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sunsetinmyvein · 4 years

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You Pick a Fight - P2

Eyyyyy it’s prompt time. I have since forgotten what prompt’s @imagine-that-100 gave me from the prompt list for this part two, but hopefully you enjoy it anyway. :P

And I was right, because it wasn’t over. The pool incident was just the start of much more bickering and fighting over nothing that was set to come during the months between Matty and I. We hadn’t known each other all that well prior to that day, but it definitely set the bar for future interactions. Being argumentative and stubborn was just a habit neither of us could break, much to all of our mutual friend’s annoyance. It might’ve been on the verge of immature, since we were both pushing thirty, but neither of us cared. And we never really meant it. Grudges about stolen floaties were not held for long. It was a rare occasion that we genuinely made up and said sorry, but typically by the end of the day we had either forgotten about it or played some prank on the other to feel avenged about our wrong doing. Over the course of many months of arguing and pranking, Matty and I inevitably became closer. Realistically, Matty was probably one of my best friends by this point in my life. We saw each other at least a couple of times a week for various reasons and I enjoyed his company (mostly). But that wasn’t going to stop me from trying to constantly one-up him and make sure I destroy him any time he challenges me to anything. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, right? You gotta know your opponent’s weaknesses to best exploit them.

However, tonight was our regularly scheduled movie night. So, more than likely no arguing would be occurring tonight. The movie had already been picked by democratic vote by the group, which meant there would be no debates about that. Everyone was bringing their own snacks, nothing to fight over. And we rotated who hosted, so no arguments there either. This week it was Matty’s turn. Last week when it had been at my flat, we had picked a comedy movie to watch and ended up receiving a noise complaint from my neighbour about us being “too rambunctious”. I was hoping that we wouldn’t have the same issue to deal with this week given Matty’s much thicker walls. I was cutting up a tray of brownies that I was graciously bringing to share - one of which may or may not have been spiked with cayenne pepper just to spite Matty for last week when he mixed my bag of skittles with m+m’s - while I replayed the events of last week. The details of the movie were actually a bit of a blur, because after the few drinks that I had downed after a rough day at work, I recalled falling asleep. When I woke up, I found myself snoring on Matty’s shoulder. God, that was utterly embarrassing. Other than my snoring, to wake up cosying up to Matty? I’d rather be caught dead. But I must have been too distracted by these memories, because as I was cutting, I slipped and managed to slice open my thumb with my new knife.

I felt the cut the instant it happened, bracing myself for what I might see before I looked down. Sure as shit, all I saw was a lot of red. The first thought to run through my head was that my brownie plan was ruined. I couldn’t serve brownies that had been doused in blood. The second was that I absolutely needed to seal this wound as soon as possible. I raced to the bathroom, grabbing a roll of gauze and wrapping it around my thumb as tightly as I could. Do I call an ambulance? No, this wasn’t an ambulance sort of emergency. Emergency, though. I should go to the emergency room. Now. But I had to let the guys know I wasn’t coming. I could see the gauze starting to turn red as I searched my phone for Matty’s contact. Fuck, I felt so bad for bailing on this movie night given it was our regular thing, but this was really not good. Really, really not good. The phone rang twice before he picked up.

“Hey-”

“Look, I need to go to emergency.” I interrupted in a garbled rush.

“What?” He shouted down the line.

“I need to go to hospital, so I’m not gonna make it tonight.” I explained, slightly slower.

“What did you do?” He asked in an incredulous tone.

“I sliced my thumb open cutting brownies.” I just heard him laughing. “It’s not funny, Matty. I need stitches.” I frowned as I started to grab my essentials. What if they wanted to keep me in overnight? Oh my god, I was absolutely not prepared for something like this. I should have a go bag. Is that a thing normal people did? Have a go bag in case they accidentally injure themselves? Maybe smart people did.

“Do you need me to drive you?” He offered as I was contemplating what exactly I would put in a go bag.

“What? Uh, no. I’m okay. I think.” I rattled off.

“I’ll meet you there.” I heard him say. He what? Why would he want to come to the hospital?

“Wait. No, you don’t-” But he’d already hung up.

Before I left the house, I slapped another few layers of bandage over the gauze on my thumb to try and put some pressure on this cut that was apparently bleeding like a tap by the rate it was turning things red. Driving to the hospital with a thumb as fat as mine was with all the bandages wrapped around it was not easy to say the least, but I managed to get there in one piece. Once I had gotten there, paid for my parking, and then managed to check myself into the ER, I was able to take a seat and decompress slightly. But, the peace and quiet didn’t last long, because not even five minutes after I sat down a familiar face entered through the sliding glass doors.

“Good job.” Matty said as he approached, with a slow clap for emphasis.

“Don’t patronise me.” I scoffed.

“Show me.” He said as he took a seat in the uncomfortable plastic chair next to my own.

“It’s okay-”

“Just show me what you did.” He dismissed.

“I mean, I can’t really take this stuff off-” I gestured to my half blood-soaked bandages, “-or it’ll bleed worse.”

He let out a low whistle as he raked a hand through his curls. “Bloody hell.” He muttered under his breath, before glancing up at me. “Pardon the pun.” He added with a smirk.

“Shut up. It’s really not as bad as it looks.” I lied. I was trying to play it down, to pretend like I hadn’t briefly seen how deep that knife went, but I knew that this was definitely very vital that I see a doctor very fucking soon.

He met my gaze, clearly seeing the stress I was trying to hide. “You’re not very convincing.” He chuckled.

Despite my protests about him wanting to wait with me, Matty continued to ramble on about what he had done earlier in the day while we sat in the crowded waiting room. He also told me not to worry about cancelling on the movie night, and thanked me for trying to make brownies. If only he had known what his brownie was going to taste like. But at least he was distracting me from the weird sensation in my thumb. After about half an hour, I was called through to be seen by the nurse - which realistically just meant that I sat and waited in another room for a further ten minutes until I was finally seen by someone. When she walked in, she introduced herself and asked for a run down of the situation as she started gathering some supplies. After I had explained what I had done, she started moving towards my giant wad of bloody fabric.

“I’m gonna look away.” I warned the nurse, she just nodded in response. I felt her unravelling the bandages on my thumb, trying really hard to busy myself by studying the vision tester chart on the wall. She let out a quiet hum as she analysed the situation.

“All right. I am going to put some glue on this now to hold it, but we are going to need to anaesthetise you to properly sort this out. Is that okay?” She asked in a calm tone. They were going to knock me out? It was bad enough to need to be knocked out for?? Holy shit.

“Um, yep.” I nodded. “I suppose it’ll have to be.” I added with a nervous laugh. “When will that be?”

“As soon as they can get you in. Likely in the next few hours.” She answered.

When I came back out of the nurse’s station, I sat back down and told Matty what they had said.

“They need to sedate you?” He asked in shock.

“I’ve apparently done quite a number on myself.” I could feel the stress building up as the realisation set in. Oh my god. I had cut off my thumb. I had cut off my thumb and now they needed to reattach it. Holy fuck. Holy fuck.

“Hey, calm down.” He reassured, placing his hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be all right.”

“But what if it’s too late? What if I cut too far? What if-”

Thankfully, Matty interrupted my downward spiral of anxiety. “They would’ve told you if that were the case. They’re going to operate, so it must be fine.” He moved to take my good hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing mind as I nodded in agreement. At least one of us was the voice of reason right now. “When are you going in?” He questioned, seeming genuinely sympathetic.

“They said as soon as possible. I just have to wait here until a theatre frees up.” I replied. He just nodded thoughtfully. “You should go back to the movie night.” I said, eventually feeling guilty that he’d already been sat waiting here for an hour.

“No.” He shook his head as he rifled through his pocket. “You want some gum?” He asked, holding a packet out in my direction.

I looked down at them apprehensively. “They’re not some ridiculous flavour, are they?”

He laughed loudly. “No, I threw the wasabi ones out.”

It was another hour before I was finally called through to get ready for theatre. Now I was genuinely feeling pretty awful that Matty had been here this whole time. We had well and truly pushed past dinner time, he’d missed the movie, our friends were all sat at his place without him. He can’t have been having a good time stuck here with me.

“Okay, I gotta go in.” I said as I stood up.

“I’ll be here when you wake up.” He smiled up at me from his seat.

“Just go home, I’ll be fine.” I said as I gestured to the door.

“No.” He grinned.

“Go.”

“No.” His dark brown eyes bore into mine, clearly challenging me to push him further on the subject.

“I hate you, so much.” I grumbled as I heard the nurse call my name again.

“I love you, too.” He said, blowing a kiss for emphasis as I walked off.

The doctors all reassured me that the operation was going to be quick and easy. Knock me out, stitch me up, wake me up fifteen minutes later. Easy peasy. I had never had any issues with operations, being knocked out was easy. It was the stuff you had to be awake for that was hard. True to their word, when I saw the clock when I started coming to, it had been no more than half an hour than when I last checked the time. But my god I felt groggy. My brain felt like it had been replaced with a bunch of cotton balls and my eyelids might as well have been made of lead. I glanced down at my thumb, seeing a much smaller pile of bandages on there, that were now thankfully not soaked in blood. That was nice. I then caught sight of the man sat next to my bed.

“Hey, you’re up.” Matty said quietly as he stepped over. As soon as he leaned over the bed frame, the fluorescent lights above him just illuminated his dark, curly hair. Holy shit. It looked borderline angelic. “How’re you feeling?”

“Your hair…” I mumbled as I reached out my good hand to touch it.

He seemed surprised by my actions at first, before letting my run a hand through it. “What about it?” He asked with a quiet laugh.

“It’s really soft.” I answered, genuinely quite surprised by how nice it felt. “Has it always been that soft?” I felt like I had been missing out. I could’ve been touching this hair for nearly a year now and instead I had been swapping his shampoo for ranch dressing and perfume.

Matty seemed keen to indulge my anaesthesia haze, letting me bother him with all of my weird questions about his hair. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy. I did a lot of mean shit to him and here he was, sat with me in emergency all evening instead of hanging out with his friends. After the pranks I’d pulled, I likely didn’t deserve a friend like him. But he’d pulled them on me too. We were a pretty good pair, I suppose. And I had no idea if it was this lighting or what, but dare I say, Matty was looking pretty attractive today. Had I really just been so focused on butting heads with him that I never noticed these things before?

“Are you sure you really look this good? I feel like I must still be dreaming.” I said, pretending to shield my eyes.

He frowned, before the realisation dawned on him and his eyebrows shot up in surprise, “Are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe.” I shrugged.

“Don’t use cheesy pickup lines on me.” He chuckled.

“How else am I meant to pick you up?” I scoffed as I rolled my eyes.

“Are you trying to?” He asked as a smile slowly made its way onto his face.

“Maaaaybe.” I said in an attempt to be non-committal, but then my curiosity got the better of me. “Is it working?”

“I’m gonna remind you of this when you’re properly out of the anaesthetic.” He just looked amused. Not the reaction I had hoped for. But I was too tired to keep trying to come up with clever lines.

“Okay.” I muttered, nodding softly. “Gon’ sleep now, though.” I added.

“Rest up.” He agreed. “You’re gonna need all the energy you can get to deal with me giving you shit for this tomorrow.”

Part one

Part three

#Matthew Healy x Reader #Matty Healy x Reader #Sunsetinymvein #Sunsetinmyvein prompts #Sunsetinymvein requests

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beclynn-herondale · 4 years

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Maybe things can Change

This is extremely long and is probably all over the place and doesn't make sense, but hopefully my point of it comes across, I want to see things between Jocelyn and Jace improve, but I also wanted to address a little what I imagine Jace had to deal with after people found out he was Stephen and Céline's son along with being raised by Valentine, also to some Jace may seem out of character but this is the Jace I always saw.

Clary had asked Jace if he wanted to go to dinner with her and her parents tonight, Jace had gone a couple times before but hadn't been able to shake off the stares and feelings he got from Jocelyn, Jace had always been good at sensing others feelings most of the time, and Jocelyn wasn't hard to read when it came to him, he knew she didn't like him and couldn't blame her, but Clary was always trying so hard to make everyone get along and be happy, he wished he could help make it happen for her, but there were some things that wouldn't change

He counted many times he heard her saying 'what if he's like Valentine?'

He couldn't help but flinch when he heard her say it, she hadn't known he was listening, many were comparing him to Valentine or to Stephen, or on the very rare occasion to his mother, they would say 'he may be crazy just like his mom, I imagine that is something that is passed on' , they would also say 'he'll probably find someone else after he's done with Clary Fairchild, I mean his father did with his first wife'. People would also whisper 'Valentine's daughter' about Clary, she is nothing but good and she definitely isn't Valentine, it infuriates him when people treat her like that.

He didn't care that they were insulting him, he cared that they were insulting Clary and his Mother, and Amatis, he wasn't very fond of Amatis and didn't know her all that well, but that didn't mean she deserved to be talked about like that, and while he knows his father messed up and really could have been a better man that things were complicated and if Valentine saw through you he could play you like a puppet on a string, and sadly many were played like puppets, him being one of them

And what sucked was that everyone was always acting like he was the embodiment of his parents or Valentine, wasn't he his own fucking person?

Alec would get so upset when he heard people saying this stuff but Jace told him to let it be, but was returned with "you always stand up for me and protect me when I tell you to let it be, and you want me to not protect you?" Alec was always the big brother and Jace loved him for it, Izzy would try to fight people and he had to hold her back on occasion, even Simon would give people a glare, Magnus would give them looks as well probably on Alec's behalf. but there were some things you couldn't change,

Like how his mother Céline would only ever be looked at as a disgrace by many, she would only be seen as weak and pathetic, Jace didn't see her like that, he heard some stories from Maryse on rare occasion when she did speak of Céline that she was a good Shadowhunter and was a nice girl, who didn't interact much with others and preferred to be on her own, he understood that, he liked being alone sometimes too, Luke would say things from time to time but it was never much it always seemed like she was just someone who was not to be talked about, that's how many are with the topic of people with mental health issues or in her case suicide, but if only they knew she hadn't actually killed herself maybe she wouldn't be looked at in that way anymore, he had his own issues, he hid his well enough though that no one really knew, he knew his mother had them too but was never helped and it only got worse for her, He wished things could have been different for her, but wondered if she lived in fear of people finding out as well.

He wondered if he got them from her like people say or if he just slowly got them because of events from his childhood, but he also didn't feel he went through enough in his childhood that he would have gotten them, or did he?, he wasn't sure and was often to afraid to find out, he was actually afraid of something.

Sometimes when you walk past a room full of people whispering about you it's all just too much, how do you deal with it all when your thoughts are already enough?

He sat up on his and Clary's bed frustrated with his mind again, he did this often and it made him so frustrated with himself, he could spiral for hours and get to a point where he was sick, he started catching himself lately before that happened, he thinks too much about what other people think of him

He plays this person on the outside who says he doesn't care but that's so far from the truth, he does care, he cares too much and that's the problem, that's why there's gotta be a mask where he can pretend and make jokes and be the light-hearted guy who is sarcastic and thinks he's the best, that was the person he had to play and it was odd how slowly it became a part of him til he saw who he was in Clary's eyes and now he is that person around her and the people he loves

It was odd always being what others wanted, he thought one time is the 6 year old Jace even there anymore or did he disappear a long time ago, but he sees that Jace in Clary's eyes, she was his clearity.

He decided he should go, got Clary, he would rather be uncomfortable than see her upset

At that moment she walked into their room, Jocelyn had not been excited when Clary told her she was moving into the Institute, Clary told her she would have her own room, though her and Jace pretty much share one and they call it their bedroom, Clary told her mom that so she wouldn't flip out as much, Clary was the one who insisted she stay each night in here, Jace wanted her to of course but was afraid Jocelyn would find out, but now he wakes up everyday next to Clary and he doesn't know how to sleep without her there now, he always slept peacefully with her there, it was like his demons knew she would fight them off.

"So do you know if you want to come tonight?" She asked. Than added "No pressure and if you want to stay you can."

"I'll go," he said to her.

Her eyes lit up a little

"Well we better get ready," she said, as she walked towards their closet and pulled out a summer dress

He headed there too to put on nice jeans and a nice shirt, he picked out the floral one Clary got him and said he would look amazing and sexy in, he laughed at the memory

------

When they got there Luke and Jocelyn were already at the table waiting, Luke waved them over, and they both sat down

"hello sweetie, how are you?" Jocelyn said to Clary

"I am good, mom," she said, with that look that said your are being too formal

"and Jace, how have you been?" Luke asked

"fine, you?" He asked

"good" Luke answered

Jace knew the awkwardness and uncomfortable feeling was already setting in, he just had to get through dinner

The waiter came and took their order, he didn't order anything big cause he didn't have much of an appetite today, after dinner they went for a walk in the park

"Jace, can we talk?" asked Jocelyn

Jace was shocked, but he gathered his words together quickly

"yeah," he said, he wasn't sure what she wanted to talk about, he just hoped it wasn't about how he was like Valentine or how he isn't the person for Clary, he couldn't deal with that right now.

"come sit on the bench with me," she said

He gave her a suspicious look

"Just come sit," she said looking a little annoyed

He did, and he felt very tense, "so what do you want to tell me?" He asked

"do you know why I am the way I am towards you?" She asked

"no, I don't," he said with anxiety in his voice

"It's because you look so much like your mom, and I know it's petty of me but when I look at you I see Céline, I see the girl who took Stephen away from Amatis, I see things shattering and falling apart, but I now realize that isn't fair to you, but I can't look past it for some reason, because you don't just look like her, you also have so much of her in your personality, Céline had that fierceness that you have, she had those same soft eyes and you wanted to protect her, you remind me of her in many ways," she said and stopped for a minute

He hoped it wasn't gonna be something about how his mother was a bad person or was crazy, cause he was tired if hearing that.

"what are you trying to say exactly?" He asked

"I am saying you are so much like your mother sometimes, and something that did make me like her a little was how when she was pregnant with you and came to hang out with me and Maryse when Jonathan and Alec were toddlers, I saw how much she already loved you, she would always have her hand on her stomach and I knew she would love you so much, Céline didn't really have anyone and I think she thought now she finally had someone to give love to and to be loved by, and I do feel sorry that she never got to be a mother, and she did love Stephen and he cared for her and loved her in a way, just not the way he loved Amatis," she said

"I know he told me in a letter he left me," Jace said, and didn't know why he told Jocelyn that

"you don't know much about them, do you?" Asked Jocelyn

"no, and sometimes I don't know if I want to," he replied

"sometimes we have to take the horrors with the good," she told him, "your parents made mistakes but they did have good in them, no matter how much I may have not liked Céline, she did have good in her, and Stephen did as well, they were just thrown down the wrong path, and didn't turn back when they could have, I know because I did the same," she said

"why are you telling me all this?" He asked

"because if you'll let me, I will start to tell you things about your parents," she said as she looked at him waiting for his answer

"I'd like that," he said, and it took him back to a time when he was ten, when he was heading to the Lightwoods and Jem had told him about parabatai and he said he would like one, he wasn't sure why saying that made him think of that time, but it did, he said it when he was really interested he noticed. "But why the change of heart? I thought you didn't like me," he said

"Clary talked to me today and told me it isn't fair that I am judging you so harshly and don't know much about you, I love my daughter but sometimes I think she's more stubborn than me," Jocelyn said

"She is one of the most stubborn people I know, but it's partly why I love her so much," he said and realized he said it without thinking

She looked at him with a softer look now

"She also told me you aren't going anywhere and that you are the person she has chosen to love so that I better get use to you being around," she said with a fond smile for her daughter

"Yeh that sounds like Clary," he said with a smile

"She loves you so much, and I can see you love her just as much, when you two were first together it scared me cause I didn't want her getting hurt by love like I did," Jocelyn said

"Jocelyn, I won't ever hurt Clary, I promise, if I did believe me I'd want her to find someone else—" he said but was interrupted

"I know you won't and it's why I am going to try to get to know you, you love my daughter as much as I do, if not possible more and that shocks me, you don't need to keep defending yourself anymore, I have been unfair and have made you feel terrible, and I suppose even as old as I am I still have growing to do," she said

"We are always growing, no matter how old we are, we never stop, that's the thing about Mundanes, Downworlders and us Nephilim, it doesn't matter what we are or how long we live, we are always changing and growing, sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worse," he answered and was surprised by his own answer

"I suppose your right," she said

The old Jace would have said 'of course I am' but he wasn't that Jace anymore and he did mean what he said

"So will you be coming to dinner more often again?" She asked

"I will," he said, "we better catch up with Clary and Luke."

"yes," she said

and they walked together towards Clary and Luke, she was telling him about some of the things the circle got up to in the academy before they started doing the horrible things they did.

And he didn't say anything just listened.

——————

"So I saw you talking to my mom," Clary said, "what were you talking about if you don't mind me asking."

"she was telling me about my mom and dad, Stephen and Céline," he said and looked her in the eyes trying to read them

"oh, was it good or no?" She asked

"it was terrible, and she didn't say the usual things, although she did say that someone told her that I am not going anywhere," he said and gave her slight smile

"I am tired of seeing you uncomfortable, and you aren't, Jace I love you, you are my person and my mom needs to understand that," she said

"I know and I only love you more for it, you are always standing up for me, and I don't always know how to tell you how much that means to me," he said

"I know, you don't have to say anything, I know how much it means to you, your eyes always tell me," she said and looked at him with love in her eyes

"I know," said Jace, "and your mom offered to tell me more about them if I'm interested."

"are you going to?" She asked

"I don't want Maryse to think that I don't appreciate her being a mom to me all these years but I do want to know about my birth mother," he said

"I think Maryse will understand, and she knows that you look to her as a mom, and it's only natural for you to wonder hon," Clary said

"yeah, I just don't want to disappoint her," he said

"you won't," she said as she walked over and hugged him

There was something about being hugged by someone so small that made him feel comforted in an odd way, he kissed the top of her head

"now let's get ready for bed, I haven't hardly seen you today, with dealing with things," she said amusingly

"miss me that much huh?" He aaid

"don't push it Herondale," she said teasingly

"you know I like to tho," he said jokingly

"seriously come on," she said and pulled him towards the bed.

And they talked and snuggled and just enjoyed being in each other's arms.

Jace supposed he would take Jocelyn up on her offer, after all he wasn't trying to replace anyone, he was just curious, he didn't want to know much when he was 16 but now he did and he felt he owed it a little to hear the stories of his parents, even if it wasn't all going to be pretty, but life wasn't always pretty he thought.

Maybe some things do change.

Tagging @khaleesiofalicante and @my-archerboy cause I said I would tag you in stuff but haven't been 🙈

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dreamsequencer-whump · 3 years

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@let-the-whump-commence I wrote it!

What is it with this team and having things collapse on them?

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"Ronon, Rodney, you found anything yet?" John asked over the comms.

"I'm sure if they had, they would have said something," Teyla commented.

Sure enough, the reply came from Ronon: "Just rocks and more rocks. Honestly, I don't think there's anything here."

"Yes, well, I definitely picked up an energy signature consistent with a ZPM, and it's definitely in this cave. We just have to keep going," Rodney replied.

John and Teyla were standing guard at the mouth of a cave. Sensors had picked up an energy signature that seemed to indicate there was a ZPM in that cave, and of course they could always use more of those. So Ronon and Rodney had gone in to look for it.

Suddenly, Ronon cursed, and there was an ominous rumbling sound from within the cave.

"Guys? What's goin' on in there?"

More rumbling, then a series of loud crashes, and then Rodney came running out of the cave. Alone.

"What happened? Are you alright? Where's Ronon?" John asked, not leaving enough time between questions for Rodney to answer.

"The whole damn place caved in on us," Rodney said breathlessly. "I'm fine. Ronon, he- I think he saved my life. He pushed me out of the way just before it happened."

"Where is he, Rodney?"

"He didn't... he didn't make it out."

Shit.

"Ronon, can you hear me?" he asked over the comms.

An agonizingly long pause, and then, "I have good news and bad news."

John let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "It's good to hear your voice, buddy. Tell me this news of yours."

"Well, the good news is, I found the ZPM. Bad news is, it's not in the cave, but under it. And... so am I, now. There's some kinda room down here."

"I don't suppose there's any chance you could climb out?"

"I could, if the way out wasn't blocked."

"Okay, then just... stay where you are, I'm coming to get you."

"I couldn't go anywhere if I tried. But... I'm not sure that's a good idea. Place is probably pretty unstable, and I don't want you trapped down here with me, or worse."

"Ronon is correct," said Teyla, seeing that John was about to protest. "It would be unwise to risk going in."

"Well, then what are we supposed to do?"

"One of us should go back to Atlantis for help," she suggested.

"Yeah... yeah, that's a good idea. You head back and get help, Rodney and I'll stay here."

She nodded, turning and heading back in the direction of the gate.

"Ronon? Listen, Teyla's heading back to Atlantis, she's gonna get help. So, uh... just sit tight, okay? You're not hurt, are you?"

"No, I'm not hurt," Ronon said, but his voice sounded strained.

"Ronon... if you're injured, just tell me."

"I'm not," Ronon snapped.

"Okay, okay. Sorry I asked."

For a while, they just sat and waited. Then, Ronon started to grow agitated.

John could tell, because he could hear him pacing. And breathing. Breathing heavily, like there was something wrong.

"Ronon, you didn't lie to me earlier, did you?"

"No," Ronon growled. "I'm not hurt."

John believed him. He didn't sound like he was in pain. He sounded... scared. But of what?

'I don't like small spaces.'

Of course.

"Ronon... are you claustrophobic?"

No response, aside from a low growl. Of course he wasn't gonna answer that, especially if the answer was yes.

The conversation had Rodney's attention by now. "Listen, if you are, it's nothing to be ashamed of. I mean, I'm actually a bit claustrophobic myself, it's not- it doesn't make you weak or anything."

Ronon made a noise that almost sounded like laughter. "Yes, because that makes me feel so much better. I'm not ashamed. I just know how the world works. Fears and phobias, that's shit that can be used against you. Best to keep it secret."

"Ooo-kay. That's some emotional baggage you should probably try to unpack at some point."

Another growl from Ronon and a pointed glare from John shut Rodney up.

"Listen, buddy, we're gonna get you outta there," John attempted to reassure him. "Teyla went for help, remember?"

"I know. I just-" He cut himself off with a shaky breath that sounded suspiciously like he was trying not to cry. "I just wish help would hurry."

Silence, for a moment, then Ronon spoke again. "John?"

"Yeah?"

"It's- it's getting hard to breathe."

Those words sent a surge of panic through John before he remembered the situation. He's claustrophobic and panicking, not dying. "Alright, I think you're having a panic attack. Just... okay, this would be easier if I were there with you, but you gotta try to breathe with me, okay?" He took slow, deep breaths, exaggerated so that hopefully Ronon could hear him.

Ronon, the absolute last person he'd ever expected to find himself walking through a panic attack. Logically, he knew Ronon wasn't fearless, and even from what little John knew about his past, he knew it would be nothing short of a miracle if he didn't have some sort of PTSD. But he still seemed so... untouchable. Unbreakable. Maybe he was just private enough about his issues that no one else had noticed.

At least he seemed to be breathing again, and had apparently returned to pacing.

"I'm gonna shoot my way out," he announced suddenly, fully pulling John from his thoughts.

"No. Ronon, do not do that. You said it yourself, the place is unstable, that could just make your situation worse."

"John, I- I can't stay here much longer. I need out, I- I need- I gotta get out of here, please, you gotta get me out of here." He kept repeating himself. He was spiraling.

"Hey. Ronon. Listen to me, okay? Just focus on my voice. We will get you out. I promise."

"I can't- John, it's happening again, I can't breathe."

"Yes you can. You did it before, you can. Hey, have you ever had a panic attack before today?"

"Y-yeah... a few times."

"And you got through it every time. I'm sure it felt like you couldn't, like it would never end, but you could, and it did. This time is no different." He wanted so badly to be down there with him, to help him through this in person. But this was the best he could do.

Then, suddenly, he was right beside Ronon. Aboard the Daedalus? Rodney had also been beamed aboard, and looked as confused as John felt.

"We were already en route to Atlantis, and heard that you guys had gotten into a bit of trouble," Caldwell explained. "Seemed like nothing a beam-out couldn't fix, so I offered to come by and get you."

"Well, thanks for that."

John moved to Ronon's side as the taller man stumbled. He looked pretty shaky, and John put an arm around him. "You alright?" he asked softly.

"I'll be fine." Ronon held up the ZPM triumphantly. "And I got this."

John had almost forgotten that was what they'd gone in for. "Good job, buddy." He looked Ronon over. He was shaking slightly, and a bit banged up, but nothing too serious; he really hadn't been lying earlier.

Rodney also came to stand at Ronon's side. "How're you feeling?"

"I've been better... mostly, I just want to get home."

John nodded. "Then let's go home."

#ronon dex #stargate atlantis #panic attack #claustrophobia #trapped #collapse #long post #marko.txt #writing

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k-writer1998 · 3 years

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Who Said Love Was Easy? (11/12)

There are many different kinds of people who come and go from your life. Some will stay constant and sturdy like a river, growing alongside you, others will come like a whirlwind who wreaks havoc and leaves just as quickly, then there is everything in between. In this twisted maze of connections, that is where our story begins. A steadfast boy, a girl with a past, a little bit of alcohol, mistakes, and some love. Where can you go wrong with that?

angsty fluff

w.c: 1.7k

tw: mentions/ allusion to abuse

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jeongin's POV

What just… my mind was reeling at everything going on as I stared down at the folder in my hand. When did I get it back? How- No, shake it off I have to attend a meeting when I get back. But y/n, she- Stop, gotta get back now…

Safe to say everything blurred by after that. I didn’t even really realize I was home until I heard the door slam behind me before I was greeted with silence yet again. I collapsed on the couch with a sigh as I covered my eyes. Although I was tired and just wished to sleep, instead my mind played back today’s incident. This wasn’t the first time we’ve argued but this was different, it was the full force of our frustrations and anger. Then there was the fear… the flinch playing back in my mind on an endless loop. After seeing her brother do that then everything at the dinner, I should’ve known but I never thought- don’t make excuses for yourself… What am I even doing right now, arguing with myself?

A couple days passed and it felt like I was woken from a haze. There were certain aspects of this job I liked but a lot was just something I didn’t want to do. I knew this from the beginning but why has it been so much more prominent in my mind now? Then there was the topic of Gahyeon. For as long as I’ve had my feelings for her, she equaled my happiness. I’ve always wanted to have that smile so filled with love turned to me but when I started to notice it faced someone else, I started to panic. Was it because I was losing her or was it because I was losing what I considered to be my happiness? My head was a mess but thankfully Seungmin invited me over for dinner today and maybe it could take a break before my brain fried itself. Seungmin noticed my worries as I was pulled from my thoughts by him knocking on the table.

“If you keep staring at the fire like that it’ll end up eating you. What’s on your mind?”

“Hyung…” I explained the whole argument, leaving out the part involving buying the building, to Seungmin who silently nodded along. A few beats of silence passed when I finished before he spoke.

“This was probably inevitable considering both of you are stubborn but it did escalate further than needed. After having a few days to think about it, do you have some regrets?”

“I mean yeah but the more I think about it the more confused I get. Maybe hearing an outside view would help? I don’t know. I mean my brain can’t burn out more than it already has right?”

“It’s okay using your brain was never your strong suit.”

“Yah hyung!”

“But anyways,” he ignored, “since you’ve been at the company have you been happy? In general or with yourself?”

“Not really…”

“Well when was the last time you were?”

“When I was working at the pub.”

“Why?”

“Everyone treated me as an equal.”

“And?”

“And everyone one was really nice.”

“And?”

“And what else?! Seungmin-hyung, get to the point.”

“Really not your strong point,” He sighs as he continued, “you were happy there because they treated you like family. Something you haven’t felt since the divorce I may add.”

“Ouch…” That one stung.

“Hey, don’t make me look like the bad guy. We’ve gone over the whole “family” issue enough through our friendship that I can at least say that much. Now the subject of Gahyeon, as your best friend I think whatever thing you had for Gahyeon died.”

I wanted to argue but I can’t wholeheartedly deny that fact. I’ve felt the doubt in regards to my feelings swimming in my mind since before the argument but I’ve lived like that for so long I didn’t know how to stop myself. I groaned.

“Am I an idiot?”

“In this situation and in general… yeah. I’m sure you didn’t notice but when I asked why the pub made you happy, you didn’t mention Gahyeon.”

At the realization I ruffled my hair in frustration. He’s right yet again. Why did I think talking with Seungmin would make me feel better? Our friendship was built off tough love. Now the only thing he hasn’t jabbed at me for was y/n… All I ever do is accuse her whenever we disagree, like a child throwing a tantrum. I’ve only been thinking about myself this whole time and ignored her feelings, like an ass. Before my brain could spiral down to the flinch once again, Seungmin snapped me out of it once again.

“So are we gonna talk about the biggest fault or are you gonna pretend you don’t see that too?”

“I know I shouldn’t have accused her like that… or entered her space so suddenly. I was selfish and hated the thought of losing the argument.”

“At least you know why you were wrong, one less lecture on my part.”

“Wow, whose best friend are you?” I rolled my eyes.

“Yours, that’s why I’ll call you out when you need to be. Y/n never took advantage of your weak moments when something happened with Gahyeon and I’ll tell you this, whenever we talk about you it’s because she’s worried.”

“Thanks… you’re really helping me feel better.”

“Tone down the sarcasm and maybe I’ll help you fix things.”

We continued to talk over the grilled meat and by the time I came home, I knew what I had to do. The first being to find out explicitly what happened in y/n’s past while I try to fix the biggest mistake. After a few days I met Jaehyung in a café, might as well start where I first heard it right? We caught up a bit with him complaining I needed to come by more often before I brought it up.

“Hyung I don’t mean to be nosey but what happened last year that made you so worried about y/n on her birthday?”

“Ah! Did something happen when you went to dinner with her?!”

“Nothing like last time,” I quickly reassured before clarifying, “they were just very… condescending to say the least.”

“Sorry, I worry about y/n cause she’ll never say anything if something happens,” he apologized as the tension that shot to his shoulders left just as quickly.

“Yeah she does, that’s why I ended up coming to you.”

“She wouldn’t like me talking about it but it’s because you guys are so close and you practically know already that I’ll tell you.”

Although he said that as a compliment I felt it jab at me. No, we’ve been over this. Hating yourself won’t fix anything and we have a plan so let’s just stick to it.

“Thanks hyung.”

“Other than the incident from last year, a lot of it is speculation on my part. I was only given the bare minimum because I saw it happen so I don’t have much.”

Y/n has been a bit skittish lately for some reason. I know it’s around her birthday but she never acted like this, although it wasn’t really her favorite day either. She has been ignoring someone it seems though. There are times at the pub where her phone rings and her nose scrunches in distaste before she rejects the call or deletes the text. I’ve heard hushed arguments pass through our relatively thin walls but I can never really catch what was going on. That girl really worries me, she doesn’t let anyone in and hides behind snarky comments and sarcasm. I grabbed her some cake on the way home, hopefully she’ll feel a bit better. Exiting the elevator, groceries in hand, I was surprised to spot unfamiliar people leaving y/n’s apartment since she only has a small circle of friends that hasn’t changed much since I’ve known her. Judging by the older woman and two others who look like her, were they y/n’s family? Before I could call out to y/n, my voice caught in my throat at what happened at that moment and my body froze. The older woman grabbed a fist full of y/n’s hair, forcing her to face her, and that was when I noticed the other marks along her face and arms. In that instance our eyes connected and her eyes widened in fear as she shook her head ever so slightly. The woman noticed the motion and cocked her head. Y/n didn’t want me seen so before the woman turned to look I turned the corner and pressed myself against the wall. As I heard their footsteps approach me I quickly pushed the elevator button to make it seem like I just got off. I breezed by them with my head down and practically threw my groceries in my house before ringing y/n’s bell. Silence. With a sigh I entered her code and stormed in. There she was, sitting on the floor of her living room. It was the first time she ever looked so weak, even flinching as the door closed.

“You know how she is. Y/n doesn’t like to show her weakness to others and rarely does she cry in front of someone. That day she cried her eyes out and stopped putting up her act for once.”

“So they really…”

“Mhmm. Can’t say for how long but it was enough. Probably had it worse too, seeming as though the cut on her lip, nail marks on her arms, and the bruises didn’t phase her all that much.”

“Sorry hyung, it must be unpleasant to bring it up again but thank you for telling me.”

There was a lot to process with that and a lot of things were starting to connect clearly now. God, I suck. I can’t ask her to forgive me but maybe at least with what I have planned she can hate me a little less? I’m not sure what I’m trying to accomplish with this but I do know I don’t want to lose y/n as a friend.

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids au #skz #skz imagines #skz au #yang jeongin #jeongin imagines #jeongin au #server! jeongin x regular! y/n #my writing #wslwe?

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hamliet · 4 years

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Their could be a way to make historia's absence meaningful by revealing her conversation with eren. Maybe she received some memories too or maybe she knows eren will go lelouch mode, but then again she knew he was gonna kill so many people so it doesn't add up. Okay.. what if she told eren that she will have a child so eren doesn't need to use her as an excuse to commit this masscare? I am losing my mind. Because why why why? Why isayamaaaa. How is this plot line going to make sense. Is he just using it to bait shippers? Seems like it but that's just low taste and I dn't think isayama would do that. But then again why remove her frm the story for so long.. why? Like help me understand how historia's situation is going to end on a good note? Finding joy in her child. Okay so like she decides to live for herself by abandoning the queen role and goes off and lives just for her and her child? I am so utterly confused. Some people keep saying that gotta wait, do you have any ideas on how the whole situation for historia could turn out good? I thought she would have a role with ymir fritz but that's just wishful thinking at this point, it's too late for that. Historia is in child birth while everyone else is already with eren, ymir and zeke. Historia doesn't get to have a role there while giving birth or right after. If you have any ideas about making this whole thing appear less bad, please ??

"thanks I hate it" anon here! Just to clarify I don't really hate the whole chapter I'd say it's fine. I just didn't think it was that interesting since it seems to be the (hopefully) final set-up and due to that there wasn't that much actually happening. In terms of set-up though I found the violent imagery suitable to establish the stakes. Some things where a bit on the nose but that doesn't bother me too much. I just hate the Historia thing so much that it overshadows everything else for me

I understand! Historia is actually my favorite female character and my second favorite overall after Armin. That her arc heads this way is painful for me. I still enjoy the rest of the story but I certainly can’t fault those for whom it is a dealbreaker (it would be a dealbreaker for me if Eren was the father, and not for shipping reasons, but for thematic ones).

I think Historia should have spiraled after Ymir’s death, because Ymir’s death in some ways contradicted her life message. Frankly I don’t think Ymir should have died, and especially not off-screen, and I’ve never thought that, But if she had to, I think Historia would need to spiral to show that Ymir’s decision is contradictory and not consistent with her message to Historia. So, that makes narrative sense. Mothers and daughters are a motif with Historia and Ymir Fritz’s arc, so it makes sense that it recurs here... but Historia could be a mom via adopting/a child might have been held up as a scapegoat somehow (look the plot hangs by threads in many places it could work), etc. In other words, there are other ways to have brought the motif back without resorting to a misogynistic plotpoint.

I do think Historia will matter. If the child inherits a titan (if most likely Pieck or Zeke die), that might make Eren reconsider whether his plan is accomplishing anything at all and end the titan curse before he dies (don’t ask me how they’ll know I’ll just say the paths). I don’t like this but it’s possible. What I prefer (and alas it’s not mutually exclusive) is Historia somehow negotiating with Ymir Fritz and comforting her, like child!Ymir, the girl she loves. We’ll see. I don’t think that’s just wishful thinking, honestly. It’s still the most likely scenario in my mind. The paths are very nebulously explained so I do think it’s entirely possible Historia might appear and help the battle in that dimension.

#ask hamliet #snk 134 #snk meta #historia reiss #ymir fritz #yumihisu #yumikuri #aot 134 #aot meta #snk theory

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spiralesbian · 4 years

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ALRIGHT

here’s my full Stranger Avatar Sasha Archivist timeline:

(also, thanks to @artbyblastweave for being so interested in my lil au!)

SEASON ONE

sasha james is hired as the head archivist of the magnus institute!

her assistants are jon, tim, and martin

tim takes the thematic role of martin (aka getting tormented by my worm wife jane, and stays in the archives)

sasha reads thru statements and is a skeptic! she really does not believe it’s real until jane comes along.

“tim……………………..did you die here?”

“no, but every time i come to work i die a little more inside.”

cute timsha moment in the supply closet tho.

until martin kool-aid-mans through the door and gets them out of there

jon used to work in artefact storage so he hides in there. he’ll be fine

i actually can’t remember how they all get out but they do it KKJSDGFJHD

sasha takes everyone’s statements. tim is fucked up, martin is also fucked up, jon is actually fine though he seems pretty normal about this whole situation most definitely.

sasha realizes this is a bit more than a regular archivist job.

SEASON TWO

sasha gets paranoid of course. she learns more about gertrude because she never got the chance to meet her

she takes a statement from a guy named michael shelley. weird dude. then helen shows up :)

jon is most definitely himself he is just a normal regular grumpy jon i swear :)

sasha starts to manifest her powers a little bit. she doesn’t know it, but she is an avatar of the stranger, and a prisoner of the eye.

she starts to notice more things about jon? similar to this comic but with jon

eventually she + tim + martin help get jon out of the grip of the NotJon. this is my au and i get to choose who dies (it’s no one because i miss the s1 archival assistants too much).

jon is pretty fucked up from this though and at like a season-3-tim mindset already.

fucking goddamn leitner avatar of the fucking whore shows up to trap the NotJon in one of his shitty fucking novels. fuck this guy tho

he’s like Sasha We Must Talk and shes like okay but stay 8 ft away from me at all times you bitch

she leaves the room for 10 minutes and pipe murder occurs. good riddance

wait are the cops in the season i genuinely can’t remember. if they are, their roles don’t change very much. melanie and sasha feud, battle of the bi queens

SEASON THREE:

uh oh! girlie’s be framed for murder! she crashes at her ex gf georgie’s flat. also the admiral is there don’t think i would EVER cut him out of this story

(also jon is georgie’s ex too because i think that would be fun JDHBFHS)

sasha learns abt an upcoming web ritual (mirroring the unknowing), all that shit. gets kidnapped a ton of times, as usual.

helen is like “i am going to kill you because i hate gertrude <3 i was that dumb bitch’s assistant for too long” but michael busts out of the door like Hi Guys and traps her in the hallway.

sasha also gives her statement about a leitner she found as a child that marked her. its a stranger book and we learn her edgy orphan origin story how her parents were both murked by the stranger. fucked up if true!

back at the archives jon is like so fucking tired of this shit honestly and now martin is also pretty paranoid. also jm romance subplot is still very present!

tim is just trying to protect sasha at all times and he’s pissed she keeps leaving the country and getting fucking kidnapped

(remember when jon persuades the traffic cop?) sasha starts to fill her archivist role in a different way. she can shapeshift into the subject of a statement and uses her affiliation with the eye to coerce statements or info out of people. (example: if she needed a live statement from the guy in #90 Body Builder, she could temporarily make herself look like jared hopworth to the guy and ask “what happened to me?” or “what did i do?” and the guy would be like well he built some fucken bodies i guess let me tell you all about it) while reading the statements in america that refuel her, she fully shapeshifts into the statement giver while reading out loud.

once again i truly can’t remember daisy + basira’s roles until the end of the season. also melanie get shot by the ghost at some point

anyways sasha gets kidnapped by trevor and julia and they gerry lays out all the shit for her and she’s like ah! i’m fucked

tim offhand mentions the web ritual to martin and he loses his shit cause he’s marked by the web blah blah this isn’t a web!martin thing i swear i just need someone to fill tim’s role in the ritual and a lonely ritual would be fucking boring as hell as we learned from ass man peter lukas. i hate that man

so they make the plan to stop the web ritual (which is fucking hard when the offense knows your every move) so sasha, basira, daisy, jon, and martin go.

tim stays back at the institute to burn shit and distract elias. elias does some fucked up shit as usual and it makes me sad

the ritual starts! they have a plan to blow it up and run but like. u know how it goes

instead of the unknowing-stranger-dream-sequence, we get everyone kinda mixed up in a huge spider’s web on the big stage and its still quite confusing because this ritual not only manipulates the prey, but also the prey’s perceived reality. the web is also in current control of the buried coffin cause they think that shit is kinda fun. they yeet daisy into it.

hard to describe what happens, but basira keeps her cool, jon is a bit lost in his own mind, sasha tries to use her powers to escape but fails. she manages to get through to martin through the strings and mounds of spiders and she tosses him the detonator.

[squishing spider noises]

SEASON FOUR:

martin doesn't die, i told you i can't kill the og archival assistants! he does lose most of one leg though, he took the blunt of the explosion.

sasha in da hospital in da coma. tim is mad he can’t wake her up and then my man ollie says “ur fucked up mate” and she wakes up

(and because coma jon has such wild hair controversy, i’m establishing that her head was shaved when she was in the coma. it grows back thru s4. it she keeps one side shaved cause she’s cool)

meanwhile tim is recruited by that dumbass man you know who i don’t even wanna say his stupid fucking name

sasha gets daisy out of the buried. they become avatar pals!

(there is the biggest blank in my memory where all of season four should be. at this point i should just relisten to the entire fucking show but i would literally just forget it all again)

melanie says hm. fuck this! and blinds herself. she goes to live with georgie (and that’s the moment jon and sasha realize they are both georgie’s exes FHFHDJD)

tim continues to fight the lonely pull. he thinks that since p*ter l*kas is tied to the institute, he can blind himself out cause melanie was successful. he is wrong. he is also interrupted by elias midway, and only blinds one eye, and loses most of his sight in the other. elias’s hold on him is weak, but this just drives him way farther into the lonely.

gotta be honest i remember the end of season four but like i couldn’t visualize what was happening at the end so i like don’t understand what happened JGDKFJGD but sasha intervenes (???) and peter yeets tim into the lonely (???) and sasha jumps in (??????) after him. elias is just there i guess?

instead of “look at me martin,” sasha finds tim and at this point her form is warped and hard to recognize because of stranger powers, and tim is almost 100% blind, so she says “don’t look at me, see me. see me tim, it’s me.” and finally creates a clear image of herself. “it’s...it’s you. you’re my sasha.”

they break free and go to scotland i guess KHSDDKDSF

idk what happens with jon and martin im losing continuity at this point. fuck it, they smooch <3

“ah these are the statements.”

“yes. basira said last week she’d send some up as soon as the archives weren’t a crime scene. and she wasn’t sure which ones you’ve read already, so she, she just said she’d send a bunch.”

“.........Hello Sasha.”

(alternate ending: personally i think sasha would read through each statement before speaking them aloud cause that’s what i would fucking do, so she would get this statement and be like “lmao tim come look at this elias trying to prank me dumb bitch think i’ll start the apocalypse for him. fucking little puny bitch boy. anyways what do you want for dinner?”)

SEASON FIVE:

“just. listen.”

“...i’m dead. and you have been chosen to be my replacement as head archivist. hopefully, this means you, jon, but if someone else is hearing this, and elias has made a different choice for some reason, then these words are still very much intended for you.”

sasha in full stranger avatar mode and is like 8ft tall and her faces shift a lot as they go through the realms. except the stranger is the second to last one (the panopticon is last obviously).

helen and michael actually talk shit out in the spiral hallway and now they are mlm wlw solidarity and both like tim and sasha are such bi and trans icons <3 this is so fun don’t you love the fearpocalypse <3

oh daisy n basira trapped in the hunt, and jon and martin are trapped in the stranger. wtgfs + the admiral are like in space or some shit idk but they are ok :)

not much to report other than she is my monster wife <3

i really don’t have many theories to how everything in s5 is gonna pan out, and i would like to closely mirror the actual show, so maybe as we get closer to the end i’ll build more on to this! thanks a lot for all the notes on my first sarchivist post!! also if u wanna make art this specific au DEF tag me in it i’d love to see!!

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mattzerella-sticks · 4 years

Text

Constants (9.5k Supernatural fic) (ao3 link)

Meeting with alternate versions of themselves makes Sam and Dean think about what the landscape of the former multiverse might have looked like - or, really, "If there can be multiple Deans and multiple Sams, can there be other versions of things they know. Like... Baby?"

Dean says no. There's only one Baby. She's got four wheels, black paint, and has been his from the beginning. Sam thinks otherwise.

Let's explore what the possibilities of Deans, Sams, and Babys in different universes might look like.

Earth-1

Dean wanders in with two beers, lifting them high as he enters. “There are our last two,” he calls, “Gonna have t’go on a supply run tomorrow!” Sam barely responds, nodding, too focused on his phone. “Hey,” he continues, setting the beers down in front of Sam. Slamming his brother’s hard. Not even a flinch. “Who’s that? Eileen?”

Sam rolls his eyes, grabbing for the beer. “It’s us.”

“Come again?”

“Us,” Sam tells him, flashing his phone screen, “Other us. Rich us.” Dean takes the phone, bringing it closer for a better look. There, on the screen, were them. Somewhat. Half of the other Sam’s face appeared, mouth cut off by the camera. His hair sat atop his hair in a messy bun. Behind him, dressed in a flowing, flowery kaftan and holding an empty cocktail glass, was Dean’s reflection. Dean’s doppelganger points out at a beautiful skyline from the balcony of whatever hotel they camped in.

“God,” Dean winces, “they sure are living the life, aren’t they?”

“Of course they are,” his brother snorts, stealing his phone back. “They don’t have God breathing down their necks.”

Dean sighs, collapsing across from Sam. “True… you think it’s too late to switch places?”

“They’d never,” he scoffs, sipping his beer, “not even for your entire porn collection and Baby –“

“Don’t joke about that,” Dean splutters. “Wherever we’d go, Baby’d come with us.”

“Seriously?”

“Absolutely. She’s… she’s Baby. Our Baby.” Dean waves his bottle around, droplets of condensation flung in all directions. “They might look like us, but they ain’t us. That Dean wouldn’t know what to do with her… probably’d toss a wad at some mechanic to fix her up instead of getting his own hands dirty…” Dean scowls, glaring at his beer bottle’s mouth. “Like, did you see their hands? Hardly any callouses… and they were too smooth. Bet he never spent hours over a sink trying to wash motor oil outta his nailbeds.”

Sam leans back in his seat, enjoying the spiral of his brother’s tirade. Although he’s not fully present watching him. Curiosity circling around a tiny thought. Like sharks homing in on discarded chum. Before he realizes it, Sam asks, “You don’t know. Maybe they had their own Baby?”

Dean pauses mid-sentence, gaze drifting from the bottle to Sam. “What?”

“Just saying…” Sam shrugs, stringing together his next few words carefully. Uncomfortable with the dangerous glint shining in Dean’s eye. “There are probably an infinite number of universes – sorry… were. And on them, their own Dean and Sam. Maybe they had their own Baby’s?”

“That better be a joke, Sammy,” Dean growls, sloshing some of his drink out of the bottle’s tiny mouth with how forcefully he points it at him. The splash nearly wets Sam’s knuckles. “You cannot even compare Baby to that – that… that mint green disgrace those losers showed up in.”

“I wasn’t trying to compare!”

“Because there’s only one Baby.” Dean can sense he overreacts, the ferociousness twinging his voice surprising him alongside Sam. He cannot contain the fire raging inside. “She’s special, and she’s unique, and she’s ours. There might’ve been a million you’s, and there might’ve been a million me’s… but throughout all of existence, no matter what Earth, there’s only one Baby!”

Earth-16

Dean tosses two Jack’s, face-down, “Two twos –“

“Bullshit!”

He glares at Sam, dimples like craters on his cheeks. “You sure about that?” Dean asks, fanning his cards out. “You think I couldn’t have two twos in my hand? Or,” he gestures at the pile, “do you want all these cards?”

Sam levels his own stare at Dean, dialing up the contempt. “Dean, I played four two’s three rounds ago – if you were paying attention you’d’ve known that. So, pick… them… up!” He barks fake laughter on beat, although it quickly becomes genuine as Dean gathers the pile. They’d gone the entire game without calling each other out, practically the whole deck was in Dean’s grip.

The last few cards were in Sam’s hand. But not for long.

He slides three cards down, grinning. “Three sevens.”

“Dammit!” The cards spill onto the table, a few falling over the edge. Dean’s body sags, head dangling between his legs. “I can’t believe I lost!”

“Serves you right for trying to trick me. Twos… what were they anyway?”

“Jacks.”

“Why wouldn’t you just say that, then?”

“Because the game’s boring when you tell the truth all the time!” Dean drags tired hands down his face, pulling at his skin. “Out of all the chances you had to call bullshit, just when I was so close…” He slaps the table, mood reversing immediately. “Let’s play again. Best three out of five!”

Sam sighs in agreement, gathering the cards. Except, as he does, a shadow steps into view. Someone reaches forward and slaps his hands, forcing him to drop the cards. More falls onto the floor. Hissing, Sam glances up at the intruder.

Rufus stands over them, brow arched wryly. “No more games, you two,” he orders, “you were supposed to start cleaning a half-hour ago.” He kicks the bucket filled with supplies near Dean’s chair, almost toppling it over. It wobbles, sound echoing around them. “Get to it,” Rufus says, walking away, “And when you’re done, do a full inventory check.”

“Rufus!” Dean yells at his retreating figure, “You know I restock her after every call!”

“You think that makes a difference? Full inventory check – and I want the report on my desk.” Rufus ends the conversation, bounding up the stairs towards the second floor. Undoubtedly hiding away until the alarms blare and spurs them all into action.

Dean folds his arms across his chest, huffing. “Don’t know why we gotta wash her again,” he mutters, “I washed, dried, and detailed Baby this morning!”

“Yeah,” Sam says, gathering the cards again, “but we were out earlier, at that apartment fire?”

“We weren’t close enough for ash to get on her roof.”

“Then maybe he’s doing this because he caught you fooling around in her body the other night,” Sam reminds Dean, standing. He throws the box of cards at his brother, snickering at how he fumbles the catch. He places it down with a grumble. “Why you thought you’d get away with it…”

Dean rises, too, blush creeping up his neck past his blue, uniform collar. “I was making sure her vitals were okay, that’s all…”

It’s a poor excuse; they both know it. He grabs for the bucket’s handle, hiding from Sam’s condemnation. “Sure.” They shuffle out the break room into the apparatus bay, passing by their fellow teammates enjoying down time. “But hopefully you’ll think twice before playing doctor.”

“As if. I’m seeing her tonight. And,” Dean wiggles his fingers, grin wide on his face, “this time I’ll be helping her check for lumps on her breasts!”

“Gross, what are you – fourteen?”

“Dude, you’re just jealous…” Dean trails off as they pass the last fire truck and enter the ambulance territory. His face lights up in that special way when he catches sight of her, that eases the tension in his shoulders and injects more bounce in his step. No matter how much he might whine about caring for her, Sam knows Dean would gladly work overtime – has worked overtime – in keeping her in top shape. Their home away from home, where they travel the city helping those in need.

Dean knew her longer. Told stories about his assigned truck over dinners, in his free time, and whenever Sam had free time when studying for his exams. Sam never truly understood how an ambulance could leave such an impact on one man. Why he’d give her a nickname, and say it so fondly. It was a car. A means to and end. Drives them where they need and nothing more. But then Rufus chose Sam for his squad, made him and Dean partners.

Then it made sense. She wasn’t an ambulance. Baby – Dean’s affectionate nickname for her – was part of the team. The third member of their operation. Without her, they’d be ineffective. Once, after a gnarly crash that took Baby out of commission for a month while they repaired her, they drove another in the interim.

It didn’t handle right. Dean found the clutch sticking every now and then, the pedals squeaky. Sam’s response time doubled because he couldn’t remember where the necessary instruments were. Working inside that replacement was hell, and there were too many close calls.

When they saw Baby waiting, almost brand new, during their next shift, both he and Dean nearly broke down. Dean denies it, but he let a few tears slip free.

Luckily, since then, they haven’t been separated. Through squad rotations, disasters, and aging, none of them felt ready for retirement.

“Y’know,” Dean says, wiping at her front window. Sam on the other side, doing the same to her mirror. “I was wondering… how’d Baby look if she were painted black?”

“Black?” Sam asks, “Why black?”

“Dunno… it’d be cool, right?”

“It’d be ominous as fuck, Dean.” Sam’s lips pinch, holding back laughter. “How’d you feel if you were bleeding out and a large, black truck came speeding at you?”

Dean winces, picturing the image. “Yeah, okay… I get it.” He steps away from Baby, tossing the rag over his shoulder. “Still be cool, though.” Clapping, he looks at Sam. “So, do you want to do the inventory or should I?”

“Rufus was clearly talking to you when he said that.”

“But you’re the one who spends all his time back there. I should be calibrating the brakes, making sure her on-board systems are synced, y’know…”

Sam glowers, slapping her hood with another rag. “Dean, I am not doing your work for you.”

“But Sam –“!

Ringringringringringringringringringringring

The apparatus bay becomes awash in a flurry of activity. Firefighters scrambling from their posts, jumping into their uniforms. Both Dean and Sam scan the room as it seems like the entire building rushes for the exits.

Dean brushes a gentle hand across Baby’s hood. “Guess Rufus’ll have to wait for that inventory report.”

Sam agrees. The three of them have lives to save.

Earth-84b

Dean closes his eyes as the wind hits his face, savoring its caress. His feet push off the pedals, legs stretched straight while they roll down the hill. He can hear Sam’s ragged breathing in front of him, still cycling. “Dean,” he growls, “stop fooling around and help. A bicycle built for two means it needs two people to work it.”

“I know,” he says, “I’m the one who bought Baby. Not you.”

The curve of the hill flattens out, and Dean blinks his eyes open. He resumes pedaling, chasing the high that only comes from riding Baby with his brother on a perfect, summer day.

Earth-1 A-corn

Dean knows the human toy takes up space in his nest he could use for storing more nuts. The oblong piece of plastic serves no function and draws blank stares whenever other squirrels visit his nest. But he dares not throw it away.

Seeing the toy brings him as much joy as it did when he first laid eyes on it one afternoon, spying on little humans. Captivated him, put Dean under its spell. When the two were called back by an even larger human, Dean scurried forward. Sniffed it. Laid a paw on its wheel and spun it. Hearing the click and whir made him giggle. As the wheel’s spinning petered out, Dean came to a decision.

He carried the toy home, where it has become a part of his family. And every member of Dean’s family deserves a name.

So, he calls her Baby.

Earth-R0ck

“Where in the bloody hell can your brother be?”

Sam shrugs, spinning his drumsticks in hand. “I saw him chatting up that reporter from Rolling Stones on our way out from the venue…”

Crowley stops, pressing his phone against his shoulder. No doubt trying Dean’s number again. “Rolling Stone?” he hisses, “And why didn’t you stay with him?”

“Wasn’t that kind of interview…” Sam saw the glint in Dean’s eye, shifting back into his stage persona as he strode over towards the blonde with the press pass. She didn’t look too impressed with his brother, but Dean charmed stiffer lips. He only hopes his brother doesn’t bring her back to the bus for a quickie. Sam would prefer not being locked out in the bitter cold.

Like they are now.

“Why your brother insists on keeping the keys…” Crowley mutters, rolling his eyes. He holds his phone up once more, flicking it off with a heavy scowl. “I’m going to go find him. And if I have to see his naked ass, balls deep in this reporter, then I’m dropping you two as my clients.”

Sam calls to his departing figure. “No you won’t!” He chuckles at Crowley’s one-finger salute, watching the shorter British man enter the club.

A beat passes, drumming the air. If needed, he could wait there until Dean finishes or Crowley brings him back with blue balls. But he feels something land on his head. And another. Then, on his nose.

Snowflakes.

“Damn…”

The flurry shows no signs of stopping. Increasing with each passing minute. When white powder dusts his shoulders, Sam makes a decision. He rises, shaking snow off of him. “Sorry about this Baby,” Sam says, patting the section of their bus where her name was spray-painted, “but I’m gonna get a little handsy.”

This was not the first time Sam said this. Nor did what he does now. When the brothers were first starting out in their band, and all they had were their instruments and Baby, Dean had an abandonment issue. Finding fans in the audience and following them home, keys still on him as he wouldn’t let anyone drive Baby but him. If Sam couldn’t find his own bed for the night, then it’d be him and the asphalt.

Until he learned this neat little trick.

Sam wedges the backdoor open, easing it. Making sure the hinges don’t break. Assured Baby is fine, Sam starts shoving their equipment through. “How many years,” he growls, rolling his drum, “and I haven’t made a duplicate key yet?”

The drums were hard but loading Dean’s guitar takes seconds. Sam steps onto the bus, halfway in, when he hears his brother, “What did you do?”

He looks behind him. Dean, ruffled and fuming, stands next to an equally displeased Crowley. Sam smirks, fully lifting himself into the bus. “I got tired of waiting.” Shutting the door on Dean’s yelling, Sam settles in for a drive filled with shouting, cursing, and more shouting. If he’s lucky, he’ll be asleep soon.

Earth-1969

Dean’s grip on his wheel tightens, negativity surfacing despite the groovy music, chill vibes, and the sweet smell of grass that drifts about the cabin. “Seriously,” he mutters, watching another group of people traipse by from the driver’s seat, “we’ve been here for over an hour. How have we not moved yet?”

“Dude relax…” Sam chuckles from the back, sprawled across the shag carpeting they installed weeks before, gutting most of the van’s interior for greater mobility. Joint dangling out of his loose grip, “We’ll get there when we get there.”

“Easy for you to say…” He shifts his attention from behind to the traffic again. An inch of space opened, but Dean keeps their van stationary. Doesn’t expect a miracle like traffic clearing up any time soon. Dean sighs, dragging his legs up and onto the dashboard. Stretches out until his toes poke at the windshield. Reaching into the back, he curls his fingers. “Let me have some.”

“What’s the magic word, Dean?”

“Quit stallin’ – I bought the damn grass, Sammy!”

Sam pokes his head up, dropping the joint in his waiting hand. “It was please. You knew that.” He rests his chin near the other headrest, sighing. “Do you think you’ll be this pissy when we get there? Or will you let yourself enjoy the concert?”

Dean sucks down his hit, hissing a breath between clenched teeth. “I’m sure it’ll be a real gas, Sammy… if we ever get there.”

They’d been looking forward to this the entire summer. This being Woodstock. Three days of peace, love, music… and people. Too many people. Probably half the country, Dean thinks, taking another hit. All the other kids like Sam and Dean who traversed great lengths for a taste of freedom. Escaping from under the oppressive thumb of the man.

Their ‘man’ went by the name John Winchester. When he heard where the brothers were headed, he was anything but pleased; actually, he forbid them from leaving. Confiscated Dean’s keys and grounded them.

He did not go far enough, given how he and Sam idled a few miles outside Bethel. Dean stole back his Baby’s keys and left a little special treat for John. One good trip deserves another, and maybe once they return their father will be in a better mood. Groovier. More attuned with a higher plane of existence.

Although Dean wishes he kept some of that acid on him. Reaching a higher plane sounds pretty nice. Emptier, too.

“Hey,” Sam shakes him from his reflection, “look at what they’re doing!” He points past Dean, finger bending against the windshield near his feet. A car drives off the road and onto a nearby shoulder. It rolls to a stop, doors flung open as an entire tribe pours free. They gather their bags and join the crowds pouring through the cracks between cars. Like fish swimming upstream. Swimming home. “Maybe we should do that, too?”

Dean scowls, pushing Sam’s arm out of his way. “Like hell I’m abandoning Baby!”

“She’ll be fine, Dean. There’s no way she can get hurt here…” Sam drops both his hands on Dean’s bare shoulders, kneading the skin there. After taking the joint back from him, though, and biting on the end. “How can anyone get hurt – feel bad or… or do harm – when we’re this close to paradise?”

It’s a convincing argument. Dean resists being swayed easily, however.

He cannot leave Baby on her own. Not after everything they’ve been through. Not the first real thing that is his.

Dean spotted her on his twentieth birthday. Taking a break from work, bumming a joint from his co-worker Ash, they watched Bobby haul in a wrecked van with his rusty tow. She creaked and groaned, sparks trailing behind as her bumper scraped the ground. Ash nudged him, chuckling, “She’s a piece of work, ain’t she?”

He agreed, for a different reason. Time stretched at that moment, seconds passing like days. Dean felt a powerful force shake the core of his very being, Bobby bringing her close enough that his gaze caught both her headlights. She called out.

And he answered.

“It’s not like she’ll be doing good, sitting out there – collecting dust with the other scrap,” he argued. Paced Bobby’s office, fingers twitching through his hair while detailing all the reasons he deserved the wrecked van. “And you can take out whatever parts I use in repairing her from my pay. Hell, I can work on her overtime and you don’t have to give me shit.”

Bobby steepled his fingers together, slouching in his chair. Face impassive while he absorbed Dean’s rambling. His silence exacerbated his nerves, Dean tasting copper from how hard he bit his lips. Finally, Bobby sighed. “I was gonna use her for scrap,” he says, standing, “but if you can get the ol’ gal working… she’s yours. Besides, ‘bout time you had something other than that pansy ass bicycle you got.”

“Thank you, Bobby, thanks…” Emotion swelled from within, Dean at a loss for words. Instead, he threw his arms around his boss, squeezing him tight. “Thank you.” Jumping off, he fled the room. “I promise, she’ll be perfect!”

That began a beautiful, but maddening, relationship.

She was on his mind all the time. If Dean were working on another car, he wondered if she would need the same maintenance. While eating dinner, he thought about the many joints he could swing by for a quick bite. A few times, while in the throes of LSD, he envisioned her appearing in front of him. Honking, revving an engine he hadn’t fixed – her ways of communicating. During one of these trips, she told him her name.

“Baby?” Sam asked, sitting on the ground a few feet from where Dean worked. Pencil in hand, midway through a sketch. “She told you her name was Baby?”

Dean poked his head out the hood, wiping at sweat camping above his brow. “Yeah. I mean… don’t know why I didn’t see it before. She looks like a Baby, y’know?”

“Whatever.” Sam continued drawing, bangs falling over his face, “Hey, you think you can get her working by Sunday night? Heard there’s a party downtown, and the band they booked will be far out.”

“Maybe if you lend a hand?”

Sam ignored Dean’s pleas for help. Dean carried on, not expecting an answer. His brother never had the talent for cars like he did. Honed under Bobby’s gruff tutelage. He left his mark on Baby in his own way, painting a psychedelic landscape across her body after the mechanics and interior were finished.

Together, they brought new life to a magnificent beauty. She repays them by delivering them where they need.

Which, if they left her now, would be like a betrayal. Baby had already been cast aside once, on her deathbed. Dean cannot leave her. Even if the first day of Woodstock arrives and they were still in this same place.

“Dean…”

“I can’t, Sam,” Dean winces, fiddling with his pendant. Shifts, feet on the pedals again. “I just… yeah, nothing should happen. Can’t help think that…” He trails off, gazing out the window. Thoughts disappearing, burned up from the radiant light of an angel who deigned catch his stare.

He’s gorgeous. Mussed, raven hair, blue eyes tinged red from grass, and a frumpy, suede jacket marked with scratches and scuff marks. The man briefly passes the door, one of the many walking. He smiles, then carries on conversing with his friend.

Sam waves a hand in front of Dean, breaking the connection. “Dean?” he asks, “Hey, hey Dean? You okay there? …This was some weak shit, brother, shouldn’t hit you too bad.”

“What? No… it wasn’t – wasn’t the grass, dude.”

“Then what?”

“I…” Dean tries finding his angel, sees him being swallowed by others. Soon he’ll be gone. And it’d be in fates hands whether they meet again. Unless…

Suddenly the song on the radio fades, replaced by another. It’s one Dean doesn’t recognize; the station name is as unfamiliar. At some point the signals must have switched, a notorious problem Baby has. He listens as the melody begins, building to the chorus. The chorus plays, and Dean knows. And he smiles.

Dean pulls over, shifting into park. Sam tumbles from the sudden jerk, “What are you doing?”

“Parking, Sam. Don’t you know?” He takes the keys, shoving them in his pocket. “We’re gonna walk the rest of the way.”

Sam blinks, smoke creeping past his lips. “Why the change of heart?”

“It’s like the song, Sam… everything’s gonna be all right!” Dean hops out of Baby, Sam clambering alongside him through the side door. “Come on, let’s get going!”

“What about our stuff?”

“We’ll come back for it later – come on.” He drags his brother off the grassy patch and onto the hot pavement. The fleeting regret of not grabbing his shoes flits by, feet burning with every step, but he grows accustomed soon enough. They enter the meandering pack, Dean looking back at Baby one last time.

She waits there, encouraging him forward. Always.

Earth-G00-g4

Sammy rocks with the motion of this strange, red box he’s sat in, crawling along slowly. Older brother Dean grunting as he tugs on the handle. “We’re almoth there, Thammy,” he says, stopping, the bright red box rolling into his legs. Jostling Sammy as it stops. “Juth a few more blockth.” Dean looks behind at him, bright smile encouraging one on Sammy’s face. He gurgles and claps his hands together, bouncing. “That’s right! Get pumped! If we’re gonna take down those monthers, we’ll need t’be ready!”

He has no concept of what Dean means when he talks about ‘monthers’. But from what he gleans, Sammy thinks it’s a game they’ll be playing. Reinforced as he notices the busted fire hydrant they always pass when visiting the park with Mommy.

Vibrating now, Sammy shakes the red box. Babbling, going on about how excited he is for whatever game Dean thought up.

Dean gnaws on his lip with the one front tooth still in his mouth. “Careful with Baby, Sammy… you’re gonna tip her over!”

Earth-10k

“…with state-of-the-art tracking upgrades, undetectable weapons systems, and the most fuel-efficient engine the geniuses in R&D spent weeks agonizing over,” Dean slaps the roof of the pale teal smart car parked among rows of sleek, shiny, luxury vehicles, “Baby Number Twenty-Three is prepped and ready for our next hunt.”

Sam snorts, raising his glass in celebration. “That’s all well and good, Dean… but can we still get NPR?”

“Still get NPR?” Dean giggles, lips stretched in a tight, droll grin. “Samuel, the dashboard computer has an entire library filled with NPR’s back catalogue that we can listen to without a signal.”

“Good. Then we won’t be stuck listening to classic rock like during our last stakeout.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I’m still trying to scrub my memory of the awful noise.”

“Took me three hours with some freeform jazz. Why don’t we put that on while we finish up this bubbly?”

Dean agrees, leaning through the window and hitting a button. Saxophones, trumpets, and an enchanting snare drum pour from the speakers. He sighs, leaning back out. “Now this… this is music.”

Sam reaches across the roof, tipping his glass. “Here, here.” Dean brings his own glass close. Clink!

Earth-783

Baby’s retired, but still loved. Hangs proudly on a wall between framed photographs of a young John Winchester, standing beside her on the beach with medals draped around his neck. Taken down whenever she loses her luster, and either Dean or Sam wax the shine back on her sleek, black wood.

Years after John’s death, no one takes her on the waves. Out of respect: for her, their father, and the bond they shared. Nothing more sacred than the love of a surfer and his board. They own a variety of boards – collected them. Beautiful boards, expensive ones, and the special few that have earned the brothers trophies, medals, and titles.

But there will only be one Baby.

Earth-2390.45

Sam waits by the open hangar doors, two beers in hand. Charlie stands nearby, binoculars held in shaky hands. “He’s cutting it a bit close, isn’t he?”

“This is Dean we’re talking about,” he tells her, “you know how he gets when he’s up there.”

“But he radioed in he was almost out of fuel! And that the left wing felt loose, and -”

“He’ll be fine,” Sam says, nudging her. Charlie looks away from the skies, glaring at him. He offers her one of the beers. “You know it. How many times has he flown her?”

She sighs, taking the drink. “Practically all his life…” Sipping at it, she frowns. Gestures wildly with her binoculars. “Still, I feel like recently he’s been taking too many risks. Making things more difficult than he needs!”

“Maybe he has,” Sam shrugs, “maybe it’s gotten boring, doing the same thing day in and out. So what if he bends the rules a little.”

“It matters when he could crash!”

“No, Dean wouldn’t go that way.” Sam smiles, Baby’s shape growing as she descends. Silhouette sharpening, engine growing louder. “He might be pushing his limits. Seeing how he can handle different situations… but we both know how much he loves that plane. Dean’d never do anything that puts her in jeopardy.”

Charlie hums. “I… guess your right.”

“Although,” he amends, grinning at her. Baby skidding to a stop on the runway, advancing towards them, “you can definitely chew him out for all that, too.”

Earth-200

Day after day, it’s the same routine. Sam and Dean return to their trailers at around four o’clock. They strip out of plaid shirts and denim, leaving their boxers and – if they were wearing them before – tanks on. For the next two hours, the brothers drift throughout the trailer while getting ready. Still undressed, powdering and painting their faces. Sometimes interrupted, like when one of their friends stops by for some quick gossip. Or Cas the fire swallower stops by, flirting with Dean as Sam perfects the curve of his eyebrow. If that runs long Sam will shoo him away with his wig, dragging Dean from the door.

It’s one of those nights.

“I don’t know why you won’t do anything,” Sam chuckles, fitting the rainbow curls over his head, “You two’ve been in love since we were kids.”

Dean’s glare shines through his reflection, although the massive red make-up smeared across his lips and fake tears under his eyes reduce the effect. “Shut up,” he says, applying more rouge, “it’s not… he wouldn’t be interested in me like that. ‘Sides, his dad is our boss. Wouldn’t that be awkward?”

“I think it’d be awkward if you didn’t,” he says, “if he’s anything like our folks, Bobby’s already planning your wedding.”

“Shut up…”

Sam adds the last touch, adhering his bulbous red nose with some glue. He studies his face in the vanity mirror, checking for any mistakes. There’s none. Years of practice meant his mind could wander aimlessly but his hand will ensure a clean, finished mask every time. A mask for the people. A mask of his heritage. A mask that transforms Sam Winchester into Sammy the Angry Clown, straight man of the Campbell Duo.

Odd how, when he was younger, Sam never imagined a life like this. Like the one his parents’ imagined for him. Fought them at every turn, even applying for college. To become a lawyer. “A clown without the joy,” his dad called it.

But that’s the past. Now, he’s climbing into his multi-colored pantsuit and stuffing his large feet into even larger shoes. Dean does the same, handing Sam some ruffles while he searches the trailer for his shoes. “Do you know where I put them?”

“Check the chest,” Sam says, “I might’ve thrown them in there while cleaning.”

“Why were you cleaning?”

“To practice my unicycle.” Sam grabs some bowling pins stacked beside their sofa. “I didn’t want to trip over them and crash through the window… again.”

Dean snorts, digging through the chest per Sam’s instructions. “That was your own fault. Wasn’t my magazine left splayed open on – found ‘em!” He pulls the floppy shoes free, waving them around. His accomplishment doesn’t last. Dean notices that the sole peels around the toe box, and by poking at the tear he rips it further. “Dammit… I’m gonna look like one of those hobo clowns.”

“Why don’t you wrap some duct tape around your shoe,” Sam tells him, rising. “You’d still look like a hobo, but you won’t scare any kids with your funky feet.”

“Funny. What are you… a clown?”

“Takes one to know one, Dean!” Sam opens their trailer door, stepping outside, “I’m gonna go make sure our act’s ready. Why don’t you find me when you’re done getting ready?” Dean yells at him, Sam missing it as he lets the door slam behind him – cutting his brother off.

He traipses through the field towards the main tent, nodding along whenever someone passed. Never staying for a conversation. The other acts and crew could see he was busy, juggling the bowling pins. Always practicing, always perfecting. Dedication to the craft both embedded in his DNA and taught early on. Gifts his parents gave.

Like this. A small, yellow bug splattered with multi-colored spots and with multiple dents along her body. Her name messily scrawled on the driver’s side door – Baby. His father’s car, that he and his mom would perform in when they still clowned. The only thing John had of his father, that he passed on after hanging up the big, red shoes.

Sam slows his juggling, catching the third pin on its last arc. He shuffles the trio into one hand while he lifts the trunk with his other. The rest of their supplies lie in wait, left in usual chaotic dysfunction. Dropping the pins, Sam mentally checks off each part of the routine as he inspects the props.

Dean arrives halfway through, Sam handing off the giant, flake flower. He accepts it, pinning it on his tie. “Is it full?”

“Yep,” Sam helps feed the tube through his collar, watching Dean tug it down until the pump sits at his wrist. Dean’s fingers twitch. “Don’t even think about it. Save it for the act.”

“You’re no fun.”

“That’s the act, isn’t it?” Sam chuckles, closing Baby’s trunk. “Or is your memory getting spotty in your age?”

Dean rolls his eyes, shoving lightly at Sam. Sam responds in kind, nearly knocking Dean into some elephant dung no one cleaned up. He leans on Baby while he cackles, fighting the tears threatening to spill over. A nice distraction comes from Dean, who rams into his side. They streak over Baby, rolling off her and onto the hay-covered floor. Struggling, drawing the attention of everyone dawdling backstage.

They dirty their outfits some, but there’s enough time before the show starts. Sam expected some mishap, schedule built-in with extra time for unforeseen accidents or brotherly spats.

Day after day, it’s the same. He and Dean will cram into this tiny car, shoulders aching from how they press against each other. Packed in like sardines. Waiting for the musical cut that will send them into the ring. They’ll circle and circle while the audience claps, stopping when the tiny amount of gas in Baby’s tank runs dry. Then their long legs will unfold, stepping out under the spotlight.

The act begins, and Sam cannot fathom a life without the roar of the crowd, his brother by his side, and their family’s chariot. Without laughter.

Earth-4499

Providence seems more a dream than an actual destination. Especially after they sacrificed one of their oxen for meat, their reserves dangerously low.

“Don’t worry, Sam,” Dean says, rubbing his shoulder, “we still got the other. And Baby. We’ll be in Oregon by November!”

Sam doubts that, the fall chill cutting through their thin button-downs. His temperament was not aided by an earlier stumble in some mud, robbing him of dry shoes. Right now, he bundles another blanket around his bare feet; shuddering a ghostly breath while Dean whips the ox forward.

Baby, their large Conestoga, might look sturdy. But her wheels creak more with each passing day. From an outsider’s perspective, she looks safe. They would be shocked hearing how, when fording a river, she tipped. Brothers nearly drowning under her weight. She might appear warm. But Sam’s frostbitten fingers and red nose prove its faults.

Dean wouldn’t part with her for a better model, however. “She’s family, Sam,” Dean says, “When ma and pa set forth, all they had was her. We’ll do the same.”

Sentimentality might be their downfall. Soon, Baby won’t be a wagon. Nor will she be a reminder of their home. Baby will be their coffins.

Sam sneezes, and hopes it’s the only one for the day. His rumbling stomach already offers its own worries.

Earth-92

Days like these Dean wishes he kept working. Jack kept kicking his seat, an arrhythmic pattern that forces his lips into a stern frown. And between his crying and Claire’s complaining, Dean misses most of what his husband says. “Can you please repeat that?” he asks, spinning the dial towards its highest setting.

“I said,” Cas’s voice booms, Dean wincing from the sound, “That the doctor called my cell. He was able to fit me in Saturday at four. You’re not using the car, then, right?”

“No, I –“

“Jack! Stop it, you can’t have my phone while I’m using it!”

“I wanna turn! I wanna turn!”

“One moment…” He eases the brake pedal, slowing before the red light. Then, Dean whips around to face his children. “Jack, Claire, can you please keep the volume down while your pop and I are talking?”

Claire huffs, leaning forward. Out of Jack’s reach, his youngest straining in the car seat for her phone. She types on it, not looking at him. “Tell that to Jack. I’m talking with Alex.”

“Won’t you be seeing her in five minutes anway?”

“It’s important –“

Someone honks from behind them. Dean checks the traffic light, seeing green instead of red. “Shi-shoot.” He switches pedals, watching the road again. “Claire, give Jack one of his toys and put your phone away.”

Claire groans, stomping her foot. “Why should I?”

“If he can’t see it, he won’t want it.” After a moment’s silence, Dean checks the rearview mirror. She disobeys him, still using it. “Claire, I swear if you don’t put that away I’m driving us home.”

“But dad –“

“Don’t ‘but dad’ me, baby girl. Away.” Tone stern, he glimpses her shove the phone in her gym bag. Then grabs a dropped toy nearby. Dean sighs, focusing ahead of him – and on his husband. “Sorry about that.”

“No need,” Cas chuckles, papers shuffling in the background, “I enjoy it when you’re the bad cop. It doesn’t happen every day…”

“Because I hate it,” he grumbles, checking his blind spot while switching lanes, “so when you get home, ground Claire.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Make one up, and then I can talk you out of punishing her and be the good cop again.”

“Dads, you know I can hear you, right?”

“Quiet sweetie, adults are talking!” Dean hits his blinkers, making the left turn when appropriate. “So, the doc’s got you coming in that late? Is it important?” Nerves make his voice crack on the last word, and Dean hates how it does.

Cas hums from the other end, Dean imagining his husband’s pinched expression while he chooses his words carefully. To not worry him. “She mentioned something cholesterol. I think she wants to see me about my diet.”

“If that’s all,” Dean says, drumming his fingers along the wheel, “you better not sell me down the river.”

“I’ll try not to, but if she asks why I eat an abnormal amount of sweets I’ll have to be honest.” Cas laughs, Dean’s chest warming from the volume. At this volume, it feels like the soundwaves wrap him in a warm blanket. “Oh, I have to go. Your brother’s pointing at his watch from outside my office. I think we’re supposed to have a meeting?”

“Then what are you still doing on the phone?”

“Telling you and Jack and Claire that I love you. All of you. And Claire, good luck at practice today!”

“Thanks, dad!”

He hangs up, Dean lowering the volume before the radio comes back and deafens them. Unfortunately, he wishes it would. Because as Cas disappeared, his children’s bickering started up again. Jack upset that Cas didn’t wish him ‘good luck’. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t taking a karate class, nor comprehended what the concept of luck was. Claire received well wishes, he didn’t, and that is what he took away from the call.

They worked Dean’s last nerve. His vision blurred from the stress, Jack’s tantrum doubling in its fury. He drove on autopilot, too busy keeping calm. Finally, after Jack’s figure was thrown and hit the front windshield, Dean felt the straw rip. At the next red light, Dean acted.

“That’s it,” he turned, leaning into the second row. Claire and Jack stopped fighting immediately, staring at him with wide eyes. Dean must look crazed, but he cannot care enough to soften his features. Their fighting ripped off the warm blanket Cas’s voice provided, and he was chilled from the sudden exposure. “You two will sit quietly for the rest of the ride, otherwise when we get home it’s dinner and nothing else. Got it?” Claire nods sullenly, Jack fighting tears welling under his eyes. Dean’s heart seizes seeing his son upset, and that helps break frenzy fogging his senses. “I’m sorry for blowing up like that,” Dean says, calmer, “but when daddy’s behind the wheel he needs to concentrate. Otherwise people can get hurt. We could get hurt. And nothing would make me feel worse than if either of you kids were hurt because of me. I love you both too much to let that happen, okay? So please… be good?”

“Okay, daddy…” Jack sniffles, wiping at his eyes, “sorry…”

“Thank you, Jack.”

Dean retakes the wheel as the light turns green. It’s a block from Claire’s dojo, Dean readying his blinker. When he hits the gas, however, the car stays still.

By the time he realizes that, a semi-truck speeds through the intersection. Blowing its red light. Dean chokes back his curse, cars honking around him.

“Dad?” Claire asks, pitching forward in her seat, “Dad, what happened?”

“The uh… the car…” Dean steps on the gas pedal again, working now. He slowly inches through, drifting towards the first open space he finds. When parked, Dean’s composure fractures completely. Shattering into dust that piles in the footwell.

They were almost… that truck – it’s idiot driver – almost totaled their car. Did the very thing he warned Jack and Claire about. Images of bent metal, crumpled bodies, and blood cause the bile in his stomach to threateningly react. He squeezes his eyes, breathing deep until those pictures are replaced with soothing blankness. Counting, using the tricks his therapist imparted after his last big crash all those years ago. Getting his mind off the what could have happened and onto what did.

He’s safe. His kids, Claire and Jack, they’re safe. The car is –

The car. Dean hit the gas pedal but it didn’t budge.

At the dealer, when Dean searched for a new car after his old lease was up, the salesman hyped up all the new features. Sam listened with a skeptical ear, always asking questions. The right ones. Ones that made Dean feel smarter about his choices. He was in the car, too, with Dean and John. That fateful night.

“And this new safety feature?” Sam asked, dragging his hand along the black hood, “how exactly does it work?”

The salesman pointed at the front bumper. “It’s got built in sensors that are connected to the dashboard system. If it detects any danger, it can react faster than a human could. So if you and your husband –“

“Brother.”

“Right, brother, sorry, were driving –“

“This is his car. Not mine.”

“Well… if he’s driving, and he’s distracted because of something. And doesn’t see a pedestrian coming. Maybe a kid chasing a ball into the street… the car would stop for him.”

Dean knew which car he was leasing, then. Waiting for the sales pitch to wrap up so he can sign the three-year contract. A year in, though, Dean might screw the lease and buy the car fully. Make her the last Baby they ever get.

The Baby that survived.

Earth-32

Sam slams on the wheel, cursing as their car sputters off the road and onto untouched gravel. “No! No no no…”

“Sam!” Dean turns in his seat, gun still smoking. “Why’d you stop?”

“I didn’t,” he tells his brother, punching the wheel. It honks, rolling somewhat. Inching forward. “Damn car’s broken.”

Dean scowls, gun tilting dangerously towards him. “Don’t you talk about Baby like that.”

If there were time, Sam would calmly tiptoe through an apology while explaining what he meant in a manner Dean’s sensitive ego would appreciate. Unfortunately, Sam can hear the sirens approaching. And dust from the barren plains rides the gust, stinging his eyes. Compound his irritation from Baby’s fit. Meaning he accepts Dean’s twitching trigger finger without worry. “I don’t think we’re getting out of this.”

“Yes we are,” Dean says. He shoves the gun at Sam, jerking a thumb behind him. “Switch with me. She just needs a more practiced hand s’all.” While rounding the dark grey Ford, Sam stares into the distance. Red and blue flash, appearing over the curve. Dean ignores them, whispering for only his Baby. “I knew I should’ve been at the wheel. Even if it meant we were cutting it close.” Sam enters as Dean tries the ignition again.

Baby coughs, struggles, and then falls silent.

“No,” Dean groans, anger heavying his tone, “don’t be mad at me, girl. It’s me. Ol’ Dean…”

Sam thinks up a silent prayer. Sends it off in case there were angels listening. “Dean,” he says, laying a hand on his brother.

“We’ll be okay,” he lies, grin laughable despite how hard he tries. “We’ve been in worse scrapes before… always got out. Just another story for the news to run s’all. Winchester Brothers escape once more with their spoils, baffling pig cops and the king of sows himself, Ness…” Dean keeps up turning the keys. She doesn’t even feign a response at this point.

“Dean.” Sam tears Dean’s hands away. They’re shaking. Or maybe he is. Both of them are, knowing what waits them in the next few minutes. “It’s okay.”

Dean stares at his lap, tears threatening to spill. Like all his life, Dean reels them back before they can fall. “You think this was how we were gonna go out?”

“Always feared it might happen,” Sam admits, checking the ammunition in Dean’s tommy. Half-spent. “But I guess it’s par for the course when you do what we do. Did you?”

“No,” he shrugs, “even know it doesn’t feel… real, y’know? How could this happen to us? Dean and Sam – they called us the Untouchables. We’re fucking legends.”

“Maybe we weren’t the legends we thought, then.” A depressing thought that makes Dean slump further into his seat. Sam can see the sirens without turning his head, cars skidding in their approach surrounding them. He reaches for his gun, past the bags of money, and tosses it. Dean catches the heavier weapon. “But if we are… let’s hope there’s truth in that saying. About legends never dying.”

“Winchesters!” a deep, gravelly voice shouts from outside. Eliot Ness no doubt. “Come out with your hands up! If you make this easy on yourselves, I promise we can put you up in a nice pad behind bars where you belong!”

Dean looks past Sam out the window. Probably at Ness, himself. Meeting his stare. A tension existed there that went far beneath their professions and duties. He glances at Sam, “At least we’re going together.”

“Let’s give ‘em hell.”

Sam fires two shots as he exits the car. Dean barely opened the driver’s side door. Bullets rained upon them like a maelstrom, piercing them. Turning them into dust like that which they came from.

It comes in moments. Sam being held in Dean’s arms as their farmhouse burnt in front of them, mother lost. A drunk father who could barely raise a decent crop when America thrived. Days and days spent with a nose buried in books. When he took breaks from those, Dean made sure he lived life. Swimming in creeks, riding horses. Asking girls on dates after his brother talked him up.

Loans on the family property eating away at his father, more than the booze ever did. Burying him in a shallow plot near their mother. Losing the farm, thumbing across the country alongside every other victim of this Depression.

The hunger, the sleeplessness – the bank manager with poor temperament and slippery fingers. Their first robbery. So unpracticed, he and Dean only found their getaway car after committing the crime. Stealing her, too.

She was more than a car, though. She was home when the heat was scalding, and getting a room risked their lives. She was a symbol, of Dean and Sam, of their notoriety. She was their friend, helping them sort through issues.

Fitting, that when she died, so did they.

He blinks, feeling lightheaded. Body sluggish from blood loss. A shadow steps forward, bending, revealing Ness’s tanned face. Ness removes his hat, scanning Sam’s limp figure.

“Seemed a lot taller in the reports…”

Earth-81a

Dean polishes Baby’s handles one last time, loving how she glints in the sunlight. He rocks on his heels until gravity tips him over, forcing him onto his ass. Leans back, hands resting on asphalt as he pulls his knees towards his chest.

“Hey,” Sam calls, “who said you were done?”

He ignores his brother, staring at his beautiful Baby. “I am done, Sammy,” he drawls, “look at her… she can’t get any more perfect.”

Sam scowls, rag draped over Baby’s sidecar window. “Why don’t you help with this, then?”

“No way,” Dean chuckles, “not how it works. Y’know the rules: whoever rode Baby last cleans Baby, and sidecar…”

“Cleans sidecar…” Sam finishes, dunking the rag in a nearby bucket. Water sloshes and spills from the force of it. “Dumb rule though,” he mumbles, “especially when you purposefully drove through that mud pit.”

He grins, “There was no avoiding it!”

It’s not the truth, but neither feel the need to expose it.

Dean spotted the mud while idling at a red light, Sam busy scrolling through his tablet. Reading about a possible case in Texas, where hikers were washing ashore with holes in their chests. Construction went on nearby, piling the mud as they excavated a water-logged field.

He took a detour. Drove particularly close, waving at the construction workers while doing so. Sam yelped, frozen, mud sloshing against the sidecar. Some spilling into his lap and coating his sleeve. Then Dean sped past, hiding his laughter with Baby’s engine. Gaze pulled from the road every few seconds as Sam’s disgust proved too distracting.

Served him right, though. Dean balanced the scales, retribution for when Sam glued a suggestive sign on his helmet when he sat in the sidecar. Only realizing when they stopped for lunch three states deep.

“Why’d you do that,” he hissed, crumpling the notecard in his shaking fist; ‘I DO ANAL’ unintelligible from his strangling.

“What?” Sam poorly hid his pride behind a milkshake, shoulders shaking, “It’s not wrong.”

Dean spent longer than expected sifting through memories. Wading out of his mind, he sees Sam standing. “You done?”

“No,” he says, picking up the bucket, “but I’m tired. Think I’m gonna take a nap.”

Nodding, Dean focuses on Baby again. Drawing him from her was hard, especially after cleanings. “Dump that then, since you’re done.”

“Okay…”

Splash! Cold water races down his shirt, fabric sticking. He shudders a harsh breath, gasping from the shock of both the water and Sam’s action. His jaw hangs open, Dean slowly turning his head. Sam above with a terrible smile on his face. Innocent in name only. “You…”

“Have fun with that, Dean!” He drops the bucket, scurrying for the motel room. Dean jumps, sliding somewhat from the suds. A tiny obstacle that impacts him greatly, Dean reaching Sam when the motel door closes. Slamming against it, Dean bangs and bangs.

“Sammy! You open that up!”

“Sorry, Dean, I can’t hear you! I’m sleeping!”

Minutes seem like hours, Dean pounding the door until he gives up. Slinks back, defeated. Seeking comfort in a familiar shape.

He stretches across Baby’s seat, careful of his still-dripping clothes. Dean caresses her front light, sight, “Sam’s a big ol’ meanie… leaving him high and wet out in the cold… what are we gonna do to him next?”

Earth-406

It’s simple work, but it’s good work. It’s their work.

“Help me with this,” Dean says, motioning Sam over. His brother adjusts his cap, tucking flyaway back under while he crosses the deck. Dean, bent, fingers slipping on the heavy net, breathes a sigh of relief when Sam latches on. “Three, okay? One… two… three.”

They haul their catch over the edge, fish fighting the entire time. Their hands were whacked with tails and bit by snapping jaws, but they stayed firm. Pulling the rest of their haul up until all the fish flopped and died.

“Whoa…” Sam wipes his brow, picking up one of the fish, “these are huge. You sure Cas didn’t find this place near a toxic waste dump?”

Dean huffs, “Maybe they’re on whatever diet’s made you so big and strong?” Sam shoves at him, nearly forcing him off the boat as his foot slips. The fish underneath him taking revenge. He grabs Baby’s edge, catching himself. “Keep laughing, Sammy,” Dean drawls, glaring at his brother, “but how funny would it’ve been if I fell overboard and you had to do this all by yourself?”

“You’d’ve just gotten wet, drama queen.” Sam clears fish away with his feet, pushing them into piles they can easily manage. “Now quit playing around. We’ve got to get these packed away before they spoil. Otherwise this whole trip’d been a waste.”

He rolls his eyes but does as instructed.

Packing fish into Baby’s large cooler went by fast, Dean’s autopilot guiding him. Dean and Sam could do this while sleeping, so comfortable with these tasks. Having been on the sea since they were little, helping their father work on his boat. They did their homework on Baby, played on Baby, and when John took her far beyond usual paths, slept in Baby.

When he grew too old, he passed her onto those he knew would treat her right. Those who can uphold the family business. Men who have been fishing for all their lives.

It’s simple work, but it’s good work. It’s their work.

Earth-0

Sal finds his irritation fading when he sees his brother, Dean, stride towards a familiar car. “Dude,” he says, eyes widening in shock, “is that -?”

“Yep,” Dean answers, stroking his hand lovingly across her hood, “I’m glad you didn’t forget Baby.”

How could he? They both grew up in her, the blue 1965 Mustang the only home Sal ever knew. Staring at her, a million questions sprout like weeds in his mind. What’s she doing here? Why does she look this good? Is the army man he lost years ago still stuck in her ashtray? Of all those thoughts, Sal voices only one. “Dad lets you drive her?”

“He gave her to me,” he tells Sal, opening the driver’s side door. “Now come on, we can talk more about her while we’re on the road. Longer we drag our feet, the more likely dad’s in danger…”

It’s not great motivation for Sal, but he slides in without a fight. Brushing his thumbs on the leather seating, he pushes thoughts of his father to the back of his mind. Instead thinking about all the good memories; those he has of Baby, and coincidentally, of Dean.

Earth-1

Sam winces, Dean advancing too close in his tirade. “Okay, okay… sheesh. It was only a question. I didn’t mean to threaten the weird relationship you have with your car.”

Dean relaxes somewhat, shoulders still tense. He drains his beer in a single gulp, fingers flexing against the glass bottle. Given enough time, left alone, he can unwind once more. Although a thought strikes Sam that makes him risk his brother’s temper. Teasing too tempting.

“Y’know,” he chuckles, sliding his beer across the table. Back and forth. “Maybe in one universe, Baby isn’t a car. Maybe Baby’s a person. And that Dean and that Baby are finally fucking –“

“Sammy…” The slight edge of warning underlying his voice should give Sam a good idea as to the line he treads. “Don’t you…”

“Or does Baby being human even matter to you?”

“That’s it!”

Sam jumps out of his seat, avoiding Dean’s flailing hand. Flees while his brother climbs over the table, spilling what little remained of his beer. He hears his pounding footsteps after him, audible even though his own cackling bounces off the walls.

“Sam! Dean –“ They pass Cas and Jack, having hurried when hearing the commotion. Sam keeps moving, the distance between him and Dean lessening with each breath. How, Sam doesn’t know. Of the two, Dean’s only form of exercising aside from fighting monsters was running his mouth. But that’s definitely his hand brushing his shoulder. Dean urged on by pride, and the need to defend his Baby’s armor.

He makes a sharp left, skidding. Dean slams into the wall. Sam looks behind, briefly, spotting his brother’s fierce glare and tempered smile. “I’m gonna get you, Sammy!” he shouts, barreling towards him, “And when I do…”

They shoot out into the garage. Sam runs for safety, finding Baby. Dean follows.

Circling her, they take turns gasping for breath. They feel young – younger than ever. Decades worth of trauma shaved off, wrinkles smoothening, and souls lighter like when they were children. Hell, Heaven… Lucifer, Michael, and Chuck… all distant, fading dreams too impossible for reality.

Soon, Dean’s irritation fades. He forgets why he chased Sam into the garage. Sam notices the brighter mood of his brother but doesn’t needle him further.

Why spoil such a rare moment? Another good memory for Sam, Dean, and Baby.

Our Baby.

#supernatural #spn #spn15 #dean winchester #sam winchester #baby the impala #supernatural fanfic #castiel #destiel #deancas #15x13 destiny's child #supernatural coda

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lakesandquarries · 5 years

Text

After the Storm (Chapter Two)

WHOOPS i forgot to post chapter two. here it is.

AO3 link

A brief list of things Sonic doesn’t know about:

- scented candles

- dinosaurs

- microwaves

- math

- most foods, generally

- dog food, specifically

Sonic is eager to learn. There’s a certain Look he gets when encountering something new, tilted head and perked ears, that Tom is learning to recognize. And, for the most part, he’s easy to teach. The candles confuse him a little, until Maddie lights one for him. He’s delighted by the concept of dinosaurs, and figures out the microwave pretty quickly. Math...proves a bit trickier, but that one’s probably more on Tom and his lack of teaching skills. Food is easy to teach about. Tom just has to say something is food, maybe what type of food it is, and Sonic will dig in. He’s usually willing to try anything out.

This backfires.

“What’s that?” Sonic asks, bouncing on his heels as Tom pours kibble into Ozzie’s bowl.

“Dog food,” Tom says, and before he can even blink Sonic’s got a handful and he’s shoving it in his mouth. “Hold on, that’s not for -” humans is what he was about to say, but, well, Sonic’s not a human. “You shouldn’t eat that,” is what he says instead.

Sonic frowns. He’s still chewing. “Why not? I mean, it’s not as good as the other stuff I’ve tried, but it’s not that bad! Ozzie seems to like it!”

Tom sighs. “That’s because Ozzie’s a dog. And this is dog food. It’s food for dogs. So, not for people , and that includes hedgehogs.”

Sonic’s got that Look again, the confused one. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, which is never a good sign, instead tapping his finger against his chin thoughtfully. He seems like he’s mouthing something to himself - a newer habit of his. Now that there’s actually people around to hear him, he’s learning how to internalize his thoughts a bit more.

“Is there special hedgehog food?” is what he finally asks. His voice is light and cheerful and very clearly fake.

“Yeah,” Tom says, not wanting to push him. “But dog and cat food is a lot more common to find.”

“Do any other animals have special food?”

At least this is a subject Tom knows a bit about, thanks to Maddie. He nods. ”Yeah, lots of animals do. At least, ones that are domestic - which are animals like pets, and farm animals, and things like that.”

Sonic has a lot more questions after that, enough that Tom ends up enlisting Maddie to help, because at a certain point Tom only knows so much, and the intricate nuances of what’s considered pets vs farm animals is definitely past him. But he’s glad Sonic asks them about things, that he’s interested in learning, that he’s comfortable enough to ask in the first place.

He’s also glad that Sonic doesn’t try eating any more dog food.

There’s a couple things that are confusing Sonic.

Well, maybe more than a couple things. A lot more, actually! Sonic hasn’t quite figured out math yet, but he knows “a lot” is more than “a couple”. And there’s so much stuff that confuses him! He’d thought he had everything figured out from watching people, but apparently the world is way more complicated than he thought.

Like, dinosaurs! Tom had put on Jurassic Park for movie night, which Sonic had never actually seen before (it looked too scary), and afterwards Sonic had said he was glad dinosaurs weren’t real and Tom had told him they actually were!

Well, they used to be real, but that was billions of years ago or something, and they’re extinct now, which means they don’t exist anymore. And they probably can’t actually be brought back like in the movie. Sonic had made a joke about how Eggman was the kind of guy who’d wanna bring them back, and use them like in the movie, but Tom had gotten really quiet so Sonic had changed the topic.

Anyway! He liked getting to learn new stuff, even if some of it was less fun, like math. Math was hard. But dinosaurs were cool, and the microwave seemed pretty neat, and Tom kept showing Sonic all these new kinds of food and that was awesome .

Except the dog food. That had been kinda awkward. Honestly, Sonic didn’t really get what the big deal was! Ozzie ate it, so it couldn’t be bad , right? He was Tom’s Best Friend, and Tom would never do anything to hurt his Best Friend. And Ozzie ate human food all the time! So it should work the other way around, right?

And, well, that’s the other thing Sonic keeps thinking about. When Tom had tried to stop him, he’s said that’s not for - and then cut himself off.

Sonic can’t stop thinking about how he was gonna finish that sentence.

He doesn’t say anything about it that night. Or the night after. Or the night after that. But it’s there, in the back of his head, ‘ that’s not for -’ for what? He ends up staying up way past his usual bedtime, pacing back and forth and thinking . He’s getting better at thinking quietly, keeping it in his head, but he finds himself mumbling out loud as he tries to sort through this, acting out an argument.

“He was just gonna say hedgehogs,” he says to himself, sitting on the beanbag. “Tom’s a smart guy! He wouldn’t say something stupid like -”

Lying across his bed, he counters - “Then why did he cut himself off? And say something completely different? He’s the Donut Lord , he’s normally great at talking! He wouldn’t do something like that unless -”

On the beanbag again: “But he said later that it’s not for hedgehogs.”

“Not for people . Including hedgehogs.”

“Exactly! So that’s what he was gonna say there, too. He just didn’t wanna say the same thing twice.”

On the bed, he buries his face in the blankets, muffling his frustrated noises. He sits back up, staring at his hands, at his gloves, at the blue fur and quills.

He’s not human.

Tom knows this, Maddie knows this, Eggman knew it, the whole town knows it. And that’s fine! He’s the coolest hedgehog on the whole planet. He doesn’t want to be human. Not even a little. He’s never, ever wished he was just a normal kid with a normal family who went to school and had friends and didn’t live in a cave. Not even once.

He’s also a really, really bad liar, even when the only person he’s lying to is himself.

He doesn’t even realize he’s pacing until he feels that familiar, awful surge of energy, fur standing on end suddenly as electricity sparks between his quills.

“No, no, no!” He tries to pat it off him, but it just gets worse, bright blue arcing off him and shutting off the lamp by his bed. Before he can think better of it, he’s down the ladder and out the door, and by the time he realizes what he’s done he’s halfway to his old cave. Hopefully Tom didn’t notice him leaving. It is pretty late, after all. Tom should be asleep, not worrying about his...about….about….

“Stop it,” he says out loud, hoping it’ll make his spiralling thoughts slow down a bit. He’s fine. It’s fine! Maybe he’s basically just another pet for Tom and Maddie, but that’s not a bad thing, is it? Ozzie seems pretty happy. It’s fine. He’s never gonna fit in anywhere, not really, but this is the best he’s gonna get, and it’s good, and he shouldn’t ruin it all by asking for too much. He’s not gonna ruin this, not like he did with Longclaw.

He runs a hand through his quills, and this time the electricity seems to be a bit better, so he starts back in the direction of the house. Not running, just walking, slow and steady. Calm.

He’s fine.

As he gets closer, he hears noises, indistinct at first but clearer with each step he takes, until he realizes what it is.

“Sonic!” Tom yells, and Sonic can see a flashlight beam cutting through the forest. “Sonic, where are you?”

Oh. Oh no.

He breaks into a sprint, nearly slamming into Tom. “I’m right here!” he says, waving his arms.

Tom deflates, leaning forward with his hands on his thighs and breathing out slowly. “You scared me,” he says, sighing.

“Oh,” Sonic says.

“It’s okay, just let me know if you need to go outside or anything, okay? Little concerning to hear a crash and go upstairs and see my - and see you missing.”

Sonic opens his mouth, intending to say sorry or okay, I won’t do that again or I just needed to do something or literally anything else than what he actually says, which is: “What were you gonna say?”

“What?”

“You cut yourself off,” Sonic says. “You said it was concerning to hear a crash and go upstairs and see your - and then you cut off.”

Tom doesn’t respond, possibly because Sonic doesn’t actually give him time to. “And a couple days ago, when I tried Ozzie’s food, you told me to stop because it’s not for - and you cut yourself off. That’s twice. So it’s gotta mean something, right? I have to -”

Sonic’s the one cutting himself off, this time. His throat feels clogged, like there’s something stuck there, and when he speaks he has to force the words out. “I’m something, right?”

Tom kneels down so he’s eye level with Sonic. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Just breathe, okay?”

Sonic sniffles a bit when he breathes in, but after a few rounds of in and out, Tom seems satisfied.

“How long have you been thinking about this?” Tom asks. Sonic shrugs.

“A while,” he admits.

Tom holds out his hand, waiting for Sonic to place his on top and gripping it gently.

“Am I your best friend?” Sonic blurts out. Tom smiles.

“Not quite,” he says, placing his other hand on top of Sonic’s. “You’re family.”

“Like Ozzie?”

That gets a laugh out of Tom, somehow. “Sorta. But Ozzie’s a pet, like what we talked about the other day. He’s not a person. I love him a lot, and he’s part of the family, but it’s different than you or me or Maddie.”

“I’m not like you or Maddie either,” he says, wiggling his fingers.

“Well, no. Most kids are pretty different from their parents.”

Sonic blinks at Tom, his mouth hanging open slightly. He uses his free hand to push it shut. “Parents?”

“That’s pretty much what we are, isn’t it? Teaching you things, making sure you’re safe, taking care of you….that’s what parents do. It’s not how Maddie and I originally planned to have kids, but….you’ve got a place here. And I’m sorry I didn’t make that more clear.”

Sonic’s vision is starting to get a bit blurry. He uses his free hand to wipe at his eyes, and his hand comes away wet.

“But what if Eggman comes back? Or something new happens? They’re still looking for me.”

“And I’m not gonna let ‘em find you.”

His legs feel weak, kind of like when Tom had first hit him with the tranquiliser. This time, when Sonic falls, Tom catches him.

“Woah there,” he says, letting Sonic collapse against his shoulder. “Lets head back, okay?”

“Okay,” Sonic says into Tom’s shirt. He’s running his hand through his spikes, and that combines with the emotional whiplash of the last hour or so has him suddenly feeling exhausted . Tom carries him back to the house, and Sonic vaguely wonders why they’re not climbing up the ladder, but then he’s being placed in a bed and maybe it’s not his own but it’s warm and comfortable and he’s asleep in minutes.

---

When he wakes up, Tom and Maddie are still there.

#sonic 2020 #sonic the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog movie #sonic wachowski #tom wachowski #cora writes #ats tag #after the storm

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mickey-milkovichs · 5 years

Text

Worry And Care - Faith/Buffy - 2000+ words

Season 7, extended fuffy scene after the Empty Places fight, this time with a lil more communication hopefully

on ao3

The front door quietly hinges shut behind Faith as she follows Buffy into the chilly night air, crossing her arms over her chest. “Wait! B... Buffy. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Buffy stops at the edge of the porch but doesn’t turn around. “What did you mean to have happen, then? You brought it up. Obviously you didn’t agree with how I was handling things.” But she doesn’t sound angry, just hollow. Almost like she expected her friends to stab her in the back.

Faith clears her throat awkwardly. “Well, no, but I… I didn’t want everyone to jump all over you and shit. It wasn’t even about them! I was just trying to...talk to you.”

“Talk to me? Question my leadership in front of everyone, you mean? Cause this completely unprepared group to fracture even more while I’m doing everything I can to keep us going?”

“No! I wanted to talk to you, Jesus. I’m…,” she huffs, throwing her arms down. “I’m worried about you, Buffy. I just thought maybe I’d say something and we’d all take a break and think about it and you could, like, fuck, I don’t know, go to sleep? And we could talk about it in the morning? You just look so…,” Faith bites her lip and cuts herself off, not sure where she should stop, if she went too far already.

“So what?” Buffy asks in an empty voice.

Faith half shrugs, eyes flitting between Buffy’s back and the dark air surrounding them. “Tired. Stressed out, more than usual, I mean. Like you’re about to snap, or something. It’s freaking me out.”

Buffy’s quiet for several moments. “Maybe I am about to snap, Faith. Is that any of your business? You don’t even—you haven’t been around for the last few years. For any of the things I’ve—the things that have been happening, although you featured pretty heavily in the beginning of Bad Times for Buffy. You don’t get a say in how I deal with it, okay! Everyone is always trying to—to dictate how I feel and...make me okay with everything. But maybe I’m not. Okay.”

Faith just sighs. “I know.”

Neither of them say anything as the cool air stings their fingers and cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Faith says gruffly, throat thick. “I wish I was.”

“What?” Buffy turns around to face Faith, the last of her tears drying on her face.

“Here. I wish I was here. For you. With you, I mean, with you guys, everyone, just to—help out, with everything. Whatever. It’s what I should have been doing.”

Buffy scoffs. “Right. I’m sure you would have loved seeing me cry over my mom dying and over Giles leaving and over being dead and….”

“No, I would have hated it, B.”

Buffy scowls. “Exactly. So don’t blame me if I’m not exactly heartbroken that you weren’t around to witness my most bad and humiliating moments so that you could make me feel even worse.”

“No, I—fuck!” Faith exclaims, annoyed with their constant miscommunication. “It’s not like that! I wouldn’t hate to be around, I already said I should have been here. But why would I...why would I love to see you cry?”

The silence emerges again as Buffy chews on her lower lip. “You did before,” she mutters darkly.

“No I didn’t.” She says it before she can stop herself.

“Like hell you didn’t,” Buffy snaps. “Did you forget all the things you did to me? The things you purposefully did to break me?”

“I know what I did, Buffy. Trust me, I could never forget. But I never liked it. Seeing it, I mean. What it did to you. How I hurt you.” Faith looks up from the ground and grabs Buffy’s gaze with intense, emotion filled brown eyes, and Buffy can’t look away.

“I….” Buffy opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. “Then why did you? Do it?” She waves her hand in the air between them immediately, brushing off any possible reply. “Never mind, we don’t have to get into it now. I don’t understand, but I do know why you did it...for the most part.” Faith flushes a little at that, remembering a recent conversation where she’d confessed most of the frenzied logic that had lead to her downward spiral. “Just, but it...seemed like you liked hurting me.”

Faith nods. “I know it did. I acted like I did. I seemed like a lot of things that I wasn’t.” She keeps going at Buffy’s silence. “Hell, and some things I was, too. Even I couldn’t keep it straight most of the time.”

Buffy snorts. “Well, that I can believe.”

“But I didn’t like hurting you, Buffy. I felt like I had to do it, but I fucking hated myself for it. And for everything else. Maybe some day you can believe me about that, even if you can’t forgive me. I don’t expect you to.”

Buffy averts her eyes. “Why do you even want me to? Isn’t it water under the giant bridge for you at this point?”

Faith wants to say something easy, but all she can do is shake her head and choke out, “Never.” What she did to Buffy will never leave her, not ever. She clears her throat. “Plus, hey, the world’s about to end, gotta make amends, right?”

Buffy sinks down onto the porch step, heavily, like all her bones just turned to cement at the thought of doomsday looming. “Yeah. I guess now’s as good a time as any. We’ll probably all be six feet under in a few weeks, so. At least there’s this. Last ditch effort to get some things off our chest.”

Faith nods, unsure if she should join Buffy on the step or go back inside and deal with whatever chaos is sure to be brewing. Maybe she can convince Buffy to come back with her. She’s about to chance asking, but with one look it seems that Buffy’s deep in thought.

“So, you were worried about me, huh?” Buffy asks suddenly in an easier tone, smirking lightly.

Faith blinks, surprised. “Still am. But I think you’re gonna be okay.”

“I was too. Worried, I mean. About you,” Buffy says quietly.

“Huh? You mean...’cause of the evil cops? I’m fine—”

“No…,” Buffy whispers, “back then. I was worried about you. I was so worried that you were gonna go off the deep end. That you were hiding your feelings. And I didn’t know how to handle it. I just wanted you to know...that you could talk to me, tell me the truth. That’s why I put so much pressure on you to be honest, I guess. I wanted to get through to you. And look what happened.”

Faith gives a short laugh. “And I just put pressure on you ‘cause I wanted you to open up to me, with wicked great results again. Fuck. I guess we really don’t know how to talk to each other.”

Buffy snorts. “Nope.” Worry and care just come out like anger and mistrust around Faith. She doesn’t want them to but she can’t seem to help it, and it seems like Faith has the same issue. She hates it, can’t stop hoping for the understanding and connection with Faith that she’s always longed for. However impossible it seems. “Think we’ll learn to?”

“Well, if an old dog like you can learn new tricks….”

“Calling me old now?”

“You know it,” Faith smirks. “Fuck, B, you’re running an army here. You ain’t no babe in swaddle clothes or whatever.”

“I guess. I feel old, anyway.”

“Well, you look hot, so don’t worry about it.”

“I thought you said I look tired?”

“Uh….”

“Gotcha.” Buffy smiles and Faith just smiles back, glad that Buffy seems not about to burst into tears again. She keeps smiling at Buffy until it gets to be too much, then turns her gaze outward. They sit in companionable, as opposed to resentful, silence for once. It’s nice. Then Faith shakes her head, breaking the calm quiet. “Shit, I can’t believe they threw you out of your own damn house, B. That was kinda fucked up. I never thought I’d see the day the scoobies would rebel against their golden queen.”

“I didn’t see you saying anything against it.”

Faith shrugs. “Wouldn’t have been my place. Come on, these are your best friends. You guys have history. And you’re right, I haven’t been around, for, like, years. I know I don’t get much of a say here.” She pauses. “Still think it was fucked up, though.”

“I guess you’re right. I don’t really blame you. You were just...voicing your opinion. You’re allowed, I suppose,” Buffy sniffs.

“Oh, I am huh?” Faith chuckles. “When did that change? Never was before.”

Buffy rolls her eyes. “Yes you were. Or if you weren’t, you did it anyway. I sure heard a lot of what you had to say.”

Faith laughs outright at that. “And you always let me have it for what I said.” She pauses for a moment, calculating her next comment. “But you didn’t say anything to them now, and I...I think you should have, B. What right do they have? Seriously, Buffy, they can’t treat you like that. You’re trying to help them, for Christ’s sake. And don’t you pay the bills in this joint?”

Buffy just sighs and rolls her shoulders back, gazing out into the night. “People treat me however they want to, it seems. I’m just expected to take it.” This Buffy is so different than the one Faith had known. It seems like her defiance, her confidence, her fire has all but gone out and she’s hanging on by sheer force of will. Fuck, Faith’s not surprised the scoobies had been able tear her down so easily. It hurts. It fucking hurts to see her so sad and defeated. She wants to remind Buffy of who she is.

“You never took it from me. Got the wounds to prove it.”

Buffy grimaces but just says, “’Cause you were annoying.”

Faith huffs. “Oh, and Willow and Xander and all them aren’t? I’m sorry, B, but your friends are irritating as shit.”

Buffy smiles a little. “Well. Irritating in a lovable way, maybe.”

Faith brings a hand to her chest protectively. “And I’m not lovable? I’m hurt, B. I really am.”

Buffy’s lips twitch. “I didn’t say that, you big baby. I’m sure you were lovable.” She narrows her eyes. “As an infant.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. My mom said I was a little devil. Threw my baby chow on the floor and ripped my diapers off and dragged them on the carpet.”

Buffy hmms. “Always trying to take your clothes off.”

“That’s what you got from my story? Damn, B, you seem pretty fixated on my body if that’s the case.”

“You wish!”

“Hell yeah I do, and what are you gonna do about it?” Faith leans forward as she teases, into Buffy’s space. God, she loves this. How things between her and Buffy can go from heartbreaking and so painful one second to exciting and crackling with chemistry the next, she’s sure she’ll never know.

Buffy smiles. “Well, not kick your ass I guess, since we have bigger fish to fry.”

“Hey now, I knew the apocalypse would come through for me one of these days! But listen,” Faith whispers conspiratorially to Buffy, gesturing for her to lean in. “I know how you can get back at me.”

“Yeah, and how would that be?” Buffy whispers in return.

“Come back in the house with me. Make your besties and the newbies screech and cry all night long. No sleep for Faith. That’s a surefire way to get me to suffer.”

Buffy widens her eyes. “Jeez, I don’t know, Faith. That seems a little harsh, even for you.”

Faith grins. “I knew you were a big softie for me, B.” She holds her hand out, palm open and reaching. “But seriously, come back with me. Please. You know we sure as shit can’t do it without you.”

And Buffy takes her hand.

#fuffy #faith lehane #buffy summers #faith x buffy #fuffy fanfic #buffy x faith #fuffy fanfiction #IT'S BEEN 84 YEARS #but here i am back on my fuffy bullshit #i'm doing a rewatch and was inspired #and just so y'all know my fuffy love is ALWAYS there #never dims a bit #my girls....#i actually kinda like this one #it's not perfect but please tell me what you thought??#and maybe i'll be inspired to write some more fuffy #ANYWAY I LOVE BUFFY AND I LOVE FAITH BYE

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izzy-b-hands · 4 years

Text

Our House

Eugene is away on business for a few weeks, and they’ve both wanted bits and pieces of the house fixed up/changed.

Snafu can do that all on his own, right?

Important lessons about home improvement and how it is a fickle beast below the cut!

At the end, re: wine, I’m basing their reactions off of what wine does to me (makes me sleepy af and basically useless if I have more than a glass or two.)

Also, I did get a weird headache mid-writing this so hopefully it sounds decent and I didn’t accidentally a word anywhere (I read over it for a quick edit, but y’all know I’m notorious for still missing mistakes until three days later.) If y’all do notice something off/an error on this, please let me know so I can fix it asap!

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

The three weeks marked on the calendar had seemed long, in the days prior to them. He’d spent those days moaning to Eugene about how difficult it would be, and how long the weeks would take to pass.

They hadn’t felt long enough now though.

The bedroom was done, at least, in a cheerful, soft, pastel yellow. A pastel sage green trim made the whole room feel like spring, at least to Snafu. Eugene would love it, that much he knew for sure.

“He ain’t gonna love the rest of this though,” Snafu sighed, and took in the rest of the house as he walked through it. Eugene would be back in a day, and he had so much left to do:

The kitchen was missing half the cabinet doors, which were outside near the shed, halfway to being refinished, varnished, and repainted a light rose pink with white accents. He had never realized just how many cabinets they had until now, and it seemed like too many.

The guest bathroom had yet to be retiled, though the tiles were sitting ready for him to put down.

The guest bedroom was waiting to be repainted a greyish green, but he hadn’t had time to even crack the paint cans open.

And finally, and perhaps worst, the living room was...

“A fuckin’ disaster,” Snafu muttered to himself as he walked into it, carefully. The repainting of it to a plum had gone just fine. However, a bit of paint had gotten onto the velvet chaise lounge they’d recently bought at a flea market. They were going to reupholster it anyway, why not do it now to get rid of the paint?

Snafu shook his head at the memory of asking himself that question. From there, he’d been on a search for a nice velvet to replace the original that would also match the walls, and be to Eugene and his tastes. Easier said than done, and made all the harder at the realization that some of the wood flooring had, at some point, somehow been damaged (maybe when they’d moved in the lounge? He couldn’t be sure.)

Which meant of course the wood flooring needed to be repaired, which was...a task, putting it mildly.

“How the hell am I gonna finish this?” Snafu asked Queen, who was preening on the leftover velvet for the lounge.

She rolled over and turned away from him, still preening with one paw.

“Exactly,” he sighed, then traipsed into the front hall, sitting onto the first step of the staircase to the upper level. “I just gotta make a plan, right? I mean, he might not even notice the guest room; I can paint that later. Bathroom might be an issue, but we don’t even use that bathroom that much, I can hide the tiles. And how often does anybody really look at a cabinet, like really look, ya know?”

Queen looked over, sighed, and closed her eyes for a nap.

“Right? I don’t look at cabinet doors, that’s for sure,” Snafu continued. “So that just leaves the living room, and the living room-”

The front door creaked open, and he just barely resisted the urge to bolt.

“Hey! Is Eugene ba-what in the everloving...” Sidney froze in the doorway, staring at the living room mess. “So, he isn’t back yet then?”

Snafu shook his head. “Nah, or I’d be dead.”

“He won’t be that upset,” Sidney soothed. “I know you mentioned you were doin’ some work but...damn. Hey, nearly done though, really. Just the chair there, and the floor some, and-”

“Most of the rest of the house,” Snafu interrupted. “I got a little ambitious.”

“How ambitious?” Sidney asked gently, and joined Snafu on the step.

By the time Snafu was done regaling him with everything that needed doing, Sidney had gone pale.

“That’s maybe a little too ambitious indeed, Snaf. But, I admire it.”

“And now you’re headin’ on home, right?”

Sidney frowned. “Hell do you mean? I’m gonna help you get done whatever we can. We’ll call Mary, she can come by and help paint, and help you with that lounge. Between the three of us, we can get some of it done at least.”

Snafu stared. They were friends more for Eugene’s sake, rather than to actually be friends (if anything, he got along better with Mary.) There was nothing wrong with Sidney, they just hadn’t clicked in any major way. But it was moments like this he was grateful they both put in the work to become better friends, because what was a good friend if not occasionally a home improvement knight in shining armor?

He hugged Sidney tight, until Sidney finally tried to wriggle out. “Thank you. I know he wouldn’t actually kill me-”

“He doesn’t even like raising his voice to you,” Sidney interrupted. “Every time y’all argue, he calls me and says how bad he feels about any shouting. And I highly doubt it’s even really ‘shouting.’ But you might have earned it this time, though I would defend you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. This was done with good intentions, to give him a nice surprise to come home too. Not your fault home improvement shit never goes right,” Sidney replied. “Come on, get up. We got a long night, and I still gotta call Mary.”

Once Mary was over, it was shocking how fast it all seemed to go. It wasn’t that Sid and Mary rushed him or their own tasks, just that it seemed...easier. The house was warm and loud (as well as the backyard for the last few hours of daylight, while he and Sid finished up the cabinet doors, leaving them painted and drying near the back door) and with the dog and cats occasionally peeking in to check on them, it all felt lively and just good. Better than it had felt for the weeks of being empty except for himself and the pets.

It was six in the morning when they gave up, and, and Sidney put it “had to accept it for what it was.”

Which wasn’t terrible, all things considered.

The last bit of the living room flooring had been fixed up, and the lounge reupholstered thanks to Mary’s endless hard work on it.

The guest bedroom might need another coat, but it was at least mostly done, and the animals had been kept out of it so the door could be shut, keeping the paint fumes mostly confined to the hall near it.

The guest bathroom still had some tiles to finish putting down, but it was about halfway done, and that was a hell of a lot further than Snafu had figured they’d get.

The cabinet doors still needed to finish drying and be actually put back onto the kitchen cabinets, but they looked damn pretty.

They cleaned up, and settled in to wait for Eugene.

And waited.

“He would have called by now,” Snafu muttered, after four hours had passed from when Eugene was supposed to be home. “I should go down to the station, see why he isn’t in yet. Maybe he meant for me to pick him up and forgot to say...”

Sidney shook his head. “That ain’t Eugene. He has a checklist for his checklists; he would have told you. At least four times.”

Mary nodded. “Do you have a number you can call him at? Maybe his train got delayed and he’s still at his hotel in, where was it again he was going?”

“Atlanta,” Snafu replied, and walked to the phone with them and three of the cats on his heels.

He wasn’t at the hotel, nor at the train station in Atlanta. Nor was he at the train station in Mobile, waiting to be picked up.

“Merriell, don’t panic,” Sidney said softly as they walked back to the couch, and Sid using his proper name was enough to send him spiraling.

“What if he’s hurt, what if something happened? I should have just gone with him, y’all could have looked after the pets, and I could have found somethin’ to do in Atlanta while he was busy. This is my fault.”

“How on earth is this your fault?” Mary asked. “I’m sure he’s just fine, probably just...held up, somehow. Who knows, maybe he just can’t catch a cab to the station.”

“For four hours?” Sidney scoffed, then winced as Mary slapped his arm. “I mean yeah. You never know. Could be a cab driver shortage...”

He expected them to leave, but they stayed even as the day wore on into the evening. Mary eventually got up to check on the paint in the guest room, and when she didn’t return, Snafu figured it was dry enough for the final coat. Sid followed shortly after in getting up, and the sound of the back door opening and closing let him know that the cabinet doors were apparently ready to be put back in place.

Meanwhile, he waited and watched the phone.

“Snaf, I’m sure he’s fine,” Sidney said as they finally slipped on their shoes and retrieved their keys from the front hall table. “Somethin’ silly just held him up, and he’ll be rushing in here before you know it. Let yourself get some sleep, okay?”

Mary nodded, and turned to the door, only to nearly be smacked in the face by it as it swung open.

“I am so sorry,” Eugene was a mess, hair clearly unbrushed, clothes wrinkled, and eyes wild. “Are you okay? Why are you two here? I mean, I don’t mean that like; you just don’t live here is what I mean-”

“Gene,” Sidney said gently. “Shut the fuck up and breathe for a minute. What happened?”

Eugene sighed, kicked off his shoes, and moved past them to drop on the newly upholstered chaise lounge. “Snaf, it’s for you. Got it sitting outside. It’s wrapped up, but take a look. Hopefully you like it, and then we can bring it inside. Thought we could hang it in here, on the-did you paint in here?”

Snafu ignored Sidney’s face-palm and Mary’s shaking head as he headed outside. Just by the front door, was a too-big-for-one-person-to-carry framed canvas, bits of the golden colored frame sticking out from under the brown paper wrapping. And under the paper...

“Those are our babies!” Snafu crowed, and ran back inside, nearly knocked the lounge back as he dropped onto it to hug Eugene. “You had to have commissioned that ages ago, to get them pictures of the cats and God knows how you got a decent one of Ack-Ack, and when did you do that?”

“Soon as they mentioned they might need me to travel,” Eugene replied. “Called around, found a local artist, sent the pictures along in the mail whenever I got a chance that you weren’t paying attention. Thought it would be a way to make up for me being gone, but gettin’ that thing in and off of a train was something else, and then they nearly didn’t want to let me on, and-”

Eugene shrugged. “But I made it. And it made it. You like it?”

“I love it!” he buried his face in Eugene’s shoulder, hugging him tight again and taking in everything about him again, how he felt, the scent of his cologne. “But you better not be goin’ anywhere for awhile regardless. I can tell you later, but I-”

“You two are absolutely meant for each other,” Sidney laughed. “You with the picture, and this fool...he redid half the damn house while you were gone. With our help, though we were happy to do it. That lounge you’re sittin’ on?”

Eugene looked down at it as he moved out of Snafu’s embrace as if he was seeing it for the first time. “This wasn’t green velvet when I left.”

“No, no it wasn’t,” Mary smiled. “But it is now! And wait’ll you see the rest of it, he worked hard. Ran out of time, but he worked hard.”

“How much did you try to do in three weeks?” Eugene laughed, though his smile drooped slightly as not one of the three of them answered.

“Tell you what,” Snafu replied after a moment. “We get that painting inside, hung up, and have dinner. And then I’ll tell you all what I did, and how I owe our Sid and Mary a very big favor for it, starting with a late dinner tonight if you both want to stay.”

“...Everything is one piece, right?”

“Except for the tile of the guest bathroom, yes,” Sid interjected. “And if you’ll have us, we’d be happy to stay. Can get that last bit of tiling done with Snaf before we go.”

“I like it! And we’ll have a bit of wine to celebrate your being home,” Snafu said to Eugene, and kissed him before hopping off the lounge and towards the kitchen. “In fact, wine first, picture hanging, then dinner, then tiling?”

“Sounds like a dangerous combination,” Eugene said. “But why not, if we’re celebrating. How badly can it turn out?”

Two bottles of wine between them all, and the rest of the night later, they managed to get the picture inside and resting safely against a wall in the front hall, and the guest bathroom was left mercifully untouched by any drunken work.

Despite it, Snafu had never been happier. Eugene was home, there was good food, good wine, good friends, a gorgeous gift, and the house looked lovely. He couldn’t ask for more.

#text post #LeeH writes #Sledgefu

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darkestwolfx · 4 years

Text

Up from the Depths P.1 - Re-Review #32

Now, just to stick my personal opinion in here... we’re about to get to two of my all time favourite episodes. The amount of references to Jeff, and the purpose for IR - there’s just golden moments everywhere you look. So let’s have a look at some of them.

“What is it, John?”

“You’re gonna’ want to see this.”

“The TV-21! No, it can’t be...”

Well, it is (or we wouldn’t have an episode)!

“Is that what I think it is?”

“It’s the TV-21!”

“Is anyone gonna’ clue me in here?”

“It’s the TV-21!”

“That is not helping!”

Don’t worry, Alan, I’ll try and catch you up. But that just serves as another well-placed reminder of all the things Alan (and Kayo) is too young to remember about IR.

The fact Jeff etched his name onto the ship does not surprise me. It goes towards showing how proud he was of it, and completely fits in with everything we are told about him by Grandma (once again, wonderfully well placed comments).

Now, the TV-21, is given to us as “the first Thunderbird”, the fastest ship (at the moment), and Jeff’s pride and joy. There’s a nice little reference to Jeff’s previous careers as well, with the fact they’ve added the ‘Colonel’. Nice touch.

But of course, of all the places to crash land, it had to be in the Mariana’s Trench. I mean, there is a reason why it’s “the world’s last unmapped ocean”, according to the crew. It’s a pretty dangerous place. If you want to read about it, feel free, National Geographic have some incredibly interesting articles on what they theorise could be down there based on their limited exploration. But what we do know, is that it’s actually a very hostile seascape, and that the marine life which inhabits it seems to have evolved drastically to cope. I think that if we are ever able to understand it, we will know a lot more towards global warming and the mutations of animals. But I hate swimming. Water’s not my area. I prefer to research land mammals and leave my colleagues with the wet-weather adventures.

Anyhow, I think it’s totally awesome that Virgil was playing the piano and that Scott was sat at Jeff’s desk in the opening for this episode too. It’s always nice to see little throwbacks to this very human family.

So let’s discuss the origins of TV-21 for a moment. Before it was a Thunderbird, it was a comic series! And it’s original name was ‘TV Century 21′ which was eventually shortened to TV21. It had various mergers, which featured additions to the name, but TV21 stuck for the majority of issues. It was a weekly comic published by City Magazines, beginning around 1965. It’s content was... drum roll... the sci-fi TV series created by Gerry and Sylvia Anderson’s company: Century 21 Productions - thus where the comics name originated from, the TV being added to clarify where the material was coming from and hopefully encourage people to watch and read both in tandem.

The comic often had newspaper front pages, dedicated to the fictional news stories of the multiple Anderson worlds, e.g. Thunderbirds, Captain Scarlet, Stingray.

Some really well known artists of the time worked on the comics, which only serves to increase their value. In our current day, the original ‘TV Century 21′ editions (Issues 1 - 154) are really hard to find, and so they sell/auction for incredibly high prices when one can be found - like much of the Anderson’s work which made it’s way into print. It does also mean that the first half of this great comic series is practically lost to the world.

Which is a big shame, because it was in many of these first issues (with their print time colliding with the original air slot of ‘Thunderbirds’) featured many episode-story related additions. For instance;

The supposed capture of ‘The Hood’ - which might have gone someway to explaining his disappearance during Series 2 of the show.

An addition to the US Army’s story line from ‘Pit of Peril’.

An addition to the events of ‘Sun Probe’, as well as an in-depth story on Thunderbird Three investigating the connection between the sun and natural disasters (better known now as global warming). My dad still has his copy of this edition, and I have no plans on selling it. It’s ironic that it features the only story line relevant to my current career. Hey, maybe there is such a thing as fate over coincidence (as ‘Doctor Who’ does suggest).

A special story for Thunderbirds Two and Four, upon which it is rumoured that the opening rescue of the ‘Thunderbirds’ (2004 film) was based upon. I personally think this was one of the best stories for the pair, and I’m disappointed it never appeared in an episode (as such). There were also rumours that this story was an expansion of the TOS episode ‘Atlantic Inferno’, but those were never confirmed and all suggestions ever made pointed towards it being a completely separate idea. There are interesting similarities in places though, so it’s worth consideration.

An expansion to Thunderbird Two’s ‘disappearance’, after the events of ‘Terror in New York City’, which covered the rumours spiraling during the time Thunderbird Two was out of operation, and some of the missions which were undertaken during said time.

And one of the few Fireflash related stories to feature outside of the TOS TV episodes. It was also one of the comic editions which fans come to know as ‘Thunderbirds meets Doctor Who’. At the time, both shows were scoring some of the highest viewings, and so I suppose these crossover editions only made sense. Many of the early editions featured such crossovers, including 2 other issues which I’ve posted above.

When we actually get to 2065, there’s going to be a bit of confusion over dates - the comics (set still in the futurist time - ever encroaching for us) were released on the corresponding dates, but with the year still set a hundred forward, e.g. 1965 was 2065, but the 13th March was the 13th March.

Right, enough of my geek-worthy knowledge on comics, and back to the episode. I mean, look at Scott’s face. He’s definitely had enough of my comic-based ramblings.

“Begging your forgiveness, Your Mongrel-ship.”

I think the fact that Parker serves Sherbet tea (with one sugar) it’s just classic.

“I believe ‘wild goose chase’ were the words they used.”

“Well, as it happens, Parker loves a good chase. Parker, bring the car around would you? That’s right Sherbet. ‘On the double’.”

“hOn the double, hit his. Taking horders from ha mut, never though hI’d see the day.”

He does it anyway though - dedication right there,

Well now, time to visit the ocean. Did anyone else think the Deep Ocean Surveyor looked a bit... wrong? I had bad feelings about that thing from the start.

“This ship sure is a weird looking thing.”

Yeah, thanks for the back up there Gordon. Should have kept a closer eye on that one, although I do completely understand why they got so distracted and don’t blame them for it.

I love how Scott - Mr in command and always right - turns straight towards the TV-21 as soon as he knows they’re no injuries to worry about and that the DOS is all okay. Wasn’t he the one saying there was a rescue to prioritise only minutes ago?

“Gordon, what about the TV-21? Have they found part of the wreck?”

“Stand by, Scott, I’ll take a closer look. Just gotta’ clear some debris. It’s not just part of the wreck, it’s the whole thing!”

That is actually quite surprising! You know, something surviving like that. Good craftsmanship is all I can say.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UvltZMDOK5g

I can’t describe this scene any better than the scene itself, so I’m just gonna’ leave it there for you to re-watch at your own leisure. The faces are pictures!

“Why’s everyone making such a big deal about a wrecked plane? I don’t even remember it!”

“The TV-21 was Dad’s baby. The first ever super Mach-20 ship. It was the prototype to Thunderbird One. Dad invested everything into, but The Hood sabotaged it in flight. Dad had to abandon the plane somewhere over the Maraina Trench rather than let The Hood get his hands on it. I remember it broke Dad’s heart. I always thought it was smashed and lost in the deep.”

And there we have a link to that Hood-Jeff backstory (which the writer’s then conveniently shoved into a like ten-fifteen second explanation of ‘I am a bad guy because’, but hey, we’re not quite there yet!) that kinda gets forgotten.

“Cor!”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is Bingo. Well done Bertie.”

“Very smart of you to track that signal John.”

“We got lucky.”

You don’t have to be so modest you know John.

“It seems The Hood may be up to his old tricks.”

“I’ve seen engineering like this before. It’s the work of The Mechanic.”

“Oh no! That’s The Mechanic’s ship! Thunderbird Four, get out of there!”

“Too late.”

Yeah... it might have been good to notice that a little bit sooner.

Now, someone has some serious anger issues! I mean, I now he wants them out of the way (and later on that’s he’s being controlled), but that was seriously uncalled for!

“You better come up with something fast. Thunderbird Four’s hull integrity is failing. You’re getting crushed!”

Thanks Virgil, we can see that, unfortunately. This is another of those moments where - even though I know how it ends - I have a little panic.

“Hull integrity at 28%. Gordon what are you doing?”

“The airlock’s jammed. I can’t get the door open.”

“Then make a new door! But do it fast, you don’t have long. Hull at 7%. Gordon, get out now! Thunderbird Four is offline.”

“What happened?”

“Thunderbird Four's been rendered in operative.”

“Gordon!”

“I’m here. I’m okay. But Thunderbird Four’s a little... ur... beat up.”

This is a little like that moment in ‘EOS’, where I think our collective hearts stopped.

I know Gordon left the sub to try and free it, but it was actually a good thing that he did, else he probably would have been crushed, which wouldn't have been good. He was caught a little in the blast anyway, so I’m surprised he was a well-able to continue as he was.

But back to those serious anger issues - The Mechanic, you need to learn that once you have damaged someone’s ship past the piloting level, you don’t need to then snap it in two - that is just downright mean, not to mention unnecessary!

Poor Thunderbird Four. I seriously thought at the time that it wasn’t going to be recoverable. Look at Gordon’s poor little face.

The determination to get the TV-21 back as well was just wonderful.

“Not possible, only Thunderbird Four can survive the pressure. We need to come up with something extraordinary and fast.”

“We can use the TV-21!”

“It’s been sitting on the bottom of the ocean for years. Do you think it will still work?”

“Absolutely. I build things to last.”

“Gordon, we need you to get on board the TV-21.”

“I always wanted to fly Dad’s plane.”

Of course he did.

Now this was a sight to behold. Look at him!

“I can’t believe we used to wear these things.”

This was such a lovely little throw back moment.

“You could try the Jeff Tracy fix. After all, it is Dad’s plane.”

“FAB. This is TV-21. We have lift off.”

And hell did that work!

Rescue count: 35

I mean, let’s just momentarily forget that this part ends with The Mechanic making a grand come back and stealing it.

“To The Mechanic, let me tell you who you’re dealing with. We’re International Rescue; you can’t push us around, you cant tell us what to do, and you absolutely, positively can’t take our stuff!”

“No, let me tell you who you’re dealing with. I’m The Mechanic. I take what I want, from who I want, whenever I want it.”

Yeah... shivers.

Let’s just remember Gordon’s great moment getting to pilot it.

“So tell me, what is it like flying Dad’s plane?”

“It was awesome.”

See, that’s a nicer ending.

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thewhumperinwhite · 4 years

Text

Guardian Angel

OKAY SO LISTEN. this is not the update anyone was hoping for but sometimes the only thing that’s gonna keep my contrary adhd brain from Abandoning a project is to Invest Energy Somewhere else for a while. case in point, I've been plugging grimly away at both café and wkw for weeks and written ~500 words total, and then I wrote this whole thing in About Twenty Minutes.

So uh. You know how FBI is an au of an Actual WIP I have about vampires? Well this is... technically also that but it’s a lot closer to the actual canon of that WIP. If you don’t know anything about FBI or those characters, that’s great, you’re in the same spot Karim is here lmao.

Also this is heavily inspired by this very good spn fic, which I keep coming back to despite not being active in that fandom at all anymore. This goes in a very different direction than that, but they open in similar ways.

Also please note, the main character of this is a young teenager, and there will be some mild underage whump, but this is my official promise that there is no underage sex in this story.

Anyway uh let’s get this..... car wreck underway I guess

TW for: car accident due to reckless driving resulting in serious injury (or by rights it should anyway); body horror; animated corpse (of a sort); religion/Christianity.

----

For about—let’s say—the first fifteen miles away from his house, the thrill of the stolen car and his notable lack of driver’s license was enough to keep Karim in his own skin, not spiralling into rushing panicky thoughts. After a while that thrill starts to fade into the background and every time it does he hits the gas a little harder, and the new speed is enough for him for another fifteen miles until he has to hit the gas again because his brain is catching up with him.

Which is to say that when the thin pale shape of a human being stumbles out of the bushes along the side of the highway, Karim is going easily a hundred miles an hour, and no amount of slamming on the brakes is going to get him to stop in the hundred feet between himself and this person’s human body.

He hits the white shape at, optimistically, sixty miles an hour. It shoots up the car’s hood, cracks the windshield with its skull, and disappears over the top of the car. Realistically there’s no way the quiet hard thump of the body hitting the pavement many feet behind the car is audible over the sound of the car’s squealing brakes but it feels like Karim can hear it, can hear the accompanying crack of bones breaking against the asphalt.

The car rolls to a stop, and Karim spends several unfathomable seconds staring at the windshield, not bloodied but almost completely starred with a huge spiraling crack just off the center, and all he can think is, no, no, no no no no no oh no oh no.

Then he hears a muffled groan from behind him and dives for the car door, tumbles out onto the pavement on his hands and knees, scrambles back toward the pale body squirming and twitching in the middle of the left lane behind his mother’s SUV.

Somehow there’s still no blood, even back here, but it is immediately clear that there is something seriously, deeply wrong with this body.

“Motherfucker,” it says, and Karim freezes a few feet away from it, still the most horrified he’s ever been and now also very confused and between those two feelings no longer able to move. The voice issuing from the ruined and twisted body sounds, at most, annoyed. It flops horribly onto its back, like a boned fish, and rolls its head awkwardly on its shoulders to face Karim. “Going a fucking million miles an hour on an—” The body stops speaking, and stares up with wide shocked eyes in its colorless face.

“Karim,” the dead thing says.

Karim stumbles back a step, the horror already overfilling his chest growing and mutating so fast he loses his footing and falls painfully backwards, scraping his palms as he catches himself to stop from sprawling completely. The initial all-consuming terror of having killed a person with his mother’s car is turning into a—different, harder to parse all-consuming terror.

Because every instinct he has is telling him that this thing that just called him by his name is a corpse.

Watching it sit up on the pavement, in a hopefully unconscious mirror of Karim’s own half-sprawled pose, is like watching a marionette puppet being controlled by a very unskilled puppeteer. It’s movements are jerky and uneven; it falls back when it puts its weight on one of its arms and the leg on that side is stuck out stiffly in front of it and bending in places that aren’t joints. And above its wide filmy eyes its forehead is starred with cracks like an egg dropped on a hardwood floor.

“You’re alive,” it says. Its voice is—completely normal, which is somehow the strangest thing about it. About—him.

“I—I’m so sorry,” Karim says, starting to run on autopilot now, fumbling in his pocket for his cellphone, “I’ll call, I’ll call an ambulance, I’ll—”

“I don’t need an ambulance,” the dead boy says absently. He leans forward, his mangled arm hanging useless at his side, though he doesn’t move like he’s in any pain at all. “You’re—holy shit, you’re a baby.”

Karim blinks, away from his phone screen, up at the dead boy. He looks—older than Karim, but not by that much, like a college student, maybe. And he’s looking up at Karim with alarm that’s almost horror, like Karim is the weird mangled abomination here.

“I am not,” he says automatically. There’s still no blood, anywhere. There’s—he can see that the skin of the boy’s head is broken, but it’s not bleeding, not a drop.

The boy searches his face with his weird foggy eyes, still leaning forward. His hair is short, maybe even buzzed in the back, and it’s a dull sandy-brown, above a face that might be handsome if it wasn’t gray-tinged and bloodless and cracked open.

“What year is this?” the dead boy says urgently.

Karim stares at him.

His arm is dangling limply at his side and his leg is definitely broken in more than one place and Karim did that, which will continue to be true regardless of whatever else is going on with this guy medically, and Karim has no idea what to do about that, is almost paralyzed by the desire to physically twist time back ten minutes and have this not be the moment he’s in right now.

But he can’t do that, so he answers, “Uh, 2009?” in a high squeaky voice like it’s a question, instead.

The dead boy’s eyes go even wider.

“It’s,” he whispers. “You’re,” and then he stops and looks at the ground. He raises his still-working arm to scrub across his cracked forehead, maybe tries to raise the other one, winces.

“I’m sorry,” Karim croaks. “I should— I gotta get you to a hospital.”

The dead boy shakes his head. “I don’t need a hospital,” he says, “I need a church.”

Karim feels himself gasp sharply. “Oh god,” he says, “Oh no, I’m— sure you’ll— make it, man, you’re—” He laughs, the sounds grating and hysterical in his own ears. “Look, you’re not even bleeding!”

The dead boy blinks up at him, and then he laughs, throwing his head back, and it’s a full, pretty laugh, sparking up toward the darkening sky— and when he lifts his chin Karim can suddenly see a bizarre pattern of marks all over his neck, a dozen little dots, in pairs, clustered around where you would look for a pulse on someone you weren’t sure was alive.

“That’s not what I mean,” the dead boy says, his eyes squinty and warm with laughter, and then he takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, staring at Karim, the smile fading from his pretty dead face. “Christ,” he says softly, and then, again, “Karim.”

Karim takes half a step back. “How— how do you know my name?”

“Ha,” the boy says, “that’s—” He tries to push himself to his feet and hisses, falling back like his broken leg won’t take any weight. Karim takes a step closer, unable to keep from reacting to obvious pain that he definitely 100% caused. “Actually,” the boy says, “I—would love it. If you could give me a ride. To the nearest church before I try to answer that. Karim.”

Karim stares at him. “What?”

“Catholic would be best if you’ve got it,” the boy says, with the air of somebody who knows he’s saying an absurd thing and is trying very hard to play it off. “I’m sure another kind would work but I’d just as soon not—” He shifts, winces a little; Karim looks down at his leg and squeezes his eyes shut, he’d momentarily forgotten how awful it looks. The boy laughs, sounding slightly hysterical. “I’d just as soon not drive around between a bunch’a churches if it’s all the same to you. Save you some gas money, huh?”

“Why,” Karim says, and he forces himself to look at the boy’s leg for real. There’s a place beside the— crooked, displaced— kneecap where Karim can see a strip of skin missing, and the exposed flesh is pale and bloodless; he feels his stomach squeeze in panicked nausea. “Why would you need a church right now.”

The boy sucks his teeth audibly, bowing his head, and then spreads his still-working hand wide with a fine-you-got-me shrug.

“Because,” the dead boy says, “I need holy water to put my leg back together.”

Karim blinks. Blinks again, for good measure.

“What,” he says. He shakes his head. “What. Why would that. Why.”

The boy looks away, tilts his head like he’s doing math in his head, and says slowly, in the voice of someone trying a gambit they’re pretty sure won’t work. “Because I’m... your guardian... angel?”

Karim narrows his eyes. The boy could at least have the decency to say it like he means it.

“Okay,” the dead boy says, and nods like he’s trying to psyche himself up. “Okay, yeah, no, that’s fair, I— Hold on, I’ll— I’ll show you.”

The dead boy sighs and shakes his head. “This is gonna fucking suck,” he mutters, and he closes his eyes.

At first Karim doesn’t think anything weird is happening— that an evening breeze has just kicked up. But as the wind gets stronger and he can see pebbles and bits of loose asphalt skittering away from where the dead boy sits on the pavement, it becomes clear that the sudden rush of cool air is coming from him. His sandy hair is whipping around his head, too, like it’s in a stronger wind than the one Karim can feel, and Karim realizes a second late that there’s— light coming from him too, a cold white glow growing so slowly he didn’t see it at first.

The dead boy lets out a shaky breath, his face creasing in concentration, or maybe pain.

Karim stumbles backward, hitting the back of the car and pressing his back against it, staring at the dead boy. The wind picks up and the light suddenly flashes, so bright that Karim throws up his arm to shield his eyes— and through his fingers, he can just see that the light beaming from the empty air above the dead boy’s shoulder blades, where it almost forms the shape of two enormous wings out of thin air and dust.

The wind and light sputter and die roughly in unison. Karim lowers his hand enough to stare at the dead boy in— he’s not sure what feeling, actually. Possibly terror.

The boy’s hair settles back against his cracked forehead. “Oh, good,” he says, breathing hard, like he’s just run a mile on a hot day. “It worked.”

Then the dead boy sags sideways and flops limply onto the pavement, and lies still, like corpses generally do.

“What the fuck,” Karim Mun says, with feeling.

#guardian angel au #whump #car accident #undead whump #angel whump #original whump

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