suffering and mentions of unhealthy behaviors and drinking. Jealous Dean. Insecurities. Smut. Unprotected sex (you’re smarter than this). Angst. Fluffy Fluff.

This is both in Reader’s Pov and Dean’s Pov

Words : 10.3 k (yes. You asked for it.)

Jay’s MASTERLIST

Dean’s Pov

             A grunt and a yawn. I turn around, a little pain in my neck from sleeping on the same position for hours.

           I drank too much last night, again. My arm blindly searches for a bottle of water in the deep dark of my windowless room to fight the intense dry feeling in my mouth, but I find nothing.

“Shit.”

           One more night in a shady bar, one more hangover, and one more woman I won’t remember.

           Woman…

           I frown with my eyes still closed and think of her, my stomach gets sick. She was among the prettiest girl I have been with, and she was a little too young for me, I’m sure she wasn’t twenty-five yet. I remember her friends, young and fit boys and girls, celebrating a birthday.

           It’s really something how you see things differently when you’re drunk and when you are not. Maybe that’s why I drink so much : the sober truth gives me the creeps. Yesterday, I was feeling lucky, honored that a beautiful woman had laid her eyes on me, amazed by how confident she was. It felt like I had won the lottery of life, sex life at least. I was on top of the world, I could barely walk straight, but I didn’t care.

           This morning is different. I lay here, nausea making me sweat, disgusted by my own smell and the taste in my mouth, wondering how I came home. I drove Baby drunk like Hell, I could have hurt someone, or damaged her.

“Shit” I grunt again.

How pathetic it is to go look for a college girl to feel alive ? How pathetic it is to spend the whole time we spent together too focused on trying not to be too old or too drunk to actually enjoy any of it ? How pathetic it is to think of another woman, the very second my eyes open ?

I need coffee.

           I get up and make my way to the bathroom to pee and take a shower, I can’t stand the smell on me : alcohol sweat, the detergent of the cheap motel room I took not to bring her to our secret home, and, well, shame.

           After brushing my teeth, I drink all I can from the sink and wonder if she is here. I really hope she is.

Y/n.

The woman I call my friend. The person that have actually been my closest friend with Benny and Cas, maybe even closer. If she’s in the kitchen, she will make fun of me, she will make loud pan noises just to make my headache worse because she says hangover is not enough punishment for hurting my body like that. But in the end, she will probably order pizzas and spend the day with me in the Dean cave not really watching movies while talking about any kind of stuff from hunts to music, from social matters to memories, food -she talks about food a lot, with sparkles in her eyes-, movies, sharks during shark week, horror movie clichés, her childhood, mine, and really intimate things like Hell, Purgatory, like my mom, her dad, our dreams...

I didn’t know I had so much dreams.

           I put on underwear and the grey robe, then shuffle my way to the kitchen in the slippers that makes her call me grandpa.

           Sam is there. All energetic, dressed with those black sweatpants and this ridiculously tight shirt, he's pressing oranges or whatever, and it's noisy as hell.

"Can't you be quite in the morning ?" I groan with a pained frown, sitting with my coffee in front of me.

"Morning ? It's noon, Dean. So, how was last night ? I guess it must have been great considering how late you came back."

"You heard me come back ?" I ask, wondering how late it actually was.

"No, but Y/n waited for you, and around five a.m. she thought you weren't coming home at all, so she went to bed. That's why we haven't been running yet, she barely slept."

I look at him but he's now turning his back on me to fill a bottle with water.

           She has to stop doing that, waiting for me. I told her a few times already but it's like she was a worried mom or something. Y/n is always like that, she worries too much, every cut on Sam or me is a mortal wound, every yawn is a sign of exhaustion. And even if I secretly love this way more than I'll ever admit, I can't let her wait for me all night.

"Hey Dean" her voice catches my attention and I turn to meet her tired eyes.

How can she smile like that after the night she had ? How can she give me that kind smile? I really don't deserve it. I'm disgusting, damaged, violent even... Look at her.

           She walks in and I can't help but drift along her naked legs, strong and soft. She's wearing her working out shorts, the ones torturing me some days, those tiny grey shorts holding her waist, that makes it impossible to not linger on her thighs. The t-shirt she wears is one of mine, or was, since she never gave it back. It's a plain back worn out t-shirt that has really nothing special. She says it's the comfiest.

"Hangover ?" she asks, handing me a slice of her apple.

"Yeah" I grunt, taking it.

I don't like rabbit food and she knows it. So instead of telling me to eat some, like Sam constantly tried for a while, she just gives me little bites of hers. A piece of apple there, a bite of banana, a little of spinach on her fork... and I always let her feed me, maybe just because she does with that adorable kind of smile each time.

"You came back late" she states, turning her back on me.

There is not an ounce of reproach in her voice, but something slightly sad. Maybe she pities me. If she had seen my evening, she would for sure.

           A flash of that girl from yesterday saying my tattoo is weird and old fashion comes to my mind and I rub my face.

"Is there a hunt ?" I ask.

I really need a hunt, I really need some action and to get out of here.

"No" my brother lightly shakes his head.

"I thought I had found one" Y/n adds. "But it turns out it really was a bear this time !"

Her chuckle warms my heart.

"Movies in my room ?" I offer, trying to sound like it doesn't really matter, but the truth is, this perspective is what got me out of bed...

 Reader's Pov

             I cut another slice of apple with my hunter knife and give it to him.

"Hum, maybe later" I answer, looking away. "Sam and I planned on running to the lake..."

"The lake !" he almost chokes. "It's like twelve miles away !"

Sam chuckles and puts a hand on my shoulder, to inform me he's ready to go. He has been waiting for me a long time already, but I needed to check on Dean before I left for the day.

"Yeah..." I mumble. "And I want to practice my gun skills after, of fight skills if Sammy is not too tired from the running."

"I could help you practice too" he states and I give him a knowing smile.

           Dean is not interested in training me, he never was. And, unlike me, he barely needs practice himself anyway, so why should he care ? He's just the best, that's natural. He's Dean Winchester, the best hunter in the world, the best man, the best everything actually. Between the ladies waiting in line to get a piece of him and his friends, the parties, but above all, constantly saving the world... He doesn't have time for me. We're not made of the same wood, I'm from those who have to work hard to keep up. And I never want to be a burden for any of them.

"What ? I could !" he grunts and his brother laughs.

"Yeah right, Dean" Sam mocks him, giving me my bag. "You would probably get a stitch from just stretching with Y/n ! She's getting good !"

"Don't listen to you brother" I assure Dean with a little smile on the corner of my lips.

           I walk out of the bunker with Sam's back in front of me and bite my cheek, trying to ignore that sharp pain in my chest.

           That pain that fell on me again while I was waiting for him, trying to not imagine what he was doing, that dread burning my guts ; and the other, even worse, pain that kept me awake once I was finally sure of what he was doing.

Once outside, the tall hunter stretches a little, humming at the soft spring breeze.

"Why did you wait again" he finally speaks, earning only a sigh from me. "Y/n... I know you need to make sure he's safe but you're hurting yourself. Talk to him..."

"We already talked about this" I just shrug before I start running.

 Dean's Pov

             I stay in the kitchen, my heart pounding in my head, my liver struggling.

           Of course she won't spend the day with me. Why would she ? She waited all night and I was busy partying like those pathetic guys who didn't understand college is over.

You didn't even went to college...

Sipping at my coffee, I think of my brother’s hand on her shoulder and shiver, not really understanding why. I mean, he’s her friend too, a good friend actually, but something changed lately. They are close, more and more every day.

She used to spend all her time with me and now that I think of it… She does with him now. It started with morning runs, then there were going to the grocery store together. They cooked, Sam never cooked in his life, she taught him a few “healthy” recipes while I was making fun of them. Several times I found them talking until late in the library, or sending each other texts during hunts, when they were apart the whole day.

Maybe I’m missing something coming slow… Maybe the woman I think of the second I open my eyes in the morning thinks of Sam.

Why wouldn’t she ? My brother is better than me in every ways.

Sam is smart and educated, went to college and all. They can probably talk about things I have no idea of…

Sam is brave and fair. He’s the best man I know, and if I think of one man that would deserve a girl like her...

What are you saying ? There is no other girl like her.

But above all… Look at him. He just grew old way better than I did. All those healthy craps I always made fun of, in the end he’s right. While I was drinking beer for breakfast and eating fat crap, he was running, practicing. And yes, during hunts we're equals, because I was raised in this life, but if I had to catch him running, I would have a heart attack before he breaks a sweat.

I never cared about all of this. About having abs, comparing my body to my brother's, or about being healthy for that matters. Because let's be honest, I never really cared about myself. And girls like me…Right ?

Stupid.

What girls though. It was a long time since Cassie, since Lisa... And lately the one-night stands have had a bitter taste.

Sex with stranger was fun at first, for years it was. New body, new voice, new taste, and skin and preferences... I guess a guy feels pride by having sex with a lot of different women.  But most of the time it's far from great and I’m tired of starting over every time.

I just wonder how it feels to actually get to know someone intimately, to learn what makes them squirm, their secrets, to wake up next to a friend... Love must be so nice.

The only person I can think of is her, Y/n. The woman that is my friend and the only one I want tell my secrets, the things that make me squirm...

My Y/n.

I grunt, my heart beating too fast because of hangover, my skin still smells alcohol despite the shower.

I'm such a wreck and she's so pure. That woman overcame bad things, and I have seen her so depressed that she barely could move at all for days in the beginning of our friendship. And yet, here she is, smiling, running and dancing in the library at night, making me want to be better every day, to think more, be less self-destructive, to feel pride more than shame. Pride for helping people, pride for my little brother that I helped grow up, and pride for being her friend.

She’s always there, smiling when I need a smile, listening even when I can’t talk, rolled up asleep on a little corner of my bed when I had a night of nightmares. Her hand was in my back when mom betrayed us and chose to leave, like it was the only thing keeping me up…

I can’t imagine her gone, impossible. And I’m realizing, I can’t imagine her in the arms of another man. That’s selfish, but I have to admit it now. I love her. And I want her, I need her.

Yet all I do is pushing her in my brother’s arms. In my brother’s strong and fit arms…

 Reader’s Pov

             I’m running, my feet hurt and I have a stitch on my left side, my thighs are already sore and my skin and lungs are burning. But I ignore them. I run.

           I run to ignore my imagination and the images it brings. Dean laying on his back, giving his precious body to a blond girl that doesn’t even know who he is, how lucky she is. Dean grunting when she swallows around him. Dean grabbing her hair, biting her neck, coming inside her. Dean with two girls, why not…

           I run.

“Y/n !” Sam’s voice interrupts me. “Wow, easy tiger.”

Out of breath, he puts his hands on his knees and frowns at me.

“You know the point of all of this is not to faint ? It’s about endurance, not a sprint or a race.”

“I’m sorry, Sam” I sigh, my body screaming at me even more now that I stopped.

“Is this about Dean ?” he asks, making me roll my eyes.

“How running too fast could be about your brother ?” I grunt.

“You know perfectly why I say that” he shrugs, drinking from his water bottle. “Avoiding him won’t prevent the hurt.”

“It avoids the nausea from smelling cheap perfume on him at least…” saying that, I sit on a bench that is close in a huff. “I just…” I sigh, burying my face in my hands. “How do I avoid the hurt then ?”

“Talk to him” my friend says, joining me on the bench to sit next to me, his tall shadow wrapping me like angel wings, hiding me from this world I hate right now.

“Don’t be ridiculous” I scoff. “Hey Dean, could you not have sex with anyone ? It hurts me. Thank you.”

Sam lets out a chuckle and bumps my shoulder with his giant arm.

           A woman in an elegant sports outfit runs pass us, her tall form bouncing on her thin legs with grace, making her shiny hair fly. Dean would like her, he would totally sleep with her… Oh wait, we’re in Lebanon, there aren’t many girls that pretty around here, maybe he already did…

“How about ‘I have feelings for you’ ?”Sam suggests with puppy eyes and a childish adorable shrug.

I sigh, rubbing my face. Why doesn’t Sam understand ?

“Yeah so it can make our friendship awkward forever, with pity and shit” I look down at my hands. “Or so he chooses to erase my memory like he did with Lisa ?”

A silence falls between us.

           Sam knows what I think of this, how angry it makes me. Of course I don’t want to see him with Lisa, in fact my heart arches each time I think of what they had together, but take those memories from her… It wasn’t his choice to make. I happened to put myself in her shoes and hated it. I would rather long for a single smile from him all my life than being amputated of the only part of me I cherish : My love for him.

           The second reason I hate it is because of what it says about him : Dean is really convinced that he is not good enough. For anything, for anyone.

           During one of our nights in the Dean cave together, not really watching movies and drinking whiskey, he talked about it. And I know how much Lisa and him were meant to break up eventually. She wasn’t a hunter, and she didn’t really want to know about this life, even if she respected it. He was holding on to her like she was his only chance at happiness because, in his mind, happiness can’t come with the hunter life.

           Erasing her memory was not only a way to “protect her”, it was a closure for him. Away of closing the normal life door forever and throw away the key.

“You know he doesn’t think he deserves…” Sam starts but I cut him.

“Don’t.”

           I am a hunter. And despite the fact that I am desperately in love with my friend and going crazy with jealousy, I am pretty happy.

I am happy with my life, my heroic, never boring, full of magic life. I mean, they lost a lot, but do they think people with an apple pie life don’t ? Before I became a hunter, I went to so many funerals that the funeral home employees knew me personally before I hit puberty. And when you lose your family to cancer and heart attack, or suicide… You don’t even get to know for sure they’re in Heaven.

           But I am a hunter now, and I know. I am relieved and I feel safer, because magic exists, Heaven exists, and angels, even if they are quite different from what I had imagined.

“I just want Dean to be happy” I sigh and Sam’s giant hand rubs my back.

           That’s the truth. I wish with all my heart that Dean would realize he can be happy now. That the horror he has been through is over, and that the hunter life he can’t quit doesn’t mean he has to be miserable.

           And that is the reason I have to be the best friend I can. That’s the reason I have to swallow that jealousy that is making me bitter, to just love him, as selflessly as I can.

“Can we go home ?” I ask and Sam nods.

 Dean’s Pov

             I close the bathroom closet and swallow the pill, bending to drink water from the sink, then stand in front of the mirror.

           I never really thought of it, but I’m a little pudgy. My hips are not straight and firm, is my butt a little large ? I frown, making my wrinkles appear and sigh. And those freckles… I never really paid attention to them until that college girl said something about it. Something with a kind smile but her mean girl voice betraying her : “I guess it’s cute, but it always kinda look like the skin is dirty, you don’t have too many on the face so it’s okay”. Why do I have so many freckles ? Dad didn’t, mom either I think, not on her face anyway, and Sam… Sam’s skin is darker than mine, and perfectly smooth. Y/n must like that too.

Stop whining like a teen.

           I walk to my room and sit there, trying to ignore the voices in my head saying Y/n likes my brother. Does he like her too ?

           I take my headphones and turn the music on loud, closing my eyes, too bad for the headache, the silence is worse anyway.

           I’m in Hell, tied up like Alastair used to chain me, but I’m not hurt. Sam enters and points his finger at me.

“You will never be as good as me” he says. “Dad was better, I am better, and the woman you love ?” His laugh is terrifying, evil.

He puts his finger on my stomach and pushes it harder and harder on me, until it hurts.

Until it hurts a lot.

“You’re soft” he says, covering my whines of pain, that come out with my child voice now. “Dad was right, you’re too soft. Your heart is soft, your body too. You couldn’t say no to Alastair, like you can’t say no to a burger” his finger is so strong, like metal, and it feels like it is going to go through my skin and muscles any moment. “You have no self-control. You’re pathetic, Dean… Dean ? Dean.”

           I gasp, half sitting when I open my eyes.

“Sorry” Y/n says, and I look up to find her next to my bed, her hands up in a peace gesture.

“You’re back ?” I ask, still slightly panting.

The sight of her worried face makes my heart slow, and I notice she’s wearing that comfy pajama of hers, the very loose t-shirt draping lazily from her body, embracing her sweet curves.

“I got tired of running” she smiles kindly, finally plunging her hands in her sweatpants pockets.

I grunt and look at my watch, I have been sleeping a few hours, and I think the hangover is gone.

“I came to ask you if you were hungry and… You didn’t seem well” she nibbles at her lips. “Sorry if I scared you.”

I rub my eyes and give her a weak smile.

“You didn’t” I state. “I’m super hungry, yeah.”

I am. When I drink like that, I often skip diner.

I get up and grunt, rubbing my eyes. I thank her, walk to the kitchen with her and sit at the table in a sigh.

“So” she says with that radiant smile on her face. “I was thinking of making burgers. I know I don’t cook them as good as you, but !”

She turns around and shows me her phone screen, moving it too much in her enthusiasm for me to see anything. I chuckle and grab her wrist to still it, enjoying the softness of her skin under my fingers. On the phone, a recipe. “The best burger possible”, with descriptions of how to make the onions crispy, and to make the best sauce…

“Maybe I will finally make burgers as good as yours or close” she states, taking her hand back to read the recipe.

“You know you’re cute ?” I state, but I can’t give her the tender expression I intend to, as my dream comes back to me.

Maybe I should learn to say no to a burger.

“Not as much as your sleepy head” she chants.

“You know…” I clear my throat. “Maybe for once, we should eat what you like and not my greasy crap, like Sam says.”

She stops and turns to me with a pan in her hand and a surprised look.

“But” she pouts. “Me like burger.”

I look down, trying to think of something to say, she actually looks a little disappointed. She was so proud of what she had found… That woman is like a ray of sun.

           When I’m about to tell her that I would love to taste her burger, regretting having made her beautiful smile fade, she puts her phone on the table before me and starts looking in the fridge.

“I get it Dean.”

“Really ?”

“Too much alcohol, your grandpa stomach is fragile” she chuckles and I wonder how she seem to never show real hurt, annoyance or disappointment at anything I say. "Okay, you asked for it, I prepare the same for you as I do for Sam and me."

“Yeah…” I mumble.

           My eyes fall on her phone and my heart flutters. She forgot to lock it, and it’s the first time I see her wallpaper picture. It’s us. Just me and her. I remember that day.

           It was last summer, we were hunting a Wendigo that attacked campers, and had to camp ourselves in the wood for a night to find it. It was a beautiful night. When the photo was taken, I was telling a story, standing with a large smile on my face and a beer in my hand. Y/n came close, I don't remember why, and she wrapped her arms around me, holding my waist with her head on my shoulder.

           The picture really looks like we were a couple. She's staring up at me while I tell the story, her face inches away from mine. Behind us, that beautiful lake and a part of her blue tent. I don't remember who took this photo, and I think this moment must have been very short, or I would remember it. Maybe she just came that close to tell me something in the ear, maybe it was one of those quick hugs she gives me when I say something sad or mention being hurt.

           Why would she have that on her screen ? Before I can think of it further, her phone locks by itself and becomes black.

           I look up, her back is still on me, she's cutting something. With a discreet finger, I touch her phone, trying to make the photo appear again but her lock screen makes me sigh.

           Sam, of course Sam. It's a selfie they took together, simple and cute, both looking at the phone my brother is holding.

"I'm afraid you'll still be hungry after th-" she turns around and her eyes fall on my finger on her phone. "But if you are, there is pie" she states, taking her phone to put it in the back pocket of her jeans.

Like she needed to hide something, like she was embarrassed that I saw that Sam is on her screen.

           She arranges her salad or whatever she's making, puts a plate in front of me, and two others for Sam and her.

"Sam !" she calls and I look down at the plate.

I must say my it is pretty, all colorful. I recognize avocado, tomatoes... But as pretty as it is, it doesn't make me hungry, rabbit food never does.

"Oh wow, Dean is grounded or something ?" my brother chuckles, entering the kitchen.

"Leave him alone" she answers before I can make a comment. "His stomach is still upset."

Sam gives me suspicious look, I never ate this kind of veggie plate in my life, if my stomach is really upset, I wait an hour, and the second it's better, I fill it with beef jerky.

           I can see my brother is waiting for me to make a comment, complain. But when I don't, he just shrugs and starts eating, talking to her about something I don't listen to. I take a piece of avocado with my fork and when I look up to her, she's staring at me, her beautiful eyes searching my face.

"You can change your mind Deanie. I can still make bacon" she smiles.

"N-no really I'm okay" I state, eating a green thing without enthusiasm.

"Oh wow" Sam sneers. "Dean says no to bacon !"

           I swallow the lump in my throat and feel my cheek redden despite my effort to be as stern as possible. I don't need his smart words, and I don't need to see them being so perfect with each other. Getting up, I put the fork down.

"You know Sam, I actually can say no from time to time."

Leaving the room, I rub my face.

 Reader's Pov

             I stay still, my eyes on the kitchen exit where Dean just disappeared. Something is wrong, really wrong.

           I have seen Dean sad, grumpy and pushing people away, but this is new.

"I should go check on him after diner" Sam says. "He obviously have something on his mind."

"Yeah..."

My phone buzzes, it's him.

Hey Sweetheart, I'm sorry for leaving without eating what you prepared. Please tell Sam to not check on me. I'm going to bed, I'm just tired.

Dean is never "just tired".

Okay Deanie. Don't worry for the food. Please if you need something, remember I'm right here.

           Dean didn't come out of his room at all.

           I waited a little in the kitchen, finishing that stupid show I had started the day before, when he was out with yet another woman. I was hoping maybe he would show up to eat something, and then I could talk to him, but he didn't.

"Y/n" Sam's voice makes me jump slightly, frowning at the too bright light. "Did you fell asleep out of bed again ?"

I look around, my laptop battery died, I don't know how long ago and I have no idea of what time it is.

           My friend lets out a deep sigh, offers me his hand and closes my laptop. I get up and follow him, a new ache in my back.

"What was it this time ?" he asks opening the door to my room. "And don't say it has nothing to do with him."

I frown, close the door and sigh letting myself fall sitting on my bed.

"He didn't eat" I mutter and Sam rolls his eyes. "What ? You admitted yourself that something is off."

"Can I sit ?" he asks, taking place beside me on the bed when I nod. "Your crush for my brother, it was cute at first..."

I can see him hesitate, and I know I won't like what he has to say.

"But ?"

"But this is getting unhealthy" he looks down. "You know I love my brother, b-but I think he's not a good thing for you in the end."

My eyes get wet but I keep listening silently.

"Dean is... We all are damaged. You can't stand seeing him angry or hurt but, you know, he is most of the time. Y/n you can't keep spending your nights on wooden chairs just in case he need a freaking sandwich. You're a hunter, a warrior !"

I want to protest, it's not that simple. But nothing come out of my mouth. When tears roll on my face, he opens his arms, welcoming me against him.

           I can't love Dean less, he knows that. But for the first time, he's telling me that he disagrees ; and that changes everything. Sam was always the one kindly making fun of me or taking pictures discreetly for me to stare at on my phone at night. What if he decides he has to talk to Dean ? What if he gets tired of me, his best friend ? And what if he's right ?

"You have to talk to him" he states, making my fears cut my air supply for a moment.

"I-I can't" I sob, half panicking.

"You know he really loves you..."

I let go of his arms, not really wanting to hear more but he keeps holding me.

"What are you so afraid of ?" he sighs.

Dean's Pov

             I'm hungry. My stomach is gurgling and I feel a little dizzy, I need to eat, it's not like I was going to be more like Sam by starving or skipping meals anyway. I will never be like him. More like Sam is not only a muscle thing, he's also taller, smarter, better...

           Coming out of my room, I rub my face, thinking of her pretty face a little shocked when I left. I should apologize.

           After a very quick shower, I put on my grey robe and slippers again, walking to her room slowly.

           I rarely felt that weak, after my heart failure years ago, or after a big blood loss... But hunger like that, I didn't feel it since that week dad left and I lost the food money. I was ten or eleven... I remember feeding Sammy with stolen food, and eating only the leftovers, a piece of fruit, a crust of bread... Sam was starting to realize something was odd. I was so tired...

           I am so tired.

           I ate eggs at lunch the day I went out, then nothing on the evening. And yesterday... Nothing either. I haven't eaten for like forty hours, not even the crusts of Sam's sandwich or three gummy bears he forgot on the nightstand this time. And I'm starting to shake.

           It's enough. I will apologize, make coffee and breakfast for both of us, and ask her to come to my room to continue our "What you haven't seen that ? It's a classic !" marathon movie.

           Just when I'm about to knock at her door, it opens.

           Sam.

           My brother comes out of her room... in the morning ; his perfect pecks showing through his t-shirt and his arms covered of superman veins.

"Dean" he says, surprised.

Then he closes the door behind him, not letting me in, and I feel my blood go down on my feet, making me dizzy.

"Give her a minute" he states, and leaves.

           I stay in front of the door, looking at it like I could see through it. A minute ? What, is she still naked ? Panting ? Dirty ?... I shake my head.

I can't.

I...

She's my Y/n, how can he touch her ? How can he ? I need her, I need her for me... I can't...

           My breath is short and I try to fight the crushing wave of emotions almost making me fall on my knees. Sam is better, I'm a grunt, I'm damaged, dumb, unworthy... And I'm freaking fat !

           The door opens and Y/n bumps on my chest jumps, very surprised to find me here.

"Dean ?" she give me a well faked smile but it fades the second her eyes meet mine. "Dean... Are you okay ?"

I nod but I know the devastating hurricane raging inside of me is showing. And I'm not sure to feel my heart anymore.

"Deanie, did something happen ?"

"N-no" I state.

"Let's get breakfast" she frowns suspiciously. "I told Sammy that I wouldn't run this morning."

Why ? Are you tired ? Sore ? Did he hurt you ?

"I'm not hungry" I state.

The truth is I can't swallow anything right now.

"Not angry ?" she bites her lip. "What is it Dean ? Are you going on a hunger strike ?"

"No" I say and realize my tone is defensive.

She sighs and looks down, licking her lips, probably to taste my brother here...

"I'm worried" she whispers. "You didn't eat at all yesterday, and I know for a fact that you didn't get up for food."

"How can you be sure ?"

Her eyes are suddenly wet, and now I know what that fake smile was hiding : tears. It's enough to make me forget in a second about my own pain, about the crushing feeling on my heart.

"Because I slept in the kitchen again" she says a little coldly before walking pass me.

 Reader's Pov

             I have to hide my face. I can't deal with Dean telling me my love unhealthy too, or with his questions. And I can't cry before him, I wouldn't know how to explain it.

           I enter the kitchen and take eggs and bacon from the fridge. Hungry or not, he will eat a little, he needs it.

Not hungry... Is he sick ?

"Y/n..." he sighs behind me, but I don't answer, breaking the delicate eggshells against the pan edge. "Why did you sleep there ?"

"I don't know" I just say. "Why aren't you eating ?"

"I eat, Y/n."

"Not lately, no. S-so now I make you a real breakfast, like you like it, with meat and fat."

"Maybe I should stop eating that..." he mumbles for himself, but I hear him and turn around.

"What ?"

His whole body language changed. He doesn't stand with that confidence and dominance he usually has. He's hurt, hurt bad. He looks tired and pale, but not only...

"What is going on between Sam and you ?" he asks, low.

"Sam ?"

I slightly shake my head in confusion.

           I don't understand his question, I don't understand the pain on his face. Something happened when he went out, did someone hurt him ?

           Suddenly, a smell of burn come to my nose : the eggs ! I turn and try to save them but Dean's strong wrist grabs mine, making me turn to him.

"Answer please."

His voice is more somber than angry, but his gesture is firm and he's shaking. I can see the fire raging inside of him.

"What do you mean going on ? Dean... The food" I try to turn.

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT FOOD !" he suddenly yells, my heart racing and eyes wetting instantly. "I HAD ENOUGH FOOD FOR AN ENTIRE LIFE !"

           His vise fingers suddenly lets go of my wrist and he takes a step back, fear on his features, like he was afraid of his own emotions. Dean is an impressive and dangerous man, but I will never be scared of him.

           I wipe the tears that escaped my eyes and, on the surface calmly, turn off the fire under the burned eggs. Then I get closer to him and take his hand, way softer than he took mine a second before, under the slightly too long sleeves of his adorable robe. I decided I would be a better friend, it's my chance to be.

"If you precise your question, Deanie, I will answer. I just don't really get it" my eyes are on him, kind but firm, like I was taming a wolf.

"I..."

He doesn't manage to finish his sentence, the gearwheels of his mind visible behind his sparkling eyes. If I don't help him, he will run away, and burry it forever.

"What do you think is going on between Sam and me ?" I ask, noticing his lips are really white, even more than before. But I know he won't agree to eat right now, not until we fix what is bothering him. "Do you think, we're hiding something ?"

That would explain why he was staring at my phone yesterday. Sam and him have been deceived so often, lied to...

"Are you together ?" he cuts my thoughts. "Or is it just casual ?"

"What ? No !" I frown, letting go of his hand just a second. "Dean... Sam is my friend."

"He's perfect" he whispers.

You're perfect.

"He's amazing" I nod. "Sam is one of the best person I know..."

"He's handsome" he cuts me.

I search his face, and he nervously licks his lips. I take his hand again shyly, just the tip of his fingers. He will close again because he regrets those words. I have to answer quickly even if I'm really wondering what this is about.

"H-he is" I state. "Not really my type but he really is a beautiful man."

"You're always together... He... He slept in your bedroom" he says, taking back his hand. "You guys do what you want, but don't take me for a fool."

           I take a deep breath, I won't get out of this without saying a little too much. I little of what I don't want to say. But Dean seems to need answers, and what Dean needs...

"He didn't sleep in my room, I told you I fell asleep in the kitchen. He found me, and bought me back there, tried to convince me to sleep but I was worried... and sad. Why those questions ?"

"Sad ?"

I don't want to answer now, so I continue.

"And... I spend a lot of time with him because he's my friend and..."

Being with you sometimes hurt.

           He doesn't answer, and looks down at himself. Is he jealous that spend time with Sam ? We indeed used to be even closer, before my love for him started being out of control. Does he feel like that third friend the others forget a little for the fun things ?

"Dean, are you upset because I went running with Sam instead of watching movies with you yesterday ?" he looks away. "Does this have anything to do with the fact that you're not eating ?"

"I... I don't know" he sighs. "I'm a little dizzy."

"Sit Dean" I say, guiding him to the table. "Tell me what's going on with food. Please. You know I hate to see you bad."

           He rubs his face with both hands, his scruff audible under his palm. How I wish I could kiss this jaw, how I wish I could show him how much I love him, how I know who he is, not like those girls.  

"It's ridiculous..." he tries, but I sit facing him, and wait for him to talk. "I'm not... like Sam."

"Like Sam ?"

"You know... Abs and..." he motions his body. "All."

"Wait" I blink a few times. "Dean you're perfect."

He scoffs so bend a little to make him look at me.

           How can he compare himself to his brother ? Where do that come from ? I know Dean struggles with serious self-hate, but would never have guessed it would reach that subject, of physical appearance... Maybe this is about a woman.

"Dean. You're the most beautiful man I have ever seen." My mouth starts freeing itself from truth I kept locked, and I can't stop it. "I'm serious. Your face looks like some masterpiece with perfect proportion, y-your eyes are ridiculously green, your jaw could cut glass, your lips..." my eyes fall on them and my words get lost. "You're tall and broad..."

"You're making me blush Sweetheart" he says, he voices back to its usual low hoarse tone. "Still I... You know I'm... a kid when it comes to food, I never exercise..."

"Never exercise ?" I smile. "Three days ago you climbed inside a house then dug a six feet deep hole on the ground, and the day after you chased a monster, fought him, and carried his body to a place where you can burn it... I say you deserve a burger."

His face seems to light up a little, but his pretty pillow lips are still too white.

"But it's not working out, like Sammy."

"Dean... Your brother likes it, he need it to focus, to think" my smile grows and I speak lower, I know my admiration is showing, and it honestly feels liberating. "And he needs that to keep up with you."

"He doesn't" he almost chuckles, finally warming my heart.

"Well, you're the best. It's natural for you, but we have to work, especially me."

"You two are better than me" he states.

"We're not. And... Dean not eating isn't going to make you feel better about yourself. It's going to wear you out, make you weak..."

"I know" he sighs.

"Can I make you a breakfast ? The color of your lips makes me want to draw a salt circle."

He chuckles fully this times, wrinkles appearing on the corner of his eyes.

           I gently pat his shoulder as I get up, still not believing Dean could have insecurities like those. I throw away the burnt cold eggs and make some new, with bacon.

"I hear comments sometimes you know..." he says like it was easier now I'm not looking at him. "The things you said, that my face is nice..."

"More than nice" I admit, turning a little to him, but not fully to keep watching the pan.

"It happened that girls expect more under my shirt" he looks down. "I know it's ridiculous... I just, I don't know, maybe I feel disappointing."

"It's not ridiculous" I state under my breath, grabbing a plate to finally give him food. " Here, eat this, all of it."

"Like with the whole FBI look or with my seductive smile" he stops and grunts. "I feel like a teen."

"Hey, nothing like that between us, you know that. I told you about very embarrassing stuff" I reassure him. "And, what you're saying is interesting, men endure the social standards too."

"I... I don't know I didn't age like a model, I'm... soft."

Model.

"You know..." I start.

I pour two coffees and take a chocolate bar for myself, watching him before I keep talking, to make sure he starts eating.

"Delicious" he states, putting big pieces in his mouth.

"One of the reason I work out with Sammy is... Precisely because I don't want to look ridiculous next to two total models."

"Now that's" he starts, opening his mouth too big at how hot it still is. "That's kinda ridiculous. You're the prettiest girl ever !"

"I'm not" I whisper, softly blowing on my coffee.

"What ? You are Y/n" I lift my eyes on him, his lips are still a little light but shining with grease.

"I'm not like the girl you go out with."

           I don't dare looking up, but see he stopped moving. His robe is now totally opened, the belt got loose, and my eyes are lost in the black of his shirt.

"The girls I go out with" he repeats. "You're way better than those girls."

"Oh listen to you, that doesn't sound cliché at all" I say a little too coldly, a shocked expression appears on his face. "I... I'm sorry."

"You know... the girls I go out with, that doesn't really mean anything."

"I know" I cut him to make him understand I'm not asking him to justify himself.

But he keeps talking anyway.

"I have been with divorced single moms, witnesses... college girls" he says the last one with something bitter and I take this occasion to make it about him again, and not me.

"Two day ago" I ask, although it's the last thing I want to talk about. "It was a college girl, Deanie ? Did something happen ?"

"Yeah... no" he states, answering my two questions. "I just... I just realize it wasn't really what I wanted, not anymore. And that it didn't... didn't really make me feel good about myself."

"Too young for you ?" I try to joke, giving him a piece of my chocolate bar, feeding him like I always do, with everything I have in my hand.

"Kinda yeah" he answers seriously. "I don't know... She... I wasn't frat boy enough for her I guess."

"Yes, that's exactly the idea, that you're not that !"

"I didn't really, you know... enjoy it" he says and I fight the images coming in waves in my head. "I was too focused on trying to prove something" a dark chuckle escapes his lips. "I don't even know who I was trying to convince. And she... She didn't like the tattoo, the scars, the freckles..."

"Whoa whoa ! Who's that bitch ?" I lift my hands in the air, sincerely shocked, I never knew some women would be able to not appreciate Dean.

He smiles kindly but looks at the bottom of his coffee.

           Silence. I wish I could make him see who he is, I wish I could speak more, ask questions, but just talking about that stupid college girl that had him, but on top of that made him feel bad about himself...

"You look sad again" he cuts my thoughts.

"Sad ?"

"Yeah, it happens often. You start thinking deeply and you get sad" he says. "Listen... You're the most amazing friend, and woman, there is..."

"But" I whisper, echoing the conversation with Sam in my head.

"There's no 'but'" he shakes his head. "I was just going to say that I want to be a better friend, and man, for you."

"You already are the best" I smile but he doesn't smile back at all, his green eyes searching mine.

"I'm not. I let you down several times. I get why you would rely on Sammy more. I left you at this bar after that hunt when that witness was hitting on me. And I cancelled movie night twice to go out, just to feel... I don't know desired, loved maybe ? I know how absurd it is" When I'm about to talk, he doesn't let me. "And I worry you... coming home drunk as fuck in the morning." He rolls his eyes a little. "And with Baby..."

"I'm not your mom, I have to stop being so protective, Sam is right..."

"Sam ?"

           That's it, the moment I say so much I regret it my whole life. But I promised my best friend I wouldn't go on like this, that I would either talk to Dean, like he wants me to, or at list try to work on my feelings to move on. It's time to stop hiding everything from the man I love and make our friendship pure again.

"Sam says..." I clear my throat. "That... I have to care a little less about you, to care a little more about me" I don't dare looking up and let out a dark chuckle. "Won't be easy... I care a lot about you."

           When he doesn't answer, I finally look up, fearing what I will see on his face. He's just staring at me with an expression I never really saw on his face. His gorgeous lips are pink again, and the scruff on his cheeks, a little darker than usual, highlights the radiant light of his big beautiful eyes.

           He half gets up, bending on the table. And before I can realize what's happening, he puts his lips on mine in a soft, warm kiss.

           My whole body responds to it. The thin hair on my arms stick up, my heart starts beating my chest and my thighs get moist with a thin layer of sweat.

           I stay frozen for a second, looking at him in disbelief, playing the quick kiss again and again in my head as he sits back.

"I just..." he clears his throat and sigh, getting up. "I'm not Sammy."

Before he can leave, before this moment becomes a memory I will struggle to think as real, before I find myself in that hole of secrets again, I get up. But he's already walking to his room.

"Dean !" I run after him, meeting him at his bedroom door. "Dean. You're not Sammy. You're you, you're perfect in every ways."

           My heart is pounding. Let's do this, he needs this. Dean needs to be loved and I didn't know he needed reassurance. No one can to this better than me, because I worship him. I always said I wanted to show Dean he can be happy, and loved without changing his life for good. This is my shot at it, I may not be enough, I may not be what he wants or needs, but at least I can share with him. My devotion, my love, my body, all he wants.

           And If my heart breaks, let it be a happy sacrifice.

"Your freckles are like stars in a summer sky" he frowns when my fingers come up to graze his cheek. "I already liked freckles but yours... You make any other skin look plain and boring."

His face is so close, the delicious smell of his skin reaching me. His pupils are large, just circled with that green that could make me cry.

"Your lips..." I say a little lower, looking at them intensely.

From here, I can see the few freckles that made their way on them. Then I see his tongue, slowly wetting them before he bends again, catching my lips softly, his nose bumping mine when he opens his mouth to capture my upper lip, once, twice...

           I open my mouth and wrap my arms around him, deepening the kiss with a shameless hunger, and all my love in it. Something blows up inside of me, something strong : need.

 Dean's Pov

             No drunk groans, and no shame anywhere. I kiss her like it was words, and take her inside my room.

"Your smell" she says and I feel emotions rush in every one of my veins, but it's not disturbing like it usually is. "I could bath in it, live it."

I bend to burry my face in her neck, inhaling deeply.

           And I take my time, I have no reason to hurry, nowhere to go, no woman to come back to. She slips her fingers between the strands of my hair, letting me hold her close, drowning in her smell.

           I want to cry, and I don't really know why. Probably because of how right this feels. Because of that relief : She not with my brother. She is not with Sam...

"Dean..." she whispers, her nails gently grazing my scalp. "Can I see you ?"

I put a kiss on her neck and murmur a tender 'yes' against it.

           Her hands leave my hair to go down along my neck, sending shivers down my spine, and push my robe, making it fall like a cape at my feet. That’s how she makes me feel, like her hero.

           Her chin goes up without me leaving her neck, and she gently rubs her cheek on my jaw. In a soft moan, I open my mouth to leave wet kisses on her skin.

Maybe she can be mine...

"Sometimes your voice makes me shiver" she whispers in my ear. "Just your voice... It's so deep."

Somehow her words send electricity to my crotch and I can feel my boxers getting tighter.

           My hands grab her ass, pressing her against me and when she moans, I feel my cock twitch.

"Y/n..."

"You're beautiful in everything" she continues, her hands slipping under my shirt to stroke my back, her voice slightly weaken by arousal. "But when you wear henleys or just a t-shirt..." she kisses just below my ear. "I can get wet by just looking at you."

My cock twitches and I groan.

"Are you wet now, Baby ?"

She nods and I let go of her ass to cup her face, kissing her like I always dreamed of, deeply and hungrily, not caring of being in control of myself, not caring if I seem desperate.

           She starts to walk, making me take a few steps back until my calf hit the edge of the bed and I sit on it. I tug at her shirt to make her straddle me, but she takes a second to take off her shorts, revealing her beautiful thighs, and her white panties.

           When she finally straddles me, spreading her legs, I spot a wet stain on her panties and a low growl leaves my chest.

"Fuck... You are..." I say, my hand coming down to cup her sex through it, feeling the tip of my finger get wet.

Her body immediately contracts, and, with my middle finger pressed against her entrance, I can even feel her walls clench around nothing.

"How can you be so reactive" I groan.

"It's you..." she moans, rolling her hips just a little to feel my hands more. "Dean... No men can do this to me."

           My other hand comes up to take that worn out black shirt she stole with impatience, because I notices she wasn't wearing a bra underneath.

"Oh baby..." I let out, bending to kiss her breasts, my other hand teasing her more.

           I'm burning up, my back sweating, my cock painfully hard. I don't remember being that turned on in my life by so little. She hasn't even touched me yet.

           Her head falls back and her nipples point at me, begging me to suck at them, so that's what I do. Mouth open, I take one in my mouth, along with the most of her soft breast I can.

"Ah..." she moans and squirms above me. "Dean !"

My cock twitches at just hearing my name like that, my real name on top of that.

           I slip my hand in her panties, desperate to hear more, feel more. She's soaked, her thighs contracted and her hips rolling against my hand. She doesn't form words, but her body is begging for more.

           So I slip a finger inside her and feel her squeeze him, hear her gasps. I can't wait to be inside of her but that's not my only purpose... Oh God when she will clench around me ! I’m panting now.

"Please Dean" she whines, one of her hand going behind her to find balance on my knee, her beautiful body arching back.

I give her what she needs, another finger, pumping slowly at first, then going a little stronger, and my thumb on her clit, gently circling. I look at her with my mouth open in awe, a devouring pleasure making me high.

"Fuck" I pant.

           I should try to focus, make that coil inside me calm, make my heart slow. I don't want to be aroused like a teen, or I won't last at all... But I can't, and my free hand comes on my crotch to touch myself through my boxers a little, desperate for some friction.

"Dean ! Dean..." she cried out, now joining the movement of my fingers with her whole body. "I need..."

"Come for me" I order. "Show me how much you want me Baby, clench those fingers."

And just like that, she does.

           Her whole body shakes and her thighs crush me, her walls trying to milk my finger for what they can't give her.

"DEAN DEAN DEAN !"

My cock twitches so hard it's painful, I bend on her chest to not see her face longer, and try to hold back as hard as I can.

"Baby... fuck..." I whine, my whole stomach contracting and my cock pulsating.

But when she grabs my head to hold it against her and start rolling her hips hard to prolong her powerful orgasm, I can't hold back...

           In a very loud frustrated grunt I come in my pants, feeling my cum drip along my twitching cock.

 Reader's Pov

             My bliss makes me high, but my senses are at their full power, so I can feel what’s happening. I can feel Dean squirm beneath me and shake, I can feel his hand unable to move and hear his gasps.

           He’s coming.

           My walls clench even more at the thought and he whimpers against my breasts. So I hold him, I just hold him.

           When I finally can have the control of my body again, I look down at him and he withdraws his fingers slowly.

“Y/n…” he whispers. “Fuck I…”

“Did you came ?” I ask with the largest smile I ever had on my face.

“I… yeah… I’m…”

He seems embarrassed.

“Dean, that’s the sexiest thing I have ever experienced” I assure him, bending to kiss his lips. “No one ever wanted me that bad.”

“I still want you” he states, his hands stroking my back and going down on my ass. “I… I think you’re all I want actually.”

           My eyes get wet. In my head : every single moment in my life that made me fall in love with Dean, every day, every moment I craved for a touch, for his smell, every time he laughed and cried… Everything.

“Then you have me Dean, you can have me forever if that’s what you want.”

“Yes, I do” he says, taking off his shirt.

           With a large smile I push him back on the bed, letting him drag both of us higher on it. I look down at him, and a tear falls on his chest. His hand comes up to wipe my cheek, we don’t need to talk for a moment.

           My hands go down his sides, enjoying his firm chest and the soft line of his stomach, my thumbs massaging it a little on their way up, feeling the strong muscles underneath and the silky-smooth skin.

           I bend to kiss his collarbones, and his tattoo, palms still roaming everywhere like I always dreamed of, like I will always dream of.

“This tattoo” I say, drawing its contour with my finger. “It’s so you, it has a story, and it protects you. I love it.”

“And I love you” he states without a hesitation, his chin almost on his neck to see me.

A tiny emotional sob escapes my lips, making him frown a little and wrap his strong arms around me.

“Hey baby…” he whispers. “Y/n…”

           My hand goes down to push his underwear down, and my panties to the side. He searches my eyes while I do, and licks his lips in a moan when I grab his cock to guide it at my entrance.

“I love you” I say, slowly sinking down on him. “I love you, I love you…”

FEEDBACK IS WHAT MAKES ME WRITE 

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Text divider by the amazing @talesmaniac89​

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief, @romancewritingandwinchesters donated $20, and requested Sam and Dean waiting out a Texas storm with no electricity. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

(read on AO3)

When the snow starts coming down, Dean's not yet worried. He's driven the whole country at least five times; he can handle snow. It's when the temperature starts dropping fast that he pulls up, at the closest gas station, and fills the tank, and sends Sam inside for a few gallons of water and whatever food they don't have to cook. "I told you," Sam says, which frankly Dean thinks is a very smug and unattractive way of looking at the situation. "Remember, that front I was telling you about?"

"Yeah, but who thought it'd get this cold in Texas," Dean says, watching the numbers tick up on the pump. Shit, this is gonna be expensive.

"Oh, you know," Sam says, arms folded tight over his chest, stamping his feet by the car's rear door. "Meteorologists. Climatologists. Just that level."

Dean rolls his eyes, but Sam's turned away luckily and can't see it. Turns out Sam gets a little bitchy when it's this cold. They didn't really pack for it—this was supposed to be a low swing south to check a few harmless jobs, stuff that'd take Sam's mind off the whole soulless thing, a couple of easy wins and some weather a little better than February in South Dakota, but it's not working out that way. Fourteen degrees, according to the display on the Shell sign above their heads, and it's only nine at night.

The snow's already piling up, on the parking lot and in the street, making the nice local El Paso people drive under ten miles per hour and making the world seem—not-right. Alien. A cactus planted in the median glints with ice and Dean sucks his teeth, shivers hard. When the car's full up he recaps the tank and sets the nozzle back in place and then looks out at the frosted world. The black shine on the asphalt. "I don't like the look of that road," he says, after a second, and Sam follows his gaze and nods, immediately. "Tonight's not the night to get out of town."

"Texas blizzard on the highway?" Sam says, a little sarcastic, but shakes his head, more serious. "Yeah, it's gonna get a lot worse." His nose is pink from the cold. "Too cold for the car. Even if we still had that—remember, that awful pink blanket?"

"The one you totally ruined?" Dean says, and Sam grins, even if he shudders after. Sam ruined it by getting clawed up by a ghoul when he was twenty-three and trying to protect Dean from something he didn't need protecting from and then bleeding all over the damn blanket when Dean put him in the backseat to race him to the ER. Dumbass, Dean had called him then, but honestly not much has changed. Dean shoves Sam's side, shaking his head. "Why are we standing around here in the cold? Get in the car, let's go."

"You're the one who took forever with the gas," Sam argues back, but he gets in the car, so. Win for Dean. Beyond the win of having this Sam, this right good Sam, in the car in the first place—whole again, with the soul to make a context for the memories that make him Dean's brother.

They're not far off the highway so there'll be motels. The issue hits when they're driving—slow, painfully slow, crawling behind snow-caked Texas plates that don't know how to handle the weather—and the street goes suddenly dark, the lights crashing off in the fast food places and gas stations lining the road. "Shit," Dean says, checking the rearview, but luckily the truck behind him hasn't slammed its brakes and they're not about to be involved in a black-ice skid.

"You think—" Sam says, but cranes around and it's obvious. Some part of the grid, failing, and that's going to mean some panic and it's going to mean some accidents and it's also going to mean finding a place to stay just got a hell of a lot harder.

The kid at the motel they pick clearly has no idea what to do. It's a shithole, which is why Dean pulled in, and clearly there weren't too many customers to begin with. The lobby's dark other than a flashlight the kid's waving around while he explains in a panic that their electricity is out—"I can see that," Dean says, trying to be patient—and Sam finally leans over the counter, takes the flashlight out of the kid's hand, and sets it upright on the counter so it acts like a shitty lantern, filling the room with grey.

"Oh," the kid says, eyes gleaming big in the suddenly stable light. The kid—the boy. He looks barely older than Ben.

"Look," Sam says, while Dean's trying to shake off that thought. "We get that there won't be cable. We just need somewhere to weather it out."

"My register doesn't even work," the boy says, and Dean reaches into his wallet and peels out two hundred bucks and lays it fanned out on the counter. More big eyes—the room rate on the sign outside is forty-nine a night. "Oh," he says, again.

"Just give us keys, okay?" Dean says. "You can explain to your manager in the morning. How these weirdos paid a hundred, cash."

A blink. Maybe he's too young to realize he's being bribed. Sam sighs, and leans over the counter again. "We're taking room 13," he says, coming up with a key in hand. A physical key—Dean was right about the kind of dump this is. The boy opens his mouth and closes it, and Sam jerks his head at Dean before he gives the boy a half-smile, fake as hell. "Try to stay warm in here, okay?"

The Impala's already inch-thick with snow, outside. "Why the hell did that take so long," Sam mutters.

Dean snorts. "Thirteen?" he says, and Sam nods, folding himself back into the passenger seat for the short drive over—"Center room, more insulation," he says—and when they pull around to the odds side of the building he's right. The city's blanketed in dark and weirdly quiet, with the muffling of the snow, so it feels almost like opening up some hidden hunter's cabin as they unlock the room, unpack the car inside. Sam bought jerky, chips, iffy-looking gas station fruit, and Dean still has one lantern and two spare d-cells and a bottle of whiskey that's almost entirely full, and the water, thank god, is still running. "For how long, though," Sam says, so Dean drags a hand over his face and zips his jacket closed and goes down the row of rooms in the freezing dark to the one that's marked PRIVATE, and breaks in to find cleaning supplies that… clearly haven't been used in that long. Buckets, though, that he rinses out and then fills in the utility sink. Spare bedding on shelves above the laundry machine and he picks out two blankets, the shitty supersoft microfleece kind that have always been his favorite.

When he gets back, burdened like a mule, he finds the room—weirdly sort of homey. Sam's got the lantern on the rickety little desk and it's blasting white light up that wall, but he's lit their spare ritual candles, too, and put them on the nightstand, on top of the blank TV, the minifridge crammed up in the corner by the bathroom. It's warm inside, especially once Dean's got the door kicked closed behind him again, but it won't stay that way for long. "Laundry?" Sam says, and at Dean's nod he disappears outside too, and comes back with a pile of the thin towels in his arms, and packs them in against the bottom of the door, the base of the single-pane windows. The water heaters might be gas but they might be electric, too, and with no way of knowing they take turns in the shower, cleaning up fast. The water's still hot when it's Dean's turn and he luxuriates, for a minute that he counts off in his head, letting the weak stream melt over his shoulders and put heat into his bones, where hopefully it'll stay a while.

The bathroom's steamy when he gets out but it's already cooling fast. Not much insulation in the walls. He dries off scrupulously, trying to get off every bit of damp he can, and redresses by candlelight. Smells like beeswax, the hippie natural candles Sam always picks when they restock their kit. His soulless self didn't bother with that. What a weird thing to turn out to miss.

Back in the room, Sam's made a pile of their food on the desk by the lantern, and lined up the buckets of water by the door. Dean checks his watch: ten o'clock, and they're packed into this room like a bunker. Safe, as warm as they can be, clean and healthy and food to hand. Now there is, truly, nothing at all to do but wait.

"Not even wi-fi," Sam says, under his breath like he had the same thought. Dean huffs. Sam's mouth lifts on one side, wry. He sits on the end of one bed, hands folded between his knees, and gives a shrug. "Well. We got a night off."

They did. About time, too, with how they've been running lately. Sam making up for every bad thing his soulless self ever might've done, and Dean just trying to hold onto the bar so he won't fly off. First time in weeks that Dean's had Sam to himself without Sam searching for another job or trying to pin down his own sad timeline or his brain melting out his ear, and he almost doesn't know what to do with it. A bit of silence, between them, that stretches. Dean licks his lips. "Wanna play charades?"

Sam snorts. "You'd cheat," he says, and Dean smiles his most honest smile, and that makes Sam roll his eyes but smile a little, too. "How long do you think we have until it gets really cold?"

Dean tips his head back and forth, thinking. "It's—what, fifty degrees in here?" Sam shrugs. "I don't know. It'll be friggin' cold in the morning, but we won't freeze."

"Guess not," Sam says, but he's still just sitting there. His eyes on Dean, his body quiet. Dean pours them both cups of the whiskey and sits on the other bed, and Sam rotates to face him, and they toast each other with a rasping papery excuse for a clink and take a swallow each, and it sinks down to Dean's gut like fire, welcome with how chilly it is in here, and Sam's just… still looking at him. Like he's something worth looking at. Dean feels his face go warm and wonders if he can blame the whiskey.

"Hey," Sam says, cup held easy between his knees. "Tell me something."

Dean leans back. "What, truth or dare? We're a little old for that, don't you think?"

His legs are kicked out into the space between the beds. Sam shifts and their boots knock together. "Maybe you are," Sam says, and Dean makes a face at him. Sam smiles and takes another sip, watching Dean over the top of his cup, and after the slight pull at the sting he's still smiling, small. "This last year. Did you ever think about…" He shakes his head, looks down at his cup. Dean nudges his ankle to get him to keep going and Sam looks back up, his hair hanging a little in his eyes. "Did you ever want to sleep with—him?"

Dean's lips part but nothing comes out. He's genuinely surprised. Sam's eyes tighten, a tiny shift that's almost not visible in the dim combination of candle-and-lantern light. "No," Dean says, after a pause that's too long. Sam's head tips back, assessing. "No," Dean repeats, firmer. "It wasn't—right."

Sam hmms and Dean takes a drink. Truth or dare, he really ought to do his forfeit. It's not a lie, not really, but it's not—completely true. Robo-Sam never seemed interested and Dean was still half-caught with Lisa and Dean's a lot of things but a cheater's not one of them, and he'd thought—he didn't know. That Sam didn't want it anymore. Whatever fumbling they'd gotten up to, their drunken stupidity, the almost violent way it'd get sometimes, the way Dean would sink his nails into Sam's back and Sam would bite his throat and then the way, after, sometimes, Sam would look at him in the dark and Dean would think, god—

His cheeks are flushed, hot enough to feel in the cool air. "So," Sam says, after the moment's stretched out, "we never—even when I came back—"

"Not exactly trying to make it with my long-lost brother when my creepy resurrected grandpa's breathing down my neck, no," Dean says, and Sam grimaces but then laughs, and then bites his bottom lip. Still looking at Dean and Dean takes a breath, deep, and thinks, jesus. Eighteen months, more, since the last time, most of it with Sam walking around with no soul, and Dean caught up in a relationship that crashed and burned, and it feels—different. They're both different. Happened somehow when Dean wasn't looking but here's the evidence, in how calm Sam is, in how they're just—quiet, here, together. Something building slow, in the cold, with the snow sifting down outside.

Sam lets his lip go, slow, his teeth dragging white. His eyes drop to Dean's mouth, and lower. "I've got lube," he says. Dean blinks. Sam lifts a shoulder, almost apologetic. "Don't know from what, but it's in my duffle. I've been—wondering."

"Jeez, Sammy," Dean says, and has to laugh, too, kind of breathless. It's hot. Jesus, it's hot, hotter than it should be, to just have Sam say it flat out like that. Asking. "What, you want to huddle for warmth?"

Sam raises his eyebrows, glances sidelong at his bed. "I mean," he says, and Dean has to laugh again. "If there were ever an opportunity—"

Dean leans in and gets Sam's jacket in one hand, and pulls. Sam scoots forward easy, his knee sliding up against Dean's inseam, and it's—easy, weirdly easy, easy in a way it never was, to lean in and press his mouth to Sam's and have Sam just—kiss back, pressing Dean's mouth open right away and brushing his tongue over Dean's lip, slick and hot, his breath warm on Dean's cool skin. "Damn," Dean says, soft.

Sam smiles against his mouth and kisses him again, puts his chilly fingertips against Dean's exposed throat. "I mean, we don't have anything else to do, right?" he says, pulling back an inch.

Dean rolls his eyes and says, "You really gotta learn some better lines."

Sam presses in, kisses him again soft on the mouth. God, Sam's mouth. "I don't think I do," Sam says, hanging there, and Dean groans, pushes Sam's face away, thinks: yes. Yes.

He goes to the bathroom. Takes his time. The toilet, thank god, is still flushing, so the water lines haven't yet gone down. He runs the sink and wets a washrag and cleans up, and washes his hands, and then he licks his mouth wet and looks at himself, in the spotty mirror, the candlelight flickery and making his face strange. When he comes out Sam's stripped the bed closer to the door and the other one is spread with that bedding, the blankets Dean stole, and Sam's in the middle of taking off his belt, standing in his socks with his shirt off and his chest bare and his hair a little ruffled, and he looks up at Dean in the bathroom doorway and smiles, and lays his belt on the bare bed, and says, "C'mere," and Dean comes.

Sam's hands are cold and Dean bitches about that, immediately. "Shut up," Sam advises, and Dean says, "Oh, if anyone needs to—" and Sam kisses him, like Dean knew he would, so that's okay. Together they get Dean's jacket off, his flannel, his t-shirt, and he shivers but Sam's hands drag down his arms and that's so warm Dean can hardly stand it. He drags his fingers through Sam's chest hair—hair, when Sam had been so sleek before—and Sam kisses the top of his ear, weirdly affectionate in a way that makes Dean's chest hot—and then his fingers go for Dean's belt, his jeans, and Dean pushes him away an inch, then, taking a second to breathe.

Sam's—christ. Hot. His nipples pebbled up tight and his cheeks a little pink, even in the candlelight. "Gotta get my boots off, man," Dean says, and Sam looks down like he's surprised that an impediment to getting in Dean's pants might exist, and Dean grins, sits back on the bed. Okay, so. Sam's not suddenly a pure sex god. Somehow that's as much of a relief as the breathing room was.

He works at the knot of his laces. Sam takes the opportunity to strip off his jeans, and then there's his bare long legs, his boxer-briefs. His dick's thick in them, obvious, but while Dean's tugging off his second boot Sam skims them off and down and then he's just—naked, nearly all the way except his stupid black socks he always wears, and Dean huffs and says, "Sexy," dry, but then Sam's kneeling down in front of him, sliding his hands up Dean's thighs, and—well. Truth or dare. Dean wouldn't have to take a drink, this time.

The corner of Sam's mouth lifts and he unzips Dean's jeans, and then tucks his fingers into the waistband, and Dean lifts his ass up and lets Sam pull and Sam—takes his time about it, damn him, pulling down Dean's underwear too so the cold air ripples up goosebumps all the way down Dean's legs, freezing. Sam kisses Dean's chest, his nipple—Dean grabs Sam's head, surprised—and then ducks down, kisses the root of his dick and then sucks in the head, soft and warm, slick, so abrupt that Dean slams a hand down onto the edge of the mattress and his head falls back, his hips lifting. Christ, Sammy. A big hand circles around Dean's calf and Sam sucks, soft, while Dean's dick rises so fast he gets dizzy—and then Sam pulls away, the cold air hitting like a hammer, and lifts up with his mouth pinked-wet and says, "Get in bed," and Dean stares at him like a lunatic for a second and then, jesus, scrambles to obey.

He scooches in to the middle. The blankets are ridiculous, double-weight and heavy, but the sheets are chilly even through his socked feet. Sam climbs in after him and pushes right up against his back, his dick swelling up against Dean's ass, his body a hot shock among the cold. "You're a friggin' furnace," Dean says, and Sam snorts, bites soft at Dean's bare shoulder. There's a second of separation—Sam stretching away—and then Sam's back, under the blankets, kisses under Dean's ear, slides his hand over Dean's hip, down. Dean's breath hitches and he slides his leg forward. "Yeah?" Sam says, the idiot, and Dean says, "Duh, bitch," and there's a huff and then a muffled click and then Sam's fingers are slick, sliding up against his ass, pushing in.

Oh—god. It's been—since the last time. Dean turns his face against the pillow and pulls his leg higher, makes room. Sam's fingers, wet-thick, and the strange uncertain feeling of being broken open, how it pulls and worries, his body barely remembering what to do. Long time. Sweat breaks out at his temples, the middle of his back. He drops a hand to his dick and squeezes, letting it know something better's coming.

"You're tight," Sam says. Unnecessarily, in Dean's opinion. "You really, you never—?"

"Some things should be kept between a man and his hour-long showers, Sammy," Dean says, light, and it's not really true but Sam huffs another little laugh and kisses his ear, and Dean pops his leg up instead even though that makes a cool cavern of air under the covers, giving Sam the room to work him. He pushes back, pulls at his dick, works it fat, and against his ass Sam's dick feels full, ready. He always liked this part, the part where he made Dean want it. He turns his head and says, "Sam," and Sam lifts up and kisses him just like he wanted, his chest warm against Dean's shoulder and his fingers spreading deep, pushing the slick inside where they need it, and while he's kissing Dean and relearning every molar Dean feels the fingers slip out, rubbing instead at Dean's hole where it's hot now, wet, flexing. He drags in air through his nose and reaches behind himself, finding Sam fat and heavy. Thick. Jesus, he could never forget how thick.

"Ready?" Sam says and that's a stupid question. Dean tugs the blankets higher with his free hand, covering his shoulder against the cold, snubs Sam up against himself and then lets go, finds Sam's hip, pulls—and Sam takes over, holding Dean's belly as he pushes inside, and Dean tries to contain the flinch but can't and Sam kisses his temple, soft, and his ear, and his neck, and doesn't stop, bulling open that place for himself, splitting Dean wide. His pubes press against Dean's ass. Dean grips the pillow and lets his knee sink down and immediately what's already tight is tighter, closer. Sam grunts against him, slides his hand down to find Dean's half-wilted dick. "You feel—" Sam starts, but he squeezes Dean's dick instead of saying, and Dean's fine with that, he doesn't need compliments when he just needs Sam to—

"Move," he says, and Sam moves.

It's slow, from being on their sides. No real force behind it. Dean knocks Sam's hand away from his dick and Sam squeezes his balls instead, and then slips a hand to the inside of his thigh and keeps him close that way, locking Dean in place to be fucked. He's still tight but he's loosening up, from the thick rocking churn of Sam inside him, buried up to the root half the time, flexing in and making Dean stretch for him, forcing in that deep good ache of being open, slick for it. With the underhand grip on Dean's thigh his thumb slots in right at the base of Dean's dick, a soft dragging pressure every time Sam squeezes, and Dean can hardly think for how good it all feels. For how much he missed it and pretended for so long he wasn't missing it. Sam's other arm is tucked under the pillow, under his head, and he manages to shove the pillow away enough that he gets bare skin and bites there, soft in Sam's bicep, and Sam drags in air through his teeth and pushes in harder, the wet drag enough that Dean shudders, shoulders to hips, and Sam squeezes his thigh so hard that it hurts.

If it weren't so damn cold Dean would want to throw the blankets off—get on his back with Sam between his legs—lift up, ride, to remember the way Sam's eyes went so dark and hot and intense from seeing Dean get off on him. As it is he feels it building slow, the sweat between them starting to get oppressive, his throat a little abraded from the way Sam keeps dragging his teeth over it, his breath hot there where Dean's skin's so wet. He clenches inside, as much as he can when he's split wide like this, and Sam grunts, warm burst of air against the back of his ear. "Fuck," Dean says, squirming back. He presses his knees together and Sam feels even thicker, his hand caught between Dean's thighs. "Fuck, Sammy—"

"God, I want to come," Sam says, and Dean jerks, caught against him, his dick spitting. Sam worms his hand out and cups Dean's nuts, rubs warm at the root of his dick, his lips smearing against Dean's neck. "God, you're—are you close?"

"Out of practice," Dean says, breathily light, like that's even fucking remotely true. "Can't you tell?" Sam's hand pulls up, fisting his dick, and Dean arches as much as he can, shoving down onto Sam, his teeth floating on this feeling. His gut's molten. "Fuck—Sam, if you—"

"I have to," Sam says, thin, and pushes—Dean tips over and Sam slides, god, out, but in a second he's covering Dean's back and Dean's spreading as wide as he can and Sam slots right back inside, hard, and Dean drags in air against the mattress but doesn't really care, doesn't need it. Sam's pumping inside, fast and deep, the jolting drag of it sliding all over exactly where Dean wants him, and Sam's hands slip from Dean's sides to his hip to his shoulders, holding him in place, and Dean worms a hand between the bed and his dick and lets Sam shove him into his own grip, the rhythm perfect, perfect—Sam's mouth hot against the knob of his spine—and Dean comes pulsing into his own hand, his toes curling and his lips spread against the sheet and his whole body locking up, it feels like, tense, unloading—and Sam groans, shoves his hand between them to feel the mess Dean's making, says, "Fuck, you're—fuck, you're so hot, Dean, the hottest I ever—" and gets a hand on Dean's ass and pulls it wider, shoves in harder, for a shocking minute where it almost hurts except that Dean's so floaty and satisfied he'd take a knife in his flesh and wouldn't mind—and when Sam finally comes he presses right up inside and pumps it deep, forcing it in, and Dean sighs against the bed, overheated and wet, and lets go of his own dick enough that he can tangle his fingers with Sam's, slick, crumpled, bone to bone.

Sam's a deadweight on his back. Dean turns his face against the sheet and gets a pocket of slightly cooler air, content to take it. He squeezes Sam's fingers and in response Sam squeezes his hip, and then slowly, slowly, his lips brush the back of Dean's ear, and then Dean's cheek. "Wow," Sam says, quiet, and Dean snorts. A shift, inside, that makes Dean open his eyes wide—oh, he's open now but it feels—and one of Sam's knees slips over to the outside of Dean's, different leverage, as he pushes in again on all the wet he made, and in again, still thick. Dean licks his lips and it's so quiet he can hear the wet noise it makes—match, to when Sam pulls out—a spill, trickling down over Dean's balls—and then the squelch as he pushes back in and makes Dean grip the pillow, makes his nuts pulse in heated shock.

"I could go again right now," Sam says, low against his ear, entirely honest.

Dean has to take a deep breath. "Don't press your luck," he says, raw, and Sam laughs quiet, drags out again—still hard, christ above—and tugs at Dean's shoulder, and turns him over in a messy sheet-tangling pull, and gets them the right way around to kiss, full, open, Dean's hands on Sam's waist and the bed smeary and disgusting, between them.

When Dean pulls away, Sam's got his fingers curled around the back of his ear, his dick warm and full up against Dean's hip. He smiles, looking back at Dean in the barely-light. Dean smiles back, kind of helpless. "We really wrecked this bed," Dean says. Just for something to say.

Sam's shoulder lifts. "Heated it up, though," he says, and, well. He's not wrong.

The candles are still lit, and they'll have to take care of those so they don't burn the damn room down. The lantern, too—they shouldn't waste the batteries. There's a slit in the blankets somewhere, cool air pouring in over Dean's back, and he tugs, and Sam gets it and helps him smooth them out, making a cocoon for the two of them. The discarded lube bottle ends up under Dean's back and he slides it up under the pillow, for hopeful future use. Their socked toes bump together. Sam's nose is cold, where it bumps Dean's cheek, but that's all right. Dean's not in a state to mind.

"It's gonna suck to dig out the car in the morning," Sam says, out of nowhere.

Dean closes his eyes and pulls at Sam's waist, getting him closer. Sam's knee slides between his thighs. "That's what I missed about you, man," he says, drowsy. "You always know what to say to get me hot."

Sam snorts. His knuckles drag over Dean's jaw, safe and warm.

[pparkerpoetry]

Face Reality (Part 12)

Title: Secrets Fester (but they aren’t the only things that grow)

Summary: Tommy's hybrid half urges him to seek out his family. Sam is hiding something, but they don't know what. Tubbo learns about a part of himself he didn't know existed and is reminded of his past.

Part One

Part Thirteen

Masterlist

___________

Tommy woke up last a few days later to a soft trilling in the corners of his mind. He groaned- it was his turn for a thin day, apparently. He wasn’t surprised, he’d read that families tended to group their days close together. 

 He sat up and sighed. His thin days were always embarrassing, his stupid little bird brain always wanted to spend time with his family, and constantly wanted cuddles. Tommy didn’t want cuddles.

 Yes you do.

 Tommy huffed. No, he didn’t want cuddles. He wanted to get through the day without getting teased. Maybe he could just stay in his room all day. Yes, that was a good idea.

 Make a nest? His mind asked, getting excited.

 He rolled his eyes. Okay, maybe he could make a nest. That was relatively normal, right? His hands moved to grasp the blankets and shape them into a sort of circling wall, with enough space in the middle for him to curl up underneath his wings. He ignored the happy cooing that his mind wanted to release- he couldn’t just chirp and trill, that’d bring noise, and noise meant someone coming in, which meant embarrassment. He didn’t want that.

 Flock, The bird in him trilled sadly. Where’s your flock?

 “Busy,” Tommy grumbled, moving a wing to cover his face. “So shut the fuck up.”

 He stayed there, keeping the sounds at bay, for a long time. Too long.

 There was a knock at the door. “Hey, Tommy?” Ranboo asked. “Are you alright? It’s almost noon, and you never sleep in this long.”

 Tommy opened his mouth to say he was fine, but a distressed chirp escaped instead. He winced, hoping Ranboo didn’t hear it.

 “Uh, pardon?” Ranboo chuckled a little. “Can I come in?”

 He wanted to say no. But the part that wanted to say no was overpowered by his bird brain. Literally. “Yes.” He sighed reluctantly.

 When he walked in, Ranboo immediately spoke. “Aww, Tommy, is it a thin day?”

 He nodded miserably, forgetting that his wing was covering his face. 

 “Aw, Tommy, come on, most of us are in the living room.”

 His stupid bird sounds made him give out a happy trill, and then he cut it off with a grumble. “They’re gonna tease me.”

 Flock? Flock? 

 Ranboo lifted Tommy’s wing and stared at his face. “If I make them promise you aren’t going to say anything, will you come out? It’s not healthy to suppress this.”

 Tommy sighed. “Fine. But they need to promise to not take any photos for blackmail.”

 Ranboo left the room, which his mind didn’t like, but he sucked it up. Eventually, Ranboo came back and beckoned Tommy to follow him.

 When they got to the living room, he frowned. “Where’s Dad?”

 Flock? Where is the flock? Why is it not complete?

 “Prison.” Purpled sighed. “Something about making sure the prisoner didn’t die.”

 “That’s okay though,” Tubbo smiled. “We’re here! We’re enough, right?”

 Tommy’s frown deepened. “I guess.” He went over and flopped on top of whoever was on the couch. He wasn’t sure who, but someone started preening his wings and he let out a happy sigh that morphed into a purr. 

 All of them remained close to the living room for most of the morning, taking turns being near Tommy since his body radiated warmth and the house tended to be a bit colder (which didn’t make a whole lot of sense, since Sam liked warmth, but..). 

 Sam came back a little after lunch. 

 “What took you so long?” Fundy drawled, head hanging off of the couch and feet dangling over the back. “You got a secret girlfriend?”

 Sam had been drinking some water, and nearly spit it out. He was content to stick with choking on it, instead. “No,” He said weakly. “Nope, no girlfriend here. I just had a weird conversation with Dream and had to think about it a bit.”

 Everyone squinted at Sam for a moment, but Tommy interrupted by barreling into him. “Hi, dad.”

 “Hey, Tommy,” Sam smiled. “Your turn, huh?”

 Tommy chirped a bit, burrowing his head into Sam’s chest and letting his wings circle them both.

 “Who’s the clingy one now?” Tubbo mused from a chair. “Hint, it’s not me.”

 ________

 Sam was having an odd day. He hadn’t been lying when he said he’d gone to the prison, but Dream was being weird.

________

 “So, how’d those hybrid hunters end up?” Dream asked nonchalantly. 

 Sam turned. He was just about to leave, but… “You knew they were coming? And you didn’t warn us? I have the emergency contact button for a reason, Dream.”

 Dream chuckled. “I knew you wouldn’t have your device on, since you exploded, and well, I couldn’t be bothered to reach anyone else by now. Haven’t you learned, Sam, that I just don’t care?”

 Sam glared at him. “You’re lucky my boys took care of them. Tubbo and Purpled could’ve been killed, since humans are no use to the hunters.”

 “Humans?” Dream laughed again, before realizing Sam was serious. “Sam, no one on this server is completely human. I made sure of it.”

 “What?” Sam shook his head. “You’re saying they’re hybrids, too?”

 Dream was quiet. “I’ve already helped you enough. I think you’ve gotta give me something in return, if you want more.”

 “Alright. Be like that, then. See you next week.” Sam sighed, leaving the prison. His brain was muddled with thoughts.

 When were Tubbo and Purpled going to show their true colors? What hybrids were they? Was Dream even telling the truth?

 __________

 And, well… He took a detour before he got home, sure, but he hadn’t been lying when he said he didn’t have a girlfriend… but it felt weird keeping a secret, even if he’d been keeping it for a while.

 He had Tommy to think about before tonight… would he be able to leave the house? Tommy seemed pretty attached. 

 The day went by okay after he got home, to be fair. There was one incident where Tommy tried to get on top of the fridge to divebomb everyone since he was too tired to fly up, but Sam got him down. 

 Having a relatively tame Tommy was a nice change, but it was odd. Sam kinda wanted his energised son back, even if he was a little annoying at times. 

 At any rate, he’d made some half put together excuse as to why he needed to leave for the night, and planned on leaving through a hidden back door connected to his room once he was ready. He looked in the mirror and scrunched his face up. He hated wearing suits. He was more a sweatshirt type of guy, or he wore his mask when he was working, but never suits. Why was he doing this again?

 He patted down his- jacket? He wasn’t sure what it was called, but he straightened it (some part of his brain snorted at that), then fiddled with his tie.

 The door burst open before he could stop it, and then it was just Sam, in a fancy suit, staring at Tommy, both looking like deer in headlights.

 “Where you going, big man?” Tommy asked, less clingy than this morning as his human side was taking back more control. 

 Sam winced. He couldn’t lie to Tommy, even if he wanted to. Not directly. “I’ve uh, I’ve got a date.”

 Tommy lit up. “No kidding? Who’s the lucky lady?”

 “I’m gonna refrain from answering that.” Sam chuckled nervously. “Are you going to be alright while I’m gone?”

 “Are you crazy? We gotta tell the others so we can hype you up, and then we’re gonna meet our new mom!” (Sam didn’t know it, but Tommy’s mind was spamming flock)

 Sam’s eyes widened. “No, no, no, Tommy, I don’t think that’s a good idea-”

 It was too late. Tommy had already run down the hall, and Sam barely had time to sit down on his bed before the entire herd of his sons came barreling back, outraged that Sam had kept such a momentous secret from them.

 “Are you nervous?” Tubbo asked, towards the back of the group.

 Sam shrugged, “I mean, yeah, but-”

 Fundy grinned. “It’s gonna go great, dad. You’ve got nothing to worry about, she’s going to love you.”

 Sam cringed, “I, uh, I’m sure she will?”

 “Yeah! That’s the spirit!” Tommy cheered. “On the other hand, can we go meet her? I promise we won’t be weird.”

 “Can you promise that?” Ranboo teased. “But yeah, can we?”

 Sam sighed. “I mean, I guess,”

 “Do we have to put on suits?” Purpled complained, “Cause if we have to, I don’t wanna go.”

 “No,” Sam said, putting his head into his hands. “You don’t have to put on a suit.”

 “Hey hey hey,” Tommy said, sitting next to Sam on his bed, “Now is not the time to be sad. You are going on a date with a woman, and that is Pogchamp. Now is a time to celebrate. Let’s go, you’re going to be late, and you can’t be late if you’re going to absolutely win her over like I know you are.”

 “Thank guys,” Sam said, and he meant it a little. Now he had something to worry about other than his date. “You’re right, let’s go.”

 It was… an interesting walk. His boys were hyping him up, which he appreciated, but he was nervous. He had been hoping to wait a little longer to tell them. Of course they found out on one of his only dates after he’d adopted them all.

 Finally, after a stroll through the woods, they arrived at the place: a lovely little clearing with fairy lights that shone and twinkled as the sun set with a table in the center set in the middle. There was food, and candles, and it was all very romantic, but the boys weren’t focused on that. They were focused on the person who was standing by the table, in a suit, rose in hand.

 Purpled was the first one to speak. “Ponk?” He stepped closer and fell into a hug from the man who was, indeed, Ponk. “Is this really you?”

 “Yeah, Purp. It’s me. I’m sorry you had to go through all that you did alone.” Ponk said, surprisingly softly. “I wanted to see you, but Sam told me to let you heal a bit, first.”

 “Bitch.” Purpled said, but it was clear he was trying not to cry. “I missed you.”

 “I missed you, too. I thought you would’ve come to see me earlier.”

 Purpled shook his head, refusing to leave Ponk’s hug. “How could I? We just found out you guys were a thing today, I was too scared to visit you otherwise.”

 Ponk turned to Sam with an exasperated look. “Sam, I thought you said you were gonna tell them!”

 “Well, I had every intention to,” Sam said defensively, “but everyone kept getting hurt and it never seemed like the right time.”

 “Wait,” Tommy butted in, “How long have you guys been dating? I thought this was like, a first date type thing and that’s why he was so nervous.”

 “Aw, Sam! You were nervous?”

 Sam, in question, flushed a little. “I mean, how could I not be? You’re so amazing and all, I-”

 “How long?” Tommy asked loudly. “You aren’t answering my questions, and they need answering! Now!”

 “Well,” Ponk winced, “Sammy, you answer it. They should hear it from you.”

 “What do you mean we should hear it from Sam?” Tubbo asked. “How long has this been going on?”

 Purpled squinted at Ponk. “And why don’t you want to answer?”

 “A little over a year and a half.” Sam blurted out, and all eyes turned to him.

 “What?” Tommy cried out. “And we didn’t know? You’re our dad, you’re supposed to tell us these things!”

 Sam was at a loss for words. “I didn’t know you guys cared about my love life?” He tried as a weak response.

 “Of course we care,” Fundy argued. “We always care, and that’s why we came here to make sure that whoever you were dating was fit to be our other parent. We just… weren’t expecting Ponk.”

 “Who were you expecting?” Ponk asked, confused. 

 “Well, Tommy thought it was a girl.” Tubbo said, and Tommy tried to deny it.

 “You thought-” Ponk laughed. “You thought Sam was dating a girl?”

 “Sam didn’t say he wasn’t!” Tommy protested.

 It was quiet a moment longer, until Ponk interrupted it, arms still around Purpled. “Wait, Sam, your love life? You love me?”

 All eyes turned to Sam as he blushed furiously and scratched at the back of his head. “Well, I mean, you’re really funny and your smile is really cute, and I really like spending time with you…”

 Tommy glanced from Sam to Ponk, both blushing and looking at the ground bashfully, and groaned. “Oh, my god! We get it, you’re in love! Get a room.”

 The two adults both spluttered, trying to get a response, before Tommy spoke again. “Go ahead, say ‘i love you’ and all that gross mushy stuff. Pretend we’re not even here. I swear, we’re not gonna say anything. Just go for it.”

 “I mean,” Sam started, looking up at Ponk, “if you want to, of course I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, or anything...”

 “I love you.” Ponk blurted out.

 “I love you, too.” Sam responded breathlessly. “A lot. Like, probably too much.”

 Ponk hid his face a little, and held out his hand. “I, um, I got you a rose,” 

 “I saw. You’re adorable.”

 It was quiet, and Ranboo coughed a little. “C’mon, guys, they probably want us to leave. It’s their date, after all.”

 “Do we have to?” Purpled asked, “This is more entertaining than any movie we’ve watched, I wanna keep making them embarrassed.”

 “I agree with Ranboo,” Tommy said, “We should probably go. However, I also agree with Purp, because I want to stay.”

 Ponk shrugged. “I mean, I can woo Sammy here another day if you all wanna just go watch a movie, or something. Sam? You alright with that?”

 Sam had to admit he'd wanted a nice night with just him and Ponk, but part of his mind was worried for Tommy, since he was still going through a thin day. “Sure, I guess we can watch a movie tonight and do something else later.”

 So, they all walked back to Sam’s base, boys in front, politely pretending that they didn’t notice Sam and Ponk holding hands in the back. They didn’t want to notice it. They also pretended to not notice the little sweet whispers that the two exchanged, and the boys were starting to regret their decision to not leave the two alone.

 Despite that, they all watched a movie, huddled in a nest that Tommy had made. He stretched his wings around those that he could, but ultimately was content to just huddle up against Sam and sleep, instead of watching the movie. 

 Sam was curled up next to Ponk, which was a little odd considering the height difference, but they made it work. Sam wasn’t sure where the rest of his boys were in the nest.

 At some point that night, once it was late and it was just him and Ponk awake, he felt Ponk shift. 

 “Where are you going?” Sam asked sleepily, clutching the sweatshirt that he’d let Ponk borrow. “Why are you leaving?”

 “It’s late,” Ponk whispered. “I need to get home.”

 “No,” Sam pouted. “I don’t want you to go home. You should stay here for the night.”

 “I appreciate it, Sammy, but I really-”

 “I almost died a few days ago and you’re not going to do what I want?” Sam murmured, waking up slightly. 

 “Oh, Sam,” Ponk said, sadness weighing his voice down. “Don’t joke about that. You worried me, when you didn’t talk to me for a week, then I found out from Tubbo that the hunters were back. I was so worried that I’d get there too late, and you’d be gone. Hell, before I found out, I thought you were breaking up with me.”

 “I’d never do that. Don’t be sad.” Sam said tiredly, but Ponk wasn’t done.

 “And then, and then I found out this morning that you’d gone against some, some fucking god, and you won, and you’d adopted Purpled, and I found out all the shit that he’d gone through and how you reacted, and I’m scared.”

 “Of what? I’ll protect you, Ponkie.”

 “I’m scared that one day you’ll go up against some big bad villain and you won’t make it out alive, Sammy. You take on so much, and what if I can’t help you?”

 Sam looked up, and saw that Ponk was crying softly. “Oh, Ponk. I’m always going to come back, because I have a reason to. I’ve got you to come back to, I’ve got my boys. I’ll fight with everything I’ve got to make it out alive.”

 “But what if that isn't enough?” Ponk stressed. “I joke all the time, and I mess around, but I’m scared. I don’t want to lose you.”

 “You won’t.” Sam assured him, pulling Ponk back into a hug. “Stay the night?” He asked again.

 “Okay,” Ponk relented, sniffling. “But I’ve got to go home in the morning. Are you going to let me go?”

 Sam smiled sleepily and pulled Ponk closer, burying his head in his shoulder. “No promises. I love you.”

 “I love you too, you big sap.”

 _______

 Tubbo woke up last the next morning. His head hurt, like he had a headache, and his mouth was dry. He wasn’t aware that he’d woken up last, as he was still curled up in the nest and didn’t really want to do… anything. His head hurt too much.

 He let out a little whine, burrowing his head into the blankets as the light hit his face.

 “Tubbo? You up, man?” Who was that? That was Tommy, right?

 “Tommy?” He murmured. “My head hurts.”

 The voice chuckled. “Not Tommy. I’m Ranboo. I dunno, you need an advil, or something?”

 “I don’t know,” Tubbo groaned. “Make it stop.”

 He heard a slight humming. “Maybe I should go get Sam.”

 “No,” Tubbo pouted, curling up even more. “Get Tommy. I want Tommy.”

 Footsteps echoed away from him, and Tubbo moved one of his arms under his head. His fingers brushed against his ear, and-

 “What?” He sat up, poking at the back of his ear, momentarily blocking out the pain of his head. “What?”

 Sam walked into the room, “What d’you mean? Anything wrong? Ranboo said your head hurt, or something.”

 “Sam,” Tubbo started, hands still covering his ears. “Why am I growing fur?”

 A look of sudden surprise was painted across Sam’s face before it settled on a grimace. “Well, Tubbo, you’re a hybrid.”

 Tubbo looked up quickly, wincing at the pounding in his head. “I’m a hybrid? How do you know?”

 “When I visited Dream he mentioned it,” Sam mumbled a bit, before speaking a little louder. “Anyway, it’s probably going to hurt. I’ll send someone to go grab Tommy, since most of us were born with our hybrid features rather than growing them.”

 Tubbo thought Sam spoke more, but he wasn’t listening. His head was still hurting, and the pain was still increasing. He wanted Tommy. He missed Tommy, where was he?

 How had he gotten on the couch? Was he crying? Oh. His head hurt a lot. “Tommy?” He sniffled, too far gone to hate how vulnerable his voice was.

 “I’m here, Tubs. I’m here.”

 “What’s going on?” He managed, trying to turn to his side but yelping when the pain spiked.

 “You’re probably growing something.” Tommy said nonchalantly, putting a hand into Tubbo’s hair. 

 Tommy’s hands put pressure on the side of his head. “Ow,” Tubbo cried, and Tommy rushed an apology. It was quiet for a moment. “What am I growing?”

 “I can’t tell yet.” Tommy hesitated. “Your ears look pretty cool, though. They’ve gotten all long and furry.”

 “My ears are furry?” Tubbo didn’t quite catch Tommy’s reply as he fell asleep despite the pounding in his head.

 _________

 The next time Tubbo woke up, he was alone. He was still on the couch, but daylight streamed through the windows and the house was silent. Where was everyone?

 His head felt much better, but his mouth was still dry, so he pried himself off of the blankets and padded into the kitchen for a glass of water. He turned the faucet on and yawned as the water poured out, reaching up to scratch his head.

 His hand hit something smooth and solid, right above his ear.

 Tubbo turned off the faucet as his eyebrows furrowed, walking over to the bathroom, glass still in his clutches. No one was in the halls, and he frowned as he pushed the bathroom door open. 

 His gaze raised to the mirror, and the glass slipped from his fingers to shatter on the ground. He didn’t register the water that soaked through his socks, but he stared, unblinking, as his eyes filled with tears. He stumbled backwards, yelping as he fell into the tub and sobs racked his body.

 “Tubbo?” Tommy’s voice called from down the hall. “I heard a crash, are you alright?” The voice got louder and Tubbo’s cries did, too. Tommy’s head popped through the door frame. “Tubbo?”

 In the corner of the shower, Tubbo was huddling with his legs pressed against his chest and head ducked down. When he spoke, it came out soft and trembling. “We promised.”

 “What?” Tommy started, but was cut off by Tubbo.

 “We promised that you wouldn’t be the next Wilbur, and I wouldn’t be the next Schlatt.”

 “Yeah?” Tommy said, tilting his head, crouching down in front of Tubbo and holding his hands out, palms up. “And we kept it. We’re fine, okay? We’re safe, and nothing is going to happen. Let’s get clean-”

 “Then why have I grown horns?” Tubbo cried, tears streaming down his face. “I was finally able to move on, and now I’ve got a permanent reminder of him. He promised he wasn’t my father, Tommy, but what if he really did lie about everything?”

 “Oh, Tubbo.” Tommy said softly. “Schlatt’s not your father.”

 “How can you be sure?” Tubbo asked, but he moved into Tommy’s arm for a hug. His chin rested on Tommy’s shoulder.

 “Because,” Tommy reasoned, “Your horns aren’t the same. His curved around his ears, right? Yours stick up a little. And your ears!” Tommy smiled, and lightly flicked one of Tubbo’s ears. “You’ve got some yellow fur growing. I’d bet good money that you’re a moobloom.”

 “You bet good money for stupid reasons, though, Tommy.” Tubbo murmured, falling asleep again as Tommy’s wings wrapped around him.

 Tommy went to reply, but Tubbo had fallen asleep. “You’re lucky that you’re my best friend, bitch.” He grumbled, picking up Tubbo to move him to the couch again. He’d clean up the bathroom too, but Tubbo was more important.

 His best friend was more important.

 Family was more important.

 More important than anything.

[thicctails]

Summer Of Whump Days 16 + 19 [Touch-Starved/Hope]

Happy Father’s Day! Have toothpick dad figuring out how to get his adike outta space prison.

Crosshair pressed his forehead against the wall of his bunk, gritting his teeth. His head was pounding, the ache radiating from the left side and seeping down through his skull and spreading into the rest of his mind. It had been a steadily building pain, starting when that damn animal had hit him with its tail. He’d dodged going to a medic, instead choosing to spend his free time trying to sleep the migraine off. So far, it hadn’t worked.

 He pulled his pillow over his head when a slight ringing started to form in his ears. The sound grew and grew and grew, until all he could hear was the unyielding, skull-piercing ringing.

 Then, silence.

 Crosshair blinked.

 It was like a huge drop of cold water had been dropped on him, shocking him back to reality. He sat up, running a hand over his face. The guilt and disbelief of his actions had him reeling for a moment. He’d almost killed his vod'ika, would have had Omega not sacrificed herself. He went a little pale at the memory of what state the girl had been in when they’d been picked up. Whatever had happened on that Jedi cruiser, it had been ugly, and he felt a ripple of burning shame rush through him when he thought about how much it must have hurt to stand in front of him like she had.

 He slid off of his bunk, not bothering to grab his helmet. He needed to go see her, make sure her burns were getting properly treated. It had been a day and a half, had anyone gone to change her bandages? Checked in on her? Fed her? Likely not, as he seemed to be the only one here who understood how important it was for her to remain alive and healthy. That was still top priority, but now it was for different reasons.

 He had to get them out of here, back to his vode and out of the Empire’s reach. Omega’s existence was proof that the Kaminoans had successfully managed to create an artificial Force-sensitive being, and the thought of them creating an army of Force-sensitive clones with inhibitor chips sent a chill down his spine.

 No. He’d find a way out of this outpost and off of the planet before they were due to make the trip back to Kamino. He’d have to find a way to get the chip out, maybe go back to Bracca? Then he’d find a way back to his batchmates and they’d disappear. Good. Yes. Great plan.

 Pausing, he stepped behind a wall as a group of troopers marched past. They had come from the direction of the prison cell. He scowled at them silently, fighting the itch to end their lives. He needed to be subtle, cunning, and stealthy, which meant he couldn’t let his temper flare up, lest he risk being discovered.

 Once the coast was clear, he slipped out from behind the wall and approached the room door. He put in the password and stepped inside once the door slid open. His eyes widened upon seeing that someone new had been put into the cell. The kid was tugging at a thick, black collar, a red light blinking rapidly. He jolted suddenly, his muscles spasming as he was electrocuted.

 “Cal!” Omega cried, reaching out to him. Her own collar began to blink rapidly, and she yelped when the same happened to her. Pillow, who was chained against the, was honking loudly, the sound sounding more like short roars now. He was the one to first notice Crosshair, and he snarled at the clone, his tail smashing against the wall. The stone cracked under the force, bits of the wall crumbling away.

 “Shh!” He hissed, putting a finger up to his lips. “Do you want to get into even more trouble?”

 The two children gasped when he spoke, their eyes widening in fear. The boy, named Cal, apparently, glared at Crosshair. He moved in front of Omega, shielding her as best he could. His collar beeped, but not enough to activate the electric shock. Omega peered at him, her large brown eyes wet with unshed tears.

 “Crosshair?” She asked, her voice sounding strained. The collar was probably pressing against her already bruised throat.

 “It’s me, ad’ika.” He said softly, kneeling down. “I’m back, at least for now.”

 Omega brightened, her face splitting into a wide grin. She shuffled forward, but the other kid remained firm. He didn’t move from his spot, and Crosshair could practically feel the anger and mistrust rolling off him in waves.

 “How do we know we can trust you?” He snapped.

 “You don’t, but you’re going to have to.” Crosshair replied. “We need to get out of here. Fast. A transport vessel will be here before the week is out, and we need to be gone before that happens.”

 “Well in case you haven’t noticed,” Cal pointed to the collar on his neck, “we’re kinda trapped here. These collars shock us every time we try and use the Force.”

 “And Pillow is stuck over there!” Omega chimed in, gesturing to where said amphibian was straining against the short chain that was keeping him trapped. “We can’t leave without him!”

 Crosshair hummed, peering at the collars. There was a small slit on each one, a lock that would need a certain key card to open. A key card that he didn’t have.

 “I’ll find a way to get those off. Until then, try to refrain from getting electrocuted.” He said, standing back up.

 A small growl sounded out, and Omega looked at her stomach in embarrassment.

 “Sorry. I haven’t eaten since…” She brought a hand to her chin. “Just over two days ago, I think? The last thing I ate was a ration bar on the ship before we got to Bracca.”

 A memory flashes through his head. He’s young, still learning how to fight, and he and his brothers have failed a test. They end up not being given rations for the day. He remembered it being especially hard on Hunter and Wrecker, who even at that age, burned more calories that the rest of them. He remembered feeling sluggish and unusually weak, his stomach growling like a wild animal as it ate away at itself. They had all felt miserable, and it had served as a good motivator to not fail next time.

 Crosshair growled, the sound reverberating in his chest. “These animals- I’ll be back in a moment. Remain here.” He spun around and stomped back out of the room.

 “We don’t have a choice!” Cal called, huffing when the door simply slid shut. The freckled boy turned to look at Omega. “Do you really trust him?”

 Omega nodded. “He’s not a bad person, he was just being made to do bad things.”

 Cal sighed and gave her a slight smile. “Okay, if you say so.”

    Crosshair returned about a half hour later, a bag slung over his shoulders. He pressed a few buttons on the control panel, locking the door before moving deeper into the room. Omega looked up from her place on the floor, gritting her teeth when as she sat forward. Cal was sat next to her, the two of them having moved over to where Pillow was. The pale creature was sleeping, forced to rest sitting up due to the chain on the wall being attached to his muzzle. Crosshair gave Omega sympathetic look, kneeling down again so that he was closer to being eye level with her and Cal.

 “Okay adike, lets get some food in you so you don’t end up looking like me.” He joked, reaching forward and unlocking their cuffs.

 He reached into the bag and produced two wrapped squares, passing a sandwich to both kids. Omega thanked him excitedly and quickly took the offered food. Cal hesitated, but in the end his hunger won out. He cautiously took the sandwich, softly uttering his thanks. Omega and Cal took a minute to rub their sore wrist while Crosshair carefully unclipped the band around Pillow’s muzzle.

 Pillow’s eyes opened, eyeing Crosshair as he tossed the metal band aside.

“I’ll need to put that back on before I leave, but I’ll try to loosen it.” He said.

 Violet orbs bore into him for a moment, flicking between him and the now ravenously eating children, before Pillow’s head swung towards him. Crosshair flinched a bit, but calmed when Pillow merely rubbed his head against Crosshair’s chest, a deep, rumbling purr sounding out. It seemed that his actions had earned him forgiveness. That would make things easier.

 While Omega finished off her sandwich, he dug into the bag and retrieved a roll of gauze, a container of warm water, a clean cloth, and a container of bacta, setting them down on the floor. He retrieved two bottles of cool water and handed them over to Cal and Omega.

 “Here, drink this. Omega, come here so that I can change your bandages.” He said, grabbing a numbing shot from the bag.

 Omega gulped down her water, cringing when Crosshair stuck her with the needle. After the numbing liquid had set in, he went about unwrapping Omega’s bandages. He sighed in relief upon spotting no signs of infection. With a gentleness that he didn’t know he still possessed, he soaked the cloth in the warm water and cleaned her wound. The skin had already started to scar, and since most of the tissue had been too damaged to regrow, the scar would be rather large. As he gently dabbed the burns, he noticed something odd. Small, circular scars covered Omega’s back, some not even fully finished scarring. They were all the same size, and they were perfectly spaced. It looked as though someone had taken a small cookie cutter to her back.

 Suddenly, he’s back in the medical ward on Kamino. A machine is whirring in his ears and the bright lights overhead are hurting his eyes. A sharp pain erupts from his left shoulder, and he turns to see a chunk of his flesh being sliced out of him. Later that night, he finds out that his vode all went through the same thing. Tech thinks that they want to find out if they’re as enhanced as they we’re designed to be. Apparently, they were, because they weren’t all euthanized within the next few days. Whatever they had been searching for, they’d only needed one sample to find it.

 There had to be dozens on Omega’s back.

 He suppressed a growing roar of rage that was bubbling up from his chest. He’d barely knew Omega, only having those brief moments with her before his chip had been intensified, yet he already knew that he’d kill for her. No child should ever have to endure something like that. He quickly applied the bacta, then re-wrapped Omega’s dressings. Once he was done, he fished another container out of the bag. Unscrewing the lid, he set it down in front of Pillow.

 “It’s food. Eat it.” He commanded.

 Pillow sniffed at the offered container, then started eating, chunks of meat being snapped up and gulped down. Omega laughed when Pillow pulled his face away and revealed that there was a piece of meat stuck on his nose. Cal reached over, plucked the chunk of meat off of the amphibian’s forehead, and tossed it up into the air. In a flash, Pillow snapped his jaws closed around it. He licked his teeth and flopped down next to Crosshair, staring up at him with his big, pleading eyes.

 “No, that’s enough for you. It was hard enough sneaking that amount in here.” Crosshair scolded.

 Pillow moved his head onto Crosshair’s knee, staring sadly at him as he sighed loudly. Crosshair sighed and reached back into the bag. He produced another sandwich and tossed it into Pillow’s open mouth. The white-scaled creature purred loudly and rubbed up against Crosshair, knocking him over onto the floor. He laid his head down on the man’s chest, ignoring Crosshair’s protests.

 “Get off me, you obese salamander!” He yelled, shoving Pillow’s head. Pillow merely snuggled down, rubbing his cheek against Crosshair’s armor.

 “Looks like he wants you to stay.” Cal piped up, taking a sip of his water.

 “Well I can’t. I need to locate the key to those collars so that we can get out of this dump.” Crosshair hissed, finally managing to wiggle out from underneath Pillow.

 “Aw, but you just got here!” Omega said. “Do you have to go right away?”

 “Unfortunately yes. Those troopers out there aren’t the most observant, but even they will notice my absence if I am gone too long.” Crosshair sighed. “Which means I need to put your restraints back on.”

 Cal and Omega groaned, but put their wrists together regardless. Crosshair snapped the cuffs back on, giving the duo an apologetic look.

 “I promise that once we’re out of here, none of you will spend another  minute in shackles.” He said, looking between Pillow, Omega, and Cal. “Now, I have to go. I need to do some stealth work and find out where the key card to your collars is.”

 “Be careful Crosshair.” Omega said, her eyes full of worry.

 He nodded and stood, grabbing the bag and heading out the door.

     It took five days for Crosshair to locate the key card, and another whole day for him to manage to steal it. Throwing his bare essentials into a bag, he slung it over his shoulder and stalked out of the room. The outpost was dark, the electricity out due to a growing storm taking out their generator. He was a predator here, prowling through the shadows, using his superior sight to navigate through the black. He passed troopers as he moved through the outpost, none detecting him over the howling wind and the sound of their own chatter.

 Just as he’s about to reach the outpost’s makeshift prison, he overhears a conversation between two troopers.

 “Is it true? Did they really make a clone that can use the Force?” One asked, leaning in close to his companion.

 “Yeah, but it’s a weird little runty one. Kaminoans must’ve kriffed up while they were making it, I guess.” The trooper sneered. “Little shit’s too cocky for its own good. Hope they put it down once they’re done experimenting on it or whatever.”

 In an instant, a flash of burning hot rage enveloped Crosshair. His hand found a vibroknife that he had stashed away in a hidden pocket. He pounced, gripping the trooper’s head and pulling it back, exposing his neck. The knife’s blade easily sliced through the man’s neck. He made sure that it was deep enough to kill but shallow enough to make it a slower death. While that wretched creature choked on his own blood, Crosshair swung the knife and plunged it through the other trooper’s visor, the sharp point piercing the man’s skull. He jerked the vibroknife free, fresh blood dripping off the blade.

 His anger cooled a bit, and he made his way to the cell door. The door was running on emergency power, and he had to sever that connection to get the doors to open. Inside, he could see the rapidly blinking lights of the two Force suppressant collars, the red glow highlighting the faces of Cal and Omega. Omega’s face was buried in Cal’s chest, the young clone quivering. A clap of thunder rang out, the sound louder than it would be on most planets. It made her squeak in fear, and she shuffled even closer.

 It was so easy to see Hunter in Omega’s place. Back when they were still cadets, his vod had hated the storms on Kamino, his sensitive hearing being battered by the roaring thunder that made itself known every other week or so. So every time there was a storm and they were in their quarters, Crosshair and his vode would take all of their blankets and pillows and they’d create a little hiding spot for Hunter. Once he had curled up in the middle of the makeshift nest, they would cover him up until there was only a small hole left for air.

 Omega had no such luxury. She had no batchmates, a fact that hurt Crosshair on a deeper level, and thus was left to exist in a state of fear. The medical centers were tucked into the middle of Kamino’s bases, so Omega had probably never heard thunder this loud before. He crossed the room quickly, dropping to his knees when he heard Omega’s quiet cries.

 “Come on, adike. It’s time for us to go.” He said, just loud enough to be heard above the fading rumbles. Pausing only to remove their restraints, he slipped tiny the key card into the small slits, ginning when the collars became slack and slid onto the floor.

 In an instant, the two kids were locked in a tight embrace. They were both quivering now, and judging by how their hands were twitching more than the rest of their bodies, he figured that they were both currently using the Force. While they comforted each other, he set about freeing Pillow from his bindings. The amphibian nuzzled him, before starting to nose at his bag.

 “Cut that out. There’s no treats for you in there.” He grumbled, pushing Pillow’s muzzle away. Darting back over to Cal and Omega, he extended a hand.

 “Neither of you will be able to see until we get to the ship, so we’ll need to hold hands. We’ll be moving fast, so try your best to keep up.” He said, grasping Omega’s hand once he saw her reach out to him. With Omega holding on to him, Cal holding on to her, and Pillow bringing up the rear, the group escaped the room, Crosshair leading them out a nearby door and into the raging storm.

 Bitter, biting wind whipped all around them, freezing cold rain drenching their clothes and causing Omega and Cal to slip more than once as they ran across the shipyard. More than once, Pillow had to keep Omega and Cal from getting tossed around by the storm while Crosshair dealt with a trooper or three. Finally, after a good half hour of sneaking and stealth killing, they made it to the ship Crosshair had chosen to steal. He ushered the kids on, wanting them out of the harsh storm. They were soaked to the bone, shivering with chattering teeth as they strapped in. Once everyone was secure, Crosshair fired up the engine, gripping the controls. The storm was so intense that there was a chance that it would mask their take off, but at the same time the fierce lightning that was building within the mass off clouds could send them plummeting down.

 Crosshair gripped the controls tighter.

 He’d get them out of this.

     Crosshair chewed on a toothpick, his eyelids drooping from exhaustion. He’d found them a good hiding place, a heavily forested planet not too many light years from Bracca. He needed to contact his squad, find a way to convince them that he could be trusted once again so that he could get this damnable chip removed. He needed to do a lot of things, but for now he was content to simply take a moment to breathe.

 Omega and Cal were asleep, dressed in uniforms that were far too big but would ultimately keep them warm and dry. The two were sleeping on the floor, a soft cushioning of bunk mattresses and blankets providing a comfortable place to sleep. Omega was half draped over a sprawling Cal, the young clone snuggling up to her friend. She’d fallen asleep easily, and the boy simply hadn’t had the heart to move and risk waking her. So there he lay, snoozing away with Omega holding onto him like her life depended on it.

 A regular person might have been confused by her clinginess, but he understood completely. When clones were very young, they slept in piles with their batchmates. It provided a sense of security, lowered their stress levels, and helped forge an important bond. If your very purpose was to fight in a war with a group of people, you’d better be someone they’d fight to keep alive.

 The Kaminoans had, at one point, tried to see if this behaviour could be stopped. They had forced a batch of clones to sleep apart from their batchmates, only allowing them to train and eat together. By the time they had reached adulthood, they had become noticeably different. They were anti-social, only called each other by their numbers, were completely out of sync in combat training and often acted aggressively. They snapped at each other and at the other clones, distancing themselves from the rest of their vode.

 They’d all died in their first battle. The Kaminoans never tried the experiment again.

 Omega had no batchmates, no vode to form a pile with. He wondered if the Kaminoans had tried to make more and Omega had been the only survivor, or if they simply hadn’t cared because she was never meant to be in a group. It didn’t really matter, he supposed, it wouldn’t change the fact that Omega had been missing out on a crucial part of growing up as a clone. However, it seemed that Omega had found someone to pile with in Cal, even if neither of them really understood what she was doing. Hopefully, it wasn’t too little too late, and she would grow up to be a well adjusted young lady.

 Omega yawned softly in her sleep, shifting as she tried to find a more comfortable position. She repositioned herself so that her head rested on Cal’s chest, throwing an arm over the boy’s torso. Cal mumbled something incomprehensible and turned onto his side, pulling Omega into a loose hug as his blanket fell onto her. Omega smiled, eagerly nestling into the new warmth.

 For the first time in years, Crosshair found himself aching for that comfort. He and Hunter had always been at the bottom of the pile, the close presence of their vode always being the one thing that could ease them into a peaceful sleep. In the pile, there were no harsh lights that signified the early start of a new day, nor the echoing roar of Kamino’s storms. There was only them and their brothers, safe and together.

 He remembered the day they’d first been made to sleep apart. The noises and smells and brightness had made sleep impossible. Their room door had a crack at the bottom that always let in a bit of light, and to his advanced eyes, that little stretch of light had seemed like a kriffing sun to him. Only the threat of being separated from his batchmates for the whole day had kept him in his bunk. Once the morning lights had come on, he’d launched himself at his closest vod, which on that morning had been Wrecker. His second-eldest brother had pulled him into a crushing hug, and he had felt the wetness of tears on his shoulder. Any other time, he would have teased the larger clone for crying, but on that morning, he’d have been a hypocrite.

 Maybe it was their enhancements, or maybe it was the fact that the other clones didn’t like them very much, but for some reason it took far longer for them to become acclimated to sleeping alone. After their first mission, they’d all started towards their own bunks, as they had been for months, when Wrecker had paused and asked if they would still be separated if they pilled together on the ship. They had all looked at each other, before instinctively turning towards Tech.

 “I’m sure it’s against the rules, but…” He’d given them a small smile, “I won’t say anything if you all won’t?”

 So they had thrown their mattresses together and had arranged a set up that resembled their old shared bed. They had grown at that point, but hadn’t quite reached adulthood, so Hunter and Crosshair could still sleep comfortably at the bottom. They’d slept better that night then they had in months. As time passed and they reached their maximum sizes, they began to sleep apart more and more. Crosshair and Tech especially had taken a liking to having some extra wiggle room, Tech for his tinkering and Crosshair because he was simply becoming more used to being apart than together. He was often far away from his vode on missions, providing them cover from a distance.

 Hunter and Wrecker seemed less excited about sleeping by themselves, and both had trouble with sleep. Wrecker filled the void with a stuffed toy, one that his batchmates had made for him out of supplies they picked up on one of their earlier missions. Hunter simply carved the walls of his bunk or cleaned his weapons, exhausting himself so that sleep would come and take him into its sweet embrace.

 He wondered if they’d even let him pile with them now.

 The thought of being rejected from such a simple yet important activity had him feeling nauseous, and he shook his head, clearing the thought from his mind. He didn’t deserve to share that closeness with them, not after all he’d done, but he couldn’t bring himself to think about it. Curling up in the pilot’s chair, he let his eyes close, now painfully aware of how exposed and cold he really felt.

[supernova-cas]

Capri Son

okay so most of the credit for this tiny ficlet here goes to @gentledomcas who made this post and also told me what capri-sun looks like even though once I actually saw the commercial I rewrote it and didn’t need it kasdjklfklj please enjoy a dumb bisexual hunter, a beautifully clueless angel and their antichrist son

Dean loved Jack. He really, definitely did. He loved the way he smiled at the world, discovering everything that was so brand new to him. He loved watching him learn to speak and then promptly learning how to speak any and every language he could persuade Sam to show him in the library. He loved the way that despite fully being able to levitate when he wanted to, or even just when he wasn’t paying too much attention, he still constantly demanded that Dean or Cas pick him up and carry him around. He loved how he spoke in a babbling mixture of Enochian and English when he got overexcited, compensating with one when he forgot a word in the other for a moment. Hell, Dean had almost been brought to tears when he’d finally asked Cas what the Enochian word Jack kept using for him meant father. He genuinely loved that kid.

But that didn’t mean that caring for a superhuman nephil antichrist (in the best sense of the word) toddler was simple. For instance, there was the capri sun incident.

It had started off innocently enough. Dean was going for a quick shopping trip and Jack begged to come along. It didn’t take much for Dean to agree although they had to go over the Going Outside rules. It was a list Cas and Dean had come up with, colorfully written and stuck on the fridge. Rules were added as were necessary. Some were quite standard—no wandering off, one of his fathers had to have him in sight at all times, having to listen to dad right away. Others were less so—feet have to stay on the ground unless someone is picking you up, no moving anything around without hands, no blowing anything out of your way. We can walk around obstacles.

In the beginning Jack had rebelled, throwing a small tantrum that only he could manage, objects swirling around the room as he screamed loud enough that the room shook. Eventually they had found a system that worked. The key was especially shiny stickers, stuck on the fridge chart every time Jack listened well. When he reached another milestone on the chart, he got a reward of his choosing from their list. Last time Cas had taken him to see some actual stars, one in the process of supernova, wrapping around him protectively in his true form. They’d watched the explosive death and then the birth of a brand-new star. Next time Dean was going to take him out for ice cream.

So, Dean was fairly confident in Jack’s ability to behave when they went out. After a quick reminder of the rules and the chart they were on their way out. Dean wouldn’t admit it but it was little things like this that just made him appreciate his life. Their usual grocery store. Not a convenience store at a rest stop, not a random Walmart he’d never see again. No, this was the store they went to all the time, where he knew which aisles held the odd cookies Cas liked and which held the necessary ingredients for Sam’s latest health trend. This was the store where Jack knew the cashiers and said a bright hello every time, and Dean didn’t have to worry too much because as long as Jack felt comfortable in an area, when he knew it well, he was content to just experience it, less prone to outbursts.

Of course, when Jack came along, though, Dean always ended up buying more of what he kept saying they didn’t need in the bunker, definitely not. He wasn’t sure what would happen if Jack didn’t have a healthy diet, if that would even affect him, but he definitely wasn’t going to find out. Today, when he offered Jack the option of riding in the cart, he denied saying he would walk like a big boy. Meaning he wanted to be free enough to run off and fetch something he decided was absolutely necessary to his life this week. It was generally innocent enough so Dean didn’t think of it too much when Jack came back with a box of capri-sun pouches. After confirming with Jack that this was going to be his special item, and that Dean was going to choose everything else he added it into the cart. Jack behaved beautifully, earning him two shiny stars (pink and green) and Dean put them on with great care. Jack wandered off while Dean began putting away the groceries, ostensibly to get Cas to help.

A few minutes later he heard the bang. It was loud enough to have him running, skidding into the war room, Cas already there. The two of them stared at the floor, an exploded capri sun pouch slowly deflating amidst a small blown off jacket and shoes. Their gaze slowly traveled upwards where Jack was nearly touching the ceiling, apparently blown up there by his windswept hair. His look of pure glee however immediately reassured them as he yelled

“Respect the pouch!”

Dean looked up at him, trying to figure out exactly what was going on. Apparently, Cas was wondering the same thing from the way he straightened up and took Dean’s hand, a silent show of solidarity and panic. Dean gripped it tight, waiting for Jack to come down to discuss what his new activity was. Wherever it had come from they’d deal with it together. Because no matter how hard or just how insanely weird it might get, Dean really did love his currently floating on the ceiling superhuman nephil antichrist Jack.

[biggest-stupidhead]

Freedom Seekers

Summary: In a world of dragons, the scouting regiment seeks to free humanity from the fear of the beasts. Dragon seekers fight for the survival of the dragons, working directly against the government and the scouts. Both fighting for their own definitions of freedom, but are they really all that different? 

Word Count: 5.5K 

The young girl ran through the woods eagerly as she chased down a large ram. Each step she took was quiet. So quiet that the animal didn’t even bat an eye. The sheep stopped in his tracks and leaned down to chew on some grass. She took her stance behind an old oak and lifted her wooden bow. Reaching behind her back, she carefully pulled out an arrow and noched it between the string and her forefinger. She pulled the string of her bow back until her thumb brushed her cheek. She closed her left eye and honed in on the shoulder of the animal, she counted to three before taking a slow inhale. As she silently exhaled she felt her body still, at just the right moment she released the taut string, which bounced back and tickled her face. The arrow whistled through the air and landed with a dull thunk in the ram’s chest. The animal froze and leapt a few bounds through the grassy grove of trees before disappearing into the thick trees. With a growl the girl pulled another arrow from her quiver and stood to give chase. But before she could leave her hiding place a heavy hand caught her shoulder. She whirled around in shock, her mouth hanging open ready to protest. But the air left her lungs at the sight of familiar amber eyes gazing into her own jade green ones. 

“Frankie, I’m so glad that I found you, your father is livid.” The boy pulled his hand back and also took a healthy step back. Frankie bristled, still in the mindset of the hunt, which had so rudely been interrupted. 

“You think I dunno that.” She snapped, throwing her arms to rest simply by her sides. The whole point of going on this hunt had been to escape her parents’ nagging. For the past week it had been: “Have ya packed yet?” or “Make sure to sharpen that dagger.” it was getting old, after having been away for a full year already she had grown accustomed to being on her own, having the liberty to make her own decisions. It had been bliss, but alas she had to return back to the village for supplies and to give a report, just as all the other dragon seekers must do. 

“We don’t have long now, the sun will come up and it will be time for us to depart once more.” The boy told her these things, although she already knew this information. 

“You really should try and get some rest.” He said, as she shifted, a twig snapping under his weight. The sound made Frankie cringe, Harvey never had been good company on a hunt, he was much too large to roam through the forest undetected. 

“Fine, let’s head back then.” Frankie relented, knowing that he wouldn’t leave her side now that he was with her. His shoulders slumped with relief as she began to silently pad through the dense forest. The chill of winter had retreated, making way for fresh growth of spring, the forest was lush and teeming with new life. It was Frankie’s favorite time of year, the mountain that the clan called home was most vibrant in late spring and early summer, the melting snow from the peaks would cause the creeks to overflow and become insanely chilly. Frankie stepped onto the well worn path at last, much to Harvey’s relief, the village wasn’t far from here. 

Nestled on the mountain was the small remote village that the teens called home. The small establishment had dwindled in size, only a single main road connected the buildings. The community was mainly hunters and gatherers, the mountainside was not rich in soil, making farming nearly impossible.Not many chose this lifestyle anymore when there was a large city not more than a week’s travel away. Norwich was barely even qualified to be called a village at this point. The old fashioned view that the village clung to prevented the citizens to linger for long, dragon riding was not legal, and being so close to the metropolis that was known as Eldia was not ideal. The Eldian Empire had doubled in size since the Marlyan Empire had been defeated and once more consumed by the Eldians. Norwich was known for producing infamous dragon riders, who worked to protect and preserve the dragon species, fewer than three hundred dragons remained thanks to the Scout Regiment. Frankie dug her nails into her palms as she stalked down the beaten path, Harvey close on her heels. She had been searching for her dragon for over a year now, going into her second year once the sun rose. The last crop of dragon seekers had not returned, meaning that they died in search of their dragons or were arrested for fraternizing with the creatures. 

“I know that we aren’t meant to speak of it but-” 

“No, I won’t tell you.” Frankie cut Harvey off, her words minced and sharp. He flinched and chuckled awkwardly, she was really pissed at him. She knew that Harvey was wanting to ask her about her travels for the past year, however it was highly discouraged to speak about the journey that was taken when searching for a dragon. It was meant to be a sacred link between the pair. 

“You’re right.” he chuckled a bit dejectedly as the pair emerged from the trees, the soft baying of sheep and goats was filling the crisp morning air along with the melody of song birds. A shepherd was tending to the sheep and goats as the couple walked into the small town, passing by the cabins and lone barn. The sun was rising slowly, today was the Summer solstice, a sacred day to their people. It marked the second departure of dragon seekers, this year it would be Frankie, Maeve, Harvey, Killian, and Mary. All of them had already taken a year to dip their toes in the water in a sense. However due to their close proximity to the Eldian Empire they needed to travel a great distance to reach dragons. But it was customary to return after a year as frustrating as it was, in the old days it would take seekers less than six moons to find their partner, so it wasn’t as big of a deal to return in a single year. Frankie came to a halt in front of the humble cabin that her family called home, a few chickens were scratching in the dirt and cooing in the early morning light. Harvey kicked his toe in the dirt, sending a small dust cloud up into the air. 

“Well…” Harvey chuckled a bit awkwardly as Frankie rolled her eyes as she climbed the steps up to her cabin. She paused on the top step and leaned down, her hand reaching for Harvey’s broad shoulder, with a heavy sigh she brought her lips to his cheek and gave him a peck. He smiled triumphantly and turned to leave, Frankie crossed her arms and shook her head as she watched him saunter off. 

Frankie pushed into the house, the wood burning stove popped in the corner and her mother stocked the logs, her back turned to Frankie. 

“Took ya long enough.” She muttered, turning around and wiping her hands free of the soot. 

“I was huntin’” Frankie said, her words clipped as she moved to retreat into her room before her father arrived. 

“Aren’t you always, it’s time you gave up on this dragon business, settle down and marry Harvey.” Her mother began her age old rant, and Frankie rolled her eyes. 

“Mother my time isn’t up yet, I could still-” 

“Enough of this talk, the girl is right Ellenor.” Frankie’s father lumbered into the room, ducking his head to squeeze under the door frame. 

“But James-” 

“She’s all we got left, the last chance of glory.” He interrupted, as he dropped his ancient hunting knife onto the table. Frankie stood tensely, she hated when her parents spoke like this, both pressuring her to follow opposite paths. 

“We’ve already lost two to the cause, is that not enough?!” Ellenor’s voice was strangled and thick with emotion as she planted her hands onto the tabletop and leaned into James’ space. 

“There ain’t much of a choice, she’ll die either way. Might as well die with honor.” James grunted as he picked his knife back up to clean the blade. 

“You know I don’t agree with that.” Ellenor slammed her fist onto the table and James sighed before looking up. Ellenor’s lip trembled as she tried to hold back her tears, James reached up and cupped her cheek in one of his large callous hands. 

“Nor do I, but it is the truth. Francine is the last of our line, our last chance to bring honor to our name once more.” James spoke slowly, Ellenor grabbed his hand and held it closer to her face as a few tears escaped her eyes. James looked to his daughter, who stood still as a statue in the center of the room. Frankie stood taller under his gaze, lifting her chin proudly and meeting his eyes with reserve. 

“Aye.” She agreed, adjusting her quiver and hanging her bow next to her father’s on the wall. 

“See, she understands. She knows what must be done. Besides, she’s already survived a year, at the very least she can live another.” James said with a nod of approval at his daughter’s resilience. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry. My emotions overcome me at times like these.” Ellenor pulled away and returned to her chores. Frankie took her cue to leave and freshen up for the long day ahead. 

__ 

       The fresh air greeted the young girl's nose as she walked outside of her home for the first time today. She saw two teens bickering down the path, of course they were waiting for her. A smile spread across her warm cheeks as she ran down to meet her peers. Two small dandelions placed in her chest pocket. 

“Why must we always wait for loony?” The tall girl asked, her back turned to the other girl as she met the two with a smile. The tall girl knew what she had called her, but she brushed it off with a shrug. Glancing to Harvey who kept his eyes down. 

“Am I that much of a trouble Mary?” The young girl asked walking between the two. 

“No trouble at all.” Harvey said, nudging the girl a bit. 

“Are we going to stand here all day?” Mary asked, looking ahead at the road that led to the market. 

“Calm yourself Mary, it’s not going anywhere.” Harvey said squatting slightly in front of the girl, waiting for her to take his invitation. Which she did flash, hopping on his back and placing her arms loosely around his neck. 

“Can’t you walk Maeve? I mean you’re not a child.” Mary scoffed, walking away from the duo who just began to laugh. Despite Mary’s callous attitude she had missed her friends over the past year. 

They walked leisurely towards the village. As they got closer, Maeve could practically taste the baked bread. The bustle of the village carried a familiar tune. Harvey leaned down and let the girl slide off of his back. Mary had already left the two, going off to find the younger group of girls that worshiped her words and held her ideals. Maeve's eyes searched the market for the boy she wished to see. 

“He’s by the flowers.” Harvey said, pointing over to a tall boy who stood by a small cart. His strawberry blonde hair stood out to the girl. She smiled over to Harvey. He gave her a reassuring nod and Maeve ran off. 

“Killian.” Maeve shouted, moving closer to him. The young boy turned his head and held a kind smile on his face. He met the girl with a smile, picking her up off her feet and twirling her around. They both held each other tight, his eyes looked worn but she knew he was still the same boy from before. 

“I like your hair.” Maeve said after Killian had put her down. It had grown slightly, it looked as though he had chopped it with a small knife. 

“How I have missed you.” Killian said, placing some of her ashe blonde hair behind her ear. She looked up to him, his eyes still held that golden tint. She could feel her cheeks turn red as she looked into them. 

“I have something for you.” The young girl said, taking the small flowers out of her pocket and showing Killian. His smile widened as she placed one in his breast pocket. 

“Thank you.” He said softly, reaching down to take her smaller hands into his own larger ones. 

“Give me a break.” Harvey moaned, before turning to continue through the market. Killian chuckled and released one of Meave’s hands, sure to keep one held firmly in his grasp as if she could disappear at any given moment. The trio meandered through the main street, the people were bustling about in preparation for the evening’s send off festivities, streamers and banners were being stung between the townhouses. Stalls were being erected, goods set out for sale, children darted around the dusty road, waving small flags that had a simple dragon stitched onto them, the symbol of their people. 

“Remember that year that Frankie stole an entire shoulder of beef?” Killian scoffed as they watched the children squeal with delight. Meave scoffed and nodded, recalling the memory fondly. 

“Where is the thief anyway?” Mary asked joining the small group once more. They all looked to Harvey expecting an answer. 

“We’re not exactly attached at the hip like Maeve and Killian.” Harvey said, gritting his teeth. The two young teens let go of each other’s hands, their faces growing visibly red with embarrassment. 

“She must be around here somewhere.” Nave said, stepping on her tiptoes and grabbing onto Killians arm as she searched the crowd. They all began to search for the redhead around the lively village. Harvey’s eyes caught her first. He noticed that she was talking up a blacksmith. Who seemed to be uninterested in what she had to say. Harvey smirked at the sight of her getting worked up. 

“Over there.” The young boy said, pointing over to the girl. The teens cut through the crowd, which split at the sight of them, the famed seekers that had managed to return. Once they reached the girl they could make out her words. 

“-The hilts much too long, how will I ever get a proper hold of the bloody thing?” Frankie asked exasperatedly as she waved her hands about. The large man rolled his eyes and continued hammering the blade he was working on, drowning out Frankie’s words, much to her displeasure. 

“Hey! Are you even listening to me?” Frankie snapped, rounding the anvil to meet his downcast eyes. He pulled the glowing blade off the anvil and dunked it into a bucket of water with a loud hiss. 

“Fraid not little miss.” he said with a shake of his head. Frankie growled and abandoned the argument, as she whirled around Harvey caught her, a dopey grin on his face. 

“Long time no see little red.” Harvey said smoothly as he held her shoulders, Frankie grunted and brushed past him. 

“What brings a recluse like you into town?” Mary scoffed, giving Frankie a skeptical once over, from her ratty emerald green dress, work boots, messy hair pinned back into a loose bun. 

“Where have you been, pretty lady?” Maeve asked, pulling the young girl into a hug. 

“By the looks of it she’s been livin in the woods.” Killian said, looking the girl over with a grin. 

“Nothing new bout that.” Mary huffed, but she couldn’t keep the hint of fondness from her tone. After all, these were the people that she had grown up with, trained with. After all they were her family. 

“Can we just go now? I don’t want to spend the whole night by this blacksmith.” Maeve said, grabbing onto Frankies hand and dragging her through the market. The rest of the group followed them, all laughing along the way. 

The group made it to the large field that stood right in front of their village. Memories came flooding back, of a simpler time. When finding dragons was something miles away, and their parents would only sing them lullabies and not speak of the things that grow beyond their forest. When people were just people, and not someone who you could wed someday. When they could just be children. Frankie sat with her friends as she thought. Looking into each of their eyes, as Mary tried to hide a smile. As Maeve sat in Killians lap and looked into his eyes with hope. And when Harvey sat next to her and talked about adventure. Her stomach turned at the thought of one of them not coming home. She knew once they got out into the world she couldn’t protect them, and what she feared most was that when it came down to it she would have to make a choice that she was not prepared to make. The summer day flew by in a warm haze of wildflowers and cool creeks. The teens all waded out of the large creek, feet sloshing in the crystyline water. Meave was the last one left in the rushing creek, she was doubled over, her skirt was beginning to drag in the water as she studied the creek bottom. 

“Mary...Come look at this.” Meave said slowly, her eyes never leaving the creek bottom. Mary scoffed and rolled her eyes, but still approached the bank, the closest she dared to get to the water. She had been the only one to remain dry the whole afternoon. 

“What?” The tall girl asked. Placing some of her snowy hair behind her ear and looking into the creek. 

“Right there.” Maeve said pointing at the muck on the bottom of the creek floor. Mary squinted her eyes, trying to see if the girl was pointing at some sort of stone. But right before she could say she didn’t see anything the small blonde splashed her perfectly nice dress with dirty water. Maeve fell over with laughter, her flower filled skirt now getting drenched in the water. Mary swatted at her dress and tried to keep her balance. The rest of the group had engulfed in laughter. 

“You disgust me.” The tall girl said, walking away from the creek and leaving the blonde sitting alone in the water. Though Maeve didn’t mind, she just looked at the sky and watched the sun set as she moved her hands through the creek. Letting her fingers move gently along with the small waves that the two girls had made. 

“If you were wise you’d go get cleaned up for this evening.” Mary said as she wrung the water out of her skirts. Killian clicked his tongue and stood from his seat on the bank. 

“Almost forgot.” He agreed as he made his way back into the creek to pull Maeve out of the water. Mary stalked off in the direction of the village, not waiting for her friends. Harvey draped an arm around Frankie’s waist and pulled her flush against him, her hand splayed across his chest as they watched Killian pull Maeve out. 

“How could you forget about the biggest party of the year?” Frankie scoffed as the pair emerged from the creek, their clothes soaking wet. 

“I didn’t! Not really. I guess I just...didn’t want this day to end.” Killian rubbed the back of his neck as he rejoined the teens on the bank. Frankie’s eyes softened, she knew how he felt, and she assumed that the others felt similar as well. The past year had been a major eye opener for them, violence within the kingdoms, unforgiving wilderness, they had seen it all. Frankie was forced back into the present when the sharp sting of cold water struck her cheek, she turned to see Meave shaking her head like a dog to free the water from her ash blonde locks. 

“Mary was right, we’d better gather our things, the sun will set soon.” Harvey broke the silence, holding a hand up to his eyes as he surveyed the sky. Frankie hummed in agreement and untangled herself from the boy and set off after Mary. Meave followed close behind, holding her sopping wet skirts up to allow her to jog. The two boys walked back at a leisurely pace, having already packed the necessities for their journey. The girls reached the village first, splitting up to gather their supplies and get dressed for the journey. By the time all five of the teens were ready, the village was aglow with torches and a single bonfire in the town center. Men and women danced around the fire, casting ominous shadows over the town square. 

Frankie narrowly dodged a small child as she entered the fray, a large swine was being mounted over the flame. People cheered as Frankie and the other girls arrived, wearing their armor, which was made of shed dragon skin of various colors. On the opposite end of the clearing was the boys, along with Thomas, a boy who was a year older than them. He had found his dragon. A young fire breathing type dragon, the creature had been turned loose to survey the perimeter of the village, a luxury that they hadn’t had for years. The girls crossed the opening and stood before the boys, shoulders back and chins lifted. Harvey extended his hand as the music resumed in jaunty tune. Frankie accepted his outstretched hand and the pair began to dance, Killian and Meave followed their lead, leaving Mary to glare at the older boy, who smirked down at her, his hand held out expectantly. 

“Well Mary?” His voice was annoyingly smooth and the quirk in his lip made her chest fill with rage. 

“If you expect me to dance with ya. You’ve got another thing coming.” Mary said, crossing her arms and turning to her friends who smiled in one another’s arms as they danced around the orange flames. 

“You know ya have to.” Thomas whispered close to her. Turning her attention towards her parents who were looking directly at them. 

“I despise you.” Mary growled, taking the boys hand harshly and walking over to the group of couples. 

“Ya will be my wife.” Thomas said, pulling her close to him. His breath smelled of fish and his palms were sweaty as he took her hands into his. He reminded her of a bear, eager and greedy. They danced silently together, each of her steps worked perfectly with his. She was never one to miss a beat, each time they got closer to her parents they would give her a reassuring nod. Which made the girl lean into the boy more. Knowing that it would make her parents happy. 

The rest of the towns people joined in, bodies twirling and dancing to the rhythm of the tune, the beat of music picking up pace. Frankie smiled brightly at Harvey who spun her, his eyes full of love. Frankie felt her heartbeat speed up, the surroundings becoming overwhelming quickly. The scents of roasting meat, the sound of the jaunty music and cheering towns people filled the summer night air. It wasn’t often that the village threw large festivals like this, mainly when the seekers departed and if they returned. The music paused and Frankie slipped away, leaning against a house, her chest heaving. She just wanted to leave already, back into the woods, she never wanted to return. The childhood home that she had loved so much now felt like a prison. 

She only needed to last a few more hours, until the first rays of the sun peeked over the mountain that was directly across from them. Then the seekers would leave, resume their quest for dragons for another year. Or however long it took to find the beasts, men got longer than the women did. Women only got two years while men got their whole life if they so choose. Frankie balled her hands into fists as she looked longingly at the treetops, she wanted nothing more than to be sleeping up in them. She snuck a glance back at the festivities, people were swarming Harvey, who was pleased to feed their excitement by singing along to the music. Killian and Meave were still dancing, their arms linked as they spun. Mary was not too far off, clearly she was trying to escape her suitor, Thomas. Frankie was relieved to see that she wasn’t the only one feeling overwhelmed. Before she could reason with herself she jogged across the clearing and grabbed Mary’s hand. 

“Need a distraction?” She asked, jerking her head towards the trees. Mary’s lip curled in disgust but she nodded reluctantly. Frankie led them into the darkness, weaving through the trunks of the trees and until they reached a cliff. The cliff overlooked the valley below, which was wide and teeming with life. A river cut between the mountains as well as another large field of flowers and a grove of trees. 

“Don’t care for Thomas much do you.” Frankie asked conversationally as the pair sad in the grass, their legs dangling over the edge. Mary shook her head and scoffed in disgust. 

“Or any man for that matter.” She quipped, her blue eyes scanning the redhead’s features. Her sharp jaw, the slope of her nose and the freckles that were painted there. 

“I hear you...Although Harvey has always felt like the right choice….” 

“The outside world made you question that, didn’t it.” Mary said, clearly understanding where Frankie was coming from. 

“Aye. There’s so much that we have yet to see.” She agreed, her head tilted to look up at the blanket of stars above. 

“And you? Did you find some clarity beyond the village?” Frankie asked, her green eyes turning to meet Mary’s blue ones. She inhaled slowly, thinking over her response carefully. 

“Yes, but I’m afraid not enough.” Mary said after a moment and Frankie let out a bark of laughter. 

“It’ll never be enough Mary.” Frankie chuckled, her shoulders shaking as she looked out at the neighboring mountain. The sky was turning pink by the time the girls returned, most of the people were too drunk to notice their absence. Frankie’s father was singing loudly alongside some other men as they waved mugs of meade in the air above their head. The seekers gathered their supplies in preparation for their departure. The village elders emerged from their homes and stood by the entrance of the village, the people migrated to watch them give the departing blessings. The seekers stood in attention as the elders lit sage and waved it in front of them, bathing them in the scent. They chanted in the ancient language of their people and the townspeople echoed the prayer. 

“And now the parents and loved ones may say their goodbyes.” The elder said once he had finished burning the sage and the sun was nearly over the mountain. Frankie’s mother embraced her tightly, tears stained the leather armor that she wore, her hands grasping the bow on her back. 

“Come back to me.” She whispered as she kissed her daughter’s cheek. Her father gave her a brief hug before patting her on the back and leaning down to peck her on the cheek. 

“Make me proud.” He said, the scent of ale lingering on his breath. Frankie nodded and stepped away from them with a soft smile. 

Meanwhile, Meave hugged both her parents stiffly, her mother pulled back first, her eyes stern. 

“You’re our last hope Meave.” she said grimly. 

“You mustn’t fail.” her father said, his eyes seemed to say that she already had. She had never been able to please her parents. She nodded stiffly at them and stepped back to join Frankie. Harvey and Killian both received warm heartfelt goodbyes from their parents, being the eldest sons they were golden children among their families. Mary on the other hand didn’t even say goodbye to her mother and father. They had said all they had needed to say the night prior: “Come back with a dragon, or don’t come back at all.” and she took it personally. She wouldn’t fail them, or the village. She would be victorious if it were the last thing she did. Once the boys finished they all turned and left, the village was rowdy once more with screaming and cheering as they marched down the narrow path out of the village. 

“So what’s the plan, when should we split?” Killian asked as he tugged on his pack. 

“I’m going north this time.” Mary said as they picked their way down the mountain as they had exactly a year prior. 

“As am I.” Killian said eagerly, Mary rolled her eyes, but secretly she was glad to have a companion to travel with for a bit longer. 

“I was going to head North east this time.” Frankie said thoughtfully as she tilted her head back to catch the morning breeze. 

“I’m heading south once more.” Harvey said with a heavy sigh, he had been hell bent on finding a fire type dragon, while Mary was set on an arctic, Killian and Meave had no preference. But Frankie wanted an earth type dragon, one that dwelled in the forest and was one with it’s environment. She had heard legends from small villages in the north east of such a beast, one that lived in a cave deep in the woods. 

“Still set on that fire type?” Meave asked as she adjusted her own pack on her back. 

“Aye, I just know that I’m close to finding it.” Harvey said excitedly, his eyes shining. 

“I’ll come with you, southbound I mean… I still haven’t a clue which type is for me.” Meave said, her face a bit grim at the thought of her dragon. 

“Maybe I’ll go with you Frankie… Now that I think about it I heard a rumor that there was a beast in the mountains out east.” Killian said thoughtfully. Frankie nodded, she had heard the rumor too, but had no interest in an air type like Killian did, besides, rock climbing was not her forte. 

“Ah so the three of us can travel north and branch off at Balivack.” Frankie said, reaching into her pack for her map, the rough sketch of the continent and the major cities were laid out before her. Killian leaned over her shoulder and clicked his tongue. 

“It’ll be difficult to maneuver around those large cities, we’ll need to keep a very low profile.” Killian said, a frown on his lips. Frankie nodded in agreement, her eyes trained on the large forest that laid beyond the cities. It was one of the last untouched areas of forest on the continent. She vaguely recalled overhearing some low ranked soldiers saying that the queen was aiming to tame the land, if that were true then dragons days were truly numbered. 

The forest had proved to be a haven for dragons and other mythical creatures. Thomas had found his dragon in that wood two years prior, he’d been the only survivor among his fellow seekers. 

“Aye, it can be done.” Frankie said thoughtfully, she passed the map to Killian who held it up in the early morning light. 

“If we make good time we could even visit the seaside, never know if there will be a basking water type.” Killian hummed, tapping a finger on the coast line before passing the map on to Mary. 

“It’ll be straight north for me, I was so close to finding an ice type last fall.” Her voice took on a determined tone as she passed the map on to Meave who scoffed and passed it directly to Harvey. 

“The southern dessert and the wasteland will be my first stops.” He said proudly as he rolled the map back up and passed it back to Frankie who shoved it back into her bag. 

“Well we should reach the base of the mountain in an hour is we keep up this pace.” Frankie sighed as she turned to look at the trees as they walked past.

“With any luck.” Mary huffed with a roll of her icy eyes. 

Sure enough in an hour's time the teens had made it to the base of the massive mountain. Frankie shifted uncomfortably, anxious to be on her way. Killian was sending longing glances at Meave, who was double checking her supplies. Killian finally stepped over and enveloped her in his arms. Harvey nodded at Frankie, his eyes soft. Frankie knew that he wanted to hug her but she had no intent on allowing him to. Killian pulled away from Meave who looked up at him with wide eyes as he turned to rejoin Frankie. 

“Wait.” Maeve said walking over to Killian. She took off the small woven bracelet that was on her wrist. Killian held out his wrist, she gently wrapped and tied the bracelet around his outstretched arm and looked up at him. He embraced her again in a tight hug. 

“You’re not weak. You can do this.” Killian whispered into the girl's ear. She gave him a soft peck on his cheek but didn’t say anything. Deep down she knew something they didn’t. The young girl walked back over to Harvey who still was studying the map.

“Be safe guys.” Maeve said, looking between each of her companions. 

“Ready?” Harvey asked, putting the map in his satchel. The young girl nodded. The teens shared one last glance, a somber fog falling over them as they examined one another one last time. Mary was the first to break the tense silence, not with words but with her footsteps, her feet crunched on the ground as she retreated into the forest. Frankie nodded at Harvey, who mouthed, ‘Be careful’ before she turned and followed after Mary. Killian was close behind her, his neck craning to watch Meave and Harvey as they departed. Meave waved with a teary smile and Killian smiled sadly before turning to face forward. Harvey patted the girls shoulder before turning and trudging into the dense forest ahead. 

[wanderingwomanwondering]

I’ve watched 15x19 Inherit the Earth twice and I still hate it. Chuck’s end was fitting but the weak ass storytelling to get us there was unforgivable. Also, Cas is still gone and we barely mentioned him or adequately mourned him in that episode. I just...can’t with this show rn. 15 years! For this?!?!?!?!

What quality storytelling and wrap up could they possibly accomplish in the final episode next week. The fans needed and deserved narrative throughlines and intentional, carefully developed character growth throughout the series. Some characters grew (e.g., Castiel, Jack) but Sam and Dean have been mindbogglingly more or less the same for about 10 years. Occasionally a “good” episode rehashes their old issues and makes the boys feel their feelings, but the show has been mostly plotty shark-jumping antics. That’s entertaining only in how inconsistent and strange it is.

I wanted Dean to wrestle with and work through his mommy and daddy issues (ages ago). I wanted Sam to figure out how to love and trust a woman who could actually live a “normal” hunter life with him. I wanted Dean to figure out that he’s queer (don’t at me) and work through what that means given his archaic ideas about masculinity in the context of the hunter life. I wanted both men to learn to be more emotionally mature and overtly open-hearted over time (and not just with pretty women but with scores of men in their lives that they loved and lost). I wanted them to learn how to grieve in honest, overt, and healthy ways since death and loss are a cornerstone of their lives.

I wanted Sam and Dean to have a long ass memory, mentioning fallen friends freely and often, lighting a candle on Jo’s birthday and then going about their hunter business. I wanted Dean’s hilarious comment in 11x4 when he said “I read” to mature into a special interest area that he researched and became an expert in, taking full advantage of the Men of Letters library. I wanted Sam to never stop inviting Dean to be more emotionally vulnerable. I wanted Sam and Dean to slowly stop keeping secrets. I wanted Sam to keep demanding that Dean treat him as an adult and capable hunter who he doesn’t have to keep sacrificing for and taking care of. Codependency is not a good look after 15 years.

I wanted Castiel to confess his love for Dean (dont at me) at least seven seasons ago. I wanted him to be in every epsidode, a tried and true and unequivocal part of the family, always fighting by Sam and Dean’s side. I wanted Dean to reciprocate! Even if he had to spend half a season struggling to redefine himself in light of his expanding heart and romantic interest in Castiel. I wanted Castiel and Dean to hash out what it means to be in love, and queer, and of two different species (angel and human) and the beauty of that and the complications.

I wanted Dean to work on wrangling his rage over the years rather that letting it control him and endlessly put him on the outs with Castiel mostly and sometimes Sam. I wanted Mary and John to stay dead (don’t at me). They were a critical part of Sam and Dean’s past (and Dean’s issues in particular) but with quality writing and support from friends and family, Dean could have worked through that, letting himself grieve what his parents weren’t and celebrate what they were.

I wanted Sam and Dean to turn the bunker into a headquarters for hunters and MoL around the country, reminiscent of Ellen’s Roadhouse and name a few mixed drinks after her. I wanted Sam and Dean to regularly remember Bobby as not just Bobby but as their foster father. The boys lived with him and were raised by him during huge chunks of their childhood while John was away hunting.

I wanted Dean and Sam to see and treat the women in the show like sisters, occasionally texting with them, asking about their hunts, calling them on birthdays, tearfully meeting up to toast a dead hunter or 12. All of this because it is human and facilitates character growth and it shows who they are, not necessarily because it serves the plot. The plot is secondary to why I stuck around for 15 years! I’m here for the characters.

I wanted Sam and Dean to grow as people despite their endlessly brutal and painful circumstances. Whether you’re a hunter fighting evil or a normal clueless person drinking too much Starbuck’s and worrying about your family, adversity is a part of the human condition and learning how to navigate that adversity and learning who you are and how to be in the face of that is what we are all here doing.

Ngl, each new season of the show since the 5th has been harder and harder to watch because the boys have been defined in terms of their persistent unresolved issues instead of by their ability to grow and adapt as people.

We see them, week after week, rally and rise to meet external threats (monsters, demons, angels, etc). I wanted to see that same energy around their personal growth. Naming the boys’ issues and watching them drink and cry about it once or twice per season is technically character development, but narrative throughlines that go beyond merely naming their issues, throughlines that actually delve into their issues and force them to begin dealing with them in order to resolve them (as much as possible) is character growth. One does not require strong storytelling skills and basic knowledge of human psychology, the other definitely does.

In the last 10 years (basically after Kripke left) fans have been given a show, sure. But, in many ways, the story died at the end of the 5th season. Honestly, I could write about this for the next week, with receipts (because I’ve been here for 15 years), but I’ll stop here.