#holy SHIT dude i have been pacing around my house with my hands clasped behind my back for the past hour

[zombzgutzz]

being both trans and otherkin watching i saw the tv glow

[bumbleberrysky]

alexa, play candyshop (bass boosted) | 04

pairing: gabriel x reader genre: soulmate au, canon divergent around s13, hurt/comfort, humour, future smut (probs) wc: 3k rating: sfw warnings: none really

You knew there was a reason some divine power brought you to the Winchesters all those years ago, but to this day you still have no idea what that reason is. It’s something you’re destined to find out soon though, especially when you return to the bunker after months away and find not only a new face, but one that belongs to someone who up until that point you’d thought was dead. What does his return have to do with the changes you’re suddenly experiencing in yourself? Will you finally find out the reason you’d been brought here in the first place? Maybe… Chuck works in mysterious ways after all.

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“Alright, Jack, I’m going to show you something really important, something you can’t tell anyone about. Not even Dean. Alright?”

The blonde before you hastily nods, eyes wide as he gives you his whole attention. It’s almost childlike, the way he puts everything he has into every activity he does—even nodding to show you he’s listening to what you’re saying.

You know that he is being truthful, and that if you ask him he won’t tell a soul, but for effect you keep your eyes trapping his own, just for a few moments longer. When you’ve ‘deemed’ him trustworthy enough, you let your expression drop into a smile and you smack your hand affectionately against his bicep.

“Great! I knew I could trust you. To be honest, you can maybe tell the others, but definitely not Dean. If Dean finds out…” you make a solemn face. “This whole operation will go down in flames. Got it?”

“Yes, I understand.” Jack says, fidgeting on the spot—he’s curious about what you’re going to show him, you can tell from the way every so often his eyes will flit about, searching the room behind you for something that might give away what you’re talking about. He gives you a bright grin, as though to show that he is ready.

“Excellent,” you say, clasping your hands together. “Follow me.”

You turn and begin moving over to the corner of the room, knowing without even having to check that Jack is following you—like a little duckling, if memory serves you right. You’ve only known him a few days but you know for sure that if anything happened to him you would be killing everyone in this bunker and then yourself. Rosa Diaz has it right.

“Alright, pass me that chair.” As soon as you come to a stop in the corner of the room, you instruct the young Nephilim following you. Without question, he does as you say and retrieves the chair sitting against the wall by a shelf loaded with obscure occult ‘weapons’. The armory is always something that amazes and confuses you with its contents.

The chair drags with a light squeak across concrete floor as you position it where you need it, wasting no time in hiking a leg up and climbing onto the seat. You know what you’re doing, but Jack doesn’t and your sudden movement must startle him a little because you feel him grip your legs by your knees and exclaim loudly.

“Ah, y/n! Be careful!”

You look down at him, unable to help the trickle of fondness that curls into your smile.

“Thanks for spotting me, Jack—don’t worry though, I’m a professional. I do this often.” You lean down to pat his hand and after giving you a slightly concerned look, he slowly releases his supporting grip.

“It’s up here,” you continue, before he gets too distracted. Your hands reach for the grate of the vent that sits high on the wall, almost touching the corner and the ceiling. It’s only around medium size, big enough for you to fit most body parts in but definitely not your body as a whole. It’s only really tacked in, the screws barely securing the metal to the wall. It takes almost no effort to remove it and pass it down to Jack to hold.

“Behold, sweet boy,” you say with a certain air of grandeur and flair, “My personal stash of sweets and goodies.”

Whatever was left of Jack’s concerned look from earlier is quickly wiped clean off his face to make room for the excitement that rises at your words. His brows unfurrow, shooting high as he attempts to peer into the vent.

“You have a stash of sweets?” He asks, almost in awe. “How did you build it so quickly? Haven’t you only been here a little over a week?”

“I’ve had this here for years,” you say, pretending that your words don’t make you cringe a little. Some of the stuff in there… might be a little out-of-date. “Say, you ever tried a kinder surprise? Or a Bueno bar? Or Tim Tams?”

Jack shakes his head, still clutching the grate in his hands. “Are they very good?”

“Very good?!” you echo, letting out a noise that even to your ears sounds a little crazy. “Dude, they’re amazing. Delicious. Fantastic. They’ll change your life.”

With each word that escapes your mouth, you sell Jack a little more on the idea. He’s almost vibrating on the spot by the time you’re done, hands fidgeting as he bounces on the balls of his feet every few seconds. “Do you have some, y/n? May… may I try some?”

“Of course, Jack— mi casa es su casa. Except, this is more of a top-secret stash than a house. Gimme a sec, I’ll fish some out for you.”

You turn then, careful not to wobble the chair, and go on your tippy-toes to reach your arm into the vent, the other bracing you against the wall. A part of you was worried after hearing Sam’s account of what happened to his own stash of sweets, but to your complete and utter relief there is still a hefty pile sitting half a foot back from the opening of the vent. You dig around a bit, searching for an egg shape or even a bar. The chocolates you mentioned to him should be safe, since you’d only added them somewhat recently. No risk of poisoning the half-angel today!

“Damn it, where are those stupid eggs,” you mutter to yourself as you search the pile, almost grasping something you think might be what you’re looking for only for it to slip away from your fingertips. You let out a huff, but freeze a moment later in delight as you grab a handful of something familiar. Your arm retracts before you can lose it again in your pile.

“Alright, here we a—woAH JESUS! Oh my god!”

As you’d turned around, expecting to see Jack standing in anticipation by the side of the chair, your eyes caught on something that most definitely wasn’t there before. In the split-second it takes for you to recognise the figure leaning against the shelf of weapons, you get so badly startled that before you know it your balance is compromised and you’re teetering on the verge of falling off the chair.

“y/n!” Jack exclaims in worry, lurching forward to grab your legs and stabilise you again. “Are you okay?”

“G-Gabriel,” you manage to choke out around the heart that leapt into your throat from the fright of nearly falling, looking over the nephilim’s shoulder. “Hello, didn’t—didn’t see you there. Holy shit.”

His face is somewhat blank, but if you look closer you swear you can see a hint of amusement cross his features. He is still in the rags and still somewhat dirty, since he won’t let anyone come near him and he still hasn’t got enough juice to clean himself. It makes something in your chest twinge but you refuse to give it the mental screentime it demands.

“Oh, Uncle Gabriel,” Jack turns and greets, pleasantly surprised to see his uncle out and about. Nowhere near as surprised as you, however, who honestly didn’t think Gabriel would be leaving his room for a few weeks at least. “I am glad to see you are well enough to walk about. What brings you here?”

As expected, Gabriel says nothing—his eyes do, however, betray him when they flit in a squirrely manner from Jack to the overflowing handful of chocolates you have in your hand.

“You came for the sweets?” you query, brows drawing together in confusion. “But how did you—”

You stop yourself mid-sentence, realisation washing over you. “Ah… the vents. You probably heard us.”

Not a word, but the archangel does shrug slightly, gaze flitting away, and you know you must be correct. Jack turns his head back to you, expression confused but mixed in with something else—does he want you to do something? You catch on quickly to the imploring glint in his eyes.

“Here, there’s more than enough—Jack, take one of each and then pass the rest to Gabriel. And if either of you hear Dean, tell me or else this hiding spot will be compromised. If Dean finds out I have a stash of chocolate, it’s game over.”

Jack, as he had done before, nods seriously and carefully takes the handful of chocolates from you. He picks out one of each and places it on the chair by your feet, before tentatively passing the rest to Gabriel.

You hadn’t been sure whether he was actually going to take the sweets or not, but to your surprise he does. With hands that shake ever so slightly, he moves the wrapped goodies from his nephew’s hands to his own, offering the briefest smile to the two of you. And then he is bringing his hands to his chest and turning, making his exit from the room at a pace that is somewhere between hasty and cautious. By the time of your next blink, he is gone and you’re left reeling at the experience.

“I’m not going crazy, right?” you turn your gaze down to Jack, continuing when he meets your eyes. “Gabriel was just here?”

“He was,” Jack confirms, simultaneously relieving and confusing you. “He wanted some sweets, I think.”

“Huh,” you say, because you can’t think of anything else. After a moment, you blink yourself out of your thoughts and return to the original reason you’d brought the young man here.

“Anyway, go ahead and try those! Tell me which one you like most, and I’ll get more out for you.”

Jack doesn’t need to be told twice; he’s diving for the sweets he’d stored on the chair and tearing into the first one he can get his hands on before you’re even finished talking. Within split-seconds he has it in his mouth and he’s giving you a wide-eyed look.

“y/n, this is so good!”

He is definitely not wrong. Smiling, you reach up and attempt to retrieve more of the one in his hand to restock him.

“I know right?! Just wait until you try the other ones.”

x     x

You’d thought it earlier, but it becomes more apparent now that just as you’d figured, something had changed in Gabriel the other day.

Now, don’t get it wrong—he is still quiet and refuses to speak most of the time, and most of his day is spent within the confines of his room, but lately… he’s begun to sneak out a bit more.

Well, sneak maybe has a little bit of a negative connotation. He’s allowed to be out of his room, of course. It’s just that he’s so quiet and quick that sneaking is the only fitting term you can think of for the way he slinks silently through the bunker.

The idle thought crossed your mind at some point that maybe he just wants to be a part of it all, even for a brief moment, and even if it just means he hovers on the outskirts of the room instead of actually joining in.

Sometimes you’ll come out in the morning and find him curled on one of the plush chairs in the library, hidden behind one of the bookshelves. Other times he might wander into a room when the occupants are in the middle of something, whether that be researching, playing a game, watching something, or even arguing. Actually, he probably shows up most often for the latter. Stirring the pot was his specialty back when, and it seems a pot ready to bubble over is something he is naturally drawn back to as he starts to feel a little more like himself.

Most of the times you've spotted him at the periphery of the room, it's been bickering that has, admittedly, more often than not started at your hands. It’s not your fault! For two brother’s who have literally survived several almost-apocalypses, the Winchesters are awfully easy to tease. Sometimes you give Jack or Mary a few proverbial pokes, but you don’t really have the heart to follow through for very long. The guilt you feel when you rile up Sam and Dean is minimal, but when you start to stir up anyone else in the bunker you feel guilty after about five seconds of it.

Today’s victim is, as often happens to be the case, Dean. Sometimes you seek him out if you’re in a particularly bastardous mood, but today he happened to walk in front of your crosshairs of his own accord. Wrong place, wrong time.

“I’m just saying,” you struggle to keep a straight face as you speak. You can see the red beginning to colour the tips of Dean’s ears and know that you’re getting to him, as much as he is trying not to let it show. “The bacon that you used for that burger… I think it was the one that was out of date.”

“No way,” Dean denies immediately. “I checked the dates, this was from the good packet.”

“Where was it?” you ask him, raising a brow and crossing your arms. He stills for a moment as he attempts to recall which portion of the fridge the bacon was residing in.

“Left side, towards the front.” He finally informs you, looking proud of himself. You lean back in your chair, wincing at him.

“Dude… that was the out-of-date one.” You shake your head, giving him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry to tell you, but you’re gonna be super sick later.”

Now, the thing about this argument is that there was no out-of-date bacon that he could have used. You threw it out the other day. But, he doesn’t know that. And if you can convince him that the burger he is more than halfway through was made with funky meat, then you bet his reaction is gonna be really funny.

Dean throws an accusing finger in your direction, scowling. His ears tinge a little more red. “Stop gaslighting me, twinkletoes! I know which bacon I used!”

“Yeah,” you say, gesturing vaguely. “The out-of-date one.”

Dean doesn’t believe you, of course, but you do catch him giving the burger in his hold a cursory glance. He huffs a breath out of his nose.

“If it’s out of date, then why does it still taste so good?” Dean says, with all the gusto of someone who’d just said something worthy of a mic drop. His free hand even moves to his hip, and one of his brows raises at you while his lips purse.

You shrug, resting your legs on the corner of the table and crossing one over the other. The corner stabs into you when you slip slightly and prompts a readjustment. “I don’t know, man. You eat a lot of shit so it could just be that you’re accustomed to funky-tasting food.”

For a moment he appears like he wants to refute what you said, but he seems to think better of it as he, presumably, recalls the meals he’d had as of late. His lips are still pursed as he stares at you for a second with narrowed eyes, the cogs visibly turning in his head.

“You know what,” he begins, sounding a little testy. You pause for a moment, though, as you detect something else in his tone. “Why don’t we bet on it if you’re so sure? Loser has to do the other’s chores for a week.”

“Deal,” you say immediately, without even entertaining the possibility of losing. You presume that he’s just going to judge this on whether or not he gets food poisoning later (which you can easily interfere with; there are a number of things in the bunker that are good for upsetting a stomach), and aren’t too worried. That changes in the next second when you see him turn and make his way to the bin where the bacon packaging no doubt resides. You scramble into a sitting position, dread already creeping into your bones as you realise you’re about to be found out. Damn it, you already hate the chores you have when you’re here, you don’t want to do Dean’s as well!

You make a face as he finally reaches the bin, reaching in to procure the packaging from the top.

“HAH, see! Best by—”

You blink as he halts suddenly in his reading, the red fading from his ears and making way for a green hue to wash over his face.

“Oh. Oh god.” He says, much softer than his earlier proclamation. He drops the packaging back in the bin, and the remains of his burger follow suit in the next heartbeat. He straightens, but doesn’t meet your eyes.

One of his hands comes to place over his stomach, his features twisting. “I’ll… be right back.”

And then he is using his long legs to his advantage and striding out of the room faster than you can comment. You’re left there reeling, alone in the kitchen.

“What the fuck,” you whisper to yourself, confused beyond belief. By all means, he should have read a date that was still safe. Unless you threw out the wrong bacon. But you’d been sure to check which you were throwing out when you did it, so there’s no way—

Your frantic inner monologue is cut off by the soft sound of shuffling on the outskirts of the room. You turn to investigate, and to your surprise catch sight of Gabriel quietly slinking to the door from the corner of the kitchen. He pauses like he feels the weight of your gaze on him, and turns to face you just slightly.

You’re too surprised to even say anything in greeting, and that proves to be the case especially in the next moment when the archangel offers you a brief wink and then turns back the way he is facing, disappearing from the kitchen and leaving you truly alone this time.

It takes a second for the dots to connect in your head, but when they do you can’t help the surprised laugh that leaps from you.

Gabriel had just saved your ass from doing extra chores for a week.

You’d have to slip him some of your stash as a thanks.

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[unpack-my-heart]

Above, Beneath, Betwixt, Between

@violetreddie @constantreaderfool @tinyarmedtrex @xandertheundead @mrs-vh @eds-trashmouth @annoyingtozier @burymestanding

Read on AO3 HERE

To: stanelyuris@outlook.com

From: trashmouthtozier@gmail.com

Dear Stan The Reanimating Man,

Howzzit. My name is Richard Wentworth Tozier The First, and I’m being haunted.

Well, haunted is a strong word. There’s a guy that lives in (deads in?) my house who insists he died in the 1940s. I can’t touch him, and he walks through my walls when I’m in the shower and last night he burnt all my food when he floated through the table. Burnt broccoli is no laughing matter, Stanley. So I’m inclined to believe him.

Now, your website has confused me somewhat. Are you a wizard? Do you use a wand? Or are you some sort of reverse exorcist? It says that you’re a ‘corporeal reanimator’ but that just makes me think of Victor Frankenstein and we all know how that went down. I’m getting distracted.

I need your help.

Can you come and visit me and Eds? Eds is the ghost, the dead dude, the broccoli burner etc etc. I’ll tell him about you. I’ll pay for your transport, of course.

I’ve attached my contact details, so please do ring me or reply to this email ASA fuckin’ P.

Anxiously awaiting your response,

Richie

Stan sat back in his comfy office chair and sighed.

A wizard.

Stanley Uris was many things, but a wizard he was not. He was perfectly clear on the website, and had provided a lengthy FAQ that went to great lengths to explain what corporeal reanimation was, and why it should not be confused with magic, witchcraft or necromancy. He was not a necromancer. He was a scientist. A man of rationality, of logic and mathematical precision, and he just so happened to be able to reanimate the dead.

He tapped out a short reply, and hit send, and before opening google to check flight times to Scotland.

To: trashmouthtozier@gmail.com

From: stanelyuris@outlook.com

Dear Richard Tozier,

I’m not a wizard. Please click here to re-read my FAQs. I am a corporeal reanimator. I can manipulate energy, I don’t have a wand, and I don’t know any spells.

I have booked a flight to Scotland that lands next Wednesday at 21:00 (9pm). You can pick me up from Edinburgh International Airport. I’ll be staying with you. I am a vegetarian.

Dr. Stan Uris.

– X –

When Richie had shown Eddie the reply from Stan Uris, he’d expected Eddie to be elated. He hadn’t expected Eddie to immediately disappear through the floorboards.

“Eds! You know I hate it when you do that,” Richie yelled, charging down the stairs into the kitchen where Eddie was pacing back and forth, hands clasped behind his back.

“We don’t know anything about this man, Richie. We don’t know who he is or what his motivations are or what he might …”

“What he might what?”

“What he might do to me,” Eddie finished in a whisper, staring at Richie with eyes as wide as dinner plates.

Richie opened and closed his mouth, failing to find the right words, the words that would reassure Eddie that he wouldn’t let anything happen to him, that he wouldn’t let a wizard zap him into the great beyond without their consent, that he’d fight tooth and nail to keep Eddie right there, with him, in their little house on the moors.

Because that’s what it was, really. Their house. The walking through the walls, the singing jaunty songs at three in the morning when he was trying to sleep, ad the way the ceiling lights would flicker violently when Eddie descended through the floorboards, maybe Richie had grown used to it. Maybe he’d laugh until his stomach hurt when Eddie pretended to get stuck half way through a wall, waving his limbs pitifully. Maybe his heart would beat erratically when he’d slip the oven mitts onto Eddie’s hands and make a show of pulling him out of the wall, and maybe his breath would catch in his throat when Eddie faux-swooned, batting his eyelashes and simpering, “my hero, Rich,” before laughing, high and bright and infectious. Maybe, in the dead of night,  Richie would watch Eddie from his bedroom window as he walked around the moors, as he shone in the dark like a star. A mass of burning rock that Richie had grown … used to. Maybe.

He’d never say as much, though.

“Rich?”

Richie blinked.

Eddie was still waiting for a response.

“I won’t let him hurt you,” Richie said, “I won’t. I won’t let him take you away”

“Do you promise?” Eddie replied, mousey-small and honeyvoiced.

“I promise, Eds. So long as there’s breath in my lungs and blood in my veins I won’t let him take you away from me”

– X –

Stan’s plane was late. Richie had been waiting in the arrivals lounge of Edinburgh International Airport for over an hour now. Mike was waiting in his truck, Mr. Chips curled up on the passenger seat, BBC Radio 4 filtering out of the speaker, a picture of perfect calm. Richie was not calm, having convinced himself thirty minutes ago that sending a stranger several hundreds of pounds over PayPal under the guise of transporting them over an ocean to help him with his ghost problem was reckless at best and downright idiotic as worst.

Fifteen more minutes pass, and Richie was seconds away from turning around and giving up when a man with a mass of curly hair and large, thin rimmed glasses appeared in front of him.

“Richard?”

“Holy shit you came”

The man smiled, a sly quirk of the lips.

“I did. Are you ready to go?”

Richie grinned, “Fuck yeah, now, lemme tell you about my Eds --”

– X –

The drive from Edinburgh to Skye was long, over five hours, but Richie found himself silent for most of it. Banished to the back seat of Mike’s truck at the first rest-stop after Stan complained of feeling car sick, his many attempts to join in the animated conversation between Stan and Mike had failed miserably.

“Yoo’v got a PhD? Are ye a medical doctor or…?”

“My PhD was in plasma physics, so I’d be useless in any emergency that didn’t involve electromagnets”

“So yer a smart one, then?”

“I suppose so”

Mike and Stan continue to chatter, the conversation ebbing and flowing effortlessly. A torturous four hours later and they’d arrived back at Richie’s little house. Richie hopped out of the truck, knees buckling immediately under the weight of his leaden bones. The lights in the house were on, and Richie could see a lacquered shadow pacing back and forth in the kitchen window.

“He’s in,” Richie muttered, gesturing towards the window.

Stan and Mike glanced towards the kitchen, but predictably, Eddie had disappeared. Richie suppressed a groan.

“Have you met him?” Stan asked Mike as he walked back to the truck, swinging the back door open and hauling his duffle bag towards him.

“Nae, I haven’t. I have – I’ve met other ghosts though, other … people”

“Oh?”

“My parents died in a house fire years ago. Ah still see my maw walkin’ around sometimes”

Richie, growing increasingly impatient, cut Stan off before he could reply.

“Maybe we could discuss Mike’s tragic history later? Do you want me to go into the house and see if I can get Eddie to agree to show himself?”

Stan was silent for several moments, pulling various small electronic devices out of his bag.

“No, I’ll go. I want to ask him something,” Stan said, tucking a small black box into the back pocket of his jeans. He held his hand out to Richie, gesturing at the house keys clutched in his hands.

“Are you sure? He’s quite flighty. I really think I should –”

“Richie. It’s fine, I’m not going to hurt him, I just want to talk,” Stan reassured, voice soft but eyes firm, confident.

Richie hesitated, but gave Stan the keys nevertheless.

“If I hear him yelling, I’m gonna come runnin’, though, just a warning”

Stan said nothing, just walked purposefully to the door of the house, opened it, and shut it behind him.

– X –

When Stan had first walked through the door into the house, he’d been prepared to have to stomp right back out again. Most of the people who called him out were frauds, or had particularly noisy water pipes. He’d give them the number of a particularly good plumber, and bill them for wasting his time.

The house was still. Too still.

“Edward?”

Silence.

“Edward, my name is Stan. I’m here to help you. Your friend Richie called me, can you come out?”

Still nothing.

“Okay, Edward. I’m going to turn off all the lights now, is that okay?”

Silence, but then a click, and the lights in the house all flicked off at once. Stan shut the fuse cupboard, and stepped into the centre of the room. The small black box in his back pocket started vibrating violently, letting off a high-pitched hum.

“You can call me Eddie, if you want”

Stan span on his heels, and there he was, as if he’d always been there. A man, around Stan’s height, maybe smaller, dressed in a khaki uniform.

“Eddie?”

“Richie said you wouldn’t hurt me but I don’t think I trust you”

“I know. You don’t have to trust me yet, but I need to ask you a favour. Can you hold this?”

Stan plucked the black box from his pocket and held it out to Eddie, who stared at it.

“What is it?”

“It’s an energy converter. I want to see what type of energy you are, it’ll help me better understand how to help you”

“What type of … energy? What does that mean?” Eddie asked, taking several cautious steps towards Stan.

“Have you ever heard the theory that energy cannot be created or destroyed?”

Eddie shook his head.

“Basically, all living things are infused with energy,” Stan continued, still holding out the black box, “and when living things die, the energy doesn’t just disappear. Sometimes it seeps into the ground and helps trees and plants to grow, sometimes it evaporates into the sky and causes electrical storms and sometimes it gets stuck”

“Is that me? Am I stuck?”

Stan nodded his head.

“You’re stuck, or, your energy is stuck, and the longer you’ve been stuck, the stronger your electrical current has become. What you are now is basically just a big ball of pure energy, and this energy can represent itself in reality as various different types depending on the context”

As he was talking, Stan felt Eddie take the black box out of his hands.

“Good, so in a few moments we should –“

– X –

A few seconds after Stan disappeared into the house, all of the lights in the house turned off at once.

“Are you soft on him?” Mike asked, breaking the silence.

“Soft on Stan? Naw,” Richie replied, knowing that that wasn’t what Mike was asking, but choosing to avoid the question nevertheless.

“Not him. Eddie. Are you soft on him?”

“He’s a ghost”

“That’s not what I asked”

“He’s dead”

“That’s not what I asked”

Richie slumped against Mike’s truck, leaning his head back on the passenger side window.

“I guess I might be just a little soft on him”

“Stan might be able to help ye. He’s smart, he’ll figure it out”

A ball of pure white light shot out of the open living room window, careening into the sky before bursting into a shock of blue flame, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. Richie screamed, slamming a hand over his mouth.

“Eddie!”

Richie and Mike ran towards the house, and started pounding on the locked door with clenched fists.

“EDDIE!” Richie roared again, debating throwing a rock through the kitchen window and throwing himself through it, broken glass be damned. As soon as he’d found a reasonable sized rock, however, the door swung open.

Stan was standing on the other side of the door, a wry smile on his face, and behind him, wringing his hands, stood Eddie.

Mike, unfazed, stuck out his hand, “nice ta’ finally meet ye, Eddie”

Richie slapped at his arm, “he can’t touch you, dumbass”

“I was jist tryin’ tae be polite, he looks like he might boak”

Stan waved his hand, as if to catch their bickering in his hands. Mike and Richie fell silent, expectant.

“I know how to help you”

– X –

It takes Stan five attempts to explain to Richie what he’d already explained to Eddie.

“So he’s just … energy?”

“Yes, Richie”

“So … he could like, power my TV?”

“No… it’s not that kind of energy,” Stan said, exasperated, before picking Richie’s phone up off the table.

“Look, if I pan the camera over you and Mike, you both look entirely normal, yes?”

Mike waved at the camera, and Richie pouted.

“You look lovely,” Stan deadpanned, before panning the camera over to where Eddie was hovering in the corner of the room, “and when I pan it over to him,”

The phone screeched, a shimmery metallic sound, and the same pure white light that had erupted out of the living room window filled the screen.

“In some ways, Eddie is light energy. Here, his energy is made up of photons. He is pure light energy, but if you touch him,” Stan stood up, and walked purposefully through Eddie’s body. Eddie shrieked, and disappeared through the wall.

Stan held up his arm, and motioned to Richie, “touch my arm.”

Richie did.

“Jesus fuck that’s hot”

“Yup. That’s thermal energy. When you touch Eddie, or when he touches you, it burns because his energy vibrates your living particles much more than they normally vibrate, so it generates heat”

“I wish I’d paid attention in physics at school,” Richie muttered, throwing his hands up in the air dramatically, “well, what’s your big grand plan to bring Eddie back to the world of the flesh?”

“I’m going to turn Eddie’s energy back into matter. Have you heard of the equation E equals MC squared?”

“Uh … was that that dude with the moustache?”

“Yes, it was the dude with the moustache. Well, I’ll be using that equation and putting Eddie’s energy through a process that is sort of like the reverse of a nuclear bomb. In his current state, he’s like an exploding nuclear bomb in stasis, so I need to reverse that process.”

At that, a very panicked looking Eddie flies through the wall.

“I’m … I’m a bomb? Could I hurt someone?”

“No, no you’re quite stable, I just need to –” Stan tries, holding his hands up as if to calm Eddie, but it doesn’t work.

Eddie starts pacing around the room, muttering to himself, and it’s then that Richie remembers when Eddie died.

“Eddie, can I talk to you in the kitchen?” Richie asks, not waiting for a response, already half way to the kitchen. Eddie follows wordlessly.

Richie shuts the door behind him, and Eddie floats through the wall.

“Richie, Rich, I don’t want to hurt you, maybe I should leave, maybe I should go out onto the moors, away from everything, away from you, I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want –”

“Eddie!” Richie cut him off, and thrust the oven mitts at a very forlorn looking Eddie.

“You’re not going to hurt me, you could never hurt me. You could never,” Richie said, sincerity dripping from his words like honey. He grabbed at Eddie’s oven-mitted hands, clasping them between his own, and wished for the thousandth time that there was nothing separating them.

Eddie blinked, eyes dry, face perfect, hair perfect.

“Please let us help you,” Richie pleased, “please let me help you”

“Okay,” Eddie whispered, and together, still joined at the hands, they walked back into the living room.

[rinusagitora]

In the throes of blood and blossoms

Fandom: Bleach

Characters: Karin Kurosaki, Momo Hinamori, Izuru Kira, Renji Abarai, OC: Mae Izumi, OC: Ryuuji Kawashima, OC: Sachihiro Masaba, OC: Kaoru Hatori

Pairings: platonic KarinHina-centric, platonic RyuuKarinMae, minor RenShuuKiraHina, mentioned badship AiHina

Words: 3,100+

Summary: Shinigami!Karin AU. Trade with @thuyuui who requested shinigami!Karin or platonic KarinHina something. WARNINGS— alcoholism, surrealism, gore, mentioned COCSA; The scars of her human life blister and boil, yet Momo soothes her.

AO3: works/20481566

Dreamwidth: N/A

FFN: s/13377820/1/ (sfw)

Daiichi loomed. He was taller than Karin remembered. His brains dripped onto her forehead from the cracks in his scalp, he wheezed and twitched.

“I thought you loved me,” she told him.

“I thought you loved me,” he retorted.

“I guess we were both wrong.”

Karin grabbed him by the fissures in his head and ripped him in half. His bones cracked like thunder.

—

Karin shrieked. Izuru shook her out of her hysteria. Her hair and clothes were caked to her sweaty skin like scales.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, it was just a bad dream,” Momo said.

Just a bad dream. Daiichi was a bad dream too. He couldn’t hurt her anymore, she couldn’t hurt him. “What time is it?” Karin asked breathlessly.

“Just after midnight,” Izuru answered.

Karin peeled herself off the couch, pulled on her sandals, and made for the door. She needed fresh air. Izuru wasn’t too far behind her by the looks of it. She hated to worry him, but unless he asked her, she kept her distance.

She came upon a stagnant pond. She waded into its waters and floated on its surface. Was it not for Izuru behind her, she would have allowed herself a meltdown. She couldn’t worry her roommates more than she already did. But her human life was still a fetid sore in her chest. It built up until Karin was more pain than person. But the water, cool and calm, soothed her tension plenty. It was like her death all over again. The sense of liberation was a relief.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Izuru asked. His head gently collided with her own as he floated with her.

“It was just a bad dream, just silly.”

“You’re pale as fresh linens. That doesn’t seem so silly.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it. I want to be alone right now.”

Izuru receded into kidou-fueled invisibility. She quietly thanked him for his consideration.

Karin didn’t want to kill herself, she just needed the weightlessness to carry her heavy soul.

Daiichi was quite the monster. Years after her rape, years after his murder, and he still visited nightly. Her backside burned. Her gums were raw.

She floated until daylight. She returned home, bathed, and dressed for school, and wordlessly left the house for school, where she was alone, even when she was with Ryuuji and Mae. That was the fate for people like her. Dirty people. People with blood on their hands.

Mae waited at the entrance with asauchi in hand.

“I brought strawberry juice for lunch. Do you and Kawashima want to have lunch with me?”

“Yeah…. I’ll ask Ryuuji what his plans are.”

Mae was quiet for a moment. Their poker faces were both well-practiced, but Mae was astute. “What’s on your mind?” she asked.

Karin shrugged. “Insomnia. I didn’t have breakfast, either.”

Mae gave her a bag of dried persimmons. “Eat. I’ll see you at lunch at our usual spot.”

“Oh… thank you. I’ll see you at lunch.”

Karin sat in her first class of the day. Not a heartbeat later, she was joined by a classmate, Sachihiro Masaba.

“Hey,” he said, “you’re Karin, right?”

There were many times where Karin was subject to exchanges with curious and occasionally impolite classmates. Her bizarre powers were wild rumor after an incident a year ago when she threw an enormous wood pillar at Toushirou Hitsugaya during a school-wide remedial lesson. Of course, she was always a subject of curiosity, since she lived with polyamorous lieutenants. It was a socialite’s gossip wet dream.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Well, I’d appreciate it. I’m sure you’re harassed by a number of classmates, though,” he said. “Part of our assignment has me completely lost. You’re smart. Could you spare a minute to help me out?”

“Sure.” At least he didn’t care to grill her about her life. “What’s got you stuck?”

Karin tutored Sachihiro for a minute before class began. When the first bell rang, he leaned in and said, “Thanks, Karin-chan. You wanna go party this weekend? There’s gonna be a ton of booze.”

She sneered. “You wanna see me sloshed?”

“Considerate it thanks for helping me out. I’ll even bring my girlfriend so you don’t go thinking I’ll, I dunno, rape you or something…. That’s my girlfriend Kaoru’s biggest fear. Hence why I bring it up.”

Karin’s heart lunged into her throat. She was so touchy, the mere mention of sexual assault made her ill. Nonetheless, she laughed it off. “Can’t be too careful. There are some creeps out there.”

“So… I’ll pick you up at seven, then?”

“Seven works for me. I’ll see you then.”

—

“A party? Like… fuck, what did you call it? A kegger or something?”

“Yeah. Sachihiro Masaba invited me. I’d like you guys to come with,” Karin said to Ryuuji and Mae.

“I, for one, would love to go. My chemistry class is keeping me up late anyways. I need a night to wind down,” Mae replied.

“I don’t have a choice by the sounds of things,” Ryuuji concurred.

“Alright. Just get to my place before seven tonight.”

—

“A party?” Renji, Izuru, and Momo exclaimed simultaneously.

“Yeah. One of my classmates invited me. I’ll be going with Ryuuji, Mae, and his girlfriend Kaoru,” Karin explained as she pulled her hair into a pair of buns.

“Well… if you won’t be alone, I suppose I have no qualms with you going,” Momo said. “Just… promise me you won’t drink too much.”

“Love, that’s the point of these things,” Renji retorted.

“Yeah. And I’m an adult. I’ll pace myself.”

“These tend to get out of hand too,” Izuru said. “I don’t want to smother you, Karin-chan, but no more than two drinks tonight, okay? You can get sloshed when you come home. God knows I never fucking sleep to begin with.”

She sighed. “Alright. No more than two drinks if it puts you at ease.”

Karin was alerted by Mae and Ryuuji’s reiatsu in the house. They had let themselves in. Karin brought her friends over enough times they had a standing invitation.

“Well, aren’t you all prettied up,” Ryuuji complimented. “Hello, Lieutenants.”

“Kawashima, Izumi,” Momo greeted as Renji and Izuru dispersed. “Watch Karin-chan for me. No more than two drinks tonight.”

“Aye aye,” Ryuuji replied.

Not too long after, Karin felt Sachihiro outside. He wore a plain yukata, open to his belt, when she opened the door. Kaoru Hatori was a beautiful young woman with a square face, thin wrists, and dark hair braided around her head.

“Hey there,” she said. “We ready to head out?”

“Let’s go.”

“So,” Kaoru began, “how long have you and Sachihiro been friends?”

“Less than twenty-four hours. He just invited me after I helped him with his homework,” Karin said. “I’m not one to turn down free booze so I couldn’t refuse.”

Kaoru laughed. “Yeah, me neither. Vice and virtue, I guess.”

“I’m not sure what that means.”

“We all have flaws. Ours just happens to be alcohol.”

“Oh,” Karin said, “yeah. That’s true.”

Karin wondered what Kaoru meant. Perhaps she was just paranoid, but it seemed like strange wording.

Not long after, they came upon the shore of a large lake. The sand shimmered and the air glittered. The sense of magic was potent.

“Is this really where it’s supposed to be? Did the guards bust it or something?” Ryuuji said.

“No. It’s just hidden,” Sachihiro explained. “Anyone better at kidou than myself?”

“I am,” Mae replied confidently. She pushed Sachihiro aside, raised her hands up to the starry sky, and chanted under her breath. They were enveloped by people moments later. The smell alcohol was as cacophonous as the sound of juvenile delinquency. Karin was right at home.

“Holy shit, Izumi-san, this is amazing,” Sachihiro said with awe. “I didn’t think you could do it so fast.”

“You underestimate me,” Mae said as she tucked her hair behind her ear.

“I’ll get us drinks. What does everyone want?”

“Whiskey,” Kaoru and Mae said.

“Just some beer,” Karin answered.

“Sake here.”

Karin and Ryuuji placed a blanket over the sand and their group sat down to chat before Sachihiro returned with drinks.

“So, what’s it like living with four Lieutenants?” Sachihiro enquired when he gave Karin her beer.

“Like living with any other married couple. There’s just a bigger bed.”

Sachihiro’s eyes were wider than saucers. “They aren’t just roommates?”

“You need to fix your radar, dude. Nontraditional marriage is more common than you think. Matsumoto-fukutaichou and Ise-taichou have been married for a couple years. Outoribashi-taichou and Hirako-taichou too. Kira-fukutaichou has his fair share of gay subordinates in long-term partnerships.”

“Do… do they all fuck each other?"

"Sachihiro, not appropriate!” Kaoru hissed.

“It’s fine,” Karin groaned. “Yes. Like most married couples, the Lieutenants I live with have a rich sex life.” Of course he turned out to be nosy. “Masaba, the Seireitei is more queer than you realize. Just keep your questions to yourself. Either way, it’s not your business.”

“Nonetheless, it’s a relief. I’ve been scared for Kaoru's… y'know.”

Karin pictured, just for a split second, her hands around Sachihiro’s dumbass windpipe. Kaoru looked terrified as well. “Dude, you can’t just out your girlfriend like that. Just because the Seireitei has a lot of queers in it’s ranks, doesn’t mean there isn’t queerphobia. Outing her to the wrong people could cost her her life.”

“I’m sure. But I know I could tell you about it because you’re pretty open-minded. Kaoru can protect herself pretty well, too.”

“I don’t care what you think about me. The fact of it is you can’t just out her to whoever you want. It’s her decision who she comes out to..”

Mae’s hand clasped Karin’s shoulder like a vice. “Let’s go for a walk,” she commanded.

“God, I hate straight people,” Karin snapped. “I hate men. They treat girls like fucking… fucking property they can do anything they want with. How dare he out that poor girl.” Daiichi treated Karin the same way, like a fucking thing he could do anything he pleased with. Like when he told his friends she liked girls, and suddenly she was asked everyday if they could watch her have sex with other girls. Daiichi took her whenever he pleased. It made her blood boil. It made her eyes water with humiliation.

“That was incredibly inappropriate.” Mae and Karin sat on a hollow log together. Mae held her hand. “What’s wrong? This has you… unusually emotional.”

Karin wiped her eyes. “I’m just… I’m tired of men, Mae.”

“Okay. Let’s go home. I’ll fetch Ryuuji so we can get out of here.”

Mae left Karin alone. She saw a bottle of whiskey not too far away, more than half full. She plucked it out of the sand, downed it in a handful of swallows, and tried to ignore Daiichi’s phantom behind her.

—

Mae’s nails dug into Karin’s arm. She was madder than Karin was wasted.

“Karin, I have no idea why you keep doing this to yourself.”

“Drinking myself shit-faced?”

“Yes.” Mae sighed. “I’ve never been good with social graces, Karin, but I can tell something is amiss, and you refuse to tell me why. It’s quite vexing.”

Karin’s head lolled back. “I can’t tell you about it.”

“Why not? Have I not earned your trust?”

“Of course. I just… can’t tell you, is all.”

“Can you tell me why?”

“I’ll get into a lot of trouble if I tell you.”

Mae’s red eyes darted between Karin and the road. “I see,” she said. “Once you tell me, I will keep your secret. There’s nothing you could have done worse than what I have done.”

Karin groaned. She ought to give Mae something, at least. “It’s just… everyone keeps sticking their whole fucking fist in my business. Reminds me of my brother, always lording over me. Sachihiro Masaba wasn’t the man I thought, and it reminded me of my brother.”

“I thought you were an only child,” Mae replied, as if it at all related to what happened with Sachihiro.

“I lied. I’ll let you in on this secret. You’re a good friend, you deserve some honesty.” Karin walked with her head on Mae’s shoulder. “My brother is… powerful. We come from a powerful bloodline. My brother refused to let me to take advantage of my powers. He smothered me, like his so-called good intentions fixed everything. I wanted to nurture my power. I needed to. Someday, he wouldn’t be there to protect me, so I wanted to learn to protect myself. I eventually killed myself to escape his tyranny.”

“… are you a Kurosaki?”

“You promised to keep it a secret. You can’t tell anyone.”

“I will.” Mae helped Karin back up to her feet. “Let’s get you home, Karin.”

—

Karin was handed off to Momo. They stumbled onto the couch where Karin seized Momo’s lap.

“Drank too much,” she answered before Momo even asked. “Bad night. Men are Awful with a capital a.”

“Unfortunately, the good ones are few and far between.”

“You must’ve won the lottery then if you married three of them,” Karin said.

“Yes and no.” Momo combed Karin’s hair out of her face. “Regardless, you need to be vigilant, Karin-chan. You smell like you drank a barrel of scotch.”

“It was a bottle of whiskey and a beer.”

“My point exactly. You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep drinking like this.”

“That Masaba is a dillweed.”

“The boy you went to that party with?”

“Yeah. Outed someone without their permission…. A transwoman, nonetheless. I don’t think anyone overheard but I’m still super worried for Kaoru-chan. She’s super sweet.”

“That is a very inconsiderate thing to do. I will have Izuru speak with this Sachihiro Masaba tomorrow.”

Karin snorted. “Like that’s gonna do anything. Men are thoughtless. He’ll just forget or something, and even if he doesn’t, there are two more douchebags to take his place.”

“… I’ll get your blanket, dear. Just get some rest.”

Karin was laid on a throw pillow, and moments later, she was coiled in a blanket like an infant.

—

Daiichi loomed, with his head in two pieces from the neck up. Worms and maggots wriggled in his gore. Even though his eyes dangled from his optic nerves, she felt his gaze on her.

“Are you gonna kill him too?"  he gurgled with the two halves of his mouth.

"No,” she said, “he’s not a fucking basketcase, unlike you.”

Daiichi’s head slapped together wetly. It still oozed blood between the parts, his mouth mouthed unevenly as he spoke. “You sure? You wanted to kill him.”

Sachihiro’s face suddenly replaced Daiichi’s as he swung a hammer down on her head.

—

Karin awoke in a cold sweat. Concentrated evil stood next to the door. Karin had no visual reference for Sousuke Aizen, but she knew it was him with a knife at Momo’s throat.

“She’s all I have left,” Karin whimpered, “don’t do this….”

The living room flooded with blood. Momo’s body was lost in the tide. Karin wailed as she waded through its waist-high depths in search for her precious mentor.

—

Shuuhei, Izuru, and Momo we’re gathered around Karin once she woke. Moonlight filtered through the curtains. Renji came from the kitchen with a mug of warm, chamomile tea.

“You were screaming in your sleep,” Izuru informed her. “Care to talk about it?”

Karin sat up, took her tea in both hands, and shook her head. “No. It was just a silly nightmare, is all.”

“Karin… you can’t bottle this up,” Momo told her. “Up. We’re going for a walk.”

Obediently, Karin set aside her tea, and followed Momo outside.

“You haven’t told me everything, honey,” she said. “I love you, Karin-chan, you know I do, but you have to be honest with me so I can help you. What really happened between you and Kurosaki?”

“I’ve told you everything that happened with me and Kurosaki,” Karin told Momo. Momo was still correct, however. Karin held back the majority of her nightmarish life in the World of the Living.

“So then what the hell is going on?”

“There was this… this boy,” Karin said. “He was nice to begin with. I fell in love and he took advantage of that.”

“He raped you, didn’t he?”

“A multitude of times,” Karin answered coolly, despite how her chest ached. “I don’t think anyone ever realized what he was doing until it was too late.”

“Too late?”

Karin’s eyes watered. The memory of her hands covered in his brains churned her stomach. “I killed him. He was choking me, telling me I was going to die. I kept telling him to stop, but he didn’t, and I couldn't… I couldn’t take it anymore, Momo. I grabbed him by the hair and bashed his head into the ground until grey matter was oozing out his head. I just… I didn’t know what to do anymore.”

Momo didn’t miss a beat. “Good riddance,” she said. “Honey, I’m sorry you went through that. Sousuke… Sousuke did the same thing. But what that boy did to you was wrong. You were only protecting yourself.”

“I know. I have no qualms having killed him. But I see him everywhere. In all men, I see us in every couple like Masaba and Kaoru-chan. Men who wantonly endanger their significant other, never consider their feelings.” Tears streaked down Karin’s face. She was embarrassed and miserable by her emotionality.

Momo cupped Karin’s face in her hands. “I am your ally, Karin-chan. It’s more complicated than that, of course, but I am here to shoulder your burdens with you. I won’t let you suffer alone.”

Karin squeezed her eyes shut. “Thank you,” she croaked, tearfully, and wrapped Momo in a tight hug. “I love you so much Momo. I’m always alone. I’m always hurting. I don’t know how to make it stop, but it hurts less when you’re around.”

“I love you too, Karin.”

—

Karin just… really wanted a hug.

She was she wasn’t normally the type who needed constant attention. She was fairly independent. Since she passed away, she hadn’t missed a single assignment deadline. She managed to balance her obligations with her social life. While feisty, she never really started confrontations.

Sometimes, she just… needed a hug. Like a back brace.

Momo caught her those times. Karin ended up bent uncomfortably as she wept in Momo’s shoulder. Things seemed a little better when Momo played with her hair.

“Thanks,” Karin said. “I’m sorry. I’ll get better.”

“Karin-chan, you’re fine,” Momo assured her, “we all have our moments of weakness. I’m here to help whenever you need it.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

“Are you going to be okay going to school today?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad. It’ll take your mind off this.”

“I’ll see you tonight, Momo.”

“I love you, Karin-chan.”

“I love you too.”