#hey yeah sorry to disappear off the face of the internet lol but I’ve been consumed by all things baby lately

[wildlyironicbee]

🙃

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of wildfire relief, @jesusonthetortillas​ donated $10, and requested pre-series pining!Sam, with diary discovery. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

After his little lesson from Sabrina, the hot librarian's assistant, it's not hard at all for Dean to find what he's looking for. He drops Sam off at the library the way he usually does, and flirts with Sabrina on his way out like he usually does, but instead of going to his shift at the construction site like Sam thinks he's going to, he circles back around, through the library stacks on the main floor, and waits like a dingus by YOUNG ADULT – ADVENTURE, watching the back of Sam's nerdy, nerdy head where he's hunched at the computer banks, getting up to no kind of good.

It wouldn't have come to this, Dean thinks, if Sam weren't so—he doesn't even know how to think about it. He doesn't know when to pin it down. They were doing okay. Sam ran away, a few years back, but since then he's—well, he's always bitching at Dad and bitching at Dean half the time too, but he's done good in school, he's done his part with the hunting. It was sometime at that last school. September in Maryland. Dad was gone a lot of the time, because Dad always was, and Dean went with him on about half the hunts but Sam got to stay behind, got to just call in research tips and last-minute lore checks, and Dean thought he was pretty happy, as much as Sam ever seemed happy. Chill, just doing his homework at the rickety desk, not complaining any more than usual about Dean's usual dinners of fast food or Kraft or Top Ramen. Seventeen and getting tall and mellowing out, and finally hanging out with his little brother was just fine. Dean thought.

That was two towns ago, three months ago. Dean picks his nails with his pocket knife, leaning on one elbow by the Hardy Boys. Sam's still working away on the computer. Anymore he always is. After school he's always angling for Dean to bring him to the library and if Dean won't drive him then Sam walks, even when it's raining, like it is half the time in frickin Washington, anyway. Always finding a free computer and settling in and disappearing onto the internet. Not coming home until the library closes, and moody if Dean's there when he walks in, and Dean just—he thought they were past all this crap. He thought that maybe Sam had—settled. Figured out how things were, how things had to be.

Well. Either way. Sabrina, with the glasses and the sexy dreads and the legs that very much went all the way to the floor under those wide-legged pants she was always wearing—she gave Dean a computer lesson, free of charge, and he's got a way in, now. Sam won't talk to him, won't hardly look at him. Dean chews the inside of his cheek, watching Sam type on the battered public machine. Sam's not the only one who knows how to research a case, in this family. Dean's going to figure this out. He's gonna fix it.

A bell rings, at five o'clock, like the end of a school day. Sam jerks like he's been shocked and looks up at the ceiling, clearly annoyed. He's been engrossed for two hours, typing away, reading. Real frickin' boring, on Dean's end, but he stayed put. Like staking out a house for a job—nothing to do but wait. He takes a few steps backwards, makes sure the shelves hide his face, and there's a general rustling as people leave—a mom and her kid, and tears because the kid's favorite book wasn't here—and when Dean looks again the computer banks are empty, and Sabrina's checking out the last few patrons, and Sam's—gone. Walking home in the rain, little goth that he is. Fine with Dean, if it gives him a few minutes.

When he settles into the chair Sam was in it's still warm. He opens up Netscape Navigator, the library's homepage welcoming him in a friendly kinda way—big yellow smiley face, that's fun. He goes to where Sabrina taught him, in the menu at the top: view, and then History, where it turns out the computer saves all the webpages you went to just in case you need to find them again, and there—oh, jackpot. Gotcha, Sam.

All kinds of crap. A weather website, a bunch of Ask Jeeves searches, something called DiffEQandU. Some mythology stuff, too, and Dean goes to one that turns out to be a history of kitsune. That's something, at least—Sam doing his important homework, in there with whatever other crap he's been working on.

The last bunch of results are all pages from some website called Livejournal, which Dean's never heard of. He clicks one at random and is brought to—huh. A splashy red page, with a big picture on top of kids graduating from high school in those dorky blue robes. He scrolls down, skimming, looking for the important details among the mess, but it's hard to tell what it is. A forum, it looks like. Kind of like the ones Dean's been on where people trade car parts, or swap ghost stories. A square box, dated yesterday, that says WHEN IS HARVARD'S APP REVIEW???, and a panicky paragraph where some chick might die if she doesn't get in. Another, the day before, with questions about the SAT, and a link that says 43 comments that, when Dean clicks it, brings him to a bunch of apparently teenagers all giving each other tips from some test they're worried about taking.

College. Dean's stomach curls into a knot. It's all—college stuff, applications and tests and deadlines. The usernames are all weird shit: tmntpizzadelivery, quistis4ever, willyshakes. Dean can't tell—is one of these kids Sam?

Sabrina's nearly done with her line of book nerds. Dean rubs a hand over his mouth and clicks away, tries another of the Livejournal results in the history. Another forum, this one apparently about—soccer? Jesus, Sam. Another forum, this one about Conan the Barbarian, and that one's at least easy to snort at, with people's shitty drawings of Red Sonja and excitement about a possible remake. There are personal pages, though, too—one titled Delaware Sucks, in which some girl complains about her life—one titled trent reznor rules my soul, featuring a goth kid who won't shut up about Nine Inch Nails and his bitch of a mother. Another, with a plain blue-and-grey color scheme, with the title on the road, and a new post from today—from an hour ago—with the text just reading, I don't know what to do anymore, and six comments underneath, waiting.

"Hey—ready to go?" Sabrina says.

Dean jerks in his seat. Sabrina's raising her eyebrows at him, behind her glasses, a little smile curving her mouth that promises something a little better than book dust and computer lessons. "I'm always ready," Dean says, grinning, and gets her to roll her eyes—yeah, he's in there—but his eyes drag back to the webpage, the posts. He scrolls down, quick—post after post, waiting to be read. "Real quick—borrow a pen?"

She has one—she's a sexy librarian, of course she has one—and he uncrumples a receipt from his jacket pocket and writes down the URL, careful to get it right. rearviewmirror.livejournal.com. He wants to click on the comments, but.

"Come on, the movie's starting soon," Sabrina says, and Dean closes Netscape, folds the receipt very carefully into his pocket, stands up. He's got a date to make out with a hot chick in the back of a movie theater, and maybe a little more, and Sam's whole Eeyore routine has to take a number. Dean will figure it out. He's got an easy way to run a stakeout, now.

*

December 4

Still can't decide. Anyone else going through this?

current mood: agonized current music: motorhead (AGAIN)

Comments:

teenagehamburger: Yes!! I still don't know where I want to go. Mom wants me to stay close to home, but Delaware sucksssss. Where are you looking?

       rearviewmirror: Anywhere. TBH I'm still not even sure I should apply.

               teenagehamburger: WTF?? Of course you should!! College is the big escape, remember?

 December 1

He's driving me INSANE

current mood: annoyed current music: motorhead (again)

Comments:

bloodofreptile: lol you got it bad

       rearviewmirror: right now I just want to hit him with a brick, actually

teenagehamburger: LOL!! Sorry :(  :(

       rearviewmirror: Sigh. I guess it could be worse, right?

             teenagehamburger: Definitely!! He could be the cute cheerleader from 4th period who doesn't know I exist….

                     coppertonebuttgirl: oh, sorry hammie, that sucks <3

 November 29

The thing is, I don't even want anything crazy? I just want to be—me. Just me, without anyone breathing down my neck. Trig teacher says I could get in to one of the top ten, but I just want to go *anywhere that's not here*

current mood: restless current music: Pearl Jam (home alone!)

Comments:

bloodofreptile: i hear you lol. why don't they get that the rules and hovering and all that shit just makes us want to run faster?

    rearviewmirror: Exactly! My teacher keeps talking about college like it's a place to expand your mind and stuff, and that's fine, but lately I just want to expand my horizons. Kind of ironic?

         bloodofreptile: yeah lol haven't you lived like everywhere?

               rearviewmirror: Feels like it.

teenagehamburger: Is You Know Who going to college too?

 November 18

I feel like it shouldn't be this hard. Normal people have it easy.

current mood: indescribable current music: silence

Comments:

coppertonebuttgirl: feel free to talk to me anytime <3

 November 3

Dad's gone again. Didn't say goodbye. We went to the movies and he gave me a beer, and we watched the stars for an hour in the parking lot even though it was freaking freezing. Happier than I've been in a while. Don’t want it to change but it has to change.

current mood: current music:

Comments:

teenagehamburger: OMG, that sounds so romantic?? I can't believe you were drinking!! Aren't you underage?

     bloodofreptile: lol relax it's not a big deal

           teenagehamburger: I'm just saying!!

coppertonebuttgirl: wish it wasn't hard for you <3

bloodofreptile: dude you've got to say something

     rearviewmirror: I literally can't.

          bloodofreptile: ok but it's gonna drive you crazy. do you even know if he's gay? start with that maybe

*

The posts go on, and on. Reading backwards through time, it's a strange piecing-together. rearviewmirror is active in about ten communities and Dean reads through all of them, that week, bringing an illicit cup of coffee in to the library when he doesn't have a construction shift. He reads with his hand over his mouth and by the time he has to get off the computer he's got a headache, every time, his throat dry and aching.

The journal's been active for six months. Dean clicks through the pages to the very start and reads it in the right order, his heart pounding oddly in his ears. I don't know what this place is. A journal, I guess, considering the name. I just need somewhere to talk where no one will listen.

It's not a pouring-out, like some teenage girl doodling hearts around her crush's initials. He holds back. Never says exactly where they're living, never mentions names. To figure out who it was, you'd have to be one of two other people, and Dean knows that Dad can barely turn on a computer, much less go onto the internet and pore over some teenage angst-fest. Dean spends half his time wishing he were the same. Maybe if he hadn't asked Sabrina for help.

At home, Sam's the same as he always is. Comes home after his own stint at the library, eats the dinner Dean gives him. He reads, most of the time. Does his schoolwork. Dean says, careful one night, "Hey, True Lies is on. Wanna watch?" but Sam only gives him a strange, uncertain look and says, "No, I have a paper due," and he shuts himself into their bedroom with the door very firmly closed, and Dean sits there on the couch alone with a beer and Jamie Lee Curtis being sexy as hell on the fuzzy TV, and he—he doesn't know what to do.

He remembers that day, the looking at the stars day. It was November 2. A nasty anniversary, in their family, and yeah, Dad left. Dean got it. He'd thought Sam did, too, by now. It was better to have Dad gone, on a hunt, than trying to drink himself to death at home in the apartment. At least he was working, that way, and not hurting himself. To distract both of them, Dean picked Sam up from the library and they went straight to the movie theater—the Blair Witch sequel, with Dean providing running commentary about how dumb they were about dealing with ghosts, which at least made Sam grin and elbow him to shut up, even if he was laughing too, the liar—and, yeah, afterward they'd picked up Taco Bell, and then after that Dean swung through the liquor store drive-thru and they parked out, and he let Sam have a beer, and they both sat on the trunk and leaned back against the cold glass or the rear window and didn't really talk, much. The stars, big above them. The night, quiet. Sam was pressed against his side, chilled out and not bitching about anything, and Dean tucked his hand behind his head and he was pretty content with the world, right then. His brother, here, and a six-pack waiting, and nothing happening right then that'd hurt them. Sam smiled at him, that night, before he went to bed. It was sweet—like he used to be, when he was little—and Dean had ended up falling asleep on the couch, watching the public access, but his dreams that night were—good, like they never were on the night of November 2, and it had felt… okay.

do you even know if he's gay?

The college prep—that wasn't a surprise. It hurt but it didn't shock. All his worrying, all his whining, wanting to be 'free'—whatever free meant—it was all part and parcel of the last decade. Dean should've known better. Sam wasn't mellowing out. Sam was a stubborn little shit and he'd always wanted to have a life that wasn't—this.

The gay thing. That hit different. One of the communities Sam followed was for lesbian and gay youth, talking about their coming out experiences. Sam didn't post there much but he commented, asked questions. How do you know? What does it feel like? The hamburger girl was from there, a lesbian chick trapped in some Delaware high school. Encouraging, commiserating. They talked about how college would be their big escape, their chance to go to a big city and find their way. Meet people. Only apparently hamburger girl was crushing on the cheerleader from fourth period, and Sam—

Dean makes an excuse the next day. Saturday: no work for Dean, no school for Sam. Alone in the apartment together, all day, after Dean's week of reading—he can't face it. "Where are you going?" Sam asks, eight a.m. with his hair fucked up and coffee clenched between his hands, and Dean looks at him in his pajama pants and his ratty hand-me-down shirt, skinny and tall and hiding things Dean can't handle, and he says, snappish in a way he doesn't mean to be—"Out, Sam, for christ's sake—" and sees Sam's expression shutter before the apartment door slams behind him.

He goes for a drive, out of town. Cold, threatening rain like it always is, but it won't snow. Out—past the airport, past the suburbs, out to Black Lake. They killed the nymph that was drowning people out here, him and Dad, when they first arrived. Sam stayed home. Sullen on the other end of the line when Dean called to say they'd finished the job, and they were getting burgers for dinner, and did Sam want one. Whatever, Sam had said, like even answering was an imposition. That was November, too.

He sits on the hood, heels braced on the bumper, arms locked around his knees. The lake looks cold. He wants to sink into it, wants to feel that freezing shock, like the polar bear dive he did on a dare back in Illinois. The way the brain just goes blank, tv-static filling up everything and washing all the shit away. All the weird crap you don't want to think about, frozen, and the only thing to focus on just—getting out.

He's not going to dive into the lake. It's nine in the morning and he's wearing his only pair of boots. He hasn't gone out with Sabrina all week. He's been piss-poor at the construction site and McMillan nearly brained him with a hammer yesterday, because Dean wasn't paying attention, and the foreman screamed at him in front of the whole crew. None of that feels close, right now. He breathes the wet-clogged air, cold and mossy, turning his ring restlessly on his finger.

Back at that high school they went to in Raton, Mrs. Encinas in 6th period English told Dean he'd be smart, if he didn't just give up all the time. All he needed to do was take the time to read between the lines, to actually interpret what he was reading and not take things on face value. He made some joke. He doesn't remember what it was, now. Like he didn't know what the fuckin Great Gatsby was saying, when he hoped and hoped and never got what he wanted. When happiness always felt like it was about a thousand miles away, on the other side of a lake he couldn't cross, and hope went out like a snuffed light. Dean can read what's not there. He's done it his whole life.

The problem: Sam's little online journal went back six months. They've lived in four towns, in that time. He never uses names, never puts up anything that'd really identify him. They were in Maryland, August-September-first of October, and it was a comment right at the end of August, on the community for gay kids, talking to the hamburger girl: I like someone, too. He doesn't know. He. The same he that carried forward, through all his journal entries, from Maryland to Washington across whole breadth of the country. He likes classic rock. He drives me nuts. He gave me a beer, and I wanted—

Dean curls forward over his knees, sliding his hands into his hair, breathing hard between his knees. He can read between the lines and he wishes that he couldn't. He wishes—god. What? That Sam would just meet a nice girl and fuck her and get it out of his system? Except how he was writing, it wasn't like it was new. It was something he'd been thinking about. When did you know? had read one of the forum posts, and in the responses, among all the dumb teenage crap about formal dances and jerking off to the wrong person in the music video, there was a comment by username rearviewmirror that said, I broke my leg and he carried me to the car and I wanted to kiss him.

Sam broke his leg in July, the summer he turned fifteen. He'd been trying to stay quiet but he'd had this trapped whimper in his throat that he couldn't stop, and Dad had stayed behind to cover their backs and it had been left to Dean, to scoop Sam up, his whole body quivering with the shock—to hug him close between the trees, humid Georgia night making every place their skin touched slick with sweat—to let Sam cling to his neck, shuddering, and to put a hand on his back and whisper, hey, Sammy, it's not even that bad, huh? no bone sticking out, you did good. we're gonna get you a cast and I'm gonna draw you a great picture, okay, Cindy Crawford with her tits out, right there on your shin and Sam had been so shaky that his laugh sounded like he was crying, but he'd nodded against Dean's neck and chattered out sounds cool, Dean, and when Dean got him to the car Sam hadn't wanted to let him go—so they crawled into the backseat together, Sam still half in his lap and with his arms still tight around Dean's neck. Dad got into the front and frowned at Dean in the rearview, and Dean nodded, and when the car leapt forward Sam gasped and gripped at Dean's shirt when his leg got jostled, and Dean put his hand in Sam's hair and said, it's okay, you're okay, and Sam—wanted to kiss him.

He can't square it. It's like there's some twinned version of his brother, in this place Dean never knew existed. All these secrets he's been hoarding, this other person he's been. These wants that make him a stranger.

He goes back home with stuff for lunch around noon. Sam's reading, in the bedroom. "Got pb&j or grilled cheese," Dean calls, down the shotgun kitchen through the thin-carpeted hall, and Sam calls back, "I'm not hungry," which is a goddamn shit of a lie. He grows like an inch a day, he's never not hungry. Dean braces his hands on the counter and counts to five, in his head. He puts the bread away, and puts the cheese in the fridge. He goes into the living room and turns on the TV and it's college football, which is boring as hell, but it fills the apartment with noise. He wishes Dad were home. He wishes he were hunting.

The Huskies lose. Sam hasn't come out of the room, as far as Dean can tell. He's had—four beers? He looks at the table. Five. It's getting toward dark and it's raining, a-fucking-gain, and Dean's still wearing his jacket and his boots and his ears are cold, because the heater in here sucks, and he's shredded the label of the beer everywhere, everywhere. He brushes it off his knees and that just means it's gonna get ground into the shit-brown carpet, but—who cares. He's got other things on his mind.

He gets the last beer out of the fridge. Should've bought more. "Got some spare cash," he says, to the dark hall. There's a halo of light around the half-closed bedroom door. "Thinking pizza for dinner."

Silence.

Dean pushes the beer bottle against his forehead. "C'mon, Sam. It's not going to kill you to prefer pepperoni or sausage. Just say something."

"Doesn't matter," is the response.

Dean squeezes his eyes closed, slams the bottle down to the counter. It's four steps to the bedroom and the door flies open under his palm. "Just fucking say," Dean says, and Sam's looking at him with big eyes, curled up on the twin bed with his back up against the wall, books spread open all around him. Homework, of course. "Just say it, okay? What do you want?"

Sam stares at him. "I don't care! Get—whatever, pepperoni. Jeez, what's up with you?"

"Sure you don't want sausage?" Dean says, kind of nasty, and Sam frowns, shakes his head. Goddamn it. Dean drags a hand over his face, sags against the door frame. He's—a little dizzy. Oh—okay, so maybe he should've eaten, sometime since this morning. "Damn it, Sam," he says, his stomach twinging.

"What?" Give him this—maybe he's sneaking around, maybe he's lying about half his life, but Sam doesn't shrink back from an argument. He's still in his pajamas. He shoves his notebook away, lifts his chin. "What?"

"Been doing some reading," Dean says, and watches Sam's face scrunch disbelievingly. "Rearviewmirror? You don't even like cars."

It's weirdly satisfying to watch Sam blanch. He's been so unaffected the last little while it's almost a relief to get a real reaction. His mouth parts, his eyes go big. He stares at Dean in total silence except the rain drumming on the roof, and then he says, "That's—private."

"Not that private," Dean says. "You're putting shit on the internet for any asshole to read, Sam. It's not a pretty princess diary with a sparkly lock."

Sam's face is white. He licks his lips, his back rigid against the wall. "How did you—you never—"

"I know how to use a friggin computer," Dean says, and watches Sam close his eyes. "So? Got a lot to say to a bunch of strangers. Might as well say it to me. I mean, I'm your brother, right? Family."

It comes out hard but his voice cracks, on the last word. He swallows and some of the anger dissipates. Sam's jaw flexes and he tucks his hands behind his neck and his knees drag in, like defense. Like he needs defense. Against Dean. Like it's Dean who's wrecking things.

Dean's legs go out from under him. He sits down. Right there, in the doorway to the bedroom, the frame hard against his spine. The rain's loud and he doesn't—what is there to say? "You should've told me."

That's really it. Sam looks at him. Disbelief. "How?" he says, and Dean tips his head back against the wall, looks at the popcorn ceiling, says, "I don't know, it's not my damn secret. But you should've."

"Yeah, that would've gone great," Sam says, sarcastic.

Silence. The rain. Dean drags his hand over his face again, clears his throat. "So. You're—queer." For some reason it seems like the simplest thing to start with.

Sam snorts. "I'm not, like, jerking off to JC Chasez," he says, bitter.

"Who?" Dean says, but shakes his head. "God, whatever. Jesus, Sam, I can't—don't talk about you jerking off. You're not—you don't date chicks, either. Ever. So you're—"

"I don't know," Sam says. Kind of firm. Dean closes his eyes to not look at him. "I don't know, okay? But that's not what—" Pause, while he drags in a breath that's audible across the room. Dean curls over, his forehead between his knees. It's too big to hear. Sam blows out air. "You read the whole thing?"

Frail. Cobweb soft, like if Dean breathed too hard it'd break. Dean folds his hands over his head. "I read the whole thing," he says.

"Don't—" Sam says, quick, and cuts himself off. Dean can't stand it—he looks, peeking up, and Sam's made himself small, there at the head of the bed. His mouth is small, his lips between his teeth—his eyes, big and scared. "Dean. I wouldn't—I swear. I wouldn't—"

"Kiss me?" Sam flinches like from a raised fist, when Dean's all the way over here. Dean licks his lips, dropping his hands so they dangle useless between his knees. "Or, what. Leave? Either way it's pretty fucked up, for me, Sam."

"Oh my god," Sam says, very quietly, and—christ. Looks like he's gonna cry.

"Sam," Dean says, and no matter how pissed he is, that's not—Sam fights back. Sam always fights back, he's frickin' annoying that way. He's not supposed to crack like this. Dean rolls up to his knees and Sam's looking away, neck craned unnaturally so that his face is pointed at the broken-blind-covered window so that Dean can't see, but Dean can—Dean can see his teeth so hard in his lip that the skin there's white, and his chest shaky, and his fist clenched in the thin fabric of his pajama bottoms, and, and—"Sammy," Dean says, again, and Sam's eyes close and there is—shit, shit, a tear, running fast out of the corner of his eye, streaking down his cheek so quick that if Dean could blink he might've missed it.

Dean's gut hurts, like he took a punch from a werewolf and he's gonna be bruised for the next three weeks. He doesn't have anything to say to make it better, not when it's this screwed up. This isn't Sam bitching about Dad or whining about crossbow practice or pouting about a move. Sam's been thinking about this for two years and he's managed to talk about it with people, online at least. Dean's coming at it with a week's slow raw realization and he doesn't know how to make it—not how it is.

He gets over to the bed, on his knees. Sam won't look at him, like the view of nothing through the blinds is the most fascinating thing in the world. There's a wet shining trail, down his cheek to his jaw. A damp circle on his t-shirt. Dean says, because he can't think of what else to say, "You really—you want—" and even then, can't articulate it. A kiss. Sex. A kind of close they've never been. He says, slower, "Is that why you want to go?"

Sam drags in air. Sounds like it hurts.

Dean drags his teeth over his lip. There are books all over the bed. He pushes them away, and Sam's notebook. He pushes up—knee on the mattress, and sinking down to his hip, and Sam's close enough to touch, now, and he jerks and looks at Dean like he's an alien. A ghost. Something that can't be real, only they both know that it is. Dean touches Sam's hand, fisted there in his pants, and Sam jerks again, his stiff shoulders back against the wall, and he shoves Dean's hand but no matter the crazy growth spurt Sam's been having Dean's still stronger, still has the reach—he grips Sam's wrist and yanks, gets him off balance, and then he's right inside Sam's grapple and has his hand flat on Sam's chest, pressing him harder against the paint, and Sam stares at him wild-eyed with his breath both fast and deep and Dean leans forward and presses their mouths together. It's a bad kiss—he barely hits on center, and Sam freezes—but there's the touch of warmth, Sam's lips—soft—and the shocked air hitting Dean's face—and Dean drags in breath through his nose and resettles, fits his mouth to Sam's soft open lower lip and makes it better, his head tipping, easy pressure there, just the faintest amount of suction so that when he pulls back a millimeter there's a little smooch sound, and that makes it—real.

He kissed his little brother. No getting around that. No pretending. His nose brushes Sam's cheek and Sam's not really breathing, and Dean—fuck, Dean does it again, pressing in and letting Sam's wrist go so that he can get a hand on Sam's jaw, tipping him so it's good. Sam makes a tiny noise and breathes out hard against his mouth, and when Dean kisses him for a third time Sam meets it, his lips moving finally out of that still shock, his fingertips brushing Dean's arm all careful, his heart pounding under Dean's hand.

Dean pulls back. An inch between them—not enough but all Dean can seem to manage. He swallows. His lips are tingling, and his eyes are closed and he doesn't want to open them, and his fingers—jesus, he's got them tangled in Sam's hair like Sam's some easy hot chick he's picked up at a dive bar, pressing her up against the wall in the bathroom hallway, knowing how the night's going to end.

"We can't," Sam says. Sam. His voice, steady and familiar. "We—Dean. This isn't—"

"No," Dean says, god knows why. He pulls back, though—pulls his hand out of Sam's hair, stands up. His legs wobble for a second. He has to open his eyes and so he drags in a breath and does, and Sam's sitting there with his shoulders high and tight and his hands fisted on his knees and his hair a little fluffed on one side, a little screwy. His mouth parted and his eyes—fixed on Dean's face, looking all over it. Like he's memorizing a trail map, for an unknown stretch of land.

"I'm drunk," Dean says. It's not true. Five beers—he's buzzed but he knows what he's doing. Sam doesn't contradict the lie. "Acting nuts. Sorry, Sam. I—"

"I want pepperoni," Sam says. His face isn't white anymore. He's flushed, dark pink in the hollows of his cheeks. His eyes are dark, wide and fixed on Dean, and there's still that shining trail on his cheek but it's drying. "Order from that place on Melrose. Garlic knots, too."

Dean backs up a step, pins on a smile. "What, you think I'm dumb? Like I wouldn't get knots," he says, and Sam doesn't smile but he nods, brief and fast like Dean's picking up a play in some con they're running, and Dean snaps a finger-gun at Sam—fuck, what is he doing—and turns out of the room, says—"Okay, dinner in thirty minutes or less or your money back!" and walks through the kitchen and out into the living room and out the front door, and closes it behind himself, and leans against it and stares blindly out into the rain, the setting sun still sparking some tiny golden bit of light out to the west, past the horizon.

He licks his lips and tastes salt, not his own. Sam's hand, on his arm—skimming, brushing light through the thickness of his jacket. Like he wasn't sure he'd be allowed to really touch. He drags in the rain-soaked air. He'll drive, to get the pizza. He'll drive, and he'll give Sam time. When he gets back he'll offer Sam half the pie and a beer, and there'll be some movie on TV that Sam probably won't want to watch, but maybe he will. They'll be—brothers. Dean knows how to do that. It feels like it's all he's got left.

*

It's—not easy but it's not all that hard, either. There's a brutal week where Dean's torn between walking on eggshells and wanting to wrestle Sam to the ground, and Sam goes perfectly silent—not pouty withdrawal or furious silent-treatment, but as still and quiet as though he's not even there. Dean can't bear it. It takes Dad coming home to break it—Dad, and christ, when he calls to say he's coming back Dean completely freezes and his mind fills up with—with—but then Sam looks at him and takes the phone out of his hand and says, his mouth's full—what's up? and after that it's like things… settle. It's not okay but it's livable.

rearviewmirror.livejournal.com goes quiet. Dean checks, occasionally, over the months that pass. When he's looking up some random piece of lore for Dad, when they're hunting alone and Sam's stuck back at whatever shitty hotel they stored him at, and Dean's on research duty because Sam's in high school and can't answer his phone. Dean types in the address and checks, and it's still that last post. Anyone else going through this? He hopes, sincerely, not. It's too fucked up for anyone else to bear. At least the Winchesters have practice.

They run PT. Sam does his homework. Dean watches TV. Hunting focuses things. There's stuff to kill and people to save and things aren't falling apart any more than they ever are, so—Dean deals.

Sam leaves.

*

It's January. Dean's in a library, alone. Dad's working a job north of Boise and he sent Dean down to Wendover to take care of a haunting, and Dean's done and Dad called and said two more days and there's this raw wounded spot where Dean should be able to turn, to look over his left shoulder and say—but it's empty there, and so he's in a library.

Sam started posting again, when he got to school. Small stuff. That he was sorry for the long break. That he'd ended up at a university after all. The hamburger girl doesn't respond anymore but the Nine Inch Nails boy does: thought you were dead, he says, no-caps like he's so goddamn cool, and Sam says, Just working some stuff out.

Sam likes his professors. He plays pick-up soccer with some of the guys from his dorm. His roommate snores. He doesn't listen to music at all. There's nothing—real. There's none of the sadboy shit, nothing about what he's feeling, no pondering of what it all means. He picks up a few different Livejournal friends, clearly people from his classes, who crack jokes about Ancient Civ and Linear Algebra. He joins a community focused around civil rights litigation. He might as well not be there.

Dean reads it all. If Sam's not calling then Dean's gonna check in whatever way he can. When Sam left Dean made sure he had at least one good knife in his bag and he said don't forget the salt when Sam hiked his backpack onto his shoulder, and Sam snorted and looked at him like a gunshot but he nodded, and Sam's not dumb, he knows how to take care of himself, but. Dean's the big brother, here. He's within his rights, to check and make sure baby bro's not being a dumbass.

January and it's fuckin cold, in Wendover, but the library's too warm. Dean keeps his coat on anyway, scrolling through the comms. He's kinda turning into an expert, navigating the pages, recognizing the shorthand. He hasn't made an account. Doesn't know why he would. He finishes his scan of the comms Sam's part of and doesn't really see any relevant posts, and no comments from rearviewmirror that he can find. He chews his cheek and goes back to the main page, thinking—okay, he can get out of here. Beer and dinner, and finding a motel that doesn't look toxic, and waiting for Dad to call. Not the worst night he could have. He refreshes, one last time, just in case, and there's a new post. He reads:

January 23

Done with class for the week. Feeling restless.

current mood: current music:

Comments:

lawblog69: we should go out!!

bloodofreptile: go get laid

Dean snorts. At least the NIN kid is consistent. He refreshes again and there's a new comment.

bloodofreptile: go get laid

    rearviewmirror: Not really in the cards.

He takes a breath, sitting there at the computer bank. It's quiet in here—the good people of Wendover aren't much for the library, apparently—but he feels like someone's right there. Like he could reach out and touch, when it's just words on a glowing screen. Still—the speed of the comment—Sam's… sitting there. Right now, on a computer in Palo Alto, looking at the same thing Dean is.

He refreshes.

bloodofreptile: go get laid

    rearviewmirror: Not really in the cards.

        bloodofreptile: still holding onto that? very hufflepuff. how long has it been?

              rearviewmirror: my whole life

Dean presses his knuckles to his lips, hard enough that he can feel his teeth pressing back. Jesus, Sam. He refreshes—another comment, from coppertonebuttgirl, agreeing about the restlessness but apparently she's off to a date with her boyfriend, and Sam responds and says sounds nice :), and jesus, Sam, Dean thinks. Off to have the big college experience like he wanted so bad, off to have that new shiny life, and after five months away he's still all sadsack, still not actually living.

He clicks the comment box. He types, unaccountably mad. He hits submit, and gets a warning that it'll show as anonymous. He waits, and refreshes, and reads:

Anonymous: Just go hit a bar. Live a little. Thought you were supposed to be smart, college boy.

     rearviewmirror: Since when does smart have anything to do with it?

Dean rolls his eyes. He can hear Sam's voice saying it, nettled and trying to sound like he isn't.

Anonymous: You're on here mooning after Cindy Crawford when Claudia Schiffer and Tyra Banks are out there in the real world. Have a beer, get over it.

A pause. Dean has to refresh twice. The librarian walks by with her cart of books and gives him a distracted smile, and Dean's so addled he doesn't actually process and then return it until she's already gone.

rearviewmirror: I don't think it's something you get over. It mattered. It still does, to me.

Dean chews his thumbnail. Sam's face, turned unnaturally, looking out that window at the rain. The wet track, on his cheek.

Anonymous: Matters enough that you're never going to move on?

    rearviewmirror: I didn't think you could move on from family. Maybe I was wrong.

The air goes out of Dean's chest. He turns away from the computer, entirely, swiveling the chair so he's looking out at the lonely bookshelves. He flexes his jaw and swivels back around. Hits refresh.

The thread of comments is gone. He blinks, confused. He doesn't think he was hallucinating—been a while, since he was that tired and drunk. But—oh—in its place, a single comment, under the brief conversation with the NIN kid:

rearviewmirror: Tell me if it's you.

Dean licks his lips. He closes out of the browser, picks up his notepad and keys. On the steps outside it's cold, cold, fucking cold, and this town is bleak. He walks down to the Impala, waiting there in the iced-over grey snow, and braces his hands on the hood, and blows out a long purling winter-dragon breath, and then fishes his phone out of his pocket. Another new phone, but he's got Sam's number memorized, and he almost calls before he chickens out. If it's not actually wanted—he imagines that conversation and he's just not constitutionally capable, right now, of facing how goddamn awkward it'd be.

He texts: It's me.

The response, after seconds: Where are you?

The shitty part of Utah. That's saying something. Easier, like this. Like it's not him kicking down a doorway right into Sam's head.

I don't have class tomorrow.

Could be random, if he didn't know who he was talking to. Dean leans his elbows on the hood of the car, looking at the little box of black-and-white text. He chews his lips and thinks. Before he can respond, another message:

I don't want to move on.

Dean tips his head enough that he's pressing the edge of the phone into his forehead. His fingers are cold. He sniffs, his nose dripping in the icy weather, and types, careful to make sure he gets it right: I'm nine hours away.

Less, if he goes over 100 in the boring parts of Nevada, and if he doesn't stop at all for a catnap.

Stop in Reno for a nap. You get weird when you drive all night. Text me when you're close.

Dean works his jaw, standing there in the cold. He's got nothing to do, for two days. He's got most of a tank of gas. He's got—nothing. Nothing. He gets in the car, and he drives.

It's only 9:30 when he gets to Reno. There were parts of Nevada where he drove very, very fast. He pulls into a truck stop, gets more gas and parks out near where the semis are lined up, the drivers early-birding the night away. Still cold here but less so. He twists around so his back's to the passenger door and looks out the driver window at the neon signs of the truck stop, the cars going in and out of the gas islands. He ate a little but his stomach was all twisted up and he couldn't get much down. A beer would go easier but he doesn't want to be drunk. Well. He does. This is insane. This is—completely stupid.

He pulls out his phone, looks at it. Dials and holds it to his ear, and it rings three times—long enough for him to change his mind four times—before there's an answer, and Sam's voice says, "Dean?"

His voice. Dean closes his eyes, tips his head back against the cold glass of the window. "Long time, no speak," Dean says. It feels rusty.

Sam's quiet for a second, on the other end. "Not really, though. Right?"

"I guess so. It's not the same." Dean listens to the little acknowledging sound Sam makes. There's silence again, for seconds that he counts—one and then two and then three. He listens to the cooling tick of the engine, through it, and then says, before he loses his nerve, "I shouldn't come. Right? This is nuts."

There's some noise, staticky. Like something passed over the mic on Sam's phone. After a beat, Sam says, "You should do what you want to do."

"Oh, should I," Dean says, and it comes out sarcastic, but he doesn't really mean it to be mean. Sam doesn't take the bait, staying quiet on the other end, and Dean opens his eyes again, watching a huge truck muscle past the gas island, watching the normal world go by. He rubs his eye. "I've been—it's been weird, Sam."

Understatement, but he doesn't know why he says it. That kind of stuff isn't for Sam to worry about.

"Go to sleep," Sam says, instead of responding. "An hour or something, just enough so you won't drive off the road. Text me when you're close."

Same thing he said before. "It'll be like three in the morning when I'm close," Dean says, and Sam says, "I'll be awake," and then the line disconnects, and Dean's left there alone again on the bench seat, but it—feels different.

He sort of sleeps, sort of doesn't. He's got a talent for going to bed wherever and whenever he has to—on spare tires and on forest floors and in a closet, once, with a propane tank as his pillow—but his brain won't shut up. He drifts in and out, for the hour Sam asked him for, and then he gets out of the car and goes into the 24-hour c-store and buys a big cup of coffee and a Hershey bar, and points the hood west, and follows the yellow dashed line home.

He texts from a gas station outside Sacramento. Sam texts back in less than a minute with an address. Dean glances at his map of California and responds: 45 minutes, and it's more like thirty when he pulls up to the—yeah, the motel, and he makes a sound that's sort of like a laugh except it doesn't feel like one. He turns into the parking lot and the headlights flash the building, and there, sitting on the sidewalk with his back to a pillar.

Dean parks. Sam has his arms folded over his knees, but he unfurls, stands. Dean gets out of the car and Sam's—jesus, ten feet away, his face totally visible under the streetlight. His hair's a little longer. "Did you get taller?" Dean says, and Sam huffs, his head ducking, and—fuck everything else, it's Dean's little brother, and he drags Sam into a hug, folding his arms over Sam's shoulders even if he has to lift on his toes a little to do it. Sam goes stiff for half a second, but he hugs back, and Dean turns his face in, Sam's hair in his nose like it always is, and feels him—warm, and safe. All Dean ever wanted for him, pretty much.

"You have to get the room," Sam says, when they pull apart. At Dean's eyebrows he shrugs, the corner of his mouth curled. "What? My scholarship doesn't include seedy rent by the hour stuff."

"Oversight much?" Dean says, but he goes in, and he gets a room. Two queens, because that's what the tired miserable little desk clerk says they have available. Means Dean doesn't have to think about other possibilities, and it means that when he dangles the keys off his finger and Sam half-smiles at him, when they've walked down the cold sidewalk side by side, when Dean opens the door and finds the different motel room, same as the first—Sam sits on one bed, and Dean sits on the other, and they look at each other, and it's like it's two years ago and they're just two kids, waiting for Dad to come home.

Sam is taller. Taller than Dean, now. His hair long enough to fall in his eyes, which it does constantly. Newish sneakers, and old jeans, and a hooded sweatshirt, and a denim jacket over the top of that. Not warm enough for the Bay in winter, but Dean bites his tongue before he says anything about it.

"How are your classes?" he says, instead.

Sam's cheek sucks in, like he's chewing it. After a second he says, "You don't want to talk about my classes, man." His head tips. "Anyway. You read about it, right."

It was a mistake not to stop for beer. Dean needs something to do with his hands. "Your algebra professor sounds like an asshole," he says.

Makes Sam smile before he ducks his head, looking down at his lap. "I thought—" He swallows, audibly. He shakes his head, his hair falling down and hiding his face. "Only reason I started posting again was that I wondered if you might still—if you'd check."

It's quiet, honest. Dean hasn't talked to Sam in person for half a year and he's off-balance. Expecting Sam to snark, to be dismissive, to roll his eyes. Small hours of the morning, maybe he's too tired not to be honest. Maybe he's growing up. Dean's not prepared for that.

Sam looks up at him when Dean's silent for too long. His teeth dig into the corner of his mouth and he drags his hand through his hair, gets it off his forehead. "I said I didn't want to move on. You know what I meant, right?"

Dean huffs. "Yeah, I'm not an idiot, Sam," he says, and Sam's eyes tighten. Dean leans back on his hands, tips his head back on his shoulders to look at the ceiling. "Thought this was the whole point of getting out. Getting away, making a whole new life. Being someone else."

"I'm still me," Sam says, unseen. "And it wasn't the whole point. I want a life. That part—whatever, that doesn't matter right now. But I never thought the other thing was going to go away."

He stands up, so Dean can see him. Dean looks at him down his nose, and Sam's—god. Tall. That keeps being his first thought. Tall, and maybe not a stranger, even if he's real damn strange. Sam steps closer, in the little space between the two beds, chewing his lip again. He's gonna make a sore there. "Dean," he says, and Dean raises his eyebrows in response. "You came."

"Yeah," Dean says, rueful. "Well. I'm Cindy Crawford."

Sam's face ripples—a frown, surprise—and then a huffed little laugh—and then he steps between Dean's knees and touches his chest, his jaw. Leans down, slow, telegraphing like they're practicing a fight, and Dean stays exactly where he is, leaned back on his hands, and Sam's mouth touches his—softly. Not hesitant. Dean lets his eyes close and feels it. Puff of air against his face as Sam lets out a tense breath and then another kiss, the damp inside Sam's lip catching against Dean's, and Dean kisses back then, reaching up and getting Sam's jaw, his jacket, fisting the denim and pulling Sam closer. There's a stagger—Sam's knee landing on the bed by Dean's hip, and Dean gets an arm around his lower back and kisses him again, tasting him. Salt, and when Dean kisses him again and presses his mouth open, licks inside, there's coffee-taste, Sam's tongue—slick, tentative—he stayed up, to wait for Dean—his kiss clumsier now, like he doesn't have much practice.

Dean pulls back a few inches. Sam's half-draped on him, his weight nearly in Dean's lap. His eyes are dark but big with surprise, like he didn't expect Dean to go with it. "Sammy," Dean says, and Sam—shudders, his hands closing hard around Dean's shoulders. Okay, Dean thinks, filing that away. He drags a thumb over Sam's jaw, where he's got a barely-there prickle of stubble. "What are we doing?"

Sam shakes his head, licks his lips. "This," he says, holding the side of Dean's neck. "This."

They peel Sam's jacket off, and then Dean's. Sam's still in that hoodie, soft black, and Dean gets his fingers just under the hem of it, barely grazing Sam's stomach, kissing him again—tangled up close on the edge of the bed, Sam's thigh slung over his. Sam keeps touching his face, his chest. His amulet, swinging forward between them when he urges Sam down to his back on the mattress, a knee between Sam's and his hand still there on Sam's belly. Sam grips the amulet and breathes out hot against Dean's face and lifts up for another kiss, which Dean gives him easy, and it's—god, it's good. The lights on, the room warm, Sam wanting underneath his hand. His mouth, slick and open, learning how to press back, how to give as good as he's getting. Dean kisses his cheekbone, his jaw, settles his hand flat on Sam's stomach to ground him, says, "Sammy, you've done this before, right?" Sam hitches breath, nods. Dean sorta laughs, lifts up so he can actually see Sam's expression. "More than once?"

"Twice," Sam says, and when Dean raises his eyebrows he frowns, vaguely indignant. "Jenny Morrison, just before graduation." He licks his lips. "And—a guy. After student orientation, here."

"Playing the field, huh?" Dean says. There's no reason it should make his stomach go molten hot. He rubs Sam's stomach, feels the rise of his breath. "You like it?" Sam nods, again. "What'd you do?"

Sam's cheeks are dark, brick-red. He licks his lips again and Dean ducks back in to kiss him, knocking his mouth open, tasting inside. Earns himself a small deep noise and Sam's hand sliding through his hair where it's too short to grab. He nudges Sam's nose and sits up, peeling off his overshirt. "C'mon. What'd you do? Didn't put that up on your journal, how am I supposed to know?"

"It was a rush party," Sam says, looking at him. He pulls his t-shirt off over his head, making sure his amulet stays put, and Sam blinks heavily, his lips parted. Jeez—it's weird. Hot. Sam wants him, Dean thinks, and it sends a rush of blood south. "He's—uh. Pre-med, smart."

"Not looking for his biography, Sammy," Dean says, and spreads his hands on Sam's hips, pushing up. The hoodie moves, the t-shirt underneath rucks up—Sam's pale here but still that faint all-over tan, darker than Dean's skin. He licks his lips. "What'd you do? Jerk each other off?"

Sam nods, again, his mouth open. God, Dean can imagine it. On some dorm-room bed, their heads leaned together, Sam's mouth open just like this—panting, his hand fumbling down—fuck, fuck it's hot, Sam nervous and into it and trying, making sure. "You liked it, huh?" Dean says, stroking his thumbs over Sam's bare belly.

"Yeah," Sam says, thin on not enough air, his knee drawing up. "But I—I thought about—when you kissed me—" and Dean kisses him again, groaning. Jesus, Sam's gonna kill him. Thinking about some shitty nervous freaked-out kiss when another guy's got his tongue in Sam's mouth. Sam grabs his shoulders, sits up, and Dean accommodates him easy, letting Sam touch him back—Sam's hands sliding down his chest, around to his ribs, grasping. "Dean," he says, panting.

"Let's get this off, huh?" Dean says, pulling, and Sam yanks the hoodie off in a second flat, his hair all ruffling up behind it. The shirt comes with it and there's just Sammy's bare smooth skin, that same pale tan all over. Small brownish nipples, slim muscles. His body. Dean dips and kisses his bare shoulder, licking there, biting, and Sam's nails dig into his ribs so he does it again, swinging a leg over so he's straddling Sam's lap, taking his time. He scrapes his teeth over the swell where Sam's collarbone dips into the arch of his trap, and Sam grips his neck, his back arching. He's hard. Shit, he's nineteen, he has to be hard. Dean slides his fingers down Sam's belly to his belt, tucking under the waist of his jeans, but Sam grips his wrist, then, groaning, saying—"Wait—wait—"

Dean drops his head to Sam's shoulder, groaning back. "We waited," he says, but Sam's hand is on his shoulder, pushing him back, making him look. "What?"

Sam's pink. "Have you—with a guy?" Dean rocks back but Sam's holding him close, looking all over his face. "Dean. Have you—"

"Yeah," Dean says, and watches Sam's ears go red. Sam doesn't need to know when, but it was all in the last year. Three dudes, hookups that were way too easy. They were good—turns out that Dean just likes sex, any way someone will give it to him—and he learned what it felt like to have a dick not his own in his hand, how it felt to slip a cock into his mouth and make a man groan. He hadn't thought about Sam while he was doing it, not really, but he's thinking about it now, and Sam's eyes have dropped, his lips between his teeth. Jealous? Dean smiles while Sam can't see and breaks Sam's hold on his wrist, and slides his hand down, and cups the crotch of Sam's jeans where he's swelling them out. Sam jerks, eyes flying open. "Means I know what I'm doing. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Sam breathes, and then it's—undoing his belt, and unzipping, and then—god, he's still got his sneakers on. Dean backs off and kicks off his boots, deliberately, and Sam blinks at him hot-eyed with his chest heaving and his jeans half-open looking like a friggin porno, but then he gets with the program, and the shoes thud to the shitty carpet and then they're practically racing, undressing, and when Dean kicks his boxers off to the side Sam's—naked, half on the bed, staring at him. Dean stares back, circling a hand around Sam's ankle. God, to look at him, in the lamplight. Long legs, hairier on the shins and lightly furred on the thighs, and a decent dark bush around a dick that's—jesus, that dick. Big, bigger than Dean's, bigger than—Dean licks his lips and looks up with an effort and Sam's staring right back at him, focused between his legs, his mouth parted. "Like what you see?" Dean says, and Sam doesn't answer, just reaches for him, and Dean crawls up the bed and settles on his elbow above Sam with their legs brushing bare, Sam's dick hot against his hip, and Sam kisses him with both hands on his face, his thigh dragging up against Dean's, his lips almost trembly.

Dean soothes a hand down Sam's ribs but Sam's—fuck. Shaking. They haven't even done anything. "Sammy," Dean whispers, between Sam's needing brief kisses, and Sam shakes his head and kisses him again and then ducks his head down, his nose brushing under Dean's jaw. Dean pulls Sam closer—tips, so they're on their sides—and pulls Sam's leg over his hip, pushes in, and—ah, shit, shit that feels good, Sam's big dick brushing in against his, dragging heavy and hot. "Oh," says Sam, small, and Dean slips his hand further and grips Sam's ass, the muscle tight and small—pulls in, and pulls again, encouraging, and Sam grips Dean's shoulder underhand tight enough to hurt but follows, pushing in with the rhythm Dean's urging. He's breathing fast, hot against Dean's throat, but he's got it—humping in, meeting Dean, making their dicks slide, his cockhead smearing wet against Dean's belly. Dean hums, kissing Sam's temple where he can just reach it, just enjoying the—insane way it feels. He lets Sam's ass go and Sam keeps going—good, good—and he licks his fingers sloppy, and reaches down between them, and for the first time he gets a grip on Sam's dick, feels the heft of it. Sam makes a sound like he's been shot and Dean says shh, easy, slicking his hand down to the base, squeezing hard as he pulls back up, and Sam makes another gulping strange sound, his thigh clutching hard around Dean's hip, his hand crushing Dean's lower back in closer. "That feel good?" Dean says, and Sam—comes. Fast, humping in, spurting up Dean's belly and his own, the slick getting all over Dean's dick, hot and wet, the sensation enormous. Dean squeezes him through it, knowing, and Sam humps in again and grabs his ass, nails digging in. Dean tips his head back, feeling it. God, it's good. Sam. His brother.

He swallows. His dick's throbbing, wanting more, feeling left behind. Sammy shudders and Dean licks his lips, pushes Sam back so his shoulders hit the bed. He flops—boneless, shocked—and Dean drags his hands over Sam's ribs, frames his hips. His dick is still big, flushed and wet, his balls clutched up high, and Dean licks his lips and says, "Okay," to no one, and leans down, and gets Sam's dick in his mouth.

A shock, Sam's body practically lifting off the bed. "What," he says, somewhere Dean can't see him—"What are you, oh—" and Dean thinks, oh, what if no one has done this? What if Jenny just opened her legs and she and Sam humped awkward and teenage in some backseat—what if pre-med only wiped his handful of Sam's jizz on the mattress and passed out—what if Dean's the first one, here, opening his jaw wide, careful of his teeth, slicking down, getting the whole fat length of it in his mouth. Only—he can't, fuck, Sam's too big. He fists the base, pulls off, spits and slicks the wet down. When he glances up Sam's up on his elbows, staring, and Dean grins at him, jerks it again, swallows. He can taste Sam's jizz, leftover from coming before. "Hang on," Dean says, and goes back down, letting the head bust his lips open, slicking tight down to his fist, dragging his tongue hard against the underside, suckling easy. Sam takes his statement as an order and grips his head, his shoulder, his hips cringing up into Dean's mouth, and Dean heaves in air, feels Sam firming up again, thick and needing and good.

He's only done this a few times but he—shit, he liked it. Likes it better the other way around, of course, but like this—his dick pressing into the bed, throbbing—Sam splitting open his mouth—yeah, it doesn't exactly suck. He bobs up and down, making sure to pay special attention to the soft ridge at the head, and Sam's making insane noises, now, up above him, petting his head and his shoulders and gripping, trying to shove up. Dean leans into his hip so he can't, fists his dick, pulls off gasping and licking his lips. Sam's still staring, down the length of his torso, and Dean jerks him through the goopy mess they're making—his spit, Sam's precome, what Sam's already come. "You like it?" Dean says, and Sam—rolls his eyes, the little shit.

"You're smug," Sam says, and Dean raises his eyebrows and says, "You're damn right I am," and lets Sam's dick go and goes down, down, no fist in the way until Sam's dick hits the back of his throat and he gags—breathes through it—slurps up with tight lips and then goes right back down, getting his throat used to it, learning the feel of this massive, awesome dick. Sam moans, pushes his hips up, and Dean lets him, rides it—lets Sam fuck up, lets him get a rhythm, like fucking—Sam, fucking his face—and Dean reaches down between his own legs and fists his own dick, finally, groaning in relief and making Sam shudder as the vibration rumbles through Dean's open throat. Sam grips his head with both hands, holding him down, and Dean drags in air through his nose and holds there, filled up with Sam and choking, spit flooding out of his open mouth—the world dark and just Sam's taste, his smell—and Sam makes a little sound—and Dean grunts and lifts off, breaks Sam's hold and crawls up his body, straddling his hips and dragging his dick against where Sam's is all sloppy-hot, dripping wet. Sam gasps up at him and grabs his hips, his ass, fucking up into him, and Dean grips both their dicks in two hands, fucking into the tight wet channel he's making for them both, and Sam pulls at his ass, spreading it, rocking his hips to help, moaning and looking helpless up into Dean's face, and Dean leans down and breathes against him and Sam still comes first, creaming them both, his dick flexing and twitching in Dean's grip, and Dean braces one slick hand on the bed and fists himself seriously, jerking fast, and Sam moans and kisses his jaw and pulls at his ass with those big hands, his fingers slipping low, dipping—and Dean jerks and spills, his belly seizing, his thighs clamping around Sam's hips, Sam's lips open and dragging wet against his throat, his fist gripping the bedspread so hard that his fingers cramp.

Sam's stroking his hips, repetitive and soft, when he's done panting. Dean swallows, shifts his weight. He's slumped on top of Sam, his face buried in Sam's shoulder. Wet between them, sliding, and he releases his dick and slips his sticky hand out, bracing on the bed enough to get some air between them. When he lifts up Sam's eyes are half-closed, but he focuses on Dean's face right away, and his hands stop their stroking and just squeeze, warm and tight. "You okay?" Sam says.

"My line," Dean says, and Sam rolls his eyes again, squeezes again. Dean sits up more but Sam doesn't let go. "C'mon, we should clean up."

Sam's eyes tighten, just barely. He sits up, keeping his grip on Dean, and Dean rocks back but doesn't tip over. He gets a hand on Sam's shoulder to keep his balance and Sam says, steady, "Don't freak. Okay?"

"Who's freaking?" Their dicks are still pressed wetly together, though Dean's basically soft, now. Sam's still plump, thick. He swallows. "C'mon, we're gonna get cemented together," he says, and Sam's mouth purses but his grip goes light, and it gives enough room that Dean can lift off, get his feet under him. Jesus, there's enough jizz on him that it's rolling down his belly—he claps a hand to it before it can drop, smearing it over his abs. "You come like a geyser, dude," he says, not really complaining, but Sam's cheeks are red when he looks back up, and he feels—shit. He doesn't know.

He goes to the bathroom. Fluorescent light, pink-painted sink. He wets one of the five-cent washrags and wipes himself up, and he's not turned on anymore so his thought is mainly that it's just gross, and that bed's going to be wrecked, and also, what is he doing. What is he doing.

Sam's hand appears, reaching around him. He jumps. In the mirror behind him, Sam's tall, looking over his shoulder. Looking at Dean, even as he wets the other rag, cleans himself up. Dean chews the inside of his lip and can't really turn away. Sam's got red marks on his shoulder, where Dean was biting him.

"Stay," Sam says. He tosses his wet rag back into the sink and settles his hands on Dean's biceps, squeezing. When he steps forward his dick presses into the small of Dean's back and his chest is warm, damp. "Tomorrow at least. We've got the room. Stay."

"You want your dick sucked again?" Dean says, and that time it is mean and he did kind of mean it to be, and Sam's eyelids dip and his jaw clenches, but he only slips his hands away from Dean's arms to his ribs, holding him. It feels… Dean shakes his head. "Sam," he says, but there's not really anything that can go after it.

A big hand slides up and over, flattening on his breastbone. "It's not just this," Sam says, meeting Dean's eyes in the mirror, and it makes Dean's cheeks go hot.

He covers Sam's hand with his. He shivers, for some reason. He says, "I should take a shower, I've been in the car all day," and Sam says, "Okay," and Dean takes a shower and Sam sits on the closed toilet, watches him through the clear curtain. Gives him a towel when he comes out. Takes his hips, when he's dry, and presses him to the tiled wall, and tips his head up, and kisses him clean.

Five in the morning, or later. There's a clean bed and Dean hasn't slept in a day. He lays down and Sam lays down with him, a few inches away until Dean relents and turns over, and Sam curls up behind him, holding on, his mouth against Dean's shoulder. There's going to be a call from Dad, at some point. Dean's going to have to meet him somewhere, because there's going to be something bad that needs killing. He can't stay. He's wired and tired, all at once.

"Sleep," Sam says, and Dean turns his head against the pillow, knows he will.

"Hey," he says, and Sam makes a quiet noise. "If you put this on your journal, maybe bloodofreptile will finally shut up about you getting laid all the time."

"His name is Dennis," Sam says, and Dean laughs, weirdly glad. Dennis. Yeah, that fits. "And this isn't going on the internet."

"Probably a good idea," Dean says, and Sam says, again, "Dude, go to sleep," and Dean tips back into Sam's warmth, and does, and it's the best sleep he's gotten in a year.

[sapphire-strikes]

Could your write something about Boris trying to cheer up a FK who just isn't having it. They're in the middle of working on something and keep politely brushing him off when he tries anything despite obviously being very tired and fed up with whatever they're focusing on. (Perhaps with a guest appearance by tickle monster Boris to help them come around?)

Just a whole bunch of fluff.

Kamal: {Hey, bud, you home yet?}

Boris: {Nopey nope! I was just closing up shop! :-D }

Kamal: {Alright, just thought I'd tell you the kid is gonna be there when you get back. Their wi-fi's down so they asked if they could come over and use ours}

Boris: {That is great news thank you, Kamal!}

Kamal: {I'm assuming you don't mean great that their internet's down, lol}

{I'm sure you're happy to have them over but they're there to work on something so try not to distract them too much okay?}

{...}

{Boris?}

{Boris!}

{Well it's not like I didn't try}

Quickly tucking away his phone, Boris made haste to finish his closing duties. You'd mentioned not being able to walk him home from the shop today so whatever you were working on must have been the "business" that you had to take care of. It seemed your friendship really was meant to be because even on the days you didn't plan on seeing each other fate found a way to bring you back to him and Kamal; that's what Boris thought to himself at least as he untied his apron and hung it on the rack by the door.

Busy at work or not, it probably wasn't any fun sitting in their home all alone so he was quick to flip the sign to closed and skip out the door.

By the time home was within view he couldn't contain his excitement anymore and dashed to the front door.

You sat crossed legged on the couch, hunched over the laptop that sat in your lap. The sound of the door smacking against the wall as he burst inside made you jump considerably, almost dropping your computer in the process.

"Hello! Sorry to keep you waiting!"

It took you a moment to register who was standing in the door after their sudden entrance but the scared look on your face disappeared when he took a few steps closer.

"Oh hey, Boris." You readjusted your sitting position into something more comfortable after almost jumping off the couch a second ago. "You're good, I wasn't really waiting after all." You mentioned.

He stepped behind you and rested his hands on the back of the couch, bending over a bit to get a better look at what was on your screen.

"I see you are hard at work, yes?"

"Yeah, and I've...still got a good bit to work on. Kamal said it was alright for me to hang out today so I hope I'm not in your way or anything."

"Of course not, it is no trouble at all! We are always happy to have you!" Something about the excited way he spoke told you he didn't really understand your situation.

"That's great, thanks Boris. Don't mind me then." You turned to give him one final grin before focusing back on your laptop.

There was a noticeable moment of silence from Boris as he seemed to be processing that that was the end of the conversation. Unfortunately, he didn't come to any kind of worth while conclusion because his wide smile returned.

"Alrighty! I'm going to go get changed, be back soon!

As promised, it wasn't long before you heard the sound of heavy footsteps coming back down the stairs. Doing your best to keep your eyes focused on your keyboard you finally looked up when you felt someone leer over you.

"What's up?"

"I'm going to go take care of my lilies out back, would you like to come?"

"I'm sorry, Boris, but I'm still going to be at this for a while yet. I'd work at home but that storm last night took out some of the lines by my house."

"Oh..." His face fell for a second "That's all right! Do come out and find me if you find yourself in need of some fresh air!"

"Sure thing, if I can finish up in time I'll be right out", you agreed.

However, an hour passed and you stayed where you were. Somewhere around the 30 minute mark Boris had come back inside, looking noticeably disappointed when he saw you in the same position he'd left you in. But Instead of interrupting you again he busied himself with finishing little things inside the house, all of which happened to be in the livingroom, and you weren't blind to the way he seemed to be constantly looking up from whatever he was doing to see if you were done.

At one point he even feigned reading beside you. You could only assume he was faking it at least, unless he had a preference for reading books upside down. Admittedly, you did feel the slightest bit bad for "ignoring" him but the both of you knew why you were there in the first place.

It really was almost exactly and hour before he seemed to reach his breaking point and you once again felt someone approach you. The next second you were lifted up from behind as Boris moved to sit where you had been just a moment before, placing you back down in front of him.

"Soooo... what are you working on?" He asked, draping his arms over your shoulders and resting his chin on the top of your head.

Letting out a defeated chuckle, you decided to humor him a bit.

"I'm writing an email right now actually."

"Ooh, email!" He clapped his hands together happily. "Who are we emailing?"

"People..." You joked.

"Are they nice people?"

You shrugged, wiggling your hand in a so-so motion then the sound of typing pulled your attention back down to your keyboard.

Boris had reached forward, typing out a :-) at the end of your last paragraph. When you cocked your head up to look at him he just grinned widely, thankfully not taking too much offence when you moved to erase his playful work.

Without another word you turned your attention away from him and hunched back over your laptop, returning to work as if you weren't sitting in the lap of someone else and hoping said person would get the hint that you had other things to focus on.

But as diligent as your efforts to stay focused were, so was the obliviousness of the attention hungry giant behind you and he followed your movement, once again closing the space between your back and his chest has he hunched over you as well, this time wrapping his arms around your midsection and intertwining his fingers for good measure.

This position wasn't actually that bad, if even a bit cozy and part of you hoped he would be content enough to let you work while he watched tv or something. You were gifted a few more minutes of peace but before you were able to fall back into a comfortable state of work, your attention was once again pulled back to Boris as he began drumming his fingers against your stomach and humming quietly.

As though he was waiting for you to acknowledge him; when you finally moved your eyes off your screen he leaned forward and rested his head on your shoulder.

"You need something, bud?" You asked dryly, turning to look at him.

"Oh, not really..." He answered, letting out an exaggerated sigh of boredom and keeping his eyes staring off to the side. It didn't give the effect he was going for though as his face was still squished snugly beside yours and the act only lasted a moment before he was smiling again. "Do you want to watch tv? :-)"

You had to wonder if the exasperated look on your face was really that hard to recognize.

"....No."

"No?"

"No."

"Okee."

After that Boris finally released you, leaning back and tapping his fingers against the arm of the couch.

Despite your almost salty attitude you had to admit you weren't really annoyed with him. In fact the only thing weighing on your mood right now was all the work you still had ahead of you.

Slowly running your hand over your mouth, you let out a long sigh, the stone face you'd been holding finally sinking to a small frown when you weren't paying attention.

Boris leaned forward once again, this time much more slowly, his signature grin replaced with a look of concern as he cocked himself around your shoulder to get a better look at your face.

"How long have you been working on this?"

"I got here a little after 8 this morning." You groaned, rubbing your eyes.

"Oh, that was shortly after I left!"

"Yeah, and now I see why Kamal advised me to wait until after you'd went to work." You whispered with a tired smile, too quiet for him to hear.

"That was quite a few hours ago...aren't you tired?"

"I'm not not tired... BUT!" You continued "It's kind of my own fault for waiting until the last minute to get all my work done, so I'll be okay."

At a much more startling pace this time he reached around you and pulled you back against his chest in a tight hug.

"I think that's long enough for today, don't you? You should take a break! You don't have to go home though, I can make snacks and we can watch a movie!"

You did your best to collect yourself, your shirt ridding up and your hair getting ruffled as he lifted up your torso and snuggled you from behind. You probably looked akin to a stuffed animal being squeezed by a small child.

"Thanks, but I'd really rather get it done today." You managed to wiggle yourself a bit of slack in his grip but as soon as he felt you start to pull away you were squished back against his chest and he gave you an extra tight squeeze as if to send the message that he wasn't ready to let go yet.

The sudden movement shifted your laptop and you lurched forward to reach for it, your fingers coming up just an inch short as it teetered over the edge of your leg. Thankfully, Boris reached for it right on time, slapping it shut and lifting it from its place in front of you.

"Looking at that screen for so long is no good for you anyway... :-(" He commented with a frown, bringing it closer to his face to examine it. The computer almost looked to be the size of a tablet in his large hand.

"Not really my concern right now." You reached for it but on cue he lifted it up out of your reach and despite only hugging you with one arm now, his grip was still unmovable. "Come on, give it back!"

You thought he may have actually been listening when he lowered his arm, only for him to raise it back up out of your reach when you moved to grab it.

"Ой, так близко!"

The audacity of that little tease actually surprised you coming from him, but if he was going to play dirty then so could you.

"Boris, give it back or I'm going home." Despite the playfulness in your voice his smug smile vanished and he quickly released both you and your laptop.

"Thank you!" You jumped to your feet proudly, making a show to tuck your laptop under your arm as a sign of victory.

"Ты не весел ..." Boris crossed his arms and pouted, slouching down into the couch as you moved to sit on the other side from him.

You felt his gaze linger on you for a while, then felt the couch shift as he moved to sit facing you on his knees. "Может, мы сможем это изменить?"

Still feeling contented with yourself, you refused to look up at him, he was probably making some kind of stupid face in an attempt to make you smile. After a moment he scooted closer and you finally gave in.

"Yes, Boris?"

He didn't respond, staring at you with the biggest grin. It was like he expected you to know what he ...oh.

"Boris, I know what you're thinking but not right now." You quickly pulled your feet up off the ground and held you legs close to yourself. While you knew you'd have a better chance of getting away if you ran now, you knew playing into it right away would erase any chance you had of talking yourself out of your current situation.

Your acknowledgement of the situation only seemed to make him smile wider as he leaned closer to you.

"Boris, I'm serious I have work to do." Your serious composure failed you and you scrambled backwards as he got closer, almost falling off the arm of the couch as you leaped over it. "We can hang out once I'm done, I promise."

"Hmmm.." He rubbed his chin in thought. "Nah, I think..." He leaped over the back of the couch, getting closer each time you moved away. "I think I want to see you smile!"

With that final statement he rushed forward, arms extended and just barely missed you as you jumped to the side.

The two of you ended up running in circles around the couch. Boris held his arms out, staring you down when you came to a momentary stand still on either sides of the couch, ready to move in whatever direction you would and cut you off.

"Boris, stop this right now, I'm not in the mood!" You were doing your best to sound serious but the giggles of anticipation seeped through.

"You will be once I put some butterflies in your tummy! Come now, do not make this harder than it has to be, you'll feel right as rain after a good giggle~" His teasing voice sent chills down your spine and the nervous look on your face seemed to be exactly what he was looking for as his smile turned to a more mischievous one as well. A split second later he caught you off guard, climbing over the couch to meet you head on. "The smile doctor is in and you're his first appointment!

Luckily he stumbled a bit on the cushions, giving you a second to change course and break away from the endless cycle of circling the couch.

"Boris, please, I'm too tired for this!" You whined, running towards the kitchen.

"That works out great then! We can take a nap afterwards, it will be so nice!" He stopped in the door way of the kitchen to clasp his hands by his face and smile. He seemed to return to his usual wholesome self, which you preferred to the mischievous one, but what made it worse was the way he spoke like a man who knew he wasn't going to loose. "Now if you would just stop running away. :-("

Your chase in the kitchen was short lived, at one point you even considered running out the back door only to change your mind when you decided you didn't need half the neighborhood to hear you laughing like a madman if he had managed to catch you outside, so you ended up rushing back out into the living room and towards the hall.

On your way there, you noticed Kamal who had just gotten home.

"Hi, Kamal!" You yelled, almost crashing into him. Thinking quickly, you hid behind him as Boris came clamoring back into the living room after you.

"Oh, Hello, Kamal! Y/n and were just in the middle of something." He spoke calmly attempting to circle around Kamal and grab you.

"Don't let me interrupt." Kamal insisted, letting you spin him around with you as you used him as a shield. "Hey, kid, you gonna be able to stay for dinner tonight?"

"No I can't, I've still got work to do and please, please do interrupt!" You begged.

"Yeah, thought so." Kamal shrugged, ducking in unison with you as Boris attempted to reach over him.

This went on for a minute before he turned back to you and smirked "You're gonna have to finish this on your own, kid, I gotta get cookin'." And with that he stepped out from in front of you and headed for the kitchen, leaving you completely exposed.

"I tried to warn ya, little buddy!" He yelled over his shoulder as Boris chased you down the hall.

You knew you were running out of options as the end of the hall wasn't far ahead of you. If you were going to do something you had to do it now or you were a goner. Taking your only other option you skidded to a halt, throwing open the door to your left and running inside, locking it just in time to hear Boris collide with the other side.

While you didn't open the door back up you pressed your ear to it and spoke, worried he may have actually gotten hurt.

"Oh, crap, Boris are you okay?!"

"To think..." He responded quietly.

"To think you'd hide from me in my own dojo!" His volume returned with a happy vigor as he wiggled the knob of his bedroom door. "You can not stay in there forever you know!"

On one hand you were glad he was okay, on the other hand, a little part of you was sad the impact didn't knock him out as he cooed to you though the door. Still, you felt rather satisfied with yourself, the chase usually never lasts long enough for you to find somewhere to hide like this.

"Watch me!" You fired back with a new sense of confidence.

"If you unlock the door...I will give you a-no, two- no...three hugs!"

"Yeah, I think I'll pass." You commented, finally stepping away from the door to look around his room.

"Fine, four hugs, but you have to hug me back! Final offer!" You heard the door squeak as he pressed all his weight up against it and then a sad whine from the other side when you didn't respond.

Actually ignoring him this time, you sat down on the side of his bed, finally giving yourself a second to rest. As much as you hated to admit it, you were almost grateful that you weren't still glued to your laptop. You were really tired, Boris got that much right at least.

Whipping your head around, a heavy thump on the floor behind you had you right back on guard.

Worried that Boris might have somehow found a way in, you jumped to your feet, looking around and finally catching sight of the stack of books that had toppled off of his dresser.

When you realized the truth of the situation you let out a sigh of relief, sitting back down.

"Hi, Pabit."

And just like that the dead eyes of the puppet that was sitting where the books once were lit up as a smile crossed its face.

"Heeyoo, Y/n!" The little guy finished his journey across the dresser, jumping onto the nightstand and then onto the bed beside you.

"What was with the inanimate act?" You asked, wondering why the puppet hadn't jumped you as soon as you got in.

"I's was waiTin 4 my Q!"

"Ah, of course." You laughed, propping your elbow on your knee and resting your head on your hand.

"What're U doin, Y/n?"

"Hiding from your maker, he thinks I'm in dire need of a good laugh."

"Ooh, R yous twos havin' a tickle fight? Eye wAnt to plaY too!" The puppet exclaimed, bouncing over to hug your side.

"Uh uh, last thing I need is two of you on my back." You cut him off, pulling him off by the scruff of his little jacket and setting him back down beside you.

"You's just like, Karmel; kno fun at alL! EvEn when u jyust kneed a little chyeering up!"

"I don't really need cheering up, I just wanted to get my work done."

"Yes u due, ur sparkle's all fAded..."

"My what?"

"Ur sparkle, dummy!" He jumped up and bonked you on the head, his little felt hand probably not giving the impact he was hoping for.

"Whatever." You rolled your eyes.

"Is that Pabit?" Boris finally spoke up again from outside the door. "Pabit, unlock the door, please!"

"Ah! Don't you dare!" You reached forward catching the puppet before it had successfully jumped off the bed to follow his orders. "Who's side are you on?" You asked, tucking the puppet under your arm to hold it securely.

"Whichever syide gets u 2 smile!" Pabit retorted quickly, pointing to the sides of its face as it demonstrated a big smile.

Just as you were about to chew him out, you saw something black out of the corner of your eye.

The small shadows that were visible from the light shining in under the door stretched into the room without someone to cast them. If you hadn't been used to sights like this by now you might have been terrified as after a moment it formed into a familiar silhouette and picked itself up off the ground.

Unfamiliar though was the scowl he bore as he turned back to normal.

"How did you-"

"That was a nasty little trick to pull, you know, Y/n?" Boris cut you off, taking several long strides towards you.

"I..." You froze, looking down to Pabit for help. He only offered you a sympathetic smile then a sinister looking smirk.

"Yous gonna get it now..."

Quickly dropping him in favor of backing away, you didn't get too far before you backed into the foot of his bed, and before you were given a chance to look for another way out he had already closed the distance between you.

It wasn't too often that you took into consideration just how much bigger Boris was than...well everything. But you were given just enough time to take it in as he stopped right in front of you, still staring down at you with that serious expression and you began to worry that you actually had upset him.

"Boris, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" He raised a hand to shush you, lifting an eyebrow.

"You're sorry?!" Crap, his voice was intimidating when he used it right. "The only thing you have to be sorry for..."

"Is for being so darn cu-uute!" You squeaked as you were thrown up into the air and then caught under your arms. Boris held you at arms length, lifting you to his eye level and pulling you closer to rub his nose against yours. "You had me really scared back there, I thought you were going to lock yourself in here aalllll night! Now that wouldn't have been any fun would it? Even with Pabit keeping you company. " Adding on to your disorientation, he spun around with you to face the door. "Let's get going then shall we?"

Halfway out the door it finally registered what just happened; you'd been caught.

"Boris, do not!"

"Don't what? I haven't done anything yet?" He tilted his head to the side and smiled at you innocently. You kicked your legs a bit, knowing full well it wouldn't get you anywhere but still did so out of spite.

"Oh? Are you not comfy? How about this?" He tossed you up one last time, throwing you over his shoulder potato sack style after catching you. "Better?"

"Noho!" You did your best to sound mad with no luck.

Boris managed to make even the walk out to the livingroom interesting; spinning around every other step, jumping up and down with you, letting you go for a second then catching you by the knees before you fell off his shoulder.

By the time the two of you actually made it to the livingroom you were just barely keeping your laugher in just because of the absurdity of the situation.

"Put me down!" You yelled, but there was no masking the smile in your voice.

"If you say so!" He pulled you off of his shoulder fast, catching you in a dip before letting you drop gently onto the couch.

As soon as you were released you turned and tried to make a run for it, only to be stopped as he looped one of his arms around your torso and pulled you back again his chest.

"Deja vu, yes?" He joked. "So..." he started only to stop when you both focused on something at the same time. Your laptop still sat on the coffee table and you turned to glare at him, deciding to be challenging one final time.

"So..." he continued, "Do you want to watch some tv? :-)"

"..."

"..."

"No."

~

"Your laugh is so pretty! Why would you make me wait so long to hear it?" He cooed happily, continuing to try to poke through the ball you'd curdled into on his lap like he had been the last few minutes

"You're so mean!" you managed to whine through your suppressed giggles.

"You are the mean one! I'm just trying to help you relax a little. It will be over quicker if you give in and show me that smile~"

He reached his hands forward, giving both your sides a quick squeeze and making a little roar. "The tickle monster is getting hungry and the hungrier he gets the longer he has to tickle you, you know!"

"Let's see...." He thought to himself, looking you over for a week spot and eventually finding one as he shoved both his hands into the crooks of your neck, causing you to shriek and uncurl yourself.

"Ooh, it worked!" He cheered, taking the opportunity to flip you onto you back, holding you down firmly with one hand and sitting on your legs. "Now we can get to work! Are you ready? Cause here comes the tickle monster!"

He raised his hands up for dramatic effect and lowered them down to your torso quickly with a growl. Before he made contact however he stopped, his wide smile slowly fading as he focused on your face.

Your eyes were squeezed shut and you were holding onto yourself tight. When you didn't feel anything you peaked an eye open to see Boris looking down at you curiously.

"Get it over with!" You said, closing your eyes again and reluctantly lifting your arms up.

"Hmm..."

"'Hmm' what do you mean 'Hmm'?"

"Ooone sec, something's not right..."

"I'd say so!" You sneered, making one final effort to try and squirm out from underneath him but to no avail.

"I know!" He snapped his fingers. "I need you to say 'hi' to someone first!" And just like that he pulled Pabit out from behind himself and once again, it was seemingly out of thin air.

"Heeyoo, Y/n!" The puppet greeted you once again.

"You little traitor."

"Can't bee a twaitor if I's was nyever on ur syide!" He spoke proudly, resting his hands on what would have been his hips.

"Anyway, "Boris cut in, "there's something really special you need to know about Pabit; he loves to eat smiles, they're his favorite food!

"..."

":-D and yours is just the kind he's been looking for!" Without further explanation the puppet was thrust in front of you, making exaggerated "nom nom nom" sounds as it pretended to chomp on your face.

Part of you would have insisted it was just the fabric tickling your face but you finally started to laugh, if for any reason just because of how silly he was being.

"Yhohu are suuch a dhorork!" You spat out, reaching up to try to push his arm away but it refused to so much as budge.

"Yep, a smile just like that!" Boris cheered you on, finally using his free hand to scribble at your stomach.

Mostly out of reflex, you managed you reach up and pull the puppet off of Boris's arm, realizing your mistake shortly after as Pabit glared down at you from his place in your hands.

"Shoot, I'm sorry-" before you could finish your apology, Pabit reached forward and gripped your face, pulling himself closer and nuzzling your face on his own.

"Eet's okee!"

You soon realized you'd made a mistake for a different reason as Pabit held tight to your face and kept his snuggling up, taking extra care to nuzzle your neck and nose as Boris was given back use of his hand to further scribble your stomach and sides. Their own excited smiles telling you you weren't getting out of this any time soon.

In the kitchen, Kamal jumped, almost dropping his pan at the sudden flurry of laughter that sounded in the next room.

"Eh, they had it comin'." He huffed to himself fondly.

[soft-stormcloud]

The Witching Hour [Ghost AU]

Trigger warnings: Virgil is dead lol, Logan makes one joke about wanting to die, LOTS of cursing, mention of divorce, scared yelling and mention of a shitty couple yelling at each other, Deceit’s mannerism once

   Word count: 1478

A/N: I spent like an hour and a half on this I’m sorry xD I can’t promise the rest of the month will get much better, I’ve got a lot going on

I don’t. I don’t even know what this is.

If enough interest is expressed, I might make this an au.

   Reblogs > Likes

“I’m serious!”

Logan leaned back, his folded arms under his head. “I know you are. I still don’t believe you.”

Roman pouted. “You never believe me.”

“That’s because you’re a moron.”

Roman, Patton, and Logan were in Roman’s basement, sitting in a circle on the floor with sigils drawn on paper and a bunch of random things like matches and fans that Roman called ‘charging material.’ It was eleven thirty at night on Halloween, and Roman was adamant that they sped things up.

Roman grinned. “Well at least Pat believes me!”

“Patton’s also a moron,” Logan said helpfully, his eyes closed.

Patton swirled the lollipop around in his mouth, gripping his messenger bag nervously. “I don’t know if I want to do this…”

“No, look, I did some reading, okay?”

Logan groaned. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“If it were something evil, like a poltergeist or something, I don’t know, it would have done something already.”

“Oh, yeah?” He said sarcastically.

“Yeah!” Roman nodded vigourously. “And everyone knows Halloween is the best time to talk to ghosts!”

Patton bit his lip. “Maybe we should ask your parents first-”

Roman’s eyes widened. “What?! Are you crazy?! They’d never let us do it!”

“Well-”

“Come on.” He turned to Logan. If you don’t believe in it, how is it going to hurt you?” Then, to Patton, “And you know I can protect you!”

“Of course I know that, but- But this isn’t a person! You can’t fight off a ghost!”

Roman scowled. “Says who?”

Logan sighed dramatically, sitting up. “If we do this with you, will you stop talking about it every day?”

“Wait wait wait-”

“You can go home if you want,” Logan told Patton, “but I’m sick of listening to him talk about it. It doesn’t mean anything and this will prove it to him.”

Roman glared at him, then turned a softer look on Patton. “Pat,” he cooed, “what if the ghost is lonely?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, huffing. “Fine. But it’s not because of that!”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Alright, get on with it. What do we have to do?”

Deep rumbling fills the room, seemingly coming out of the walls. It almost sounds like laughter. Every freezes, Roman resting his hand over the pocket knife in his belt, Patton’s eyes practically bulging out of his head. Logan looks around warily.

“I told you!” Roman whisper-screamed.

“Ohmygodwe’regonnadie.”

Just as Logan stood up, the basement went pitch black. Patton whimpered.

Logan felt vulnerable, standing in the darkness with nothing to defend himself. No matter which way he turned, his back felt exposed. “Roman,” he said, deadly calm.

“Yeah?” He asked nervously.

“You were lying when you said your parents are home, weren’t you?”

“…Yeah.”

“ROMAN!” Patton shrieked.

Everyone’s hearts jumped in their throats.

“What?!”

“Come on,” he whined, “give it back, that’s not funny!”

The lights flicked back on, and everyone’s gaze snapped to the boy now laying on Roman’s couch, his legs tossed lazily over the arm. He had Patton’s lollipop in his mouth.

“Jesus Christ, you guys fight a lot.” His voice echoed. “Are you sure you’re friends?”

Patton screamed, a few tears dripping down his face. Roman and Logan were too afraid to move.

The boy was just a teenager, in black ripped jeans and a black hoodie, his hair dyed purple. The only thing that gave him away was his doubling voice, the fact that his skin was completely white, and the black circles around his eyes. He couldn’t be any older than they were.

Patton let out a string of little panicked noises. “Romaaaaan, there’s a boy in your house!”

The boy sat up, grinning around the lollipop. “You guys know there’s no such thing as summoning a ghost, right?” No one answered. “I’ve just been here.” He shrugged. “You’re dysfunctional as shit. It’s fun to listen to. Better than the assholes who lived before you. I’m glad they divorced, for the neighborhood’s sake.” Nothing. “They’d just scream and scream and scream at each other, all night. It used to give me panic attacks, before I got used to it.” Silence. He chuckled. “They were so freaked out. One time I screamed back, and all their dishes just shot out the cabinets.”

Roman’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? How’d you do that?!”

“Roman!” Logan hissed, lowering back to the ground.

The ghost’s eyebrows disappeared behind his bangs. “Your reading on ghosts? All fake. You can’t research us, not really. All the real information is sprinkled in all over the internet with all the fake shit. Good luck trying to figure out what’s accurate.”

“You took my candy,” Patton pointed out, looking somewhat awed.

He grinned. “Couldn’t resist.”

He stood and drifted over to Patton, crouching in front of him. He pulled the candy out of his mouth and, as he spoke, his breath smelled like blueberries. “I can give it back, if you want.”

A little smile forced itself onto Patton’s face. “I have more!”

Logan gaped at them. “Are you fucking ser-”

“Hush.” The boy waved his hand, and Logan’s own hand clamped over his mouth.

Patton held open his messenger back; It was full of loose candy. “We stopped at Walgreens before this.”

“Let go of him!” Roman snapped, pulling out his pocket knife.

He glanced at it, looking uninterested. “What? He’s fine.” He paused. “I mean, he’s an asshole. But he’s fine.” He laughed, flicking his wrist to make Roman’s knife fly across the room, lest Roman charge at him when he wasn’t looking and end up hurting Patton. “You all kind of suck, actually.”

Roman glared, and the ghost let Logan go. They watched in complete shock as he settled himself into Patton’s lap. Patton giggled and wrapped his arms around his waist. He wasn’t transparent, but didn’t feel completely solid, either.

The ghost glanced between them curiously, pointing at them with his lollipop. “Patton. Logan. And Roman. Right?”

Patton grinned. “Yeah!”

“How long have you been listening to us?” Logan demanded.

“Every time you come over.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry, do you think there’s something better to do?”

“Get off of him,” Roman said lowly.

“Patton, do you want me off?”

“Uh…” He thought for a moment, before shaking his head.

The boy grinned at Roman challengingly. “I’m staying.”

“What the fuck.”

“How long have you been here?” Patton asked.

He laughed. “You think I keep track of that shit?”

“Do you know when you died?” Logan’s eyes shone with curiosity, even as he tried to hide it.

“More or less.”

“Jesus Christ,” he sighed.

“You’re not gonna give us a straight answer, are you?” Roman asked.

He shrugged. “Nothing about me is straight.”

Patton giggled. “We should watch movies! Hey- Hey- Hey, ghost boy! What’s your favourite movie?”

Roman gasped. “I am not watching movies with a ghost.”

“Do you remember your name?” Logan asked.

“Virgil.”

“Must have been dead for a while,” Logan muttered. “And you’re able to control us?”

“More or less.”

Logan glared at him, and Virgil leaned forward, pulling the lolli out of his mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry, are my answers not adequate for your data?” He sneered. “Want the whole tragic backstory, will that help, Sherlock?” Virgil snapped his teeth down on the candy, and it shattered in his mouth. He whipped the stick at the wall. Patton handed him a new one- Pink this time. “Thanks, darling.”

“Oh my god,” Roman deadpanned.

“Hey- Hey guys!” Patton giggled. “A boy likes me!”

“Patton, no-”

Virgil grinned. “What, am I not good enough for him?”

“YOUR FIRST BOYFRIEND CAN’T BE DEAD.”

“Says who?!” Patton tightened his grip on Virgil’s waist, kissing his cheek. It was like kissing dry ice cream.

“I want to die,” Logan groaned, flopping backwards.

“You wanna trade places, pocket protector? I imagine you wouldn’t get bored so fast, you sure like judging people.”

Logan scoffed.

Virgil rose to his feet without using his arms. “I’m gonna go make coffee.”

“What?” Roman looked at him like he was out of his mind.

He shrugged. “Your parents aren’t home. You guys know I’m here. I’m making coffee.” He rose an eyebrow. “Or is my reasoning not sound? Huh, Sherlock?”

“Just go,” Logan groaned.

Virgil grinned, and turned to Patton. “You want something, love?”

Patton giggled, his face pink. “Bring me back a cookie!”

“Don’t do that!” Roman jumped up. “He could poison it!”

“Do you just have poison lying around?” Virgil asked.

“I don’t know what you’re capable of! I’m coming with you.”

“If you can catch me.” Virgil fell through the ground, and everyone looked around for a second, in shock, before Roman dashed up the stairs.

“Are you seriously gonna try and date a ghost?” Logan asked, his voice flat.

“Maybe.”

Logan pulled a pillow over his face. “Do what you want. I’m going to bed.”

The Witching Hour AU

If you like my work, please consider donating a few bucks to my PayPal (paypal.me/chemically) or Venmo (maxgraybooks)

[chemically-imbalanced-romance]

The Witching Hour

    Prompt/Synopsis: Ghost!Side

Requested by: Day 21 of @sanderssidesspook

Trigger warnings: Virgil is dead lol, Logan makes one joke about wanting to die, LOTS of cursing, mention of divorce, scared yelling and mention of a shitty couple yelling at each other, Deceit’s mannerism once

    Word count: 1478

A/N: I spent like an hour and a half on this I’m sorry xD I can’t promise the rest of the month will get much better, I’ve got a lot going on

I don’t. I don’t even know what this is.

If enough interest is expressed, I might make this an au.

    Reblogs > Likes

“I’m serious!”

Logan leaned back, his folded arms under his head. “I know you are. I still don’t believe you.”

Roman pouted. “You never believe me.”

“That’s because you’re a moron.”

Roman, Patton, and Logan were in Roman’s basement, sitting in a circle on the floor with sigils drawn on paper and a bunch of random things like matches and fans that Roman called ‘charging material.’ It was eleven thirty at night on Halloween, and Roman was adamant that they sped things up.

Roman grinned. “Well at least Pat believes me!”

“Patton’s also a moron,” Logan said helpfully, his eyes closed.

Patton swirled the lollipop around in his mouth, gripping his messenger bag nervously. “I don’t know if I want to do this…”

“No, look, I did some reading, okay?”

Logan groaned. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“If it were something evil, like a poltergeist or something, I don’t know, it would have done something already.”

“Oh, yeah?” He said sarcastically.

“Yeah!” Roman nodded vigourously. “And everyone knows Halloween is the best time to talk to ghosts!”

Patton bit his lip. “Maybe we should ask your parents first-”

Roman’s eyes widened. “What?! Are you crazy?! They’d never let us do it!”

“Well-”

“Come on.” He turned to Logan. If you don’t believe in it, how is it going to hurt you?” Then, to Patton, “And you know I can protect you!”

“Of course I know that, but- But this isn’t a person! You can’t fight off a ghost!”

Roman scowled. “Says who?”

Logan sighed dramatically, sitting up. “If we do this with you, will you stop talking about it every day?”

“Wait wait wait-”

“You can go home if you want,” Logan told Patton, “but I’m sick of listening to him talk about it. It doesn’t mean anything and this will prove it to him.”

Roman glared at him, then turned a softer look on Patton. “Pat,” he cooed, “what if the ghost is lonely?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, huffing. “Fine. But it’s not because of that!”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Alright, get on with it. What do we have to do?”

Deep rumbling fills the room, seemingly coming out of the walls. It almost sounds like laughter. Every freezes, Roman resting his hand over the pocket knife in his belt, Patton’s eyes practically bulging out of his head. Logan looks around warily.

“I told you!” Roman whisper-screamed.

“Ohmygodwe’regonnadie.”

Just as Logan stood up, the basement went pitch black. Patton whimpered.

Logan felt vulnerable, standing in the darkness with nothing to defend himself. No matter which way he turned, his back felt exposed. “Roman,” he said, deadly calm.

“Yeah?” He asked nervously.

“You were lying when you said your parents are home, weren’t you?”

“…Yeah.”

“ROMAN!” Patton shrieked.

Everyone’s hearts jumped in their throats.

“What?!”

“Come on,” he whined, “give it back, that’s not funny!”

The lights flicked back on, and everyone’s gaze snapped to the boy now laying on Roman’s couch, his legs tossed lazily over the arm. He had Patton’s lollipop in his mouth.

“Jesus Christ, you guys fight a lot.” His voice echoed. “Are you sure you’re friends?”

Patton screamed, a few tears dripping down his face. Roman and Logan were too afraid to move.

The boy was just a teenager, in black ripped jeans and a black hoodie, his hair dyed purple. The only thing that gave him away was his doubling voice, the fact that his skin was completely white, and the black circles around his eyes. He couldn’t be any older than they were.

Patton let out a string of little panicked noises. “Romaaaaan, there’s a boy in your house!”

The boy sat up, grinning around the lollipop. “You guys know there’s no such thing as summoning a ghost, right?” No one answered. “I’ve just been here.” He shrugged. “You’re dysfunctional as shit. It’s fun to listen to. Better than the assholes who lived before you. I’m glad they divorced, for the neighborhood’s sake.” Nothing. “They’d just scream and scream and scream at each other, all night. It used to give me panic attacks, before I got used to it.” Silence. He chuckled. “They were so freaked out. One time I screamed back, and all their dishes just shot out the cabinets.”

Roman’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? How’d you do that?!”

“Roman!” Logan hissed, lowering back to the ground.

The ghost’s eyebrows disappeared behind his bangs. “Your reading on ghosts? All fake. You can’t research us, not really. All the real information is sprinkled in all over the internet with all the fake shit. Good luck trying to figure out what’s accurate.”

“You took my candy,” Patton pointed out, looking somewhat awed.

He grinned. “Couldn’t resist.”

He stood and drifted over to Patton, crouching in front of him. He pulled the candy out of his mouth and, as he spoke, his breath smelled like blueberries. “I can give it back, if you want.”

A little smile forced itself onto Patton’s face. “I have more!”

Logan gaped at them. “Are you fucking ser-”

“Hush.” The boy waved his hand, and Logan’s own hand clamped over his mouth.

Patton held open his messenger back; It was full of loose candy. “We stopped at Walgreens before this.”

“Let go of him!” Roman snapped, pulling out his pocket knife.

He glanced at it, looking uninterested. “What? He’s fine.” He paused. “I mean, he’s an asshole. But he’s fine.” He laughed, flicking his wrist to make Roman’s knife fly across the room, lest Roman charge at him when he wasn’t looking and end up hurting Patton. “You all kind of suck, actually.”

Roman glared, and the ghost let Logan go. They watched in complete shock as he settled himself into Patton’s lap. Patton giggled and wrapped his arms around his waist. He wasn’t transparent, but didn’t feel completely solid, either.

The ghost glanced between them curiously, pointing at them with his lollipop. “Patton. Logan. And Roman. Right?”

Patton grinned. “Yeah!”

“How long have you been listening to us?” Logan demanded.

“Every time you come over.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry, do you think there’s something better to do?”

“Get off of him,” Roman said lowly.

“Patton, do you want me off?”

“Uh…” He thought for a moment, before shaking his head.

The boy grinned at Roman challengingly. “I’m staying.”

“What the fuck.”

“How long have you been here?” Patton asked.

He laughed. “You think I keep track of that shit?”

“Do you know when you died?” Logan’s eyes shone with curiosity, even as he tried to hide it.

“More or less.”

“Jesus Christ,” he sighed.

“You’re not gonna give us a straight answer, are you?” Roman asked.

He shrugged. “Nothing about me is straight.”

Patton giggled. “We should watch movies! Hey- Hey- Hey, ghost boy! What’s your favourite movie?”

Roman gasped. “I am not watching movies with a ghost.”

“Do you remember your name?” Logan asked.

“Virgil.”

“Must have been dead for a while,” Logan muttered. “And you’re able to control us?”

“More or less.”

Logan glared at him, and Virgil leaned forward, pulling the lolli out of his mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry, are my answers not adequate for your data?” He sneered. “Want the whole tragic backstory, will that help, Sherlock?” Virgil snapped his teeth down on the candy, and it shattered in his mouth. He whipped the stick at the wall. Patton handed him a new one- Pink this time. “Thanks, darling.”

“Oh my god,” Roman deadpanned.

“Hey- Hey guys!” Patton giggled. “A boy likes me!”

“Patton, no-”

Virgil grinned. “What, am I not good enough for him?”

“YOUR FIRST BOYFRIEND CAN’T BE DEAD.”

“Says who?!” Patton tightened his grip on Virgil’s waist, kissing his cheek. It was like kissing dry ice cream.

“I want to die,” Logan groaned, flopping backwards.

“You wanna trade places, pocket protector? I imagine you wouldn’t get bored so fast, you sure like judging people.”

Logan scoffed.

Virgil rose to his feet without using his arms. “I’m gonna go make coffee.”

“What?” Roman looked at him like he was out of his mind.

He shrugged. “Your parents aren’t home. You guys know I’m here. I’m making coffee.” He rose an eyebrow. “Or is my reasoning not sound? Huh, Sherlock?”

“Just go,” Logan groaned.

Virgil grinned, and turned to Patton. “You want something, love?”

Patton giggled, his face pink. “Bring me back a cookie!”

“Don’t do that!” Roman jumped up. “He could poison it!”

“Do you just have poison lying around?” Virgil asked.

“I don’t know what you’re capable of! I’m coming with you.”

“If you can catch me.” Virgil fell through the ground, and everyone looked around for a second, in shock, before Roman dashed up the stairs.

“Are you seriously gonna try and date a ghost?” Logan asked, his voice flat.

“Maybe.”

Logan pulled a pillow over his face. “Do what you want. I’m going to bed.”

Tag list:

@dr-gloom

[ltwilliamhavers]

Camping Trip (Rosawatts)

authors note: its been forever since i’ve written, huh? sorry about that. lol. anyway, i didnt have a cool title for this one. sorry. lol. anyway in this fic neil and eva are already dating. just an fyi

The air around them was warm and humid. The hot, unbearably bright sun shone above the two. The sound of cicadas buzzed in the air around them. Mosquito bites covered their arms in itchy, red spots that they couldn’t help but scratch- even though they both knew they made that worse. Sweat caused their t-shirts and shorts stuck to their skin. And with all that, they had to carry an intolerable amount of weight on their backs, with all of their supplies to help them prepare for the weekend inside.

“Isn’t this just beautiful?”

Neil, leading the trek with  couple feet ahead of Eva, stopped abruptly, turned around, and outstretched his arms. He smiled at Eva goodnaturedly. She glared back.

“How do you even tolerate this, let alone do it for your own enjoyment?” Eva says, stopping to put her hands on her hips. Not that she would ever admit it to Neil, but she was glad for the short break from hiking- she felt like they had been walking forever.

“Aw, come on, Evie!” he says, in a sickeningly sweet voice. Eva responds by deepening her glare at Neil, but this just makes him grin wider.

Neil walks over to where Eva is standing, and pulls her into a one-arm hug. Eva leans into him, smiling slightly. Neil uses his other free arm to gesture to the wilderness around them. “I mean, this place is such a beautiful getaway from everything, you know? Away from work, away from responsibilities…”

“Away from Robert?” Eva jokes with a small grin on her face.

Neil hugs Eva even tighter, laughing. “Yeah, that too,” he says, planting a kiss on Eva’s forehead. Neil then suddenly pulls away, and points dramatically at her face. “You tell anyone I said that, you’re dead, Rosalene.”

Neil then starts walking up the dirt track again, waving Eva to follow. Eva takes a deep sigh, then starts to follow him again.

Moving the copious amounts of extra branches around their hiking area, Eva starts to get more and more annoyed. “Did we really have to do this in the hottest time of the year?”

“Yes, of course we did!” Neil responds cheerfully, still a couple yards ahead of her.

“It’s July.”

“Yeah, you caught me,” Neil says, stepping over large holes in the ground and ducking under particularly low-hanging branches, “I chose July specifically because I knew it would make it so much worse for you.”

Eva’s bad mood can’t help but be brightened at Neil’s many attempts to cheer her up. “Thank you for finally admitting the truth,” she says, with a smile on her face.

After a few more minutes of hiking in relative silence- the buzz of mosquitoes and cicadas were still in the air- Eva starts up again. “Neil, we have been hiking for an hour.”

“We sure have!” Neil says, somehow still as cheerful as ever.

“I haven’t had coffee seven hours, Neil. All because for some reason you thought it would be okay if we woke up and left the house at 5 am.”

“I think you’re going to survive. The view’s worth it. Plus, if it makes you feel any better, we’re almost there.”

“We are?” Eva asks excitedly.

“Yeah,” Neil says. “Also, can you please come up here? It’s lonely when you’re about a mile behind me.”

* * *

After what had felt like another hour to Eva (but was reassured by Neil that it was really only fifteen minutes), they had reached a clearing.

“Wow,” was the only thing that could come out of Eva’s mouth at the time. The clearing around them was impressive, to say the least. It was small, but beautiful. The trees they had just emerged from led to a completely empty area, isolated to just themselves. It was rested on the edge of a cliff, where you could look of the side into the gigantic ocean just below. The bugs had even seemed to disappear here.

“Neil, this is so beautiful!” Eva said, still taking in everything before them.

“I told you it was,” Neil said, setting down his backpack and starting to unpack.

“You sure you’re okay with the fact that we’re on a cliff?”

“I’d be much more okay with it if my loving girlfriend wouldn’t mention it so I could put it out of my mind.”

“We’re on a cliff. About 200 feet off the ground. Nothing but the ocean below us.”

“Eva!” Neil whines. “I’ll turn us around and go back home. I swear.”

“I trust you on that one.” Eva takes a seat on the lone bench facing the ocean, but just far enough away from the edge that there’s no actual danger involved.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” she hears from behind her.

“I feel like it’s pretty obvious, Watts. I’m sitting down.”

“Oh, we’re pulling out the last names now?”

Eva giggles, turning around in her park bench. “Yeah. You gonna do something?” Neil looks at her with a steely face. “Rosalene, you know I truly want nothing more in this world, but there’s no way I’m going to get anywhere near that cliff.”

“Guess I’m safe over here then.”

“Please just help with the tent.”

“Fiiiiine.”

“Thank you, Eva.”

“No problem, Maurice.”

Neil stands up, bright red. “You can’t pull out the middle name! That’s cheating!” he says in a high, squeaky voice that happens every time he’s embarrassed.

Eva walks over, gets on her tiptoes, and kisses Neil quickly. Neil still turns as red as the day they started dating when she does that. She thinks it’s sweet.

“Does that make up for it?”

“Yes,” Neil barely squeaks out.

A few hours later, the tent is finally set up. Neil bought one of those fancy tents online for some reason, and between the two of them, there were two PhDs, multiple people they’ve helped in many ways, and many years of education- but no knowledge of how to put together a tent. There were so many failed attempts, even after they looked up videos of how to put it together on the internet.

But it didn’t matter. The tent was together, and only barely falling over.

“So… what’cha making me for dinner on our romantic getaway?” Eva asks, while the two are laying on the grassy clearing, Eva’s head in Neil’s lap and Neil’s hands messing with her hair.

“It’s only five, Eva.���

“Five is a completely normal time for dinner!” Eva says defensively.

“I was thinking that we wait until it gets dark, and then we start a campfire and stuff ourselves full of s’mores.”

“Dr. Watts, that is the best plan I’ve ever heard.”

Neil sits himself up, and looks down at Eva in his lap. “You wanna slow dance ‘til it gets dark?” he says, grinning. Eva smiles back up on him. “I redact the last thing I said. This is now your best plan ever.”

Neil softly pushes Eva off of his lap, stands up, and extends his arm out to Eva. “M’lady,” he says, slightly bowing.

“Ew,” Eva says, but she can’t help but smiling. “Please don’t ruin this moment,” she says, grabbing his hand and dusting herself off. Neil grabs his phone out of his pocket, smiling widely. He presses a button, and a love song starts to play. Eva gasps. “You made a playlist just for us?” she says, putting her arms around his neck. Neil avoids eye contact. “Well, I just clicked on a playlist that said ‘cute love songs’ but… I still think it counts.” Eva rolls her eyes, but still leans in to kiss him.

“I love you,” she says.

“I love you too, Eva Rosalene.”

They dance the whole time until sundown. Neil wasn’t the greatest at dancing- constantly stepping on Eva’s feet and stumbling more times than she could’ve counted, but she didn’t care. He was here, in front of her, and they were dancing. She couldn’t ask for anything more.

“This would’ve been so much better in a lighthouse,” Neil says cheekily.

Eva slightly pulls away from Neil, looking dead into his eyes. “Don’t. Don’t even mention that case. You know how it makes me upset,” she says, but in a still lighthearted tone.

Neil fully pulls away from Eva’s embrace. “Hold on, I have something to show you.” He starts walking away from her and towards the still lopsided tent, grabbing a huge bag he was carrying. He unzips it to reveal a huge telescope- one of the ones you can set onto the ground without having to hold it up the whole time.

“Neil- you carried that the whole time?” Eva asks, a little impressed.

Neil picks up the telescope and carries it over towards the cliff. “Yep. But there’s more to me than big muscles.” He sets down the telescope with a huff, about ten feet away from the edge of the cliff. “I also have a brain.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Eva says.

“Okay, that’s just rude, first of all,” he says, continuing to set up the telescope.

Eva looks up around her. It’s dusk, right when all the stars are just coming out. A couple of them are especially bright, but even at dusk, there are more stars out than in the city.

“It’s beautiful out here,” Eva says, almost breathless. Neil laughs. “Wait until it gets even darker,” he says, then stands up and gestures towards the telescope. “Wanna give it a spin?”

Eva looks at him, slightly confused. “I thought you said it was better when it gets dark.” Neil waves his hand in a ‘pshh’ fashion. “When it gets dark it’s best for your eyes. Telescopes are good all the time.”

“What about noon?”

“This is not the time to be sarcastic.”

“Wow. That’s awfully bold coming from you, Watts.”

Neil rolls his eyes, waving Eva over. “Just please look through the telescope. It’s a beautiful one. It’s stunning to look through.”

“You’re acting weird.”

Neil runs one of his hands through his hair, while the other nervously adjusts his glasses. “All I’m telling you is to look through the telescope!”

“Did you put ink on the telescope?”

“What? Eva, just- please look through the telescope.”

“Okay, fine,” Eva says, walking towards where Neil is standing. Eva grabs hold of the telescope as Neil steps a few feet behind her, but she then turns around at him, pointing her finger. “Neil Maurice Watts, I swear if you actually put ink on this telescope, I will remind you how high up we are as much as possible.”

Neil takes a few steps back from the cliff, again. “I promise I didn’t put ink on the thing! And thanks for reminding me, Eva.”

Eva suspiciously looks at Neil for a few seconds, then finally puts her eye up to the telescope. To her surprise, Neil actually did not put ink all over the looking glass of the telescope- all she can see is the beautiful night sky before her.

“Wow, Neil, this is so…” she says, trailing off, trying to find the perfect word.

“Stunning?” Neil finishes for her.

“Yes! Do you wanna take a-”

“No!” Neil yells, almost a little too quickly. Eva starts to take her eye off of the telescope, but she hears Neil yell, “Don’t look at me!” Eva looks back through the telescope, very suspicious of Neil’s actions.

“What are you doing back there?”

“Nothing. Nothing whatsoever. Don’t worry about it. Just keep looking through the telescope.”

“You are being so suspicious right now, but whatever. I trust you.”

Eva continues to look through the telescope for a few seconds, when she once again hears Neil’s voice behind her.

“Okay, turn around,” he says.

“Neil, I swear if you’re about to scare me or something I’ll-” she starts to say angrily, but she’s quickly cut off from shock.

Just a few feet in front of her, there’s Neil Watts. Down. On one knee. With a ring in his hands. Smiling up at her.

She gasps. “Holy cucumbers!” Eva half-yells, putting her hand over her mouth.

Neil smiles slightly at Eva’s reaction. He then clears his throat and starts to speak. “Eva Rosalene, from the first time I saw you, something inside of me always knew that-”

“YES!”

Neil, a little shocked, looks up at Eva after her outburst.

“What?”

“Yes! Of course I’ll marry you!”

Neil stands up, a little sheepish. “I mean, I had a whole speech prepared, but this works too, I guess.”

“Just come over here,” Eva says lovingly. Neil walks towards her, kneeling back down to put the ring on her finger. Eva smiles at him, as he stands right back up- picking her up from her waist and swinging her around while hugging her. Eva laughs gleefully. Neil sets her back down, and Eva uses her hands to hold his face and bring him in, kissing him deeply.

“I love you so much,” Eva says.

“I know,” Neil responds. Eva whacks his arm.

“Hey!” Neil whines. “Say it back or I will take this engagement back, I swear.”

Neil smiles, grabbing Eva and bringing her close to him, only about an inch between their faces.

“Eva Rosalene, you are the love of my life.”

Eva runs her hands through the back of his hair.

“You’re the love of my life too, Neil Watts.”

[queen-of-fanfics]

Magic

Prompt: One day, you accidentally made a symbol to summon a demon on your sandwich and Crowley pops up.

Pairing: Crowley x Reader

A/N: Hey guys! It’s been a while. School is a pain in the ass but I think I’ll survive. I liked the prompt of this and the last bit was a little extra part I decided to add. My requests are open it’ll only take me a billion years to even write it lol

Tag List: @charley1979 @gettinjoyful @roxy-davenport Sorry if I missed someone, tell me and I’ll add you onto the list

You just got home from a long day at the office. Your feet ache and you have a giant headache. You just got out of a bath you ran for yourself and now you trudge your way into the kitchen. There’s no problem that a little bit of food can’t fix. 

Moving around in some underwear and an oversized t-shirt, you started pulling things out from the cupboards and the fridge, getting all the ingredients you needed for a quick little sandwich. Assembling it together in record time, you grab some mayo and started smearing it around on your slice of bread. Not minding where you were placing it, you kept smearing it until it was covered. 

“Hello, darling.” A deep voice grumbled from behind you. You let out a yelp and jumped nearly 5 feet into the air. Twirling around, still holding your butter knife in one hand and your piece of bread in the other, you come face to face with a man in a black tailored suit with a red tie.

He was quite taller than you as he stood there with his hands in his pockets. You looked at him with wide eyes as you squeaked, “How did you get in here?” He raised an eyebrow at you and gave you a questioning look.  

“What do you mean how did I get here? You summoned me.” He grumbled. “Look, I truly have no time, so tell me what you want and I’ll be on my merry way.” Squinting at him, you thought you must have been missing a piece of the puzzle. He was talking as if you should know why he was there, yet you have never met him before. 

“I’m sorry, you must be thinking of someone else. I don’t know who you are, there is no way I called you to come over. Anyhow, how did you even get inside?! I made sure I locked the doors.”

With the initial shock over, you’ve come to realize the situation you are in. There was a strange man in your house, who probably broke in, and is now asking you why you didn’t know him. 

“Are you a stalker or something. Did you break into my house? I want some answers or I’m calling the cops.” You said still clinging to your butter knife. 

“I am a demon. You summoned me for a deal. Now, I’m tired of the games, I have places to be.”

“A demon?! I wouldn’t have summoned one even if I did believe in them. Are you on drugs? You must be, oh I’m going crazy. 

”The “demon” as he calls himself, looks at you incredulously. Opening then closing his mouth several times never quite finding the right words. He looked you up and down then landed on the piece of bread you were holding in your hand.

 “Ah, now that explains it.” He mutters to himself. 

“What? What explains it?” You asked, looking at him as if he has gone mad. He reaches out and grabs your wrist, pulling it up until the piece of bread was right between you.

Pointing at it, he said, “That, my dear, is the symbol to summon a demon. ”Looking down at the piece of bread again, you see you‘ve accidentally drawn a weird looking symbol, a rather badly drawn one but you did recognize it as something you’ve seen around the internet somewhere. 

“Oh. Well, my bad, I guess.” You end up staring at each other in silence. You start to get a little antsy as he looks at you in interest. “You’re not going to kill me not or anything are you? I mean, like you had powers or whatever. You did say you were a demon and everything...” You were babbling but you couldn’t stop. 

You peek up at him from below your lashes expecting to see irritation on his face, yet there was none. “No, I won’t kill you. Though, I would suggest not making this symbol again if you don’t really mean it.” He teased you with a smirk.

Scoffing you pulling your wrist from his hold and took a bite of the piece of bread. “You don’t gotta worry about that. I learned my lesson.” 

“Good.” he didn’t say anything else or make any move to leave.“Um, would you like a … like uh, a sandwich? I mean, you don’t gotta. I know you said that you were busy. You know what, yeah just forget I said anything, yeah. Don’t worry, you won’t be hearing from me, so-”

“I’d actually love a sandwich. I’ve had a long day. I could use a little snack.”

“Oh. Oh! Sure.” You turn to finish your sandwich and make him one as he went to your dinner table and took a seat. 

“The name’s Crowley.” He grumbles to you. You peek over at him to see him staring at your butt in your panties.

“Y/n. And my eyes are up here, mister.” His eyes shot up to yours and threw you a non apologetic smirk. Turning back to him with two sandwiches, one on their own plate.

“Thanks.” He snaps his fingers and the plate in your hand disappears and reappears in his.Gasping, you stare at him with wide eyes and your mouth gawking. 

“Magic.” He smirks and starts eating. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

3 months later

That night, Crowley finished his sandwich and left. That didn’t come to much of a surprise but what did give you quite a shock was about a few days later, he poofed back into your house for another meal. 

As the months passed, you became accustomed to him popping in and relaxing with you. Whether it was having a meal or watching a scary movie together, he always found time with you. Even though you won’t admit it, whenever he visited, it gave you a warm feeling and you didn’t want to ever lose that feeling. 

Lost in your thoughts, you jerk as a knocking came hitting your front door. Strange, no one usually comes to your door. Sighing as you made your way over, you open the door to come face to face with giants.Not literal giants, but they were possibly as tall as giants. 

Flashing you with their dashing smiles, they both whip out FBI ID cards.“Hello ma’am, my name is agent Richardson and this is my partner, Agent Johnson.” The taller of the two man said.

“We had a few questions about a recent case that is happening around this area and we would just like to know if you’ve seen anything.”

“Oh, umm, sure. Come inside and have a seat. I’ll go whip up some tea and we can talk in the kitchen”

“Thank you. We’ll only take a little of your time.

”Walking in behind them, they took seats that your kitchen table as you busied yourself with the kettle. 

“So what can I help you gentlemen with?”

“Well, I know what you can help me with.” A deeper voice grumbles behind you. 

Twirling around, gasping, “Crowley! I didn’t know you were dropping in today.” You walk over to him with a smile on your face as you pull him in for a hug. 

A gun cocked behind. Confused, you pulled out of Crowley’s arm a little to look behind you. Your eyes widened as you saw both of the FBI agents pointing their guns are both you and Crowley.

“What on Earth is going on?!” You yelped out.

“Hello, boys.” Crowley said calmly behind you.Looking back and forth between them, you felt like you were missing something. 

“I recommend you step away from him. We don’t want to have to hurt you.”

“Who are you?!”

“Y/n, meet the Winchesters. Boys, this is Y/n and I would appreciate it if you would have not gotten her involved in any of this.”

Gasping, you turn to look at the two men you’ve been hearing so much about. “You’re the Winchesters?! Oh, I’ve heard so much about you. You’ve been causing my Crowley a lot of problems and boy, does he complain.” 

Giggling as Crowley grumbled behind you. “Boys, we will finish this another time. Not with Y/n. Y/n will never be involved in any of this. You’re lucky I didn’t kill you for pulling a stunt like this.” Crowley snapped his fingers again and the two men were gone in a blink of an eye.

“Crowley, that wasn’t very nice. I barely got to talk to them. Where’d you send them off to, anyway?”

“A magician never reveals his tricks.”

[phancystuff]

Trying to Remember How it Feels (To Have a Heartbeat) 2/7

Pairing: Dan/ Phil (Phan) Summary: Dan moves into a new apartment in London and, though it’s a step up from his old apartment, his landlord gives him strange warnings while he’s touring the place– something about the last renters leaving because of ghost sightings. But, Dan doesn’t believe in the supernatural. He quickly changes his tune when he meets Phil Lester, the ghost haunting his apartment. Well, if haunting means quickly becoming the best friend he’s ever had. (Title from Harry Styles’ song Two Ghosts) Notes: Part 2 of my Spooky Week Special! This fic is almost 100% already written and I plan on updating it every day until Halloween. Please note that, although this fic has the warning of major character death, it is not in any way graphic. Tags/ Warnings: ghost au, Halloween, major character death (obv. it’s a ghost au lol), depictions of panic attacks, angst, fluff, HAPPY ENDING, mentions of suicide (it happens in a movie they watch)

Read it on A03 Part One

When Dan woke up, it was completely dark outside. Dan pushed himself up on his elbows, momentarily reflecting on what a weird dream he had. There had been an emo ghost, a panic attack, a viral video. It had all felt so real.

“Good morning sleeping beauty!” Dan jumped and his head snapped up to the source of the voice. So it wasn’t a dream, then. Phil was sitting at Dan’s computer chair. Hovering over his computer chair. Despite the hovering, the office chair was spinning around and Phil was giggling gleefully. “Or should I say, good night?”

“I thought you could only manipulate electricity?” Dan adopted a cool voice, deciding the only course of action was to hide his fear. Phil didn’t seem dangerous at any rate.

“Oh, no! Objects are a little harder, but I’ve had tons of practice over the years. From what I understand, ghosts get stronger the longer they're around. Of course, I’ve only learned this from experimenting. When I first, ah, became a ghost, I couldn’t even manifest myself physically.”

Dan looked thoughtfully at Phil, considering his physical form. “So, you have to purposefully manifest yourself?”

The spinning stopped and Phil looked back at Dan. “Yeah. It used to take a lot of concentration and I could only do it for a couple minutes at a time. Now, I don’t really have to think about it. After that, I started experimenting with electricity. I can strengthen wifi signals, too.” Phil grinned, “I’m a pretty handy roommate!”

Dan pinched the bridge of his nose, “I can’t say I’ve ever wanted a roommate.”

“What?” Phil’s eyes widened comically. “I’ve only ever wanted a roommate! It’s been so boring to be alone in this place! I love when Paul brings new people around.”

Dan’s stomach growled loudly and he thought about what was in his fridge at the moment. It wasn’t much; mostly various sauces and condiments. Dan took out his iPhone and opened up the app to order Indian takeaway. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Phil disappearing from the office chair.

“Meep! that iPhone is so thin and the screen’s so big!” Dan flinched and whipped his head to look at Phil, now sitting cross-legged on the bed next to him. His first thought was a panicked string of swears at Phil’s sudden appearance. His second thought was that Dan couldn’t believe there was a ghost in his apartment that said ‘meep’ unironically.  “Oops, sorry! Transporting is another bad habit I have. I’ll walk around like an alive person.”

“S’ok,” Dan mumbled, thumbing around on his app. “But, yeah, I guess you haven’t seen an iPhone in a while.”

“Not up close! Oh man, look at it! May I?” Phil held out his hand and Dan looked at it nervously.

“Will you be able to hold it?”

“I think so! It’s not really hard for me to hold objects anymore, but if I drop it, it’ll just go on the bed. Just don’t give me a baby!” Phil giggled and Dan slowly placed the iPhone in Phil’s palm. The ghost looked down at it and scanned the app that Dan was interacting with. “Indian food, huh? Yum.” Dan scrutinized Phil’s face. It looked sad. “I used to love Indian food,” he whispered.

“Do you want to order for me?” Dan asked, trying to get the smile back on Phil’s face and not really understanding why he cared.

“Can I?!” Phil’s eyes were round, all sadness had been obliterated from their depths. Dan couldn’t help but chuckle, albeit a little uncomfortably.

“Of course. It’s nothing special for me, but you haven’t hand a phone in your hand since--” Dan cut himself off, realizing he had no idea when Phil had died. Was it polite to ask? If their places were switched, Dan would probably find his own death to be a sensitive point of conversation.

“2010,” Phil murmured back, completely lost in the application. If he thought a food app was captivating, Dan couldn’t wait to show him Crossy Roads. Dan thought back to 2010. What was he doing then? Starting his first year at uni and working on a law degree. That had only lasted a year before Dan had realized how miserable he was. He had taken a year out and never gone back.

“2010 was when I made my first YouTube video,” His channel had steadily taken off to Dan’s complete surprise. At first, he had worked other odd jobs to be able to afford his crappy first apartment, but as his channel grew in popularity, he was able to rely solely on YouTube. Dan smiled fondly; all in all, 2010 had been a beginning for him. The smile dropped off his face when he realized that it had been an end for Phil.

Phil nodded politely. “That’s really cool. What year is it now?” Phil held the phone back out to Dan. The food had been ordered and the estimated time of arrival on the screen read 30 minutes.

“Oh! It’s 2017. It’s May.”

“Hmm. Almost summer? Autumn is my favorite, though, mostly because of Halloween.” Phil gripped his feet and rocked back and forth on his bum. The ghost was growing on Dan. He might even call him adorable; but it was pretty weird to find a ghost to be endearing, wasn’t it?

“I love halloween, too. I’ve always wanted to do a baking video or something for my channel. But it doesn’t really fit the Daniel Howell aesthetic.” Dan did air quotes with his fingers. “So I’ve never done one.”

“You should! That would be something I’d wanna watch.” Phil flopped back on the bed, pulling his feet up with him.

“Maybe,” Dan said, knowing full well that he probably wouldn’t. He probably wouldn’t even put it on Daniel Howell 2, his second channel. He might livestream him trying something that he had baked on YouNow, but people probably wouldn’t be interested. Dan had always felt like there was a specific video that his viewer wanted to see from him and, if he wanted to stay relevant, that was the type of video he would put out. Wanting to change the subject, Dan pulled up Crossy Roads on his iPhone. “Now, Phil, do I have something to show you!”

The two boys, one alive and one dead, played Crossy Roads back and forth until Dan’s food showed up. Dan had always been competitive and it didn’t help that Phil had declared this to be a “DAN VS PHIL! 3 ROUNDS EACH, BRING IT ON, DANIEL!” Dan’s head was in his hands after immediately killing his korean barbeque character by jumping into a bus, and getting a score of three, when his doorbell rang. He left the phone with Phil and ran to get his food, stomach grumbling loudly. He set everything up on the dining room table and only jumped a little when Phil was suddenly there, sitting at one of the chairs.

“59! Hah, I win!” Phil proclaimed, placing the phone on the table and spinning it around for Dan to see.

Dan glanced at it and huffed. “Fine, I call hacks.”

“Sore loser!”

“Sore winner!”

Phil giggled and watched Dan eat. “God, I miss eating. Or being able to smell it, at least.”

Dan nodded sympathetically, mentally filing away the detail in his folder labeled ‘ghost facts.’ He figured that it was easier to learn about Phil and live with him, rather than try to ignore him. The fear he had for the ghost was slowly draining away, only leaving the recognition that he seemed like a cool guy. Dan was open-minded. Sure his whole concept of reality had been shaken to the very core and he would probably have an existential crisis about it later, but for now, he was contented to make conversation. Dan suddenly remembered the video he had made this afternoon that brought them to this point. He groaned. “Phil, we have a problem.”

“What’s that?” Phil looked at him anxiously, the iPhone spinning in front of him. Dan tried not to stare at the supernatural trick being done way too casually right in front of him.

“Well, the video you showed up in is going viral. Everyone is tweeting me, expecting that I’ve been viciously murdered.”

“Oh, um, that is a problem.” Phil bit his lip, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Hey! I know! You could reveal to everyone that it was a hoax? A clever editing trick?”

Dan nodded thoughtfully. It was a pretty smart idea. It was totally unlike Dan to do anything of the sort, but he could bullshit another video, claiming that it was a social experiment about virality and people’s belief in the supernatural and blah blah blah. Dan told Phil his idea and the ghost nodded enthusiastically. “Perfect! That way, you’ll have your viral hit, your fans won’t feel too betrayed, and you don’t have to explain that there’s an actual ghost in your apartment.” Phil giggled. “Imagine that video!”

Dan laughed with the ghost. “Yeah, I’d do it like a vlog! A Day in the Life of Dan and Ghost Phil.” Dan reached across the table and grabbed the spinning phone, holding it up over his head and pretending to vlog: “Hey internet! Dan here! And I’m joined by none other than the late amazingphil. He’s decided to collab with me beyond the grave.” Phil’s giggles turned into body-bouncing belly laughs and Dan could have sworn he saw tears leaking down the ghost’s cheeks.

“What can I say? I’m was just dying to collab with you, Dan.” Phil forced the pun out between gasping breaths and chuckles.

Dan dropped his phone and groaned loudly into his hands. “Nooo, that’s was so bad! I hate you.” Dan peeked through his fingers to watch Phil’s tongue poke out between his teeth. The two boys’ laughter slowly died down and Dan shoveled food into his mouth. “I’m making puns with a ghost right now.” Dan blinked a couple times, wondering if the image of Phil would disappear.

Phil looked on sympathetically. “It’s gotta be weird.”

“It is.” Dan looked thoughtful. “But not a bad weird.” Phil looked hopeful. Dan wondered how he-- someone whose biggest fear was of the supernatural-- could be so cool with this. Only a few hours before, the apparition had given him a major panic attack. Dan looked back at Phil’s shining eyes and decided it was because Phil was completely harmless. It was silly to have fear for something harmless.

***

Dan’s video explanation of his “hoax” went over relatively well. Only a few of his viewers were really angry, commenting that he was only using them for views. Dan wanted to reply to them and say that most YouTubers made videos in order for people to view them, but decided that he didn’t want to feed the trolls. He was able to continue with life as normal.

Well, as normal as living with a ghost could get. Dan didn’t leave the apartment very often-- why would he? His whole life happened inside the internet. Other than visiting a few friends and grocery shopping, Dan mostly stuck around the flat. This meant that a lot of time was spent with his new roommate.

Dan had been learning a lot about Phil. They surprisingly had quite a few similar interests. Muse, Studio Ghibli, video games, horror movies, punk pop, Kill Bill. Dan had a blast showing Phil all the movies, shows, and video games he had missed in the seven years that he had been dead. Dan could never get tired of the look of awe on Phil’s face when he commented on the graphics of Fallout 4 or the animation style of Big Hero Six. He was especially interested in how much the internet and YouTube had changed. The fact that people made a living on the video-sharing site. He watched a ton of YouTube, catching up on all the old people he used to be subscribed to and getting acquainted with new YouTubers. Phil expressed his sadness to Dan when he discovered that some of his favorite internet personalities were no longer making videos.

Dan noticed that Phil didn’t watch any of the ‘goodbye amazingphil’ videos that had been made by fans or fellow YouTubers. Dan had watched a few, but they did nothing but make him sad. Dan was actually surprised that no one had recognized Phil from his Quick and Dirty video, but apparently Phil had been hidden in the shadows just enough for anyone to notice how much the apparition looked like the late amazingphil. Dan was glad; he didn’t want to deal with the wrath of sad fans wondering why Dan would be sick enough to fake edit amazingphil in the corner.

Dan also watched all of Phil’s old videos, finding him very endearing. Phil was a fantastic storyteller and Dan found himself captivated by Phil’s silly life. The videos were obviously old-- the camera quality, editing style, music, and genre. Despite this, Dan still watched every single video. He told himself that it was to get to know his ghost friend better.

It had been a couple months. Dan had noticed that the two boys talked about everything, except the gigantic elephant in the room. Dan still had no idea how Phil had died. The goodbye videos Dan watched told him nothing; no one seemed to know what had happened to amazingphil, other than an untimely death. It made sense that none of Phil’s family members would think to update a YouTube audience, especially when dealing with their own grief. Dan had googled around a little bit, still finding nothing about the mysterious death of Phil Lester. Dan figured it was rude to ask, but it didn’t stop his curiosity gnawing at him, especially when he discovered that the last video on the amazingphil channel was one shot in this very apartment. Dan had been waiting to watch Phil’s last video because, when he finally watched it, it would mean that there were no more amazingphil videos to watch, which made Dan feel almost empty in a way.

But, eventually, one day in mid July, he couldn’t take the curiosity. Dan pulled up the video on his phone, put in earphones, and clicked play. He smiled at the title, “The Jellybean Centipede” and the opening shot of Phil biting a balloon. In the video, Phil explained that he had finally gotten his very own apartment. Dan watched the tour of Dan’s current apartment, noticing the differences and similarities. The video wasn’t different from Phil’s others ones-- the lion was still there, Phil still made heart hands at the camera, and he still said lolrandom things. Knowing it was the last video ever on his channel made Dan incredibly sad. He watched the last shot, of Phil sitting on and popping the giant balloon that one of his viewers had given him, over and over again. It was a ridiculous thing to leave YouTube with, but it was so fitting of Phil. Dan scrubbed at a tear that threatened to leave the corner of his eye. He didn’t dare look at the comments.

“Dan! Hey, Dan! Where did you put your copy of Mario Kart for the switch?” Phil floated into Dan’s room, standing at the foot of his bed. Phil had been better about not transporting randomly, moving around more naturally for Dan’s sake. Dan slammed the phone face down onto his bed. “Oh, are you ok? I didn’t interrupt something did I?” Phil looked embarrassed and looked down at his multi-colored, mismatched socks.

“Phil, how did you die?” Dan slapped his hand over his mouth, eyes widening in shock. Phil’s head jerked up to look at Dan.

“Dan…” It almost sounded like a warning. It was the only time in these short months that Dan felt nervous around Phil.

“I’m sorry, it’s just, you can’t expect me not to be curious. You were 23 when you died, right? That’s so young. You had just gotten a new apartment. You finished school. Your YouTube channel was doing really well. What happened?”

“Dan, really, I--”

“You were 23! Only three years younger than me now. That’s scary, Phil. So fucking scary. I think about dying all the time. I think about what I’m contributing to the world and I stress about what I’m doing with my life--”

“--Please, Dan--”

“--but I only ever think about dying when I’m really old. And then you come along and you were 23 and you won’t even tell me what happened! I thought we were friends and--”

“Dan!” Dan jumped, looking at Phil. His voice had turned loud, deep, powerful, and a little bit unhinged. The lights in Dan’s bedroom flickered and papers swirled around the room, surrounding the ghostly figure in a whirlwind of paper. He slowly rose higher and higher off the ground, until he was looking down at Dan. Phil sounded and looked every bit of the ‘scary horror movie ghost’ in that moment and Dan was practically shitting himself. “I’m serious, I don’t want to talk about this.”

Dan started shaking, not recognizing the eyes of his ghost friend. They had gone dark, emphasizing the paleness of Phil’s undead skin. Shadow patterns danced across his unnatural face. “Y-yeah. S-s-sorry Phil. I’ll stop, p-please, don’t hurt me.”

Papers fluttered down to the floor and the lights came back on. Phil dropped to the floor, his eyes cleared, and the shadows left his face. He looked guilty. “No,” Phil whispered, staring at Dan with shining eyes. “Please understand this, Dan, I’d never hurt you.” Dan pushed off the bed, trembling violently. He wasn’t going to have another panic attack. He wasn’t going to have another panic attack.

“Of course you won’t. It’s ok, Phil. I’m going to just, just.” Dan ran out of the room, grabbing his keys and wallet from the dining room table. He threw open the front door and rode the elevator down into the lobby of the building. Outside, he immediately felt sweat spring to his skin in the hot London summer air. Desperately, he tried to reign in his lungs and breathe evenly. He never knew that Phil could get so scary. Maybe Dan should be careful with the ghost. Maybe he should be afraid of him.

Dan walked aimlessly for hours, going nowhere in particular, but relishing the occasional breeze against his face. His apartment had been feeling like an alternate reality, lately. It felt nice to be reminded that nature was still its wonderful, albeit cruel, self. Dan looked around for the first time since leaving the apartment, noticing his surroundings. His feet had taken him to a closeby park. Dan sat down on a bench and stared out at the trees, which were a little creepy in the encroaching dark of the evening. His breathing slowed. He knew that, sooner or later, Dan would have to return to the flat and face Phil.

He thought back to the conversation that had made Phil so angry. Of course it had made him angry. Dan had asked the ghost about his most painful, personal memory, without even warning Phil that Dan had been thinking about it. Phil had purposefully been skirting around the information and Dan had rudely barreled past his hesitations. Dan felt like a dick. He remembered the flickering lights and whirlwind circling Phil’s rising form. That had been a little unnecessary. And a lot terrifying.

He sighed and heaved himself off the bench. This was silly; he couldn’t run from Phil. They hadn’t had any problems yet. In fact, it had been incredibly nice to finally live with someone, even if that someone had a non-corporeal form. Everyone had their moments, right? Everyone got angry from time to time; of course Phil would have those times as well. It just so happened that Phil had a little more power over the world than the average human. Dan shivered, thinking about Phil flashing him those lifeless eyes again.

They had already discussed the extent of Phil’s powers, though, and Dan was pretty sure there was nothing Phil could do to hurt Dan. In fact, from what they both understood, Phil could only successfully interact with things that weren’t alive. Things without a heartbeat. Although, Phil hadn’t told Dan what he meant by “successful.” Dan rubbed his arms, the cool evening air chilling the remaining sweat on his skin. He began to trudge back to his flat-- their flat. Dan knew Phil wouldn’t hurt him. Phil was a good person. He was a good friend. Dan had been silly.

Dan arrived back and rode the elevator up to his flat. He pushed the key in and prepared himself for anything: Phil could have completely disappeared, choosing to abandon his physical form for the moment. Phil could be right there waiting at the door, wanting to apologize to Dan. Dan breathed deeply and opened the door, only to be enveloped by the delicious smell of Italian food. Dan looked over into the kitchen to find Phil stirring at a pot on the stove. Ok, Dan wasn’t prepared for that. The ghost turned around at the sound of the front door opening. “Dan! Thank god, I was so worried!” Phil turned down the temperature and bounded over to Dan. Dan would never get used to the way Phil moved; he floated but that didn’t stop him from skipping, running, dancing, and shuffling. His feet just never touched the floor. Phil stopped in front of Dan, reaching out his hands to Dan’s face. “You didn’t have a panic attack did you?” He seemed to catch himself, realizing that there would be no use in trying to touch Dan. His arms dropped to his sides.

Dan melted at the sound of Phil’s concern. “Fuck, Phil, I’m sorry for running away. And I’m sorry for bringing up such a sore subject like an absolute twat. I didn’t have a panic attack; don’t worry.”  

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am for going ghost on you.” Phil’s eyes shined and his bottom lip stuck out in the slightest of pouts. Dan focused his eyes on the lip, wondering if Phil even realized how adorable he was sometimes. “I will never ever hurt you. I will try really hard not to be a moody ass.”

“Did you just make a Danny Phantom reference?” Dan whispered, eyes drifting up from Phil’s lips, finally.

“Yes!” Phil clapped gleefully. “Now, I made you dinner to make it up to you. The only thing is you’re gonna have to taste test for me because food tastes like nothing when I put it in my mouth and I want to make sure I put enough garlic in there.” Dan followed his friend into the kitchen, marveling at how the best friend that he had ever had was dead.

Chapter Three

[4-now-incognito]

Walk A Mile (With You Beside Me) Chapter 7/?

“You like chasing. You don’t like having.” The words Mike Lawson’s ex-wife once told him play like a mantra in his head sometimes. It might have dulled as his budding relationship with Ginny Baker begins to soar (even when they are the only ones to know). But the baggage Mike carries through life can’t be ignored forever. Not by him. And not by Ginny. So where does that take them both when Ginny begins to ask the questions? And where does that leave them when Mike begins drowning in that mantra again?

AO3  

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

God, Mike should’ve been there…

Running away from the shore and back onto the beach, running away from a outright laughing set of twin boys and their mother. And Mike had been her first thought… God!

But Mike couldn’t have been there. Really, he shouldn’t have been there. He was best friends with Blip, but that had never necessarily put Mike at all the family gatherings. And this was one of those family gatherings, with the entire Sanders crew, with Ginny in toe, out at La Jolla Shores, enjoying the sand and the surf. Also, there had been the randomness of what she would consider paparazzo, a lone photographer that had set up camp for at least five minutes, snapping pictures of Ginny in her one-piece bathing suit that wasn’t anything special.

So… no, Mike shouldn’t have been there. That didn’t mean he was far from her mind. It didn’t mean Ginny didn’t wish he was there.

She glanced back towards the water for just a second, catching a glimpse of seeing… Gabe, she believed, diving down and disappearing from her sight. There was another smile on her face as she turned her sights forward, finding where Blip sat with all of their personal belongings farther up on the beach. Her hair was matted to her head and face; she smoothed it all back with her fingers as she tiptoed up the beach.

So it seemed as if her cancelled gym date with Mike wasn’t all in vain. The three hours she’d spent sweating, swimming, and chasing after the boys had burned off many of the calories she would have in the gym. But it wasn’t the same, was it?

Ginny gave a sparing look at Blip, who tipped his chin at her while lifting the sunglasses to the top of his head. He had been keeper of all electronics while she and the rest of his family had been in the water. But now… Now, Ginny had a strong urge to catch up with the man she hadn’t talked to since earlier that morning. A phone call that seemed like so long ago.

“Hey,” she greeted Blip, plopping down onto her knees on her beach towel.

“Hey, Gin,” she greeted her back, leaning over three spots to look at her. “Are you staying up here for a while?”

Her hands were already in her bag, searching out and finding her phone in its hidden pocket.

“Oh, yeah,” she told him. “If you want to go out there and enjoy the boys and Ev…”

Blip dropped the sunglasses back down over the bridge of his nose. “No, I’m fine for now. Thanks for checking in, though.” He grinned at her before gliding back to his own towel.

Ginny rolled her eyes at him, her mouth turned up in a knowing smirk. But she couldn’t blame him, He’d been out with the boys even more than Ev had been. And if Blip was enjoying his break on the beach, then so be it.

But… it didn’t stop her need to check in. Which is why pushed her bag away after grabbing her phone. She twisted back around on her knees before falling down to sit on her blanket. She glanced back at Blip, happy to find him not paying any attention to her. And if Blip wasn’t going to pay any attention to her, she wasn’t going to pay any attention to him…

Ginny slid and scrolled her way through her phone, making her way to Mike’s text messages. Pulling them up, she fell down on her back, holding the phone up as she swiped away.

Okay, so it’s a pretty nice day for the beach. Even with the random paps.

She hadn’t expected for it to take long to get a response from him. But maybe that was wishful thinking. She missed Mike. God, she missed him!

Taking advantage of Ginny Baker in a bikini, huh? Damn, I haven’t even had the privilege.

Well neither have they! I’m not in a bikini.

Really?

Really

Maybe I need photographic proof of that.

Then just wait until the picture shows up in some magazine or some website.

Still a tease

It’s a lot of fun!

Mike, I miss you.

Is that another attempt at teasing?

Do you feel teased?

I feel like you’re teasing me.

LOL

Blip’s right next to me. I didn’t want much. Just wanted to check in and let you know I was thinking about you.

Well don’t tell him I said hi.

I won’t. Talk to you later.

Talk to you later.

I miss you too.

For a second, just for a tick of a second, Ginny was sad that he hadn’t said it back. Although he’d said it earlier that day in their last conversation. He’d told her that he missed her when she had to cancel their gym time. And then he had said Talk to you later. For the length of time it had taken for him to type out and send his last text, there had been a second where she’d wished he’d said it. And then he did: I miss you too.

Damn that flutter of her heart. Damn that smile she’d had no control over that was still plastered over her face.

This was different. Her relationship with Mike was different from any relationship she’d ever had. She knew that.

Phone gripped tightly in her hand, Ginny brought her forearm up to cover her face, to hide the smile that no one but her had noticed. Her right knee came up, and she planted the heel of her foot into the beach blanket and into the sand, pushing herself up just a little.

I miss you.

The words were easy to say, weren’t they? And she believed there was a reason for that. A reason that had settled heavy in her heart, feeling like a weight of honesty and truthfulness that couldn’t be denied.

Ginny Baker loved Mike Lawson…

With all of her heart. With all of her soul. Ginny Baker loved Mike Lawson.

There had been a time when she had idolized the persona, had envied the man who was living out his dreams in a way that had felt limited to her. Those times had changed. Time had shifted and pushed and pulled and designed… Somehow… In some way… they had come together…

Ginny’s forearm tightened across her face, her chin tilting up and her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. There was more than a heaviness to her heart. There was now a tingle traveling across her entire body, and she tried to not let it unnerve her. What would be the point of being unnerved?

Ha!

And what was so amusing? It was the fact that no one knew. It was the fact that, for so many reasons, her relationship was a secret. A secret from her friends, her family, her teammates, from the world- cue the photos that would, in some way, hit the internet of her in her bathing suit while enjoying an easy day. There were reasons for every single decision she had made. But…

God!

She banished the thought of Mike’s hand settling on her lower back as they walked into a room together. A simple act that he’d done plenty of times when they were alone, but something he wouldn’t dare do if they were in public. Not only because of his own conscious, but for her own as well.

Ginny hadn’t… God! She dropped her knee as she rolled over onto her stomach, her hands linking together so that she could rest her cheek there, turned away from Blip.

She hadn’t gone into thinking she would ever feel this way about Mike. Yeah, she went into with an open mind, having acknowledged the spark and tie between them. She just hadn’t let the thought of love enter her mind. And now… Now, here she was, the thought running through her mind nonstop.

Ginny Baker loved Mike Lawson.

Her sigh of contentment almost made her giggle. Instead, she closed her eyes, crossed one ankle over the other, and settled her cheek once again over her folded hands.

 ****

 “Ginny, you might as well stay for dinner,” Evelyn suggested while picking up her phone, and no doubt getting ready to place a call-in order to the aforementioned meal even though they were in her kitchen.

Ginny glanced down at her own phone in her hand before she pocketed in her pants. Her shoulders rounded in a shrug while her face scrunched into a scowl.

“I have plans tonight,” she told her, as way of an apology. “And, plus, I’ve been the adopted member of the Sanders clan for long enough today.”

The day at the beach hadn’t been an all day event, but with the business she had taken care of earlier, it had turned out to be just as long a day that she had predicted. Having already spent nearly a half hour at the Sanders’ home since the drive from the beach, Ginny figured she had given just about all she could for the day.

“But I was thinking Chinese,” Ev said flatly, as if there was no way Ginny could pass up on the shrimp fried rice.

A single brow lifted as a smirk covered Ginny’s face and her hands found her hips. She pointed the toe of her sandal and planted her foot in front of her.

“I mean…” And then she was laughing. “Sorry, but I can’t.” She lifted a shoulder again. “My car should be here in about twenty minute.”

“So what are your plans then?” Ev asked. Her smile was just as curious as her eyes as she held the phone out in front of her. “Since you’re bailing out on your surrogate family and all.”

The thought of finally being in the same room as Mike came to mind, forcing Ginny to tamper her own smile.

Before she could open her mouth, as a realistic and alternative truth was being formulated, Blip’s voice became a distraction.

“The boys are getting cleaned up,” he told Evelyn, walking straight over towards her. Once he made it to her, he dropped a kiss to her cheek.

“I’m just about to place the order,” she let him know, looking up at him. “And trying to figure out why Ginny is bailing on us.”

Ginny shook her head, her shoulder coming up in a simple shrug. “Plans.”

Blip turned to her then, a finger pointing straight at her and his head tilting in question.

“What?” she asked, her arms coming up to fold over her chest.

“I talked to Mike today.” His hand dropped to his side as he took a quick glance at Ev beside him. Then he turned back to Ginny. “Have you talked to him lately?”

“Me? To Mike? Why?” Pause. Because three one- or two-word questions didn’t sound weird or sketchy at all…  “I mean, I’ve talked to him, I guess.” Her hands slipped away from that tight hug over her chest to hold either side of her waist.

“I talked to him while we were out,” Blip said slowly, splitting a look between both women.

What in the hell had Mike said that had Blip questioning her like that?

She was jumping to conclusions. The mere second it had taken for Blip to share that he’d talked to Mike while they were out, a hundred thoughts had zoomed through Ginny’s mind before…

“He told me that Rachel is in town.”

“Yeah. And?” Ev asked, moving away from Blip and heading across to the other side of the kitchen.

It hadn’t meant much to Evelyn, but there was curiosity coursing through Ginny.

“And… they were having lunch,” Blip said slowly.

“Mike had lunch with Rachel?” The question was out of Ginny’s mouth before she could stop herself. He’d talked to her earlier. It was possible that lunch had taken place after he’d talked to her.

“He didn’t say much about it,” Blip added. “Just that she was in town. But…” He raised a brow and looked straight at her. “There was something in his voice. Gin, you don’t know anything about the two of them, do you?”

She wasn’t supposed to stand there stock-still with a blank look on her face…

“You two have been keeping tabs on each other, right?” Evelyn asked, turning around from the cabinet with a glass in her hand. “Is this… something?” And then she was wilting, her weight bearing down on one side of her body as her face scrunched up. “Mike and Rachel?” she asked, seemingly testing the words out on her tongue. “I thought he was over and done with that.”

Mike was over and done with that…

And that was the truth.

“Mike hasn’t said anything to me about Rachel,” Ginny answered truthfully, yet quietly.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Blip murmured, making a move over towards the refrigerator. “You remember the way things went down with Ginny’s agent.”

Yeah, she knew how things went down with Amelia…

“And I thought that had the prospect of actually going somewhere,” he added. “Until it didn’t.”

Ginny had never been jealous of either past relationship. They happened. Rachel was Mike’s ex-wife, and there were plenty of reasons why, while she was in town, that they would get together and even have lunch. There were plausible reasons why he hadn’t had the chance to let Ginny know about it. Or how it had been a more opportune time to let Blip know…

The syncrasy of man and wife came into play as Blip grabbed the pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator and Ev grabbed three glasses from the cabinet, both coming together at the kitchen table.

“Well, I’m not convinced it’s anything,” Evelyn sai with a shake of her head.

Blip shared a doubtful look with his wife. “Maybe not.” He turned his attention towards Ginny just then. “We’ll just have to see if he speaks on it again.”

Ginny was supposed to have a response to that. With thoughts swirling in her mind, she wasn’t sure what that response was supposed to be.

Her hands wrapped around to her lower back, holding firmly. Tilting her head, her shoulder lifted and she huffed out a noncommittal breath.

 ****

 You like chasing; you don’t like having.

That’s what Rachel had reminded him. Because the chase was fun. The chase was more mental than physical, and Mike liked that.

You don’t like having.

The proof of that was...

The second you get what you want, you figure out a way to throw it away

Her example had been a case that was specific to them, but it didn’t have to be, did it? It wasn’t a case that was only specific to Mike and Rachel. What she’d said had been specific to him, to Mike and the circumstances he put himself in.

There was a part of him that needed…

Ginny.

When things went wrong, when he needed to center himself, she was able to do that. She was something that could focus him, to calm him. It could be with her thoughts, her words, her body…

There was another part of him that knew he couldn’t have her… Not now. Not when it was this on his mind.

Mike gripped his phone before twisting it around in his fingers to face him.

They’d had plans to meet, to be together.

Something’s come up. Can’t get together tonight.

And with that text, Mike tossed his phone down on the empty couch cushion beside his own. An involuntary deep breath entered through his nose. His hands clasped together before his forefingers pressed tightly into the middle of his forehead. And then he was dropping his head between his open legs, his shoulders rounding as he sat there quietly.

Fuck, he wondered if he was ever going to stop being a total fuck-up…

The phone buzzed beside him; not a text, but a phone call.

“Fuck.” The curse was muttered under his breath as his twisted around to look at her name glowing on his screen. It couldn’t have been a simple text back, could it? But why should it?

Mike picked up the phone, sliding the bar over to connect the call.

“Hello.” The phone pressed hard against his ear as he returned to his previous posture, his head hanging nearly into the space created by his wide-apart knees.

“You cancelled on me,” Ginny said quietly into his ear.

And there went that part of him that wished it wasn’t so. Even soft and quiet and questioning, her voice tried to defrost a layer of ice that was encasing his heart.

“Something came up,” Mike muttered into the phone. “Didn’t seem like a good idea to catch up, is all.” Fuck. His fingers came up to pinch the bridge of his nose, his eyes squinting shut tight.

“You had a bad day?” she asked. There was still something hidden in her voice, something he should’ve picked up on.

“Fucking spectacular,” was his sarcastic response.

“What is it? What happened?” There was a little persistence in the way she said it.

Mike pinched a bit tighter while his eyes squeezed shut even more.

“Nothing. Nothing.” He shook his head and one foot kicked out in front of him before coming back in that resting position. “Just… I won’t be the company you were expecting tonight, Gin. So... “

“Does that mean things went… good or… bad… between you and Rachel at lunch today?”

And, fuck Blip, there it was.

Mike inhaled another deep breath and let his hand fall from his face. “It was nothing to speak of.” He pressed back on the couch, his back sinking into the cushion.

“So what was the point of telling me, right?” Ginny sighed. “I mean, that didn’t have anything to do with this sudden need to be alone. If-”

“I’m alone,” he cut in, a twist in his gut just confirming he didn’t like where she was about to go.

But… Mike got it. Rachel equaled ex-wife. Rachel equaled last hook-up prior to Ginny.

“It wasn’t a big deal, which is why I probably didn’t mention it.” His head fell back, rolling side to side on the fabric of the couch while his fingers went right back on that spot on his nose. “It did matter. It was a damn spur of the moment thing.”

“Before or after we texted?” Ginny asked.

Mike felt the scrunch of his face at the question. “We had lunch after-”

“But you had set up the lunch before, though, right?” Ginny cut in.

“I talked to her earlier that morn-”

“And you chose not to mention it then,” she cut in once more.

“Should I just shut up now, because I haven’t completed a sentence in a moment,” Mike muttered. He was already agitated, aggravated, not in a good mood.

“I was just-”

“No, you were just being Ginny.” It was his turn to cut in, agitation not coming out in a good way at all.], each word short and clipped. “You were being Ginny, the know-it-all. And whatever I have to say doesn’t matter because you’ve already come up with assumptions. You don’t even give a freaking second to consider anything else because you know it all.”

Fuck!

Mike jumped up from his seat, feeling himself losing control of his temper as well as his tongue. There was nothing he could do about that now.

Ginny was silent on the other end, but he knew not in a good way. Somehow, he had let himself put his foot in his mouth. Still, he was more angry at the situation than at himself.

“Well next time maybe you should be a little more forthcoming, and then I wouldn’t have to be ‘know-it-all Ginny’,” she finally muttered on her end of the phone.

Mike’s fingers dug into his temple.

“I went to lunch,” he grinded out through clenched teeth. “Nothing…” Mike paused then.

There was a reason why he knew being with her wasn’t going to be a good idea. Only, he’d thought it would be for other reasons; not her reasons to grill him on Rachel. What had happened to his peace of mind? Because that wasn’t what she was offering him right now.

Goddammit.

“Tomorrow, Ginny,” he offered helplessly and tiredly. With a ragged sigh, he asked “Can we… do this tomorrow?”

He hadn’t meant to be short with her, not really. She’d caught him in a bad place. He probably should’ve felt even worse than he did, but it was what it was.

“Fine… Mike.” There was probably more that she wanted to force out, but she bit off right there.

He wasn’t surprised when the line goes dead on his end. But… how could he be?

“Damn it.” It was just a murmur as he threw the phone on the couch a few feet away. Both hands free, he swiped the back of his hand over his lips. “God damn it.”

It was immediate.

He wanted to blame Rachel. He would. He chose to blame her, for reminding him of who he was and what was wrong with him.

So he wasn’t perfect. So he had some hangups. Who was? Who didn’t?

Ginny…

She invaded his mind just then. Her radiant smile. That bright smile that she is covering with her hands. The eagerness to grow and learn and succeed.

She was so many things that he was not: young, whole career in front of her. There were some commonalities, some bonds, But there were differences between them.

Rachel’s words came back to him, hitting him like a ton of bricks.

You like chasing; you don’t like having.

His fingertips grip at his temples.

He’d wanted to contest those words then, but it was with a lot of growing up on his part over the past few months that had lead led him to Ginny. It had been a chase in his own mind. They were teammates. And even though it was Ginny’s rule of thumb, he couldn’t deny that it was a unique relationship to be in. But there had also been a deep connection. Not only physical, but something that helped him be himself with her. But…

Mike Lawson was a fuck-up. When had that changed?

The problem was… It hadn’t. He had been a fuck-up, and still was one to this day.

His fingers clawed at his beard, tugging and receiving just a miniscule speck of the pain he deserved.

 ****

 “Who is she?” Rachel asked quietly.

The remnants of the salty fries were licked away from his thumb as he gave a hard shake of his head.

“None of your business.” He looked up at her with a grin on his face.

Rachel leaned into the table. “Come on, Mike.” Shaking her head, she added, “I haven’t heard anything about a budding relationship floating around.”

“Why would you?” Her statement produced a frown on his face as he pressed back in his seat.

“Well, that’s the thing,” she said slowly. “If this was nothing, wouldn’t we have seen you out with someone.”

“God damn, Rachel, are you keeping tabs on me?” This time, he smiled again before shaking his head. “The particulars are none of your business. Not anymore.”

She didn’t smile back. Instead, there was a somber look that was across her face.

“You look genuine,” she finally said. “So I’m just hoping you’re being careful, Mike. “ Her finger came out to point at him from across the table, her eyes following that same spot. “Being careful with that heart of yours.”

Mike’s hand flew up to press against his chest. “Meaning?” He was curious to know how she would follow that statement.

“I know you, Mike,” Rachel reminded him. “I know how it weighed on you when you thought we should be together and give our marriage another shot. And,” she said, shaking her head, “it wasn’t about me. It was about not wanting to fail on top of being alone.”

Hand still pressed to his chest, Mike could feel the slowing of his heartbeat. He let his hand slide down, over his belly until it was in his lap.

“I’m not trying to fill a void with just anything or just anyone,” he promised.

“It wasn’t that long ago you were at my house,” she reminded him.

“And even a shorter time since I was in your bed,” he admitted. “Doesn’t change anything about what’s going on in my life now.”

Rachel smiled again, a small smile as she stared right at him.

“So this thing, this relationship, isn’t you chasing?” she asked, her head tilting just so as her eyes darted across every visible piece of him. “This is you having, is that it?”

Mike swallowed the lump in his throat that his ex-wife had put there.

“This is me trying to have, Rachel,” he answered solemnly.

She took in a small breath and nodded her head.

“So this is what Mike Lawson looks like ‘having’.”

  ****

 Ginny eyed the evening sky from her backseat as it whirled passed. Her middle finger lifted to the corner of her eye to swipe at the imaginary something hanging there.

Her mouth opened wide and she pulled her hand down as she quickly turned her attention to her driver.

“Change of plans?” she said in question.

“Yeah?” he said easily.

“Can you take me home instead? Can you make that change for me?”

He turned to look at her, as if to ask if she was sure. “Yeah, that’s not a problem.”

Ginny nodded her head, attempted a smile, and then looked back out the window.

How had the day started where it had? How had she realized that the man she had spent the last few months with getting to know in a very different way than before… was the man she loved? How had the day ended with knowing she was in love with a man and being brushed off so easily by him?

Ginny licked her lips before she rolled them in, her head nodding and her eyes fluttering closed. Maybe it was easier than she’d let herself believe, because that man was Mike Lawson. And when it came to Mike Lawson, wasn’t all bets off?

She let her head fall onto the seat and her eyes once more set on the moving landscape.

 ****

 Didn’t he know the truth? Didn’t he know what he had? What they had?

The bigger question was: Did Mike know who he was? And the answer to that question was yes. So…

There had been times when he’d wondered if he deserved her. There were similarities in them, but there were also some differences. Mike was on his way out while Ginny was just at the beginning of her career. She was a twenty-four-year-old woman on the verge of taking over the world of baseball like never before seen. And he was an almost thirty-seven-year-old veteran catcher on his way out, with all the glory that came with it.

Ginny was innocent in some ways, and experienced in others. If he messed her up, caused her any anguish because he’d thought there was something… If he messed her up because he’d gone after her… If this was everything Rachel had warned him against…

You like chasing; you don’t like having.

There was a time when Ginny had been cautious, with every turn. That wasn’t the case anymore. And when he fucked up, royally screwed himself with her, would she look back on their time together and despise him for it?

Fuck!

Damn him.

The closest thing Mike could get his hands around and force his energy into was bottle of beer sitting on the table in front of him. Squeezing the bottle hard with his fingers, it was flung to the tiled floor, shattering before him.

It didn’t ease the stress he was under, like he knew it wouldn’t. That didn’t stop him from walking over the mess, leaving it for another time, when maybe he could give a damn.