#i asked my brother if he had pedals months ago and he pulled out this massive beast from the depths of his closet

[autistme]

hii i hope yr having a good day how has it been?

HIIIIIIIII

i woke up and cracked open the dash to the bi-mishapocalypse which is probably the funniest thing to wake up to. but besides that im probably gonna fuck around with my pedal board after breakfastlunch

[there-must-be-a-lock]

One Star Shining

Bucky x Clint

Word Count: ~2100

Warnings: Implications of comics-canon-typical child abuse, but nothing on-screen. One innocent kiss when they’re thirteen. Less-innocent kisses when they’re twenty-three, but it’s all pretty PG-13. 

A/N: For my “childhood friends” square in Winterhawk Bingo. This was supposed to be a ~500 word Hump Day ficlet, but... here we are! Do me a favor and pretend to be shocked by this turn of events? 

Title/inspiration from “Grapefruit Moon” by Tom Waits. Header image features Rudy Pankow, who I have casted to play The Clint Who Lives In My Head, because of reasons.  

It’s been a decade since Bucky last saw Clint, but there are some faces you just don’t forget. 

When Clint moved in next door, he was a scrawny, scrappy twelve-year-old in jeans that were a couple sizes too big, with curious eyes and perpetually scraped knees. They spent most of their time together that summer, skipping stones in the neighbor’s muddy pond and stealing peaches from their tree, or making up names for new constellations.   

Bucky taught him how to ride a bike. He told Clint to be careful about pedaling too fast down the big hill; Bucky made that mistake exactly once, years ago. He warned Clint about the risk, but Clint did it anyway, laughing the whole way, smiling so wide that for one thrilling second Bucky almost believed that he’d beaten gravity and wouldn't ever crash. 

Clint did crash, of course. He crashed spectacularly, but he never screamed like Bucky did; he was silent, smiling through the tears, as Bucky bandaged his skinned knees and bleeding palms with hands that shook from the secondhand adrenaline. 

“Worth it,” Clint said, with a fierce grin, and as soon as his skin scabbed over, he tried it again. 

When Bucky remembered him later, he tried to think about the night they went out after midnight to watch the Perseids. Clint’s foster parents had stopped letting him have sleepovers, but he snuck out the window anyway. They spent the night in Bucky’s backyard, lying in the grass, close enough that their arms sometimes brushed. 

Bucky woke up at dawn. He looked over at Clint, staring at his freckled cheeks and gold hair in the weak pink light, and felt a blazing flare of happiness in his ribcage — and when Clint opened his eyes, Bucky could see that happiness reflected in his face, too, in the handful of seconds before the fear hit. 

Mostly, though, Bucky remembered Clint as he looked about twelve hours later, right before he ran away: a livid purple bruise on his jaw and a panicky expression on his face as he darted in to kiss the corner of Bucky’s smile, not quite on his lips but too close to be an accident. 

Clint pulled away before Bucky could really process what was happening. Then he just stared for a second, wild-eyed, frozen like he was waiting for another punch. 

“What was that for?” Bucky asked. 

“For luck,” Clint said, with a crooked shy smile as he realized the punch wasn’t coming.

Bucky exhaled like he’d been punched. “Oh.” 

(When Steve came back from summer camp, he was jealous that Bucky had made a friend in his absence, until Bucky tried to explain that it was different. He tried to explain Clint — the way he just sort of sparkled, the way he made Bucky feel all lit-up inside — and Steve said it just like that: “Oh.”) 

Clint swung his backpack over his shoulder as he turned to follow his brother, but he paused, looking back to smile at Bucky, dimples dotting both flushed cheeks as he said, “Seeya around, maybe.” 

Bucky recognizes those dimples the second he sees the poster advertising “The Amazing Hawkeye.” 

He tries to talk himself out of it. It’s ridiculous to go to the circus to find a boy he barely knew; Clint was only in his life for less than three months, there and gone again. It was ten years ago. 

Bucky’s never stopped thinking about him, though. He’s never met anybody else who left an impression on him the way Clint did. 

His sisters tease him all the time for being a hopeless goddamn romantic, for daydreaming about things like happily-ever-after and meant-to-be, and this is just more of the same: an overactive imagination latching onto a childhood crush that he didn’t even recognize as a crush until later. There was something pure about the feeling. The affection he felt for Clint at the time was simple, straightforward, uncomplicated by lust or the emotional baggage he picked up in the following years as one guy after another failed to live up to his fantasies of romance. 

Bucky’s pretty sure that his lost innocence is what he’s actually wishing for when he thinks about Clint. He’s projecting his adult desires onto a faceless imaginary version of a memory because it’s easier than dealing with the realities of sex and dating — or at least, that’s what the logical part of his brain insists. 

The illogical part, the small wistful childish part, hides in the vulnerable place behind his breastbone and refuses to stop daydreaming about love or wishing on stars. 

He’s had a decade to wonder what Clint might look like as he grew up, but he never pictured the “Amazing Hawkeye.” He didn’t expect all the lean muscle he sees under the sparkly costume, the lithe athletic grace, the confidence… he pictured skinned knees and busted lips, shy smiles and wide eyes, and the reality — the way this stranger moves — punches the breath out of Bucky’s lungs. 

After the show, Bucky spends a solid fifteen minutes just hovering outside the big top, before a heavyset woman wearing smeared clown makeup takes pity on him; she leads him over to the backstage door and tells him to wait. 

“Barton, you’ve got a groupie!” Bucky hears her yell as she walks in. He blushes so hard it feels like his entire face is burning, and he almost bolts. 

He’s wiping sweaty hands on his jeans when Clint emerges. 

Clint’s hair is damp and spiky, and he’s got traces of stage makeup smudged around his eyes, making them stand out even more than Bucky remembers. He’s grown at least a foot; he towers over Bucky now, or maybe that’s just how it feels. 

Bucky’s lungs don’t seem to be working right. 

Clint stops short, staring. Bucky goes cold all over with panic, convinced Clint doesn’t remember him… but then Clint’s face splits into a shy, unmistakable, fucking unforgettable smile. 

He rushes forward, hurtling into Bucky’s space just like he did that afternoon, like he’s about to kiss him again, but at the last minute it turns into a hug. Bucky’s almost disappointed, but then he’s fisting his hands into the back of Clint’s purple Prince t-shirt and holding him close. It’s impossible to be disappointed when he’s got his face in the curve of Clint’s neck, inhaling the smell of big top popcorn and clean skin. 

In the ten years since that innocent kiss knocked his tiny world off its axis, Bucky’s had plenty of kisses. He’s fucked a few guys, kissed even more, flirted with too many to count… and he’s never, ever felt quite so tongue-tied and starry-eyed as he does now. 

They wander around for a while, hands shoved in their pockets, talking. Bucky keeps sneaking glances at Clint and stumbling over his words. 

He was convinced it would be awkward. They’ve got ten years of catching up to do, after all; they were kids when they met, and as natural as it felt at the time, their friendship was built mainly on a shared love of comic books and outer space and trying to stay out of fights. 

Clint’s sure as hell not a kid any more. Bucky had plenty of time during the show to ogle, to take in all the muscle and marvel at the sharp jawline of the stranger on stage, but it’s different up close; he can see flashes of his old friend in the sheepish grin and scuffing feet of the startlingly beautiful person next to him.  

But for all his occasional stammering, it’s not awkward. They click together just like they always did, like magnets snapping into place next to each other. It wasn’t just Bucky’s imagination. 

At some point they climb the little ladder that’s attached to the side of the RV Clint shares with his brother. There’s a quilt up there, and a pillow. Clint seems embarrassed when he admits that he likes to sleep up here under the open sky, but Bucky’s not sure why. It’s perfect up here. They’re out at the edge of the fairgrounds, and when they put their backs to the rest of the circus camp, it feels like they’re alone; just them, and the stars, and a full moon that’s so juicy and orange-gold it might burst like an overripe peach.

They lie back, side by side with their heads on the pillow — their arms brush, and Bucky gets goosebumps. 

“Do you remember?” Clint asks. He points up at a cluster of stars. 

“The Hawk,” Bucky says, grinning up at the sky. “How could I forget?” 

Clint lets his arm fall. He brushes his pinky against Bucky’s knuckles. 

Bucky turns his hand palm-up, holding his breath as Clint laces their fingers together. He swallows, and he knows Clint must hear the clicking sound it makes in his dry throat. 

“Wasn’t sure you would,” Clint whispers. “It was a long time ago.” 

“I remember all of ‘em.” 

He does; there’s the Widow, the Shield, the Soldier... Bucky still knows them better than the real constellations. 

His heart is racing. He’s working up the nerve to look at Clint when a shooting star streaks by overhead, a brilliant flash of white. 

“Make a wish,” Bucky blurts out, before he can ridicule himself for the impulse. 

“You believe in that sorta thing?” Clint asks, but Bucky can hear the smile in it. 

“Don’t you?” 

“Didn’t used to,” Clint confesses. “But — last time I did, it worked, so.”

“What’d you wish for?” 

There’s no answer.  

Bucky tilts his head slowly to the side and finds Clint looking at him — like he’s waiting, like maybe he’s been waiting — and they both move at the same time, curling into each other with their linked hands clasped between their chests. Bucky slides his free hand into Clint’s hair and Clint wraps his around Bucky’s hip, and their bodies puzzle-piece together just right as they kiss, sweet and slow.  

And it really is slow, because Bucky’s been waiting a decade for this — he’s not going to rush it. That first chaste kiss was over before he had any idea what was happening. Now, he’s determined to draw it out, to control the pace, to memorize every second and every sensation. He’s going to get it right.

This is nothing like that first kiss, though. There’s nothing chaste about it. Clint’s lips part eagerly when Bucky’s tongue curls between them, dipping to brush the slick tease of Clint’s tongue over and over again as he explores. 

Clint’s lower lip is the perfect shape. It fits between Bucky’s lips, just like his knee fits between Bucky’s, just like their fingers fit when they’re laced together, and Bucky can’t get enough of that. He drags his teeth down the pillow of Clint’s lower lip, and Clint makes the most incredible sound, punched-out and shocked.

Suddenly Bucky’s shaking. 

“What’s wrong?” Clint asks, in a hoarse, broken voice. They’re both breathless, panting into the thick air between them. 

“Thought about you so fuckin’ much,” Bucky confesses, eyes squeezed shut. 

Their noses brush, and Clint huffs out a little exhale that might be a laugh. 

“Me too. All the time.” 

Something in Bucky’s chest eases, loosens, expands at the confirmation: it’s not just him. 

“Didn’t even realize I liked guys until you,” he whispers, and then he surges forward for another kiss, frantic and rough. “I dreamed about you, you know that?” 

“Thought I was dreamin’ when you showed up.” 

“I know it was a long fuckin’ time ago, I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me, but —”  

“Couldn’t forget you if I tried,” Clint whispers fiercely. 

Their palms are still locked together, squeezing so tight it hurts, but Bucky’s not letting go. Clint’s got his other hand twisted in the back of Bucky’s shirt, holding him in a desperately strong grip in spite of the fact that they can’t physically get any closer. 

Bucky’s going to have bruises tomorrow. He can already feel them forming where his leg is locked around the outside of Clint’s, where sharp hipbones keep grinding into his inner thighs, and where Clint nips the side of Bucky’s neck, working the skin between his teeth, sparking a vicious, intense wave of heat. 

He’s going to have marks on his skin, and he can already feel the lasting damage underneath, in the tender achy places where he’s been hiding all his hope. All the idealistic romance, all the starry-eyed wonder, all the boyish joy he’s been saving for Clint — it’s been crunched down into something that would fit his grown-up skin, but it’s expanding so rapidly he’s sure he won’t be able to contain it for long. 

Right now, though, he’s soaring the way he did on his bicycle, in the moment before the exhilaration of losing control turned to terror. He’ll worry about bandaging his scraped knees and swollen heart tomorrow. Right now, he’s flying. 

.

.

.

More Winterhawk fic here! 

[girl-of-many-fandoms]

Ooh request:

Reader and Hotch are together (either in the open or a secret from the team) she finds out she’s pregnant, but they get called on a case so she keeps it to herself. Reader & another team member get taken and she tells the person with her while they are held captive. Eventually rest of team finds them but either reader has to tell Hotch in front of everyone or she is unconscious and the other person does. You decide 😌

Surprise

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Warnings: none

Keep sending in your requests guys!! The amount of feedback I’ve been receiving is amazing and I really do appreciate all of you 💜

MASTERLIST

———-

“Aaron, you busy?”

Walking in his office I shut the door behind me as he looked up from his computer, smile prominent on his face

“For you, never” sitting down by his desk I fiddled with my fingers, something I do when I’m nervous

Yesterday I had found out that I was pregnant, I had planned on telling him and Jack over dinner but he had to stay late to finish up some work and before I had the chance of doing it this morning he had left for an early meeting with Strauss

“Everything okay?” snapping out of my train of thought I started back at his confused state

“Yeah, yeah, we just need t-“ the sound of his phone ringing filled the quiet office, sighing he excused himself and answered the call

Great, now I’m gonna have to wait to tell him that he’s gonna be a father of two

You could always blurt it out and be like ‘Hey guess what, I’m pregnant!’

Nope, I’m definitely not doing that

“We’ll be there” hanging up the phone he rose from his seat

“We’re are we going?” pushing myself up on my feet I stuffed my hands in my pockets. Aaron walked over to me and wrapped his arms around my waist

“Texas, you were saying we needed to talk?”

“It could wait, let’s go” I quickly pecked his lips before heading back into the bullpen

Damn you criminals

———-

“Anything?” Spencer asked breathless from our chase on the two unsubs in the dark cornfield

“Nothing” my chest heaved every breath I took, we stood next to each other eyes scanning our surroundings as best as we could considering that it was pitch black

“Maybe we should head back to the others” nodding I turned to face him only to be met with a falling Spencer

“Spence?” dropping to the ground I tried to turn him over but failed as I felt my limbs give away

No, no, no, no this cannot be happening right now

They trapped us and shot us with tranquilizer darts, how fun

“Well would you look at that, we got ourselves two federal agents” my eyes drifted from the starry sky to Spencer who was already staring at me

The rustling of leaves and footsteps were heard as they came closer to where we lay. The older one, Lucas lowered himself and smirked at me, running his fingers through my hair

“We’re going to have a lot of fun” his large hand came around my throat, squeezing hard, thanks to my lack of movement I couldn’t fight back. Tears pricked my eyes as he continued to squeeze harder, coughing and gasping I tried to hold out for as long as I possibly could

Unfortunately for me, that didn’t last long as the darkness took over

———-

“Y/L/N, Reid, do you copy?”

Silence, that’s never happened before

“Y/N, Spencer are you there?” my eyebrows knitted together in confusion as they didn’t respond

“Does anyone have a visual on Y/N and Spencer?”

“Nope”

“No”

“Negative”

Everyone responded with no luck, God this cannot be happening

“Hotch I found their vests, coms and weapons”

———-

“There she is”

Groggily I opened my eyes and the first thing I see is the ceiling above me. Turning my head to the side I saw Spencer chained to a nearby chair. I tried to move my arms but surprise surprise, they’re retrained to the table that I’m on

“Trying to leave already darlin” Lucas trailed his fingers across my cheek, smiling down at me

“Can we skip all the small talk? I’m getting irritated” staring him dead in his eyes I spoke, I’ll be damned if I show this man that I was indeed freaking out

“Feisty, I love it” he started undoing the buttons on my shirt, his cold fingers brushing against my stomach as he went lower

“You really wanna rape a pregnant woman?” he froze his actions

“Are you?”

“Three months today, is this what you really want to do? Harming a mother and her unborn baby?” he grunted before angrily stomping out of the room. Looking over at Spencer I couldn’t miss the huge smile he has on his face

“You’re pregnant”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere, chained to our deathbed and this is your takeaway right now?” I couldn’t help but laugh at our predicament

“Does Hotch know?” he stuck his fingers in his back pocket fishing for something as he continued talking

He’s up to something, whatever it is boy genius I hope it works

“No, he doesn’t” I sighed, regret and guilt washing over me as I laid here

“I can’t get to pick this stupid lock” just as he said that the walker brothers walked in

“You trying to leave boy!” they younger one, Liam charged forward and punched Spencer earning a groan in return

“Don’t touch him!” I fought against my restraints which was a complete waste of time and energy

“Shut up!” Lucas smacked me across my face

“Y/N, I could take it”

-------

“Garcia did you manage to get anything else on the twins?” my grip on the steering wheel tightened as I sped down the street

“I did sir, Lucas and Liam grew up on a farm in Driftwood, Texas”

“I thought they were from Dallas” Rossi piped up from the passenger seat

“That is what came up in my inital search, but I did some more digging and found out that their mother, Riley Barnes, isn’t Riley Barnes but Stacey Colt”

“Do we have an address on where she lives?” 

“Uh, sir she’s dead, she took her own life six months ago after years of being abused by her husband”

“That’s around the same time young women started disappearing”

“Garcia I need her last known address, I think they’re holding them there”

“Already on your device” the call disconnected and my foot pressed harder on the gas. Rossi shifted in his seat tugging on his seatbelt

“Uh Aaron, I get that we’re against a clock here to get our people back but we can’t do that if we’re both dead from a car crash”

“Sorry” I eased my foot off the pedal a bit

“They’re strong, she’s strong”

———

“Spencer! Stop hurting him!!!” tears of frustration and anger poured from my eyes as they kept beating on him

“You don’t call the shots sweetheart”

“Spencer!!” he grunted from the blow to his stomach, his face had cuts and nasty bruises that were sure to be there for some days

“FBI!” Morgan’s voice echoed throughout the room as the team rushed in. Lucas whipped out his knife and held it against my throat and I tensed up at the feeling of the steel blade on my skin

“Drop the weapons” Aaron ordered and he laughed

“You come any closer I’ll kill ‘em both!” his hand reached down to mine and undid the shackles. He moved me to my feet and held his blade against my neck using me as a shield

“You guys know exactly how this is going to end so just drop your weapons” Aaron and I stared at each other

“You’re not going to do that” he taunted them nudging me

“Tell them why” my heart rate sped up as he pressed the blade harder on my neck

“Tell them!”

“I’m pregnant”

As the words left my mouth Aaron’s frown deepened and before I knew what was happening two hun shots rang out and Lucas fell to the ground, blood pouring out from the bullet wound in his forehead. Looking over at Reid I noticed the lifeless body of Liam that laid before him

“Spence” the others rushed to his aid while I stood frozen in my spot

“You’re okay” Aaron wrapped his arms around me and held me tightly against his tall frame. I finally let out the breath that I had been holding in as I clung onto him

“We’re gonna have a baby” he kissed my forehead and pulled back so I could see his face

“You weren’t supposed to find out like this”

“Congratulations you two, we’ll celebrate properly when we get back” Dave came over and kissed both of our cheeks, the others followed his lead

“I hope it’s a girl, this team cannot be bringing boys alone into this world” Derek joked and we laughed. Aaron pulled me closer to his side as local P.D. filled the room

“Once the baby’s healthy I’m fine”

EMS came and sat me down on a chair and started looking me over for any injuries while they all gushed about the growing baby inside of me

“There’s no way you’re going to be in the field, you’ll be traveling with us but you’ll only be at the station working through the case files and no, it’s not up for negotiation” Aaron stated in full boss mode not even giving me a chance to argue with him

“Understood” they others chuckled at his sudden change in tone

“Good, our job is done here let’s get going, I believe we were promised a party”

[amor-immortalem]

Can I Stay Up Here With You Forever ch.4

Previous

Taglist: @mediocredetective

Warnings: Mentions of past child abuse and neglect

“So, what’s the plan for today? Or are we jus’ stayin’ home all day?” Mammon asks as he lugs the suitcase he brought with him into the bedroom and opened some dresser drawers to put his clothes away.

“I figured we could go out and explore more of the city together. Plus, I want to get a few more pieces of furniture to fill out the house.” Arella runs a hand through her hair as she stretches. “Breakfast was great, by the way. Thank you.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that good- not compared to last night’s dinner anyway...”

“Don’t put yourself down like that, Honey.” The human gets off the bed to hunt for some clothes of her own. “You’re cooking is good, okay?”

He nods slowly. “Not if you ask my brothers though... One of ‘em always has something ta say ‘bout it- and none of its good. Even Beel has complaints sometimes.”

She frowns in response. “Well, I’ll have you know I genuinely enjoy your cooking. I wouldn’t mind if you cooked for us more often.”

Another nod from the demon as he returns to his task of emptying out his suitcase and Arella continues her search for the perfect outfit.

------------------------------------------------------

“Where is he, Solomon,” The Avatar of Pride questions the sorcerer as he stands in the foyer of Purgatory Hall.

“I’ve already told you, Lucifer.” Solomon replies with a smile on his face. “I don’t exactly know. The human world is the best answer I can give you.”

The demon studies the human for a moment to deduce whether or not he’s lying about know where Mammon is. “Where in the human world?”

“I don’t know. Arella wouldn’t tell me where exactly she was summoning him to.” It’s a tiny lie. Of course, he knew exactly where they were, but Lucifer didn’t need to know that. “I have no reason to lie to you, Lucifer, but why exactly is it that you want to find your brother so badly?”

“I want to... apologize for my actions. It seems, after further review of the situation, that I was wrong. The bill I received was full of fraudulent charges to his credit card. Does that change your answer?” The first-born narrows his eye as the silver-haired sorcerer shook his head. “Then I’ll be off. If you hear anything, I want to be the first to hear about it.

Solomon only nodded, an amused smile playing on his lips. He wondered just how long it would take the demon to pinpoint Mammon and Arella’s location.

------------------------------------------------------

They bounced from shop to shop throughout the day finding many cute trinkets and knick-knacks on their journey. The cutest ones- and Mammon’s personal favorite- was a set of crows sitting on a tree branch together, their bodies turned away with their heads pressed together so that they formed the shape of a heart. He instantly picked it up after Arella made the comment that the crows were representative of them and their love.

As their small shopping spree came down to an end, they had stopped to take a break in a park, just taking a moment to rest and enjoy the beautiful day. It filled Mammon with a warm feeling he wasn’t quite sure he could name just yet so he just opted to hold her hand as they relaxed on the park bench as a few small families played nearby.

His attention in particular was pulled to one certain family: A mother and father with their three boys. Watching them drug up a desire he thought he’d never have.

“Hey, babe,” He starts quietly.

“Yes, Love?” she hums in response.

“Do... Do ya want kids...?”

“Do you?” Arella replies with a question of her own, green eyes peering up at the demon.

“I asked you first.”

With a chuckle she answers, “Yes... having children with you wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. I’d love to one day down the road. How many do you want?”

“Just one would be good enough,” He smiles, resting his cheek against the top of her head as they sit there in peace for a while longer.

------------------------------------------------------

Sitting in his office, attempting to keep his mind off Mammon, Lucifer was working on his ever-growing stack of paperwork. It wasn’t working and something in the back of the demon’s mind was gnawing at him. Something Arella had said to him roughly a month ago about stealing his brother away to the human realm and never returning. A laughable idea for as much as he knew she wasn’t joking; she really held no power to make that decision. Mammon was a demon- one of the seven lords of hell. His place was here in the Devildom whether she liked it or not. Mammon himself had to realize this was all pointless eventually and then he would come home and that would be the end of it. Or at least that’s what Lucifer hoped anyway. He really didn’t want to have to drag his brother back here kicking and screaming.

Stepping away from the old, worn-out desk, the eldest decides a break for tea and a phone call might do better to take his mind of things for the time being.

------------------------------------------------------

Putting up her dusty old tomes on various mythologies of the ancient past, Aubrie could just barely hear the phone. Hopping down off the ladder, the mythologist swiped up the device- a gift from the only demon in her contacts. He was lucky she didn’t have it turned off like she usually did while she was working.

“Good evening, Lucifer,” Holding the shiny D.D.D. to her ear, she answered with a chirp. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“Good evening, Aubrie.” Lucifer’s voice is smooth as silk and Aubrie has to wonder if he just naturally talks like that or he was using that ‘seductive speechcraft’ Arella had mentioned some time ago to get whatever it was that he wanted from their conversation. “Have you spoken to Arella recently?”

“I have. You know she just moved from England, right?” The ginger chirps. “I texted with her this morning to see how it went.”

“Actually, I didn’t.” The Avatar of Pride hummed as he sipped on his tea. “That’s interesting. Where abouts did she move?”

“I wish I knew. The best I can say is somewhere in mainland Europe,” Aubrie lets out a sigh. “I want to go visit her. I can’t imagine how lonely it is to move to an entirely different country where you’re alone- although for Arella that’s pretty on character...”

“She does seem independent,” Lucifer hums, “I’m sure she’ll be fine. Actually, that’s part of the reason I called. I’m sure she told you that my brother’s with her when you spoke earlier... I need her to send him back. He can’t be missing so much school- his grades are already abysmal to begin with and the longer she keeps him up there, the worse they’ll get. Plus, I have things I need to talk with him about.”

“She's worried about his safety with you, Lucifer. Apparently, you broke his elbow somehow? Or something to that effect.”

“I didn’t break his elbow. No, he did that on his own by falling on it, but my actions helped lead to it so I have some blame in it.” The black-haired demon sighs, “That’s why I’m looking for them. I want to apologize to Mammon- he didn’t exactly deserve what I did that led up to him breaking his elbow.”

The human nods at that. “And here I thought you would be too proud to apologize.” She teased.

“If it were anyone other than my brothers, maybe.” He admits. “But in their own way, each of my brothers are important to me. We’ve been together for eons. Losing a single one of them would be devastating to our family, Aubrie. Like right now, the house has been too quiet and dark since Mammon left for the human realm. Things aren’t right until he comes home.”

“I see, but if you knew your brother would be happier up here in the human world with Arella... would you let him go?”

“I can’t- and it's not because I don’t want him to be happy, quite the opposite, actually- if we were not of such high rank and standing, then I would be content to allow Mammon to follow what makes him happy- whether that be here in the Devildom or up in the human world to allow him to live amongst the humans.”

“What do you mean?”

“I'm sure Arella has told you about our rank here in the devildom. We’re each to rule over a layer of Hell once we leave RAD in a few years. Mammon has a responsibility to the Devildom as Lord of the Fourth Layer. It's not a thing that he can just leave behind in favor of spending the rest of his human’s minimal lifespan up in the mortal realm.”

“You could be less harsh on him though. I know our morals on what is wrong and right are different and it’s foolish for us to force our morals on to literal demons from some of the stories she mentions about the way you all treat your brother... Well, it sounds like abuse to me and for someone like Arella, that’s very triggering for her.”

“What do you mean by that?” Lucifer’s interest was piqued at the human’s words. He knew next to nothing about Arella’s past before the exchange program and she never talks about her past to begin with so having the opportunity to hear about it was enticing to the Avatar of Pride.

“Her home life when we were children was... less than happy. Her mother was physically, emotionally, and verbally abusive as well as neglectful. I have plenty of pictures from when we were children where she’s covered in bruises, black eyes, busted lips. She would never say anything against her mother so protective services couldn’t do anything for her, but we all knew that woman was the cause of them. So you see, the way you treat your brother drudges up all that old trauma for her and that’s why she behaves the way she does. Wouldn’t you do the same thing if you were in her shoes, Lucifer?”

“You’re not wrong.” He goes to take another sip of his tea but the cup is empty. “This was nice and also very insightful. I have to go now, enjoy the rest of your evening, Aubrie.”

“Thank you, Love. You too. Make sure to go to bed a reasonable time tonight.” There was a short pause on her end before Aubrie began sputtering apologies and trying to back pedal her way out of that embarrassing situation and the line eventually just cut off.

Lucifer couldn’t help but laugh softly at the ridiculousness of it all. Humans sure were a funny creature.

------------------------------------------------------

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Find more writings on my masterlist

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars CXXXIX (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I’m scared to see how you guys will react to this one, hope you at least find it enjoyable despite my very self-indulgent plots -Danny 

P.S. Huge s/o to @bwbatta​ bc I decided to update my fic and now I have pretty dividers in all my books! Most of the ones I ended up using are her work so go check it out :)

Words: 4,641

Series’ Masterlist

Book V // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Need Your Love’ -by Joshua Wicker

Chapter One: Dumbledore's Mission.

"A galleon says Erick will crash the car —"

"Shut up!"

"Don't make him nervous," Emily scolded Harry. "If you continue this I won't teach you how to drive!"

"We don't need to learn," Mel snorted. "We'll apparate everywhere..."

"I thought you hated it," Her mother raised a brow.

"Yeah, but she's lazy," Harry smirked.

"Why is Harry here? He's not allowed to leave the house, is he?" Mel frowned.

"He's not allowed to be alone outside, there's a difference. We're babysitting two infants, unfortunately..." Erick taunted.

"What's the matter, Flint? You have stage-fright?" Harry replied.

"Oh please, he feeds on attention! Like a dementor but in a more annoying way..."

"Enough!" Emily looked over her seat. "Is that the kind of things you want to teach your brother?"

"I doubt he'll remember any of this!"

"We know he can do it, Em, we're just teasing," Harry said blithely.

"Yeah, he's the only adult here apart from you, mum. It's kind of his obligation to be good at driving."

The baby let out a squeal of agreement, he was three weeks old but had a good set of lungs that he was happy to use at any given time, especially while everyone was sleeping.

Harry leaned and checked that the baby's blankets. Mel beamed at the sight, the boy had pretty much adopted the boy as his own brother, which she thought made a lot of sense, not only because it was Sirius' son, but because he'd been part of her family for so long that anything else would've been silly.

They were well aware that bringing little Regulus to their driving lessons was a bit risky, but Emily wasn't as keen to leave Mel and Harry alone in the house as she used to, so she put a few safety spells on the chair once the baby was seated while Harry and Mel sat on both sides of it.

Erick turned out to be a good driver, but he still had a bit of trouble understanding how cars worked.

"I have to be pulling and pushing stuff all the time!" He complained as he activated the windshield on accident for the third time. "Why can't I just turn the key and press the pedal?"

"Cars don't work like that," Emily said patiently. "It's complicated, but you're good!"

"He's only gone up and down the street for half an hour, Leggie fell asleep already," The girl huffed.

Emily looked over the seat once again, she was frowning. "Erick, switch seats with Mel."

"You're joking... right?"

"Erick," The woman repeated.

"On it," He said happily. "C'mon Mel, are you scared?"

Ten minutes later, Erick was in the backseat and she was tightly holding onto the wheel.

"I'm doing it!" She said. "Is not that hard, is it?"

"A slug could move faster," Harry was looking at the roof of the car and dying of heat. "I thought you were going to be more... the reckless type of driver."

"Me too..." Erick agreed lazily, he was playing with one of Reggie's feet.

"I'm not going faster, my brother's in the car!" Mel scoffed.

"We're not asking you to! Just enough so we can feel like we're actually moving!"

"Bringing you three was a bad idea," Emily said over the boys' laughter.

"Fine!" Mel pressed down the pedal, the car immediately gaining speed. "I'm was just being careful!"

"Which makes me proud," Emily softly patted her shoulder. "It feels like it was yesterday when you were running around Remus' house in nothing but a diaper and now you're driving!"

"The other night I ran into her wearing no pants, so she's hasn't changed really," Erick murmured nonchalantly. "I stepped on Grey's tail thanks to that... maybe that's why he hates me so much."

"What?" Harry's head snapped to the side so fast he hurt himself.

"I forgot you live here now! Sometimes I sleep like that, s'not a crime!" She looked at Harry through the rearview mirror. "I've been an only child for sixteen years, sometimes I forget there are more than two people in my house..."

"I'm surprised her scream didn't wake up Leon," Erick sniggered.

"He's a heavy sleeper like his dad," Emily responded distractedly.

The conversation died instantly. It wasn't the woman's intention, of course, but it'd been only a few weeks since Sirius' passing, sometimes they would forget for a moment, just a brief second, then one of them would talk about Sirius and everything would start again...

It was painful, and it was weird. Mel had never endured something like this with anyone except Harry. Having a larger group of people sharing the same pain was strangely comforting.

Mel cleared her throat. "It's Harry's turn..."

"I'm okay," He said quickly. "I can learn another day..."

"Glasses, you and I have a tradition of experiencing things at the same time," The girl stopped the car and turned to look at him. "You're not going to ruin our streak. Besides, I need to know if I'm better than you."

Harry stared at her in amusement, then he looked at Erick.

"Is it fun, having her bossing you around all day?"

"I boss her around too," Erick smirked.

"They take turns," Her mother sighed.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Harry gave the woman a look of sympathy as he stepped out of the car.

"There are worse things than being stuck with two pushy teenagers..."

"Hey!"

"Sorry," Emily smirked. "A pushy teenager and a pushy adult."

"If it annoys you that much I'll move out," Mel offered humorously. "What d'you say, Prince? Should we try our luck outside our comfort zone?"

"You wouldn't last a day," Erick taunted.

"Fiddlesticks," Mel muttered, to which Harry laughed.

It was around three in the morning when someone knocked on her door. She'd been awake for a while now, so she stood up and opened it.

"Hi," She rubbed her eyes. "What's up?"

"Can't sleep," Erick mumbled. "Care if I stay a moment?"

"Go ahead..."

She went back to bed, Erick sat at the edge and stared at her for a moment. Grey let out a sleepy growl, curling further away from his reach. Erick pulled out his pocket watch, now hanging from a chain he'd found in Regulus Black's room back in Grimmauld Place. The reason why he'd taken it was unknown to Mel.

"What's up?" She mumbled, suppressing a yawn.

"I'm thinking."

"About?"

"How lucky I am."

Mel let out a puff of air without replying. He would do this often, say he was lucky to be there, that she'd saved his life... She just wanted him to shut up.

"I really don't want to punch you, Prince, I'd ruin your pretty nose."

He smiled, unbothered.

"You know, a few years ago you would've been pleased to hear me say that, you ungrateful git."

"Yeah well, a few years ago my biggest dream was to become a princess," She joked. "So you see my priorities were a bit messed up..."

"You'd make a cute princess."

"C'mon —"

"I mean it."

"Erick," Mel said in a tone of warning. "Stop."

He'd been acting like that for a whole week: flirting when no one was around, complimenting her... Mel had closed up so tightly around herself that she was barely capable of saying I love you to her mum. Erick had lived deprived of affection his whole life and was just getting out of that environment. At what point had she become the cold, distant one, and he the ray of sunshine?

She knew right away what he was trying to do, but she was so numb... Mel cared about him, but she was not there yet.

Erick leaned on the wall and tilted his head a bit so he could look at her.

"I'm sorry."

"Why?" She replied. "It's not your fault... I just — I need time."

He nodded shortly.

"We can talk later?"

He was wonderful, but she was in the middle of all that was wrong in their world, right next to Harry and the lifeline that she still hadn't decided whether she wanted to keep or not.

"We should go to bed," She murmured, still unable to make any real decisions for herself.

"Yeah," He stood up, carefully putting the blankets back in place and dropping them all over Grey on purpose. He put the watch back in his pocket as well. "Sweet dreams, Mely."

The Ministry of Magic

PROTECTING YOUR HOME AND FAMILY AGAINST DARK FORCES

The Wizarding community is currently under threat from an organization calling itself the Death Eaters. Observing the following simple security guidelines will help protect you, your family, and your home from attack.

"I have a better way to protect our house," Erick groaned, he was gently rubbing his temples. "Let Leon cry the whole night and not even Voldemort will try to enter... I myself am starting to consider living on the street just to get away from the noise."

"S'not that bad," She answered, the dark circles under her eyes giving her away. "It's hard to get used to being a human, you know?"

"Look at this," Emily unfolded the newspaper. "'Scrimgeour succeeds Fudge' — Well, haven't met him yet but I hope he's got a bit of brain, Tonks told me a few months back that he's certainly a bit brisker..."

The doorbell rang and Mel left to open the door.

The routine at that point was established even if it had been only two weeks since their arrival; Erick got used to life at Privet Drive quite easily, he spent two whole days examining every corner of the kitchen, and when Mel showed him what a movie was, he wasted a whole day in the drawing-room watching the movie adaptations of the books she'd lent to him.

Harry would go daily to check on"Reg". Once he'd stayed the night but refused to sleep in Mel's room, not that she'd tried to convince him otherwise.

"Goodmorning," She opened the door without paying attention, "you're a bit late for breakfast but I'll let it pass as soon as you —"

She stopped talking at the sight of her great-uncle, Dumbledore smiled at her and walked in.

"I can't stay for breakfast, but I dare say I regret it deeply."

"Professor... I — Is everything okay?"

"Certainly."

"To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Mel turned to see her mother standing near the stairs, gazing at Dumbledore coldly.

"Emily," Dumbledore said. "Good morning... I'm here to speak with Mr Flint."

"Is he in trouble?"

"Quite the contrary, I believe he's never been better."

"Professor," Erick's posture changed when he walked into the room, suddenly he looked more like a young man and less like a boy. "What can I do for you?"

"I have a mission for you... Mel as well, but only if she wishes to go."

"She's not of age," The woman replied quickly.

Mel was ready to accept whatever it was he wanted her to do, she needed to feel like she was doing something. Although she wasn't exactly happy to see him so soon after the end of their last term.

"As I said, only if she wishes to come. I assure you she'd be safe."

The girl looked at her mother and then at the men standing in front of her.

"Can I hear what this is about first?"

Emily crossed her arms without uttering a word, her uncle signalled towards the couch.

"A word, then?"

Erick nodded, making a beeline to the closest armchair. Emily turned to leave, but Dumbledore spoke again.

"You can stay."

The woman shared a look with her daughter, Mel couldn't hide her eagerness to hear what the old man had to say.

"I won't sit there and watch history repeat itself," Emily sighed.

The woman left before Mel could say anything. She would talk to her later, but first, she needed to talk to Dumbledore.

"I beg you not to interrupt me while I speak."

Both pupils silently agreed to his petition.

"Now, I find myself in need of a new Professor, but the man I'd been contemplating for the job has been on the run for almost a year — He's not guilty of any crimes," He added, noticing the way their faces grew worried. "He's just afraid like everyone else... I need you to track him down and point me to where he is so I can have a word with him."

"I'll do it," Erick responded instantly.

"Alone?" Mel frowned.

Dumbledore stared at her for a second too long.

"If I remember correctly today is your sixteenth birthday, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Mr Flint turned seventeen in January — You may know that's considered to be the start of our adulthood."

"Yes."

"Erick is allowed to do magic outside school... But you still have a year left."

"I don't see  —"

"You have Matthew's spirit when it comes to saving a friend, Mel. When you were eleven you left this house with Hagrid so you could look for Harry yourself... The time has come for me to finally be honest with you."

"What do you mean 'finally'?" The words were burning a hole in her brain. "You mean all the things you told me when I was in your office last month... that wasn't it?"

Erick stared at them with polite interest, even though she knew he was dying to ask. Mel hadn't told him a thing about that night out of respect for Harry's privacy.

"That was all I had to tell you regarding the Harry," Dumbledore replied. "There are plenty of things I haven't said, and I wish to talk about them with you."

"And if I agree to go with Erick on this mission... you'll tell me?" Mel raised a brow.

"I'll tell you whether you help me with this or not, but I believe there's nothing else I can teach you, Mel. All that's left for you is to start putting your knowledge to use; I recommend you to go on this mission."

"What about my animagus lessons?"

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore smiled. "I'll help you with that, but that'll be it. You've concluded your lessons with the highest marks, dear girl."

She would've been elated hadn't been because of the strange way her uncle was acting.

"Aren't you happy?" Erick nudged her arm gently. "You've worked hard for years, you should be proud!"

"I am proud," Mel replied shortly. "And I'd love to help, but I can't leave my family, it's not safe."

"They'd go to the burrow if you leave."

"What about Harry?"

"He'll go to the burrow too, but I have a few matters to attend with his family first."

"If Mel wants to stay that's alright, I can go on my own —"

"You can't."

Erick looked at her irritated.

"It's not like you can do magic outside school."

"It takes more than magic to survive out there — You don't know how to blend in with the muggles, do you?"

"You can discuss this throughout the day," Dumbledore grabbed a letter from his pocket. "In this, you'll find all about Horace Slughorn's last known whereabouts and a picture so you can identify him. If you do, don't approach, he'll know you're following him. As soon as you find him come back to Privet Drive and write to me."

"This is all just in case we decide to go, right?"

"I'm going," Erick scowled at her.

"We'll talk about this after dinner," She glared back.

Dumbledore stood up and they followed, Emily was at the entrance ready to let him out.

"I'll wait for your response, then," Her uncle stared at her for a moment. "You and Harry..."

"We haven't decided," She was quick to reply. "We need time."

"Very well."

"You're quiet."

"I have a lot to think about."

Her day had been slightly ruined by her great-uncle's visit. Although Lupin had been there for a couple of hours and stayed for dinner. Mel and Erick talked about the mission and she'd promised to tell Harry after the party was over, which was now.

The Slytherin was upstairs taking a shower and Emily was putting Reggie to bed. Mel and Harry were sitting on the grass, watching the stars above them. She'd fallen into contemplative silence, pondering what to do. She could go chase some stranger for Dumbledore's benefit, or she could stay and look after her family.

"This would be much easier if my mum had asked me to stay!" She pouted.

"I reckon she knows that," Harry responded, throwing small rocks over the fence.

"Won't you?"

"Hmm?"

"You won't ask me to stay?"

Harry stared at her.

"No."

He didn't explain his reasons, but he didn't need to. Mel had made up her mind even if she didn't want to admit it. That was exactly why she was so upset, she wanted to look after her family, but her responsibilities were keeping her apart. Three years of hard work had led to this, and although Mel was a big sister now, winning the war was more important than changing diapers.

Her mother was a whole different problem too. Around them she was always cheery, but Mel was sure she'd heard her cry when none of the boys was around to hear.

She believed it was about Sirius, but it could also be about her and Harry, that she was scared for them. Mel didn't have the heart to lie if her mother were to ask about the prophecy. It was, as they had agreed without even having to speak about it, too much weight to put on their loved one's shoulders. The idea of Emily, the closest thing to a mother Harry ever had, finding out there was a big chance one of them would die after having lost Sirius in such a brutal way...

"I don't think I'll be able to look at Dumbledore in the eye if I come back empty-handed..."

"You're one of the best witches I know," Harry shrugged. "You'll be fine, just try not to murder Flint while you're away."

"He's less annoying now," She grinned. "Ever since he left his parents' house, dunno, he's improved. Although I might murder him if he doesn't stop —"

She was going to say 'flirting', but for some reason, she didn't feel ready to talk about that with Harry. She wasn't ready for anything and yet the world was forcing her to keep moving, it was exhausting.

Mel got up and offered her hand to her friend.

"Do you remember when you were just Harry and I was just Mel, and we were the odd kids at school?" She fixed her gaze on her bedroom window. "Wish we could go back to that."

"When I didn't know I was a wizard?"

"Things were easier back then, don't you think?"

"Maybe," He retorted. "But they were never entirely good."

In Harry, Mel found another reason to stay.

They could have the summer to talk about the things they needed to. She would stare at his aged features and compare them to the ones of that young boy she used to call her best friend...

Their bond still had thousands of cracks that had to be fixed, Mel was having a hard time letting him in again and they needed to be okay in order to know if they wanted to keep the lifeline or not. It wasn't that she didn't want to like him, she wanted the comfort he used to provide, the warmth and security of having someone who understood.

He knew it, and he was trying his best to not mess it up, but Mel didn't want to love him again, cutting the lifeline was the best way to assure that... It was easier said than done, though.

Harry was confused. Sometimes it felt like nothing would ever happen, then an overwhelming affection would crush his chest whenever Mel laughed or touched him. He didn't want to put a name to it, he was terrified of saying it, even to himself. All he knew was that the connection was a way to make sure Mel would be safe, and he didn't want to give that up.

"I should go."

"Yeah..."

"Happy birthday," He said. "I have to be honest and tell you that your present was meant to be sent last Christmas, but..."

"I didn't give you a present either, it's okay... I'm a bit angry though, that was a missed opportunity, I could've won."

Harry laughed.

"You'll have a new chance this year, but I doubt you'll be able to beat me — I've already gotten yours..."

"It's July!"

"I know," His smile vanished suddenly, then he added. "Be careful out there, please."

"Erick'll make sure I don't do anything stupid," Mel smiled. "He's so obsessed with protecting me — as if he didn't know I can do it alone just fine!"

"Yeah, but now's different."

"Different how?"

"We need you alive," He told her. "You want to live long enough to become Headmistress, right?"

Mel froze, not knowing what to answer.

"What?" Harry tilted his head.

"I lied," She blurted out. "I never wanted to be Headmistress — I saw you that night, in the mirror... I saw..."

"What?" He asked again, this time softer.

"You kissed me. A real kiss... like the type we used to gawk at as children."

Harry cleared his throat. "Oh."

A tense silence surrounded them. The variations of colour in his eyes were remarkably easy to notice from where she was standing. She was tilting her head up now, perhaps they were too close.

"Be careful."

"You told me that already," Mel whispered, unable to look away. "Anything else you'd like to say?"

"Yes," He paused, his eyes took a quick glance to her lips. "But if I say it you'll get mad."

Harry kissed her, Mel responded by pulling him down.

It was hard to tell whether she was euphoric or scared, perhaps both, or perhaps neither. As soon as it happened Harry jumped away, and she was dropped back into reality.

"I can't do it — We haven't talked about  the lifeline — We won't make the right choice if we let our feelings —"

"You're right! Yes!" Mel said, acting just as agitated. "It's a terrible idea — I like you, but—"

"—it's confusing," He said anxiously. "Do you have feelings for me?"

"Do you have feelings for me?" Mel asked in a high-pitched voice.

"No!" He responded, but his voice trembled with a lack of confidence. "I care about you a lot —"

"— I care for you too —"

"— But just —"

"— as friends!"

They stared at each other with the same frightened expression.

"I'm sorry if I made things uncomfortable," He groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I... I don't want to lose you."

"We need to spend some time apart," She nodded, avoiding his eyes. "We can ignore this happened, right?"

"Absolutely," He agreed. "You're spending the summer at the burrow?"

"My mum and my brother will be there, so I kind of have to... is that okay?"

"It's okay," Harry looked around. "We... we should go."

"Did you ever regret falling for my dad?" Mel asked randomly. "I mean, you ever wonder how things would've turned out if you'd stayed as friends?"

Emily stopped folding her clothes.

"Something nagging that head of yours?"

"I think relationships are a waste of time. They all break and you always end up hurting..."

"What makes you think such nonsense?" Emily raised a brow, leaning back on the couch. "Who are you and what did you do to my daughter?"

"You don't think that way?" She asked doubtfully.

"Because I lost my partners that means I have to be bitter?"

"I didn't mean it like that," Mel replied quickly. "But... yeah."

Emily remained silent for a moment, gathering her thoughts.

"Solitude can do weird things to your heart, love. It can pull you towards bad or good places... People that make you feel a little less lonesome, someone who understands you. You should hold onto that for as long as you can, no matter how scary it is. You never know what wonderful things may bring you..."

"Sirius said something similar a year ago," Mel said quietly. "Something about finding my equal, that the earth's full of options and stuff..."

"I won't force you to find a partner if that's not what you want, but you're young and the world is big, you can't turn your back on every opportunity."

"It's not like I have lots of prospects right now..." She huffed.

"You don't need lots, just the right one."

Mel hesitated for a moment, then added:

"I know you used to have a crush on James Potter."

Emily looked up from the laundry again, she raised a brow. "Oh?"

"I know it was a long time ago," She shifted in her place awkwardly. "But do you ever wonder what would've happened if you two..?"

The woman sighed.

"Only once."

"When?"

"When I found out Voldemort was after his son," She folded the last shirt and handed it to Mel. "I asked myself if I had made the right choice by giving him up... When I look at you I know it was the right thing to do. What happened to James and Lily... it was horrible, but it wasn't my fault. I was happy with your father; maybe Matthew wasn't my first love, but when it comes to this, your first love rarely is the one that lasts."

"Mel?" Erick walked into the room. "If we're planning to drive around all day tomorrow, you should sleep," He nodded shortly at both of them and left the room, her mother chuckled.

"You know, Erick reminds me of your father... I know Sirius said he was like his brother, but Regulus made all the wrong choices... Erick's done all this for himself, to be better. Just like Matty."

Mel's gaze lingered on the doorway long after Erick had left.

"Thank you, for letting me go," She sighed, looking back at the woman. "I don't love following Dumbledore's orders but I... I want to make this world a better place."

"Love," Emily cupped her face adoringly. "I know why you're doing this. Just how I knew why you flew that car to save Harry, and why you went to the Ministry... but you're my daughter, and it's my job to worry about you anyway."

Erick and Mel took three changes of clothing and put them in the trunk, Emily gave them muggle money. Mel had a fake driver's license as well as Erick, and they would take turns driving. Harry was nowhere to be seen, but it was expected since it was five in the morning. She hadn't mentioned the kiss to either her mother or Erick, she was determined to keep it that way, much like the whole lifeline stuff and the prophecy.

'Just pile more secrets on top, why don't you,' She thought bitterly as she walked out of the house.

Emily hugged both and let them kiss Reggie goodbye, Mel promised they would see each other soon, and Erick vowed he'd make sure Mel would be safe (she snorted loudly at this). Once inside the car, her friend took a deep breath.

"Ready?"

"This isn't our first adventure, Prince."

"This one's the first we do with permission."

"You're an adult, you don't need anyone's approval."

"You know what I mean," He rolled his eyes.

"Sorry. I get defensive when I'm —"

"I know," He sighed. "I talk too much when I'm worried."

"I know," She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly. "I'm ready... We'll be okay."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @wlwmaximoff @reverse-hxlland @hamiltonwc @omiwashere @t-rexs-world @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @21bruhs @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @dielgonacoffee @thelastpyle

[just-my-fandom]

Chapter 2: Trick or Treat, Freak

Summary: After Will sees something terrible on trick-or-treat night, Mike wonders whether Eleven’s still out there. Nancy wrestles the truth about Barb. Dustins sister finally talks to Mad Max, but doesn’t get the response she wanted.

Tag list; @folly-olly @chinchillagirl18

Story list; Chapter 1

Note; Damn I suck at keeping up with series’, I’m sorry it took me five months to get the second chapter in, school and work is keeping me (too) occupied! I also started improvising in the end because my Netflix has been cutting out, and I don’t know the episode word-for-word by heart!

“Oh! I want to see those pearly whites!”

You and Dustin are dressed all out. Gray suits and large backpacks, each holding your own proton blaster. Side by side, you aim your blasters at one another, smiling at the camera your mother held up,

“Who you gonna call?” Claudia hums the Ghostbusters theme song, and laughs when you purposefully hit Dustin in the shoulder with your blaster. 

You skid your bike to a stop just outside the school, laughing when Will runs up, yelling, “Ghostbusters!”

“Hey, Spengler!”

“Egon!”

“Venkman!”

“Whoa whoa.” Mike pulls you away from Lucas, pointing to Lucas’ name tag on his suit, “Why are you Venkman?”

“Because I’m Venkman.” Lucas states, Mike shaking his head. “No, I’m Venkman.”

“Why can’t there just be two Venkmans?” Will asks, innocently, Mike scoffing and glaring at Lucas. “Because there’s only one Venkman in real life. We planned this months ago.” 

Mike presses a hand to his chest. “I’m Venkman. Y/N’s Barrett, Dustin’s Stantz, Will’s Egon, and you’re Winston.”

“I specifically didn’t agree to Winston.” Lucas crosses his arms, Mikes eyes widening in an ‘are you serious’ expression. “Yes, you did!”

“I don’t think he did.” You look at Will, who shakes his head. “No one wants to be Winston.”

“What’s wrong with Winston?” Mike looks at you, and you press your lips together, tightly. “Winston joined the team super late, he’s not really funny, or a scientist.”

“Yeah but he’s still cool.”

“If hes so cool.” Lucas snips, “Then you be Winston.”

“I cant.” Mike sighs, and your eyes scan the school yard as they continue to argue, furrowed brows relaxing with realization. “Shit.” You face the group, “Guys?”

The four boys look at you, and you point past them, to the kids getting off the bus. “Why is no one else wearing costumes?”

Standing at your lockers side by side, Will watches you unzip your suit and step out of it. “You wore clothes underneath?”

“You didnt?” You pick up the suit and bag and shove them into your locker, slamming it shut before picking up your bookbag, turning and jerking to a stop to stare at Max, who rolled down the hall towards you on her skateboard.Your eyes watch as she skids to a stop in front of her locker, putting her board inside and grabbing her books for the next class.

“You really like her, huh?” You blink and look at Will, shaking your head as you sigh, deeply. “No. It’ll go away.” Your eyes shift back to the red head. “I hope.”

“Why dont you just talk to her?” Will asks, and you frown, finally turning your full attention to him. “She called us stalkers and creeps. I dont think she’d want to be friends with a creepy stalker.” Without realizing, your eyes are on her again, “Besides, she probably doesnt even like girls.”

“You never know until you talk to her.” Will raises an eyebrow, and you squint your eyes. “Since when did you get so good at this kinda stuff?”

“My mom has a boyfriend.” Will shrugs, and you snort, nodding towards the classroom you both shared down the hall. “C’mon.”

.           .               .

Max opens her locker and shoves her first and second period books inside, heaving a deep sigh of exhaustion.

A small clearing of a throat causes her to glance over, finding you, shifting your bookbag on your shoulder, and a nervous smile on your lips. Cute.

“Uh, hey.” You wave, and instantly drop your hand to your side, “I’m Y/N.”

“I know.” She nods, once, shifting onto one foot, “You’re a stalker like your four buddies.”

You laugh, nervously, shaking your hand as you pull at the sleeves of your shirt. “No. No, we weren’t stalking you. I-I mean my brother and my friend, Lucas, were, but I was just curious. You’re new here in Hawkins and I saw that you really like Dig Dug at the arcade.”

“So your brother is Dustin?” Max raises an eyebrow, and you nod, “Great. So you’re related to a stalker.”

“My twin, actually.” You flinch, “That’s not what I came to you about. Halloweens tonight, and since you’re new to town, I was wondering if you wanted to go trick or treating with us.”

“No thanks.” Max slams her locker shut, stepping back, “I dont hang out with stalkers.” You press your lips together when she turns around, walking down the hall to the classroom you also had to walk to.

“Great talk.” You exhale, shakily, glancing around before following her. You drop down into your desk and heave a deep sigh, Will glancing over at you then to Max settled in the back, “So?”

“So what, Will?” You mutter, dropping your notebook on your desk before crossing your arms, leaning into your seat. “Did you talk to her?”

“Did I talk to her?” You repeat, and Dustin looks over his shoulder at your harsh tone, “Yeah I talked to her. She called me a stalker and a creep. Us stalkers and creeps. So she wants nothing to do with me.”

Will frowns and glances at Dustin, before he watches you prop your chin on your hand, and write the notes on the board.

. . .

“You’re late.” Billy is propped up against his car, cigar in hand as he watched Max round to the passenger side,

“I had to pick up make up homework.”

“Jesus, I don’t care.” Billy tosses his cigar down, stomping on it before tossing open his door, “Late again and you’re skating home.”

Max waits until he’s in the car before rolling her eyes, settling in next to him and curling up against the window. Halfway down the road is when Billy decides to speak up again. “God, this place is a shithole.”

“It’s not that bad.” Max protests, quietly, mind taking her back to you. She had seen how quiet you were in class today. She caused that by being cold to you in the hallway.

“You liking it here?” Billy snips, eyes glancing at her then back to stare at the road, “It smells like literal cow shit.”

“No.”

“Then why are you defending it?” Billy narrows his eyes to Max, but misses her rolling her eyes a second time that day. “I’m not.”

“Sure seems like it.”

“It’s just.” Max sucks in a deep breath, trying to make sure she didn’t have an attitude. “We’re stuck here, and.”

“Yeah. Whose fault is that?”

“Yours.” Max mutters, so Billy raised his eyebrows and glanced her. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” Billy raises his hand to his ear, “Whose fault is it Max? Say it.”

“No.”

Billy clenches his jaw, hand jerking to shift the gear of his car, which lurches when it suddenly picks up speed. Max’s eyes snap to the road, where up ahead, four figures pedal on their bikes. You and the party.

“Billy, slow down.” Max demands, Billy chuckling and looking at her. “What? Those your buddies?”

“No! I don’t know them.”

“Well I guess you won’t care if I hit em, huh?” Billy drums his hand on the steering wheel, eyes settled on you reaching over to shove Dustin, “Bonus points if I hit all of them in one? Or maybe just the girl.”

“Stop, that’s not funny.” Max turns in her seat, mind racing. She just met you. Is she really going to lose you before she has a chance to be friends?

You look over your shoulder at the loud roar of Billy’s car, your eyes widening when the car jerks to speed up, your gasp inaudible from how hard you suck in, “Guys. Guys, we gotta move!”

“Billy, stop!” Max orders, hand reaching out to jerk the steering wheel away from the group, to the opposite side of the road.

Your bike wobbles so you fell sideways, jaw hitting the rough road so your head jerked back up, groan loud as Dustin fell into the grass, Mike and Lucas dropping their bikes to scram back into the road, both grabbing your arms but their eyes remain on the car now speeding away.

“What the fuck?!” You jerk your arms away and rub your jaw, hissing before pulling your hand back, staring at the blood on your fingers and palm,

“Was that...?” Dustin points to the car, before looking at you, catching the blood on your face and hand, “Ah, shit.”

. . .

“I swear to God, if I get another 3-Musketeers I’m going to kill myself.”

You snort and toss your hair up into a lose ponytail, taking your candy bag back from Mike as you glance at Lucas, who holds up said candy and grimaces.

“What’s wrong with 3-Musketeers?” Dustin asks, foreign high offense to the dark skinned males statement,

“What’s wrong with 3-Musketeers?” Luke repeats, chucking the candy so Dustin barely caught it, grinning at it before shoving it into his bag, “No one likes 3-Musketeers,”

“Yeah, it’s just nougat.” Will agrees, shrugging at your scrunched nose face,

“Just nougat?” Dustin protests, Will nodding, “Just nougat. It is top three for me.”

“Eh, top five.” You squint, ignoring Dustins glare,

“Top three?” Mike breathes, Dustin repeating in agreement, “Oh, God, give me a break!”

“Seriously, I could eat a whole bowl of nougat, straight up!”

Suddenly, a figure wearing a white mask jumps out in front of you, your brows furrowing when the four boys at your sides all screech, your eyebrow raising as you glance at them, then to the figure, “That’s it?”

“Seriously?” The figure pulls off the mask to reveal Max’s face, her mouth gaped as she stared at you. “Out of all of you I’d expect you to scream.”

“I’m not a pussy.” You snip, Dustin hitting your shoulder with this back of his hand. You roll your shoulder away from him, narrowing your eyes to your twin.

Max nods her head and turns, only getting five steps before she glances over her shoulder, noticing that you nor the four boys had moved to follow her, “You guys coming or what? I heard we should hit up Loch Nora, that’s where the rich people live, right?”

“Seriously?” You mock, Max’s face slightly falling at the irritation in your voice, “I thought you didn’t want to hang out with us because we’re ‘stalkers��?”

“Look, I didn’t mean that,” Max sighs, and you hum, tilting your head,

“Was that before or after you had your brother almost kill us?”

“Wait. What?” Will looks at you, confused, Max shaking her head and narrowing her eyes.

“You think I did that on purpose? He’s an asshole either way, and, he’s not my brother.”

“Whatever.” You look down at your bag, “Let’s just go to Loch Nora.”

. . .

“Another full size. Like, seriously, rich people are such suckers.” Dustin shoves another snickers bar into his bag, handing you a full (favorite/candy) bar so you smiled, elbowing his arm, “Wait.” Dustin looks at Max, “You’re not rich, right?”

“No.” Max laughs, “I live up Old Cherry Road.”

“That’s totally tubular.” Dustin speaks, looking at you to see you shaking your head, nose scrunched up, “What? Did I say it wrong?”

“Just don’t say it at all.” You demand, and Dustin rolls his eyes, glancing over when Lucas chucks another 3-Musketeers at him.

“Hey.” Max speaks up, your eyes shifting to her. “Look. I’m sorry I called you guys stalkers.” She shrugs. “But I mean. You guys were spying on me a lot.”

“Yeah, I’ll admit to that.” You breathe out a laugh, pulling out a sucker to unwrap. “But like I said earlier today, we don’t get a lot of new people here in Fucktown, so we get every chance we can to see a new face. Especially a cute one.”

You stop mid way of putting the sucker in your mouth, eyes widening in realization to what you had said. “Shit. Shit, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Max shrugs, eyeing you. “I never said I didn’t think you were cute.”

“So you think I’m cute?” You grin, Max rolling her eyes.

“I’m not admitting it.”

“I’ll take it.” You click your tongue, looking over at Mikes shout for you. You see him knelt beside Will, whose hands are over his head in an attempt to curl himself into a ball.

“Will?” You drop your bag to move forward, kneeling down in front of your best friend so you could grab his wrists, noticing how he flinched roughly, “Will, it’s just me.”

“I saw it again.” Will breathes, his eyes snapping up to you. “The thing I saw at the arcade.”

Your brows furrow as you glance over to Mike, who shakes his head, informing you he didn’t know what Will was talking about. “Okay.” You murmur, pulling Wills hands so he began to stand up with you. “Let’s get you home.”

“Wait, you’re just going to stop trick or treating?” Max asks, and you glance at her, eyes slightly narrowed.

“Yes. I am. Dustin, take my bag. Eat my candy and I’ll pop your bike wheels.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Dustin clutches your bag and his to his chest, gasp loud. He watches as you link your arm through Wills, leading him down the street back towards Mikes house to call not only your mother, but Joyce.

“Are they, like, a thing?” Max asks, crossing her arms as she turns to the three boys left with her.

“Ew, gross.” Dustin scowls, nose scrunched. “They’ve been best friends since like, first grade.”

“Besides.” Lucas shifts his bag to hang over his shoulder. “Y/N likes girls.”

Max nods, slowly, glancing in the direction to where she could see your back, her feet bringing herself to follow after your brother.

[slitherofgold]

I loathe you Pt 1- Sam Fender Imagine

Standing before the mirror, you were impressed with the reflection. You had made an effort with your appearance (for once) and the result wasn’t too bad. You were looking forward to tonight, finally getting the chance to catch up with the boys who had been on tour for months. You had missed them, in fact your home town didn’t feel the same without them. The plan was drinks at your local pub- the Low Lights Tavern- just so you could catch up and see how everyone was doing. Well, not everyone. Thankfully, Drew had convinced Sam not to come for your sake. It wasn’t as if you hated the guy, but he always seemed to kill the mood with his sulky attitude and blunt remarks. It was almost as if he despised you and just couldn’t stand your company, so you kindly asked Drew not to invite Sam. 

You hopped in the taxi and headed towards the tavern, getting more eager by the second to see your friends. The pub was your guys spot, whenever someone needed to celebrate, whenever someone was sad, whenever someone needed to let off a little steam, you’d always meet at this spot. 

You walked in and instantly looked towards your usual booth.You would’ve been happy to be reminded of your friends faces, but unfortunately to your dismay, Mr Sam Fender was sat with them, blatant of your arrival. You were tempted to walk back out, to come up with some petty excuse for you to leave, but it was too late, the gang had noticed you. “Y/n!”, Dean waved you over, obviously happy to see you. You quickly plastered on a smile and strutted in their direction. You were not going to let Sam ruin tonight.

“Hey guys, long time no see.” Dean squeezed up, allowing room for you to sit. Within an instant it was like they had never left. They told you stories from on tour (like Sam threatening to break into a Greggs after a particularly messy night out) and they had asked about what you had been up to too. 

“So y/n you seeing anyone”, Drew asked, whilst side-glancing towards Sam. Great, you were going to be reminded YET AGAIN that you were still single, and you were certain that Sam basked in your sad, single loneliness. 

“Yep obviously. I think I just defer guys with my presence.”

“Obviously”, Sam muttered under his breath. You pretended to ignore him but you couldn’t help but notice the sharp glance Drew gave him from across the table. He quickly attempted to assure you. “Nah that’s not true, I knew a bunch of guys who had a crush on you at school.”

“Yeah, like who?” You raised your brow out of curiosity.

“Sorry that’s classified information. I promised I’d never tell.”

“Drew, school was nine years ago.” You folded your arms across the table, waiting for an answer. 

“Yeah but it was a pinky promise and you know how sacred they are.”

“Sure, now I’m gonna go get us some more drinks before you bore everyone with my non-existent love life.” You left the table and headed towards the bar, hoping they’d change the topic by the time you’d get back. It wasn’t as if your love life was non-existent it was just very much unsuccessful. For some reason you had a certain type for dickheads, the kind who loved to walk all over you and cheat whenever they felt like it. In a way you were grateful for your chain of ex-lovers, they had made you tougher to a certain extent, and boys knew it too. In fact, most of the time, the boys refused to meet whoever you were dating. It was almost as if they could see right through each and every bloke, and decided that any guy would never be good enough for you or their time. “6 pints please.”

“That’s a lot of pints for a small thing like you.” You hadn’t even looked at the bartender, but his voice seemed to pull you out of a trance. You quickly realised how good-looking he was. He was roughly in his late 20s, dirty blonde hair and kind brown eyes. He was charming in some sort of way and he had even kinder smile. Shit, you were still staring. He must think I’ve got something wrong with me. 

“I wish they were, but I’m pretty sure you’d have to roll me out of here if I even attempted to down all six.” He laughed and started pouring out glasses, locking eyes with you every so often. “So are you new? I haven’t seen you around here before.” God, you were cringing so bad. You knew you were a bit rusty but this ‘flirting’ was just a shit-show.

“Kinda, some of my relatives live down here but I don’t live too far either. I take it you’re local?”

“Sadly, yes. Hopefully I can get out soon if my job picks up.” You were hopeful, but it was the truth. Although you loved Shields, you didn’t wanna stay here forever. 

“It’s not too bad around here, where would you wanna go, when you do get out?”

“I’ve not thought that far ahead yet, maybe down South or maybe even somewhere else in Europe.”

“I’ll have to tag along if you don’t mind.” He folded his arms across the bar and leaned down to your eye level. God, talking to this guy was so easy, you could stare into those eyes for hours. You hadn’t even realised that he’d poured all six drinks! 

“Sure, I could use the company.” You played along, silently hoping he’d take you up on the offer. 

“Isn’t your boyfriend good company then?” 

“My boyfriend?!” You gave him an unsure glance, you were certain that you were single. 

“Yeah, the guy giving me the evils.” You turned to look. “Don’t look!” He lightly grabbed your arm stopping you from turning. “God, don’t make it too obvious”, he laughed. “The guy in the white-shirt sat with you and your friends, blondish hair?”

“Ohhhhh, that’s Sam”, you laughed. “We’re not together.” 

“He’s been giving me the evils ever since you strutted on over, I took a guess thought you and him were a thing or something.”

You snorted, “Sam basically hates me, he treats me like shit or ignores me half the time.”

“Trust me, coming from a guy, he’s definitely feeling something other than hate for you.” 

“And trust me, knowing Sam for nearly 10 years, basically makes him my brother.” You couldn’t put anymore emphasis on that, you and Sam were not a thing. Period. 

“Well if you’re adamant that there’s nothing going on between you, I’d love to take your number?” You blushed but willingly took the guys phone and dialled in your number. 

“Y/n by the way.”

“Archie, lovely to meet you y/n.” He smiled and you and you smiled back effortlessly. God, his smile really was something. 

“You too, now I’d better get back to my friends before they start screaming for their beer.” You walked on ever to the group, careful not to spill the drinks. 

“Oi oi, look at you gettin’ ya flirt on”, Dean whistled. You blushed again, knowing full well that Archie could hear. 

“See told ya guys fancied you, you just can’t see it half the time.” You instantly thought back to Sam and glanced in his direction. Sure enough, he was sulking as usual. 

“I’m going for a ciggy”, Sam announced, and with that he stood up and stalked on outside- ruining the mood once more. 

“Think I might join him”, Drew said and quickly left after him. You shrugged and sat down next to Dean once more. Dean started talking about the good old days, laughing about the stupid things you guys did when you were young. 

“Remember that one time you hit by the swing playing chicken, and Sam felt so bad he pedalled home to go get you a plaster.”

“Omg and by the time he got back, I had stopped crying and we had started a new round.” 

“He was so mad, I remember he wanted you to sit out to rest your “injured” knee. It was literally the smallest cut ever!” You both laughed at the memory. You remembered that you had argued with Sam that day, you refused to sit and watch whilst the boys had all the fun. “I miss those days man”, Dean continued, “when we didn’t have to worry about anything other than going to the park after school.”

“Yeah but you enjoy tour life right? You’re travelling, meeting new people. I’m sure you got girls throwing themselves at your feet as well.” 

“That’s one bonus, I get homesick though. Actually, Sam was saying how you should come with us when we go on tour next.”

“He did?!” The news took you by surprise. He wanted to spend time with you. 

“Yeah, he said you could be our own personal groupie”, Dean chuckled. You? A groupie for Sam? You loved there music, there was no doubt about it but you weren’t sure how you felt about him as a person. You’d known him for a while but you didn’t really KNOW him that well. He was a difficult person. 

“Yeah sounds good. I missed you guys whilst you were away.”

“We all missed you too, especially Sam. It was kind of annoying actually, he complained about you not being there with us A LOT”. God, Sam just seem to escape the conversation tonight. Everything just sounded so unlike him. It never acted like this around you, and he certainly hadn’t said anything nice about you to your face. It was definitely a shock. 

“Speaking of the buggers, I’m going to see what’s taking them so long.” You needed some air anyway, it was so stuffy inside. As you reached the door you heard a quiet a conversation. You wouldn’t usually snoop but you recognised the voices. It sounded like a very important conversation. Their voices were tense yet quiet, ensuring that no one would be able to hear. No one but you obviously. 

“Drew leave it. Nothings ever going to happen between us. We wouldn’t work. We’re two VERY different people who have VERY different lives.” Sam. You wondered who he was on about, was he seeing someone? Why did you care?

“Mate you’ve had a crush on her since we were 12. I know you still like her, and you can’t deny it.”

“Yeah and so what. We date. It goes wrong. It fucks up our whole gang. Things become awkward. The end. That’s what will happen. End of.”

“Well, you’ll never know until you try. All I’m saying is that you better man up quick, otherwise someones gonna beat you to it.”

 Wait, known since 12, fuck up whole gang, that only narrows it down to one person. Me, Sam likes me, you thought, and with that, you heard the boys stomping out their fags ready to re-enter the tavern and face you once more.

[uomo-accattivante]

Fantastic (but long) article about Theater of War’s recent productions, including Oedipus the King and Antigone in Ferguson, featuring Oscar Isaac. The following are excerpts. The full article is viewable via the source link below:

Excerpt:

“Children of Thebes, why are you here?” Oscar Isaac asked. His face filled the monitor on my dining table. (It was my partner’s turn to use the desk.) We were a couple of months into lockdown, just past seven in the evening, and a few straggling cheers for essential workers came in through the window. Isaac was looking smoldery with a quarantine beard, a gold chain, an Airpod, and a black T-shirt. His display name was set to “Oedipus.”

Isaac was one of several famous actors performing Sophocles’ “Oedipus the King” from their homes, in the first virtual performance by Theater of War Productions: a group that got its start in 2008, staging Sophocles’ “Ajax” and “Philoctetes” for U.S. military audiences and, beginning in 2009, on military installations around the world, including in Kuwait, Qatar, and Guantánamo Bay, with a focus on combat trauma. After each dramatic reading, a panel made up of people in active service, veterans, military spouses, and/or psychiatrists would describe how the play resonated with their experiences of war, before opening up the discussion to the audience. Since its founding, Theater of War Productions has addressed different kinds of trauma. It has produced Euripides’ “The Bacchae” in rural communities affected by the opioid crisis, “The Madness of Heracles” in neighborhoods afflicted by gun violence and gang wars, and Aeschylus’ “Prometheus Bound” in prisons. “Antigone in Ferguson,” which focusses on crises between communities and law enforcement, was motivated by an analogy between Oedipus’ son’s unburied body and that of Michael Brown, left on the street for roughly four hours after Brown was killed by police; it was originally performed at Michael Brown’s high school.

Now, with trauma roving the globe more contagiously than ever, Theater of War Productions had traded its site-specific approach for Zoom. The app was configured in a way I hadn’t seen before. There were no buttons to change between gallery and speaker view, which alternated seemingly by themselves. You were in a “meeting,” but one you were powerless to control, proceeding by itself, with the inexorability of fate. There was no way to view the other audience members, and not even the group’s founder and director, Bryan Doerries, knew how numerous they were. Later, Zoom told him that it had been fifteen thousand. This is roughly the seating capacity of the theatre of Dionysus, where “Oedipus the King” is believed to have premièred, around 429 B.C. Those viewers, like us, were in the middle of a pandemic: in their case, the Plague of Athens.

The original audience would have known Oedipus’ story from Greek mythology: how an oracle had predicted that Laius, the king of Thebes, would be killed by his own son, who would then sleep with his mother; how the queen, Jocasta, gave birth to a boy, and Laius pierced and bound the child’s ankles, and ordered a shepherd to leave him on a mountainside. The shepherd took pity on the maimed baby, Oedipus (“swollen foot”), and gave him to a Corinthian servant, who handed him off to the king and queen of Corinth, who raised him as their son. Years later, Oedipus killed Laius at a crossroads, without knowing who he was. Then he saved Thebes from a Sphinx, became the king of Thebes, had four children with Jocasta, and lived happily for many years.

That’s where Sophocles picks up the story. Everyone would have known where things were headed—the truth would come out, and Oedipus would blind himself—but not how they would get there. How Sophocles got there was by drawing on contemporary events, on something that was in everyone’s mind, though it doesn’t appear in the original myth: a plague.

In the opening scene, Thebes is in the grip of a terrible epidemic. Oedipus’ subjects come to the palace, imploring him to save the city, describing the scene of pestilence and panic, the screaming and the corpses in the street. Something about the way Isaac voiced Oedipus’ response—“Children. I am sorry. I know”—made me feel a kind of longing. It was a degree of compassion conspicuous by its absence in the current Administration. I never think of myself as someone who wants or needs “leadership,” yet I found myself thinking, We would be better off with Oedipus. “I would be a weak leader if I did not follow the gods’ orders,” Isaac continued, subverting the masculine norm of never asking for advice. He had already sent for the best information out there, from the Delphic Oracle.

Soon, Oedipus’ brother-in-law, Creon—John Turturro, in a book-lined study—was doing his best to soft-pedal some weird news from Delphi. Apparently, the oracle said that the plague wouldn’t end until the people of Thebes expelled Laius’ killer: a person who was somehow still in the city, even though Laius had died many years earlier on an out-of-town trip. Oedipus called in the blind prophet, Tiresias, played by Jeffrey Wright, whose eyes were invisible behind a circular glare in his eyeglasses.

Reading “Oedipus” in the past, I had always been exasperated by Tiresias, by his cryptic lamentations—“I will never reveal the riddles within me, or the evil in you”—and the way he seemed incapable of transmitting useful information. Spoken by a Black actor in America in 2020, the line made a sickening kind of sense. How do you tell the voice of power that the problem is in him, really baked in there, going back generations? “Feel free to spew all of your vitriol and rage in my direction,” Tiresias said, like someone who knew he was in for a tweetstorm.

Oedipus accused Tiresias of treachery, calling out his disability. He cast suspicion on foreigners, and touted his own “wealth, power, unsurpassed skill.” He decried fake news: “It’s all a scam—you know nothing about interpreting birds.” He elaborated a deep-state scenario: Creon had “hatched a secret plan to expel me from office,” eliciting slanderous prophecies from supposedly disinterested agencies. It was, in short, a coup, designed to subvert the democratic will of the people of Thebes.

Frances McDormand appeared next, in the role of Jocasta. Wearing no visible makeup, speaking from what looked like a cabin somewhere with wood-panelled walls, she resembled the ghost of some frontierswoman. I realized, when I saw her, that I had never tried to picture Jocasta: not her appearance, or her attitude. What was her deal? How had she felt about Laius maiming their baby? How had she felt about being offered as a bride to whomever defeated the Sphinx? What did she think of Oedipus when she met him? Did it never seem weird to her that he was her son’s age, and had horrible scars on his ankles? How did they get along, those two?

When you’re reading the play, you don’t have to answer such questions. You can entertain multiple possibilities without settling on one. But actors have to make decisions and stick to them. One decision that had been made in this case: Oedipus really liked her. “Since I have more respect for you, my dear, than anyone else in the world,” Isaac said, with such warmth in “my dear.” I was reminded of the fact that Euripides wrote a version of “Oedipus”—lost to posterity, like the majority of Greek tragedies—that some scholars suggest foregrounds the loving relationshipbetween Oedipus and Jocasta.

Jocasta’s immediate task was to defuse the potentially murderous argument between her husband and her brother. She took one of the few rhetorical angles available to a woman: why, such grown men ought to be ashamed of themselves, carrying on so when there was a plague going on. And yet, listening to the lines that McDormand chose to emphasize, it was clear that, in the guise of adult rationality and spreading peace, what she was actually doing was silencing and trivializing. “Come inside,” she said, “and we’ll settle this thing in private. And both of you quit making something out of nothing.” It was the voice of denial, and, through the play, you could hear it spread from character to character.

By this point in the performance, I found myself spinning into a kind of cognitive overdrive, toggling between the text and the performance, between the historical context, the current context, and the “universal” themes. No matter how many times you see it pulled off, the magic trick is always a surprise: how a text that is hundreds or thousands of years old turns out to be about the thing that’s happening to you, however modern and unprecedented you thought it was.

Excerpt:

The riddle of the Sphinx plays out in the plot of “Oedipus,” particularly in a scene near the end where the truth finally comes out. Two key figures from Oedipus’ infancy are brought in for questioning: the Theban shepherd, who was supposed to kill baby Oedipus but didn’t; and the Corinthian messenger to whom he handed off the maimed child. The Theban shepherd is walking proof that the Sphinx’s riddle is hard, because that man can’t recognize anyone: not the Corinthian, whom he last saw as a young man, and certainly not Oedipus, a baby with whom he’d had a passing acquaintance decades earlier. “It all took place so long ago,” he grumbles. “Why on earth would you ask me?”

“Because,” the Corinthian (David Strathairn) explained genially on Zoom, “this man whom you are now looking at was once that child.”

This, for me, was the scene with the catharsis in it. At a certain point, the shepherd (Frankie Faison) clearly understood everything, but would not or could not admit it. Oedipus, now determined to learn the truth at all costs, resorted to enhanced interrogation. “Bend back his arms until they snap,” Isaac said icily; in another window, Faison screamed in highly realistic agony. Faison was a personification of psychological resistance: the mechanism a mind develops to protect itself from an unbearable truth. Those invisible guardsmen had to nearly kill him before he would admit who had given him the baby: “It was Laius’s child, or so people said. Your wife could tell you more.”

Tears glinted in Isaac’s eyes as he delivered the next line, which I suddenly understood to be the most devastating in the whole play: “Did . . . she . . . give it to you?” How had I never fully realized, never felt, how painful it would have been for Oedipus to realize that his parents hadn’t loved him?

Excerpt:

If we borrow the terms of Greek drama, 2020 might be viewed as the year of anagnorisis: tragic recognition. On August 9th, the sixth anniversary of the shooting of Michael Brown, I watched the Theater of War Productions put on a Zoom production of “Antigone in Ferguson”: an adaptation of Sophocles’ “Oedipus” narrative sequel, with the chorus represented by a demographically and ideologically diverse gospel choir. Oscar Isaac was back, this time as Creon, Oedipus’ successor as king. He started out as a bullying inquisitor (“I will have your extremities removed one by one until you reveal the criminal’s name”), ordering Antigone (Tracie Thoms) to be buried alive, insulting everyone who criticized him, and accusing Tiresias of corruption. But then Tiresias, with the help of the chorus, persuaded Creon to reconsider. In a sustained gospel number, the Thebans, armed with picks and shovels, led by their king, rushed to free Antigone.

“Antigone” being a tragedy, they got there too late, resulting in multiple deaths, and in Isaac’s once again totally losing his shit. It was almost the same performance he gave in “Oedipus,” and yet, where Oedipus begins the play written into a corner, between walls that keep closing in, Creon seems to have just a little more room to maneuver. His misfortune—like that of Antigone and her brother—feels less irreversible. I first saw “Antigone in Ferguson” live, last year, and, in the discussion afterward, the subject of fate—inevitably—came up. I remember how Doerries gently led the audience to view “Antigone” as an illustration of how easily everything might happen differently, and how people’s minds can change. I remember the energy that spread through the room that night, in talk about prison reform and the urgency of collective change.

###

Again, the full article is accessible via the source link below:

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

A Nightmare In A Dream (Part 2)

Summary: Six months after reuniting with the Winchesters and her brother, things are going good for the reader. She and Dean are happily together and occasionally stay with her brother, Matty, and Sam, who has been getting him used to normal life. Life appears to be heading in a good direction when the past has a way of creeping up again and dropping a bombshell on them all...

Pairing: Serial Killer!Dean x reader

Masterlist

Square: AU!Dean

Word Count: 5,000ish

Warnings: mature (language, angst, death/murder, drugging/kidnapping, family drama)

A/N #1: This is a spin off of A Dream In A Nightmare and takes place ~6 months later. It’s recommended that fic is read prior to this one...

_____

Four Hours Later

“What exactly are you doing here?” asked Dean when you walked in the front door at your house in town. He barely lifted his head up from the dining room table where he had his computer out.

“Helping find Smith and potentially Lewis.”

You left your one bag by the door, the other going on top of the table across from him.

“I think a better idea would be for you to go stay with Matty where it’s safe,” he said.

“Do you not trust me?” you asked. He closed his eyes and ran his hands over his face. “I asked if-”

“I love you,” he said, pulling his hands away and looking over at you. “I love you, you fucking dumbass. The past six months have been the best damn six months of my life. I feel happy. I am happy. I don’t feel like a monster or a psycho anymore. Some days I feel like maybe I’m not even the bad guy. But I am the bad guy, sweetheart. You killed to keep your brother alive. I did it because it was the only control I could have in my life. It seemed like the only way I could stop the bad guys out there. Now I’m one of them. You deserve better than life with a monster.”

“Dean,” you said, sighing and taking a deep breath. You walked into the kitchen and sat up on the countertop, gripping the edge as he walked over and leaned back against the island across from you. “I killed eight innocent people. I did that for my brother. You kill bad people. Not counting Lewis, I apparently have only killed eight innocent people. I’m the monster, not you. I have zero justification for what I did and I don’t want it. Don’t try and push me away saying all that crap. I’m the bad guy, Dean. I am exactly the kind of person that belongs on your list.”

“He forced you,” said Dean.

“I had a choice. I picked Matty every time. Even when I wasn’t sure if he was alive, I kept...just in case. It was always a choice, Dean.”

“You were a twelve year old girl. You had no choice. Even as an adult, you had no choice.”

“Yes, I did. I grew up. I got bigger. I could have said no a long time ago but I didn’t.”

“You were alone and terrified and Lewis had you right where he wanted you. I was that kid too,” said Dean. A beat went by before he took a step in front of you and grabbed your hand. “I want you to go because I love you. I don’t want him to hurt you anymore.”

“I don’t want him to hurt you,” you said. He cocked his head and rested his forehead on your own. “I threw a knife at his neck and he didn’t go down. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“We’re not going to get far if we keep hating ourselves,” he said.

“You gotta promise me if he ever got a hold of me, you forget about me. You take care of my brother and you just forget about me,” you said.

“I’m never forgetting the woman who saved me, saved my family,” he said. “Matty’s somewhere safe?”

“Yeah,” you said with a nod. “Can we do this together?”

“Normally works out better when we do,” he said, smiling for a brief moment. “Two weeks ago we were talking about the rest of our lives and what that meant for us. I want to make those things happen. I never want our family to be afraid of something like this happening again.”

“Then let’s get this guy and get Lewis if he’s out there and do those things. I want to go back to having backyard barbecues and turning our bedroom into a pillow fort and being us. I want us to move on for once and for all,” you said.

“Say we do get James Smith and Lewis. After that...what I do...do you want me to stop?” he asked. “Stop killing.”

“I want you to do it if you want to. If you want to stop, you stop. I’m not telling you what to do one way or the other, De. When it’s all over, I only want you to be happy, Dean. That’s all I want for you.”

“If I said I liked it...liked helping people...would you be angry?” he asked. You wrapped your arms around him, Dean shifting closer.

“Do you remember my cousin? I introduced you to her last month at your company party,” you said.

“Yeah. She came with Brix. He’s in construction sector. He just made manager for second shift electrical I think,” he said.

“You own a billion dollar corporation with 300 employees and you know the facilities manager,” you said with a smile.

“Memorizing 300 names and faces is a lot easier than plotting a murder,” he said. “I remember her. Why?”

“Because you saved her life if you can remember. You saved mine,” you said. “He was a horrible person and my Uncle hurt her. She was a shell before. Now, now she goes to nursing school. She has a good and nice boyfriend. She smiles. She’s living again. You might kill. But you save just as much, if not more. If you want to keep saving people, I’ll be okay with that. Always,” you said. “Maybe you can take some breaks in there but I’ll never make you stop being you.”

“You’re not supposed to fall in love with the monster,” he said.

“I didn’t. I fell in love with you,” you said. “You saved my brother just as much as I did. You’ll never convince me you’re not the good guy so stop trying, babe.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he said, resting his head on your shoulder, giving you a big hug in return.

“Probably still be eating out seven nights a week,” you said. He chuckled, a tiny shake escaping him. You ran your hand through his hair, the other tracing up and down his spine. “Go relax and take a bath. I know you haven’t been sleeping well the past week. Go on. I’ll keep you safe. We’ll order some food for a late dinner when you’re all done.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Okay,” you said. You gave him a kiss and he went upstairs, the bedroom door shutting quietly in the distance. After a beat, you hopped off the counter and went to the fridge, pouring a drink and turning your attention to Dean’s computer. “Alright. What have you come up with so far…”

You took a seat and started poking around, Dean not finding anything new out on James Smith it seemed. All the data you had pointed to him living in a home on the north side of town in a quiet suburb. Houses far apart. Lots of land. Gated driveways.

If he lived there, he certainly had enough money to get Lewis the medical attention he would have needed without anyone ever knowing.

“What are you-” you said to yourself before you heard a bang upstairs, Dean shooting down the landing in nothing more than a towel.

“Move. Now,” he said as he headed for the front door. You grabbed the computer and your bag, Dean picking his up from earlier and rushing outside with you. “I see this time, I don’t get yelled at for leaving my crap by the door.”

“Who is there?” you asked, grabbing your keys and running around to the other side of your car, tossing your clothes in the back. You got behind the wheel and Dean slid inside, taking a deep breath. You took off and he looked back out the window at the house. “Dean.”

“House isn’t safe,” he said, holding up a small white card. “It was taped to the bathroom mirror. It was not there when I got in that tub. I shut my eyes for a minute max and when I opened them, there it is. It says welcome home.”

“Fuck,” you said, squeezing the wheel. You drove out of your neighborhood and into where you normally did your errands.

“Pull into a parking lot,” he said. You found a nearly empty one, the sun down by that time of night. You rested your head on the wheel but felt him staring at you. You lifted it and looked down to see a knife in his other hand. “You leave it under the seat in case of emergencies.”

“If you have something to say, then say it,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. He grabbed your wrist and held up the knife.

And put it in your palm, shrugging you off.

“If you think I suspect you, come right out and say it,” he said.

“Yeah, for a second it crossed my mind,” you said. “What the hell are you doing looking at me like that for? Or was everything we just said in the kitchen bullshit?”

“Oh come on. I-Gas, gas, gas!” he said, his eyes getting bigger. You hit the pedal and the car lurched forward, Dean grabbing the wheel as you cut out through the lot. In your rearview you saw a pickup speed right through where you’d been parked. 

“You were watching that truck, not me,” you said, getting a hold of the wheel and getting back on the road.

“Yeah. I was trying not to make it obvious,” he said. You handed the knife back to him, Dean wiping his hand over his face. “That was a fully loaded vehicle. Expensive.”

“James Smith?” you asked.

“The Wilson’s,” said Dean to himself. “The Wilson’s are on vacation and that truck has been parked in their driveway next door all week. Shit.”

“Dean. I think Smith knows we’re on to him,” you said, catching headlights far back in the distance.

“He did it on purpose,” said Dean, looking in the rearview mirror. “He wanted us to find him. He wanted it, Y/N.”

“Why?”

“Because,” said Dean, reaching into the back and grabbing his bag. “Because...oh thank you, thank you my spare running sneakers are back here.”

“The only reason they’re back there is cause you didn’t bother to get them after that make out session,” you said.

“You know I’m learning from all this that my lazy side is coming really in handy,” he said. “Don’t crash us.”

“Don’t what...and you’re climbing in the back as I drive away from someone who very likely wants to kill us,” you said, Dean managing to fling himself back there with only one swerve. Three minutes later he was back in the front seat and in clothes and his sneakers, rifling through your bags for anything to use as a weapon. “You were saying about Smith before, him wanting us to find him.”

“Yeah,” he said, setting the knife in the cupholder for the moment. “Dammit, it’s all we got. If it gets dicey, you take it.”

“Alright,” you said, plowing through a red light, the truck still following after. “What’s he want?”

“You know how when you want to kill someone, you lead them into a trap but they don’t even know until it’s too late? They thought all the decisions they made were there own so they didn’t suspect a thing?” he asked.

“Yeah?”

“I have a bad feeling we fell for the trap,” he said. 

“It’s one against two,” you said as you sped out of town. 

“I guarantee he has a gun,” said Dean.

“I could drive to the police station?” you said.

“We’re on the wrong side of town and he knows it,” said Dean, looking back again. “How much gas you got?”

“About half a tank,” you said. “Maybe five, six gallons.”

“Okay. We have some time to figure this out,” he said.

“Dean, I gotta cut back in towards town. If we can make it to your office building, you have security guards there. Guys with guns. We drive up, run inside, say it’s a guy with road rage after us,” you said.

“Okay. I like that plan,” he said. “I mean, I don’t. We’re gonna lose every lead we got on the guy the second we do that but it’s preferable to being dead. You gotta make this left up here.”

“There isn’t a left,” you said. “We’re on a boulevard. With a median.”

“There’s a gap right up there,” he said as he pointed.

“Dean, that’s not a turn! It’s broken guardrail.” 

“Today, it’s a turn.”

“Cars are driving the opposite way, Dean. I’m not driving head on into traffic,” you said.

“Y/N. It’s coming up. Don’t worry about the cars. Just go,” he said. 

“Oh fuck,” you said. You waited as long as you could before you turned left through the gap. “Uh. Dean.”

He threw it in reverse and suddenly the traffic right in front of you was backing off, Dean holding onto the wheel too. He turned it slightly before he threw it back into drive to get you going the right way, the pickup on the other side going past.

“Now let’s lose him before he catches up again,” said Dean. You took off down a side street and made your way in through a neighborhood back there. “I think we finally lost him.”

“What if he put a tracker on the car?” you asked. You got your answer when you saw the truck in the rearview again. “I fucking hate this guy.”

“At least we can go in the right direction now,” said Dean. You drove straight for awhile when suddenly another pickup truck pulled up and blocked the way forward. You took a right down a street and found yourself on a cul de sac with a lone house settled back. “Y/N. What neighborhood are we in?”

“Maple Grove,” you breathed out, looking in the rearview, spotting the two pickups park and block off the exit. “We’re in Smith’s neighborhood.”

“That’s his house,” said Dean, nodding to the home outside the car. “He knew exactly what we would do.”

“To be fair, the car is bugged so not entirely your own fault,” said Lewis over what sounded like a radio. Dean threw his head back and slammed his hand against the dash. “You guys sound like you missed me. Y/N. You did so good for me, kiddo. I know it’s been a long six months but you did such a good job.”

“Dean…” you said, watching him shake his head at you.

“No,” he said. “No. Not you.”

“Dean, he’s lying,” you said.

“If she stabbed me in the neck, I’d be dead,” said Lewis. “The body double was difficult but we figured it out, didn’t we?”

“No,” said Dean. You reached over but he grabbed the knife and pointed it at you. “Don’t...why? You already had me. Why let me escape?”

“You never escaped kid,” said Lewis. “You just thought you did. I never wanted your brother. I wanted you. Now you understand. You will never escape. You haven’t been free since the day I told you I’d break you.”

“You didn’t…” said Dean, staring at you, looking all kinds of panicked. “You said you wanted to have a family! We were gonna get married and have kids and I was gonna get Matty a job and he could…”

“Dean, Lewis is lying. I love you, honey, I love you. I would never betray you,” you said.

“Or would she? She’s done it before. She still playing her game? She likes playing games with her toys. You’ve always been a fun one of hers,” said Lewis.

Dean took a deep breath, his face wet as he glared at you. 

“Get out of the car, Dean. I won’t throw you in a cellar this time. You do as I say and we can all get along peacefully,” said Lewis.

“Why?” said Dean, sniffling but not bothering to wipe off his face. “Why her?”

“To prove a point. No one could ever love you apart from me. Now get out of the car,” he said. 

“Dean, don’t,” you said. He stared at the knife and then at you, some blankness to his eyes. He put the knife down and got out of the car. He got a shove to the ground and you got out, Dean not even putting up a fight. “Hey! Stay-”

“That’s enough,” said Lewis right behind you, the sharp tip of a blade resting against your lower back. “Look at him. You broke him real good.”

The other man in the mask hoisted Dean up after he secured his hands and threw a hood on him, leading him blindly over to the house. Lewis didn’t move with you and you weren’t sure if he was deciding to kill you there or inside.

“Aren’t you going to ask how I’m alive?” he said.

“Obviously you have a partner I never knew about,” you said. “He’s going to wise up. He’s going to realize you’re lying about me and he will escape.”

“Why do you think you’re here? What’s a better incentive to behave than a little brother? The love of his life,” chuckled Lewis. “Congratulations. You’ve gone from star pupil to permanent resident.”

“How exactly do you expect to keep me in line?” you said, Lewis grabbing your arm and walking the two of you over to the driveway.

“I had no problem hurting him as a boy. What do you think I’ll do when he’s a man?” said Lewis.

“You won’t kill him. It’s everything you’ve worked for,” you said.

“You’re correct there. But I can still do irreversible damage. I don’t want to break him completely but if I have to in order to get you to behave, I will,” he said. 

“You don’t hurt people you love,” you said, walking down the incline. He shoved you down and gave your ribs a kick, your arms wrapping around yourself.

“Get used to it,” he said. He grabbed your arm and hoisted you up, dragging you into the house. “I hope you enjoyed the fresh air. It’s the last you’re getting.”

He pushed you into a very nice foyer and a stronger grip grabbed you this time, the other man in the mask taking you away down a hall. You went through a pair of doors into a home library, the man holding you pinning your arms behind your back. There was an open space behind what looked like where a bookcase belonged. You caught sight of panel on the wall before you stepped into windowless room.

“Get off of me!” you shouted, trying to get away even if your ribs were killing you. The man led you over to a plain bed on the ground, a little hook in the wall with a metal cable running around the edge of the room. A pair of soft padded cuffs went around your wrists, the guy kneeling right on your newly forming bruise punching the air out of your lungs. When he got up, your arms were behind you but you had enough of a tether to move and get on the bed. 

He pulled out a strip of cloth from his back pocket and you groaned.

“Dean has money. We have so much money. We can pay you whatever you want. Just let us-”

“You can shut up now,” said the man, tying the gag over your mouth. Something sounded familiar about it though. He sat back on his heels and pulled off his mask, your eyes wide. “You did what you had to in order to survive. I get that. I did what I had to too. You live with that guy that long...you can’t help going a little coocoo for cocoa puffs. You know what I mean?”

You stared at him and he pulled down your gag before tightening it uncomfortably around your neck.

“That too snug, little sis?” he asked with a dark smile.

“Dylan,” you whispered, the fabric making your throat already hurt. “He said...we heard the gun...”

“Lewis gave us options. You didn’t like the options. So while you got to live out and about in the real world, I got broken.”

“He said you were dead,” you said.

“Dylan Y/L/N died a long time ago so yeah, I guess he was right. I’m not your brother anymore. I’m his,” he said. 

“No, you’re not. He manipulated you. He hurt you to get what he wanted. He doesn’t care about you. He wants Dean and now he’s got him. He doesn’t-”

You stopped talking when he grabbed your neck, giving it a squeeze.

“You abandoned me. You picked Matty over me. Don’t worry, I’ll find him too and then I’ll bring him back here and then you’re gonna learn what it feels like to be broken,” he said.

“I didn’t-” you coughed out, Lewis grunting in the doorway. Dylan let go of you as you heaved, getting some air back in your body.

“I told you, she has value right now,” said Lewis.

“I ain’t gonna kill her,” he said as he stood. “Not until she asks me to.”

“Never happening,” you said, leaning your head back against the wall.

“Your brother is very persuasive,” said Lewis. “Clean up the cars, Dylan, and then we can have our first dinner with Dean.”

You glared at him, Lewis raising an eyebrow.

“You weren’t hungry, were you?” he said with a smirk. They both left and the metal back of a bookcase slide over the entrance, sending you into darkness. A bright light turned on overhead and you winced, taking in your surroundings. There wasn’t much aside from the mattress and a toilet sink looking thing in the corner and a showerhead and drain in the one nearby.

“Sammy, come find your brother before it’s too late,” you said to yourself. “Please come find him.”

Four Hours Later

It had to have been around two in the morning when Dylan came inside the room. You wearily lifted your head as he undid the tie around your neck.

“Is this where you tell me you were pretending?” you asked. He sat back on his heels and narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. I knew that was too much to hope for.”

“Lewis said I can train you,” he said.

“Train me to do what?” you sighed.

“Be part of the family,” he said. He took a knife out of his back pocket and flicked it open. “Sort of intense. I don’t guarantee you won’t be a whimpering shell when you come out on the other side of it.”

“You were my big brother you know,” you said as he put the knife against your back.

“So?”

“So why did a twelve year old girl have to save her big strong eighteen year old brother? You should have saved me. You should have saved me and Matty,” you said. He stared at you and you scowled. “We were children. You weren’t.”

“Lewis is my father. He-”

“No, Dylan, he’s not. Our real dad and our real mom were killed, in front of us. All I wanted, all I was counting on, was you getting out and saving us. He took you out to the back of that barn and shot and we thought you...you owe me an explanation of how the fuck you’re alive,” you said.

“I don’t owe you anything,” he spat back, slicing into your back.

“Yes you do!” you shouted. He did it again and you grunted. “Did he say he’d let you go if you pretended? Say you could go back home if he got us? What’d he say, Dylan? What did-”

“He said he’d let you two go!” he shouted, getting right in your face. He was panting, his brow scrunched up. “So I shut my mouth and listened to you two cry and then I heard him take you both away. But he came back too soon before I could get out and then he had me. He told me the truth, told me Matty was someplace with him, you were free but you were going to start learning real soon. You were kids. You were afraid. He could manipulate you two. I was too old. I was too big. I was the one that got hurt and hurt and hurt and hurt and everytime one of you two did something right, I got hurt for it. You’re the reason I broke bones and-”

“You know he manipulated you,” you said, Dylan leaning back. “But you don’t even care. You’re still on his side. Why?”

“Because he is very good at breaking people once there’s a crack. Dean has cracks, Y/N. He’s not fought back once. He’s not talked back once. He’s going to fall apart and then Lewis will put him back together exactly how he wants him and Dean won’t even know what hit him.”

“You know what hit you,” you said.

“Don’t be cute,” he said. He dug the tip of the knife into your shoulder blade for a split second, just long enough before he pulled back and moved away. He went over to the entrance and you turned towards him.

“If you want to hate us, that’s your choice. But you remember what mom said? The last thing she ever said? Take care of them. She said that to you.”

“I did. But now I’m just angry,” he said. “If I have opportunity to kill you, I will. Matty too.”

“Then I guess that settles that,” you said, leaning over onto the mattress. “Dylan.”

“What,” he said.

“Hurt my little brother and I’ll stab you in the neck too,” you said. He blinked a few times before shaking his head. “I’m not joking.”

“I know. Which is why if you think you hate me now, wait until you see once he’s here.”

He left after that and you rolled onto your stomach, trying to stretch out your arms and alleviate the pain your back.

If you could just get to Dean, you knew you could get through to him.

Getting there was going to be a problem though.

The Next Evening

“I heard you asked to speak to me,” said Lewis. You sat with your hands in your lap, glancing up at him. “You were good today so you can have a rest on those shoulders. Out with whatever you want, I have dinner soon.”

“Dylan wants to hurt my brother Matty. I also know that he’s so fucked up that if you told him to stay away from our little brother, he would. So I propose a compromise,” you said.

“You’re up to something,” he said, crossing his arms. “Continue.”

“You want Dean to break. I bet the shock is wearing off and he’s starting to have doubts about me turning on him,” you said.

“Always were intelligent,” said Lewis with a quick smile. “It was always going to happen. I’m prepared for that.”

“But it’d make your life easier if he thought it was true.”

“That’s correct,” he said. You took a deep breath and threw your head back, closing your eyes. “You want me to tell Dylan that Matty’s off limits and if I do, you’ll say whatever I want to Dean, won’t you.”

“I became a killer for him. I think I can pull off a little acting,” you said.

“Would you hurt, Dean? Do it with a smile?”

“Lewis. Think of all the shit I’ve already done with a smile for you. This would be a breeze compared to some of that,” you said.

“But you love him.”

“Yes, I do. But I love my brother more. I’ve sacrificed everything for him. I will sacrifice this too,” you said.

“I’m not letting you go,” he said.

“I didn’t ask for that. You know what I want. Matty is out of this, for good. If you can agree to that and call off, Dylan, I will do and say whatever you want to Dean.”

“Are you starting to understand why I said you’d be useful?” he smirked. “I always knew this would come up. I always knew where your loyalties would fall.”

“Do we have a deal?” you asked, holding up a hand as far as it would go.

“Yes,” he said, shaking it briefly. “You will get some fresh clothes to change into. Try to look nice for when you see him, hm?”

“Whatever you say, Lewis.”

_______

A/N: Read Part 3 here!

[jensengirl83]

Thank You For Loving Me

Dean x reader

Word count-2587

Warnings-tooth rotting fluff, a tiny bit of angst.

Summary- Dean and the reader have been together for a long time and Dean tries to come up with an idea to show her just how he feels about her. Flashbacks in bold italics.

A/N- I was feeling all sappy tonight so this is what came out of it. Inspired by the song Thank You For Loving Me- Bon Jovi

Home at last. This has been a long and tiring week. The hunt just went all kinds of wrong, taking much longer than it was supposed to. Worst of all, I did not have my girl by my side. These months hunting without her have been hard. I still had Sammy, but not looking in the rear-view mirror to see that smile, eyes shining bright, all for me, has been torture. My life has been turned upside down since the day we met, but in the best way. That day at Bobby’s will forever be one of my favorite days.

Sam and I were beat to hell, dragging ass back to Bobby’s to patch ourselves up and recuperate. We were walking up the steps of his porch when I heard it, her voice, something about it making me stop in my tracks. That had never happened to me before. I had to see the owner of the voice that had my heart racing before I even seen her. I was in a hurry to get inside, not noticing the door was opening. My body slamming hard into something, knocking me on my ass.

“I’m so sorry! I was not paying attention to where I was going! Are you ok?” I look up to see a woman, small framed, eyes big as saucers. Apparently, we had both hit the ground.

“Well, I see you have met Y/n.” Bobby says looking down at us.

“You must be Dean. Bobby said you and your brother were going to be stopping by.” There it was. The smile that had me hooked from the word go. All she had to do was smile and I would forever be putty in her hands.

“Yeah, sorry, here let me help you.” I extend my hand to help her up. The moment we touch, it was electricity running through my veins. I am fairly sure she felt it too by the look on her face.

“Thank you, Dean.”

We have been inseparable since that day. Sam says it is like we are soulmates. I had never believed in that sort of thing, but after meeting her, I am not so sure it doesn’t exist. I put Baby in park and turn off the ignition, more than ready to get inside and see her. I have been gone six days. That is six too many. I am sure Sam is glad to be back to Eileen. If you would have told me and Sam ten years ago that we would both have women at home waiting on us, we would have laughed at you, but that is exactly how it is now. I am so happy that he has Eileen. He deserves to be happy, and Y/n has someone here with her when I cannot be.

“Something smells good in here!” I say turning the corner into the kitchen.

“Dean! You’re home!” That smile, yep, still turns me to putty even seven years later.

“I am home sweetheart.” Her arms are around my waist, head on my chest. I lean to press a kiss to her hair. Her scent washing over me, comforting me on even my worst days.

“I missed you Mr. Winchester.” I squeeze her to me just a little tighter.

“I missed you too, Mrs. Winchester.” She giggles like that is the best thing in the world. It really is. We have been married a little over a year now. Cas the one who officiated, not really being able to go to the courthouse for a marriage license, since I am, technically dead. I do not need a piece of paper to tell me we are married. I figure it’s pretty real considering we were married by an angel.

“Smells like our girls have been busy in here.” Sam says grabbing Eileen to wrap her in a hug.

“It isn’t much. Spaghetti and garlic bread.” Eileen says rolling her eyes at me and Sam.

“Yeah, but when you have been eating road food for a week, spaghetti sounds amazing.” We all laugh, knowing how true my statement is.

“Alright boys, sit down and I will make you a plate.” Y/n says turning towards the stove.

“No, how about you girls sit down. Me and Sammy will serve you ladies dinner tonight.”

“I can put noodles on a plate Dean.” How can someone be so cute rolling their eyes?

“I know you can darling, but you cooked, and you don’t need to be on your feet that much. Let me take care of you for a change huh?” She gives me a stern look but the sigh that leaves her lets me know she is giving in.

“Fine Winchester, you can take care of me.” She places a kiss on the bottom of my chin. The small action making my heart swell. The girls sit at the table while me and Sammy dish the food on our plates. I will never get enough of this. Sam and I, here together with the women we love. I never thought I would enjoy the domestic things. I know I wouldn’t if they weren’t with her.

“Spaghetti and garlic bread for my ladies.” I sit her plate in front of her, kneeling to place my hand on her swollen belly. How did I ever get this lucky? A beautiful woman who loves me unconditionally, even though everything I have put her through over the years, still here by my side giving me even more than I deserve.

“Thank you, baby.” I close my eyes, resting my head in her lap as her fingers pass through my hair, placing gentle kisses to her belly. I cannot wait to meet our daughter, hold her in my arms, watch her grow. I stand to sit down beside her before my emotions get the best of me.

“How have you been feeling Y/n. You don’t have long to go now.” Sam asks sitting down next to Eileen, smile on his face. He is just as excited for our little bundle.

“Tired and swollen.” She is laughing but I know it is true. I don’t know how she does it

“I can’t imagine, but it has to be worth it.” Eileen is saying, but my mind drifts back to the day she told me the best news I have ever received.

We have only been married a few months, going well all things considered. The monsters have been ramping it up and we are all exhausted, poor Y/n seeming to take the brunt. She is constantly tired, not feeling well, and can barely hold anything down. Me and Sammy have been on a hunt a few days now, leaving her at the bunker to rest. Luckily, Eileen and Sam’s relationship getting stronger, she is now there to keep an eye on Y/n. She had an appointment to see a doctor today, hoping to figure out why the stress is making her so sick. Me and Sammy will be making it home tonight, not wanting to waste time and money on a hotel. I also need to get home and find out if Y/n is ok. We are only an hour out, so I decide to call and let her know we will be home soon.

“Hey Dean.” Her voice is weak like she has been crying. I stiffen up, Sam noticing, patting me on the shoulder to settle me back down.

“What’s wrong sweetheart? Are you ok? What did the doctor say?” My mind is reeling. It had to be bad if she has been crying. What the hell am I going to do if it is something horrible?

“I’m fine Dean. When will you be home?” She is not fine. I wish she would just tell me.

“You don’t sound fine Y/n, and we will be there in less than an hour. Now, tell me what’s going on.”  I hear her sigh over the phone.

“We will talk when you make it home. I love you.”

“I love you sweetheart. I’ll be home soon.” I move to end the call when I hear her speak again.

“And Dean….”

“Yeah Y/n” I am trying to keep my voice even, but I am scared as hell.

“Don’t drive too fast ok?” She knows me better than I know myself.

“Promise.” This is going to be the longest hour ever. My mind is all over the place. Sammy keeps telling to wait and see what she has to say, but I am imagining the worst. Of course, I find and marry the love of my life and something bad is going to happen to take her away. Even though I promised, my foot is on the pedal. I have to get home.

“Y/n?!” I am yelling for her the minute I swing open the door. I am running down the stairs, heading for the library, that is usually where she is when she knows I am on my way back. I turn the corner to see Eileen, no sight of Y/n. Before I can ask, Eileen points towards the hall.

“Bedroom” That is all she has to say, and I am sprinting down the hallway. I reach our bedroom door, out of breath, and worried what I am going to find out. I open the door to find her sitting on our bed, something in her hand. I am across the room with her in my arms faster than I knew was possible for me to move.

“Baby please tell me what is going on? You have been crying sweetheart. Just tell me, whatever it is we will figure out how to fix it.” Tears our starting to stain my cheeks. The thought of not having her here with me more than I can take. She smiles, resting her hand on my cheek, brushing the tears away with her thumb. She hands me an envelope, not saying a word, a smile still on her face. How the hell can she be smiling right now?

“Sweetheart?” She laughs at the look of confusion on my face.

“Open it Dean.” She nods her head to encourage me. I take a deep breath to prepare myself for whatever is inside, ripping it open, I pull out a weird black and white picture. I stare at it for a minute, not quite registering what I am looking at. Then I am floored, I have seen these before, an ultrasound.

“Really Y/n? I am going to be a Dad?” The words barely passing through my lips for the lump in my throat. How can you already love something so much that you didn’t even know you wanted in the first place? I had thought about it, but never seriously, it was always something I never thought possible for me. Now, there is nothing I want more, a baby, with the woman who has made the happiest man on Earth right now.

“Yes Dean, you are going to be a Dad.” We are both crying now, wrapped in each other arms. Relief that my girl is ok, and pure joy knowing we are going to be parents.

“Dean? You ok babe?” I am pulled from walk down memory lane, her voice bringing me back to reality.

“I’m good sweetheart, promise.” I lean to kiss her forehead. I want to show her how much I love her, but there are not enough words. She turns back to talk to Sam and Eileen, and I take my chance to sneak out. I will never be able to fully express my feelings for her, but I have to try and do something. I head down the hallway to our room, racking my brain for an idea. I enter our room, she has her candles burning, just the soft glow filling the room. She has always loved her candles, and if she loves them, then so do I. Her music is still playing softly from her Bluetooth speaker I bought her, the flowers I brought her next to it. I look around the room and take it all in. The idea hitting me, it’s not much, but she has always told me it’s the thought that counts. I shut the door and move to put my plan into action. I will not have long before she notices I am missing. I am just finishing up when I hear her voice calling for me. I run to hide behind the door, wanting to surprise her.

“Dean are you in here?” She gasps as she opens the door. The candles spread around the room, flower petals on floor in a trail leading to the bed, more scattered on the mattress. I walk up behind her, place my chin on her head, and my arms around her waist to rest on her belly.

“Surprise sweetheart.” I whisper, her turning her head to look at me. If I thought she was beautiful before, she is absolutely breath taking right now. Her soft features accented by the light of the candles, her smile, not only lighting up the room, but my life. My whole world is in this very room, and I would be content to never pass through the doorway again.

“Dance with me…” I whisper, turning her around in my arms. The opening notes of the song I picked filling the room.

“Always.” Her voice the most beautiful sound in the world to me. I wrap my arms around her and pull her to my chest, swaying my body to begin slowly moving us in a circle. I rest my head on hers, as I start so sing low but loud enough for her to hear.

“It’s hard for me to say the things I want to say sometimes. There’s no one here but you and me and that broken old streetlight. Lock the doors, we’ll leave the world outside. All I’ve got to give to you are these five words when I thank you for loving me. For being my eyes when I couldn’t see. For parting my lips when I couldn’t breathe. Thank you for loving me.” She sighs, relaxing in my arms as I move us around the room. I lift her chin to place a soft and gentle kiss to her lips, trying to put the love I feel for her into every movement I make. I smile as we break apart, placing my forehead to hers, continuing to sing.

“You pick me up when I fall down. You ring the bell before they count me out. If I were drowning you would part the sea and risk your life to rescue me. When I couldn’t fly you gave me wings. You parted my lips when I couldn’t breathe. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for loving me.” I keep our bodies swaying as the song ends, not wanting to let her go. I never want to leave this moment, her body against mine, her smell engulfing my senses, our love radiating between us. This is the closest to perfect that I have ever felt. I never thought that I would ever have this kind of happiness, and now that I have it, I will protect and defend it until my last breath.

“I love you Dean. Thank you for loving me too.” Her hands reach up to cup my face, placing a kiss to my nose. “Take me to bed?”

“Anything for you sweetheart.” We spend the rest of the night showing the other how we feel in every way possible.

 Tags: @flamencodiva​ @sorenmarie87​ @foxyjwls007​ @waywardbeanie​ @emoryhemsworth​ @voltage-my2dlove​ @hardcoresupernatural​ @marvelouslysherlockedhunter​

[pickalilywrites]

hi everyone!!! here’s the eretra au that a few of you might remember from my wip posts a few months (?) ago! i’m really excited about it, so i hope you guys like it. it’s very loosely based off a kdrama called big, although there aren’t very many similarities. i hope you guys enjoy it :) 

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My First Love Come Back to Me

Eretra. Big AU. 

I’ll Love You in the Rain or Shine Series: Chapter 1

12788 words. 

Read on Ao3!

Eren stands in the deli section of the grocery store staring down at the premade sandwiches that have, judging by the wilting lettuce and stiff-looking squares of cheese stuffed between dry bread buns, been sitting there all day after being passed over by other customers for more enticing premade meals like the colorful, little sushis in their plastic containers or the burritos so stuffed with filling that beans are practically spilling out of the tortilla wraps meant to contain them. He looks at one particularly sad-looking sandwich. Turkey chunks and droopy lettuce leaves are shoved inside a stale bread loaf. Tomato juice from the poor fruit that was cut to make this depressing sub bleeds out from the bun, dripping onto the plastic wrap that can hardly hold the thing together. A strange assortment of veggies also poke out from the bread - bright yellow bell peppers, chunky strips of carrots, and slices of onions - but they look as though someone has carelessly dropped them into the sandwich because they’re not even evenly dispersed through the sub. It is, Eren thinks, the most wretched sandwich he’d ever laid eyes on. 

It’s a little sad, the fact that Eren is spending so much time picking out something to bring to a family dinner that he would claim, if anyone bothered to ask, to not give a single shit about. And, really, he doesn’t, but it makes him feel slightly better about going to those miserable gatherings if he’s able to bring something he knows his stepmom will hate. Except she’s not really his stepmom. To be more precise, the woman is his father’s first and only wife - the bastard having never married Eren’s mother - and his half-brother’s mother. In all honesty, Eren can completely understand why the woman hates him. He is, after all, a constant reminder of his father’s infidelity. It’s not like Eren likes her either and, with all of the snide comments about his upbringing and disappointing career path (although Eren has no idea why that is any of her business), she hasn’t given Eren any reason to. 

Eren looks down at the sandwich again, leaning towards not getting it. As much as he would love to purchase it and slap it down on the dinner table with a cheerful smile, there are only so many times he can buy disgusting sandwiches for his family dinners. He really outdid himself last time with a self-made sandwich with all sorts of odd ingredients (blue cheese, coriander, tuna, onions, cherry tomatoes, the works) that had no business being slapped between the same two buns. He even remembered not to toast the bread buns. Apparently, the only thing his father’s wife hates more than sandwiches are untoasted sandwiches, but not everyone can afford a $300 panini press like she can. Apparently, any panini press with a smaller price tag can’t be called a real panini press. Eren only half-regretted his decision to bring the disgusting thing to his father’s house an hour later when he sprinted out of the house and biked half a block away to empty the contents of his stomach on the edge of a poor neighbor's sidewalk. No, a normal deli sandwich would be a step down from his previous contribution to family dinner, Eren decides. 

He walks up and down the aisle of the grocery store, taking his time even though he’s already a half-hour late for dinner. (He’s doing them a favor. Nobody in their right mind should be having dinner at five when the sun is still high in the sky.) His green eyes glaze over tubs of soup and plastic bins filled with salad. For a moment, he wonders if he should walk through the shelves of chips on the other side or maybe into the frozen food section so he can haul a tub of melting ice cream to his father’s house, but he wonders if that’s too petty. It’s probably best not to, Eren thinks with a grimace. He doesn’t want to ruin junk food for himself forever. 

In the end, Eren purchases a little tub of potato salad, hoping that it’ll be enough to piss off his Disney-esque sort-of stepmother. It’s not perfect, but he supposes it will do. It’s probably not as grotesque as the stuff he’s brought before, but he likes how simple it is. That woman’s definitely going to be miffed that Eren bought potato salad as if he cared so little that he couldn’t be bothered to spend a few minutes in the kitchen to make the same dish. He’s really going to enjoy seeing the vein on her forehead pulse when she sees him standing at the door with the potato salad. 

Eren thanks the cashier for ringing up his purchase, sliding two dollars into the charity box next to the register, and walks away with his tub of potato salad, whistling as he practically skips out of the grocery store. He hadn’t taken as long as he would have liked; there are still fifteen minutes before six and he had hoped he would burn enough time to arrive at six-thirty, but maybe he can take a roundabout way to his dad’s house, Eren thinks as he drops the tub carelessly into the front basket of his bicycle. He unlocks his bike with a click and pulls it off the bike rack before mounting it and pedaling away. 

Taking the direct route would be too quick. Eren quickly pedals across the road as soon as the road is clear and finds his way to the creek that cuts across the suburbs. It’s the same creek Eren used to play beside when he was a child. He fell in there once trying to catch a frog and his mom scolded him for being so reckless. It’s also the same creek that he frequented during the spring of his sophomore year of highschool when he was assigned to do a bug project, which Eren hated especially when the same project was no longer mandatory after his school cut the science department’s funding the year after. Eren doesn’t think he’s visited the creek ever since he graduated from high school. He blames it on college and summer internships taking up all his time and never really allowing him to return to his youth, but the truth is that Eren wouldn’t have sought out his childhood even if he had the time. 

It’s not that Eren had a terrible childhood. In fact, Eren would say that he had a fairly happy childhood. True, he grew up in a (mostly) single-parent household, but his mother was always patient and attentive to him even though he was a pain the ass about 75 percent of the time. Nothing incredibly significant happened. He didn’t win any awards and he never made the honor roll, but his mother was fine with it as long as he did his best. It was strange, but he got a lot more shit about his grades from his sort-of stepmom than he did from his own mother. He’s not particularly sure what his father thought about it. Eren’s father never said much of anything to defend him, but his father hardly said anything to him at all. It was kind of like not having a father at all, so it wasn’t really that surprising when Eren found a way to avoid his old neighborhood completely after his mother passed away after his senior year of high school. 

Eren hadn’t planned on returning so soon. Actually, he hadn’t planned on returning at all after he had left for college. He only came back the summer after freshman year, but he bummed it at his best friend Armin’s house and only ventured as far as Armin’s front lawn. The following summers he crashed at his ex-boyfriend’s house - an art student-turned-tattoo artist who somehow ended up setting up a shop in the city Eren and Armin grew up in - or Armin’s dorm when they were both working at their internships. Somehow, they ended up landing jobs back in their hometown because evidently the big city did not want them and they were too young and broke to go up against the universe. Maybe another day. 

It’s not that bad. Despite renting an apartment near his neighborhood, Eren hasn’t run into any childhood friends that might still remember all the embarrassing things he did as a teenager. He’s bumped into a few parents at the grocery store that would smile up at him and talk about how nicely he’s grown while reaching up to ruffle his hair. Other than a few childhood friends and the “family” he feels obligated to meet due to the biological bond he unwillingly shares with his father, Eren has successfully avoided most of his past. 

He pedals past his old middle school, zooming past the gates and grimacing as he remembers the less pleasant parts of his past - struggling with algebra, running a mile at seven AM, and the terrible school uniforms they forced on everyone in a strange attempt to boost standardized test scores. He’s happier when he crosses the street and is greeted with the lit-up shops - the convenience store where he’d happily slurp down slushies with Armin after school, the Chinese restaurant that his class would frequent every year for Lunar New Year’s, and the bakery store that always smelled of freshly baked tarts and pies. Eren’s pedaling slows as he approaches the bakery and he inhales deeply, his lungs filling with the scent of buttery baguettes and chocolate tarts. The aroma is so distractingly sweet. His mouth begins to water at just the thought of them, and Eren wonders why he hadn’t bothered stepping foot in the bakery since coming back. He’s about to stop his bike and pop in for a brownie or a lemon bar only to realize that he’s biking far too fast and about to crash into someone. 

“Shit!” Eren’s bike screeches as he swerves out of the way and he crashes into a pole so hard that he can feel his teeth rattle. He topples to the ground with a hard thud, groaning as he rolls over onto his side that didn’t get smashed violently against a pole. When he opens his eyes, he sees stars as well as the face of an old man that he had last seen a decade ago. Eren tries to sit up, but his side is throbbing and he can only clutch at his side, trying his best to suppress a groan so as to not startle the man he had nearly collided with. He gives the man a weak smile. “Hey, Mr. Ral. I haven’t seen you in a while.” 

The old man’s mouth, which was already open to begin with after seeing Eren’s embarrassing bicycle collision, falls open a bit wider. “A-are you … okay?” he asks after a while, squinting a bit as he looks at Eren’s face and tries to place a name to it. Eren doesn’t really blame him for not remembering who he is. It’s been quite a while since they’ve seen each other and Eren has grown up a lot since then.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little bump,” Eren says, laughing it off. He manages to sit up and pushes himself off the ground, standing up and brushing off the little pebbles that have managed to stick to his face and clothing. He picks up his bike, leaning it against the pole before turning to the man again. “It’s Eren, by the way.” He pauses, observing Mr. Ral’s expression. When he sees that the man doesn’t recognize him, Eren politely adds, “Eren Kruger. I’m Zeke Jaeger’s younger brother.” 

A spark of recognition finally lights up in the old man’s eyes at the mention of Zeke’s name. Eren’s not going to lie, but it kind of hurts. “Ah, Zeke,” Mr. Ral says fondly. Eren shifts from feeling hurt to feeling slightly jealous. “How could I ever forget him? And you, of course. You two used to play with my dear Petra back in the day.” 

Petra, a name that Eren hasn’t heard in years, and yet hearing it still makes him blush like a young schoolboy. He ducks his head, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck, and he prays that Mr. Ral doesn’t notice the sudden flush of his cheeks. “Yeah, it’s been a while. How is, ah, Petra doing?” he asks. He had meant to ask the question casually, but he stumbles over the words a little too quickly. 

“Petra? She’s well,” Mr. Ral answers with a smile. The corners of his eyes crinkle and his laughter lines deepen. He doesn’t seem to notice how flustered Eren is. “She just started teaching at the same university that Zeke is teaching at.” 

That’s certainly news to Eren. Zeke hadn’t mentioned that at any of the family dinners Eren had attended recently. It could just be because Zeke hadn’t run into her yet or it had simply slipped his mind, but Eren kind of doubts it. If Petra’s father knew, then it’s highly unlikely that Zeke didn’t know. As much as Eren wants to frown, he fights the urge to turn the edges of his mouth downward and gives Mr. Ral a thin but polite smile. “That’s great to hear. What does she teach?” 

“English,” Mr. Ral replies, his chest puffed out proudly. It’s endearing how much he adores his daughter. “She teaches some upper-division classes on creative writing and a few classes for freshmen on critical reading and writing.” 

Eren’s smile is more genuine now, more fond as he listens to Mr. Ral speak about his daughter. “Yeah, that sounds like her. She was always really good with words.” He remembers lazy summer afternoons lying underneath the shade of a tree and pretending he was sleeping so that he could listen to Petra talk to Zeke on the front porch. It wasn’t even that he wanted to eavesdrop. He just liked the sound of her voice. Eren wonders if it’s still as wonderfully soothing and soft as he remembers. 

“And what about you?” Mr. Ral asks, snapping Eren out of his reverie. The old man seems to ask out of polite obligation. It figures that he isn’t really interested in Eren’s life. After all, he hadn’t remembered that Eren existed until five minutes ago. 

“I just graduated a few months ago. I majored in child education,” Eren replies. He looks down feeling slightly embarrassed although he’s not sure why. It feels like a step down from Petra’s accomplishments. His sort-of stepmom would certainly agree. She enjoys rubbing Zeke’s doctorate in Eren’s face whenever she gets the chance. Eren clears his throat and adds, “I’ve been working at Liberio Daycare. It’s near Shiganshina Elementary.” 

It’s unclear whether or not Mr. Ral recognizes the name but he nods and reaches over to give Eren a pat on the arm, a grin on his face as if the old man is actually proud of him. “That’s good! Your parents must be proud.” He doesn’t notice the way Eren flinches and carries on. “It’s good to hear that you’ve been well.” 

“Likewise,” Eren says. His eyes wander towards the bakery. It hadn’t occurred to him to look for Petra before, but now that he knows she’s back in town he can’t imagine doing anything else. He half hopes that she’ll be inside, maybe clearing the display for the night or wiping down the countertops, but all he sees is a girl his age at the register munching on some lavender bars that hadn’t sold. Before he can stop himself, Eren finds himself asking, “Is Petra in?” 

“Petra?” Mr. Ral asks with his eyebrows raised. Maybe it does seem out of the blue that Eren’s asking. Petra was always more Zeke’s friend than Eren’s. Mr. Ral gives Eren an apologetic smile and a shake of his head. “I’m afraid not. She told me she was eating dinner at a friend’s house. I’ll let her know you stopped by. Maybe you two can catch up sometime.” 

Eren shouldn’t feel so disappointed, but he can feel himself deflating at Mr. Ral’s words. He really doubts Petra would want to meet up with him. It’s not as if they were incredibly close before. Still, he gives Mr. Ral a gracious smile and says, “That would be great! I should probably get going. I have to, ah, eat dinner…” His voice trails off and he looks to bike only to find the front basket empty. Eyes straying further, he finds that his tub of potato salad had rolled out of his bike basket and onto the ground where it lay pitifully. Thankfully, the tub hasn’t broken and the potato salad hasn’t spilled out, but somehow the salad looks even more pathetic than it did when Eren purchased it. It’s something Eren would have been happy about fifteen minutes ago, but it’s embarrassing now. Quickly, he goes to pick it up and drop it into his bike basket with the slim hope that Mr. Ral wouldn’t think much about it, but Eren has never been that lucky. 

Mr. Ral must find him pitiful because he asks, “Why don’t you take some dessert home?” He’s already heading back into the bakery, gesturing for Eren to follow him despite Eren’s protests. “If you don’t, they’ll just go to waste. Or into my employee’s stomach, and goodness knows that she’s already eaten enough desserts today already.” 

“Thank you so much, sir,” Eren says, humbly bowing his head. 

“Sasha,” Mr. Ral calls the girl at the register. “Could you ring up a few things for Eren?” 

The girl’s head snaps up at the call of her name, her cheeks filled with pastry and crumbs all over her mouth. “Sure thing,” Sasha says, gulping down the last of her lavender bar and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She walks over to the side, Eren following her on the other side of the counter, and washes her hands hastily. As she wipes her hands dry with the hand towel, she looks at Eren brightly and asks in a chipper voice, “Do you have anything you want in particular?” 

Eren’s eyes scan over the display, but he doesn’t really look at anything in particular. He just wants to get out of this situation as quickly as possible. He’s embarrassed himself quite enough for today. “Just … whatever you’d recommend,” 

“Alright-y,” the girl hums, taking a bag and stuffing it full with little tarts and tea cakes and croissants. Eren looks at her briefly, realizing that he doesn’t recognize her. She must have moved here sometime during the past six years when he wasn’t around. 

As Sasha finishes preparing the bag, Eren walks over to the register and gets ready to pull his wallet out but Mr. Ral walks over, shaking his head. “No need to pay for it,” Mr. Ral says. He reaches over the counter and takes the bag from Sasha, presenting it to Eren with a smile. “Consider it a treat. Really, you’d be doing me a favor just taking it. They would have gone to waste otherwise.” 

“Ah, thank you,” Eren says, his face flushing once more. He takes the bag from Mr. Ral with a small bow of his head. “It was great seeing you again, Mr. Ral.” 

“Likewise,” Mr. Ral says with that same crinkly smile. He walks Eren to the door, watching as Eren packs the desserts alongside his potato salad. “Take good care of yourself, Eren, and tell your brother I said hi.” He waves as Eren assures him he’ll do just that, returning to the shop only once Eren has biked away. 

This is not how the night was supposed to go. Eren was supposed to be wandering around the neighborhood with his potato salad before waltzing into his father’s house an hour late, his sort-of stepmother silently fuming at the dinner table while the family sat and waited for him. He hadn’t planned on bumping into his childhood crush’s father, and he certainly hadn’t planned on looking so incredibly pathetic in front of Mr. Ral. He can only imagine what Mr. Ral will tell Petra when she sees her dad tonight. Maybe something about how he grew up to be such a loser even though his half-brother managed to graduate with a Ph.D. and is now a successful anthropology professor at the local university. It’s not something that usually gets Eren down, but thinking about it now is making him feel especially miserable. 

Eren’s not sure why the thought of Petra knowing how his life is so embarrassing. He hasn’t spoken to her in years, so her opinion of him shouldn’t matter. And even if she did have an opinion of him, he’s sure it wouldn’t be unkind. Petra had always been nice to him even when he was a kid and just being an annoying third wheel to her and Zeke. When his childish admiration of her turned into puppy love and eventually evolved into a full-fledged crush, she never brushed him off or thought him annoying, although there was a chance that she just never noticed. He couldn’t blame her for that when Zeke, honor roll student and valedictorian Zeke, was always standing right in front of her. He wasn’t even surprised when they started dating. It was inevitable. And when they eventually broke up for some reason that Eren still isn’t quite sure about, Eren knew he’d never be able to compare so he never tried to pursue her. It’s not surprising that he and Petra ended up losing touch. 

As much as he would love to blame Zeke for it (and it would be incredibly easy for him to blame Zeke), he can’t. Maybe it’s strange that he doesn’t harbor a deep hatred for his half-brother. Their relationship has all the makings of a classic sibling rivalry - a complicated family history, stark differences in accomplishments, and affections for the same girl - but Eren could never bring himself to hate Zeke. Even if Zeke’s mother liked to hold all of her son’s accomplishments over Eren’s head, Zeke himself never bragged about them. In fact, he was quite humble and would even offer to help his younger half-brother if he was struggling with something in school. Oftentimes he would invite Eren to hang out with his friends even though their age gap made it a little awkward. He even remembered Eren’s favorite snacks and would make sure they were in supply whenever Eren came over to visit. If Zeke’s mother was an evil Disney stepmother come to life, Zeke was that one fairytale sibling that was kind to the tragic main character, so Eren had no choice but to like Zeke. Even when Zeke broke up with Petra and Eren couldn’t understand why, when Zeke told Eren that it “just happened,” Eren kind of left it at that and accepted that because he couldn’t imagine Zeke doing anything wrong. 

Could Eren be classified with an inferiority complex with regards to his brother? Probably, but most siblings can. Eren would have to challenge whether or not someone with inferiority complexes would admire their brother as much as he does, but they might in a weird way. Eren’s sure that he and Zeke’s relationship would still be complicated even if they didn’t have all the weird history with Eren and Zeke’s parents. 

Eren sighs as he flies down a dip in the road, letting gravity carry him down instead of pedaling. He really doesn’t feel like he’s in the right headspace for this family dinner. Usually, he lets all of that woman’s snide comments ricochet, but his armor has grown weak and he can just imagine her landing the right thinly-veiled insult, her words burying into his skin and hitting right where it hurts. For a moment, Eren considers calling the dinner off with an excuse that will be sure to piss his stepmother off — probably something about how he has to restructure his lesson plan for the upcoming week — but he glances down at the potato salad and bag of baked goods in his bike basket and realizes that he really doesn’t want to eat them all by himself. If he’s going to suffer, he might as well make the rest of his family suffer alongside him. And besides, he’s pretty much already at their house anyway. 

His bike slows as he approaches the white-picket fenced house. He takes the potato salad tub and the bag of baked goods before leaving his bike on the driveway, not bothering to chain it to the fence because nobody would want to steal the old thing he bought from a garage sale anyway. The sight of it lying in front of the house instead of properly locked up will be sure to piss off that woman too, which is just an added bonus. With a sigh, Eren marches up the front steps, shifting the food all on one arm so he can ring the doorbell. The familiar chime rings out, muted from behind the wooden door. A muffled voice mumbles something Eren can’t hear, but he already knows that the speaker has nothing good to say about him. 

The door is thrown open and Eren looks down to see his stepmother glowering up at him, blue eyes a raging storm. “You’re late,” she hisses. She doesn’t even give him a greeting; she just stands there in front of him silently fuming. Behind her stands Eren’s father. As expected, he says nothing to defend his son’s tardiness. The man just stands there, uncomfortable as he quietly observes. 

“Sorry, Dina,” Eren says, squeezing past his stepmother who makes an indignant noise. He dangles the food he brought in front of her face, rolling his eyes when she snatches the bag from him only to wrinkle her nose in disgust when she sees the potato salad. “I brought dessert, too. Do you want me to put it somewhere …?” 

Dina snatches the bag of desserts from him too, still huffing. “We have a guest tonight too. Do you know how rude you’re being?” she says, continuing to nag at him even though Eren has stopped listening to her years ago. 

Eren’s father gently grabs Eren by the elbow, subtly ushering him inside to avoid any more conflict but Eren yanks his arm away. 

“Well, maybe if you told me we were having a guest beforehand I would have showed up on time,” Eren snaps. He sounds angry as he says it, but he really does mean it. It’s one thing to be rude to his stepmother, but it’s another thing entirely to be rude to a guest he doesn’t know. He’d at least wait for introductions before deciding whether or not to show any manners. 

Before his stepmother can say anything more, Eren stomps off into the dining room where Zeke and the guest are waiting. He keeps his head down, cheeks burning, as he pulls out his chair - the one furthest from everyone - and slumps down into it. “Sorry, I’m late,” Eren mumbles, still looking down. 

“Eren,” says a deep voice that Eren recognizes as Zeke’s. Hearing the voice of someone other than his stepmother’s makes Eren relax a bit and he rests with his back against his chair, a little more at ease now. He can hear Zeke’s small smile as his half-brother asks, “Aren’t you going to say hi to our guest?” 

“Uh, yeah. Hi,” Eren says. His eyes flicker upward, first at Zeke who sits across from him, and then at the guest. He looks so quickly at first that he doesn’t register exactly who he’s seeing until he does a double-take, his green eyes widening as they take in the woman sitting there. It’s someone he hadn’t expected to see ever again, much less sitting at his family’s dining table, and he’s so surprised that he almost chokes. For a moment, he thinks it might just be a doppelganger, but there’s no mistaking the soft dimples that appear in her cheeks as her lips curl in a smile. “...Petra?” 

“Hi, Eren.” Petra’s voice is still as gentle and soothing as Eren remembers, the sound of it so honey-sweet that he feels his cheeks bloom a soft pink. There’s so much about her that’s different, but there’s so much more that’s the same. Her hair is shorter now, no longer falling right at her shoulder, but curling right under her chin in a short bob. It’s the same shade of ginger it was when he was a kid. If it’s under the right light, it would probably burn a fiery gold. Her doe eyes are the same pretty amber, sweet and dangerously entrancing at the same time. She’s even dressed differently, her button-up blouse and slick gray trousers such a departure from the casual jeans and t-shirts she wore ten years ago when Eren was still in high school. Eren feels horribly underdressed - his ratty university sweatshirt over a thin cotton tee and his ripped jeans are so shabby in comparison - but a glimmer of silver on Petra’s wrist attracts Eren’s attention to the charm bracelet she wears, jangling with charms that Eren remembers her collecting in her high school days, and he feels a little less like he’s meeting a stranger and more like he’s reuniting with an old friend. 

“How are you?” Eren asks shyly, his smile bashful. 

“I’m well,” she answers, and Eren feels himself melting into her voice the same way he did when he was thirteen. When she smiles, her head tilts ever so slightly to the right just the way it did when he first met her and her dimples deepen into her cheeks. “How are you?” 

“Good,” Eren answers because he doesn’t trust himself to string together more than a word or two at a time. He wonders if she realizes how he’s unraveling at the sound of her voice or if she’s as oblivious as she was the last time. 

“I’m glad,” Petra says, and the warm look Petra gives Eren reignites a flame in the pit of his belly that he had thought he extinguished long ago. Her head tilts a little bit more to the side, her eyes twinkling. “I missed you,” Petra tells him, and Eren finds himself in love once more. 

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

There are rules to dealing with your ex-boyfriend after you’ve broken up, Petra knows, but it’s been ten years and she figures that these rules can be bent. So what if the last time she saw Zeke she was broken-hearted, crying in the rain as he turned his back on her? She was younger then, her feelings out of control for someone who didn’t care for her nearly as much as she cared for him. And, sure, maybe it’s terrible that she never received the closure that she deserves, but she can’t hold a grudge against him forever. They work in the same university and cowering behind the nearest trashcan every time they meet doesn’t seem to be a viable option. Petra’s older now and so is Zeke. They’re mature. They can be friends like adults are after they’ve broken up, so the universe should be able to understand her accepting Zeke’s dinner request that evening even if her friends couldn’t. 

She only started to regret her decision when Zeke offered to drive her there after his classes ended - saving gas and the planet, he explained - and she agreed. Although Petra repeatedly told herself that it was a simple family dinner and that such an invitation was extended to Zeke’s other friends on occasion, she found herself sitting impatiently in her office, biting her nails down so close to the quick that her fingers started to bleed. Having to bandage her fingers as she waited did absolutely nothing to soothe her nerves. 

“I don’t see why you’re so nervous,” Levi tells her over the phone. He taught in the mathematics department, but they had met after Petra had nervously stumbled into the wrong building and into his office on her first day at the university. The man has a perpetual scowl on his face, and that very same expression had nearly sent Petra running until she weakly explained that she must have gotten lost and he kindly redirected her to the building her office was located in. She thought that was going to be the end of their interaction until he emailed her shortly after asking if she had gotten to her office alright. Finding him a kindred spirit, he had become her first (and sadly only) companion at the university aside from Zeke. “If you’re friends with him, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal.” 

“Well, it’s just that I haven’t really seen him since we, you know, broke up,” Petra explains, but she doubts that Levi understands. She had told him her history with Zeke a few weeks ago after he asked her why she was so jittery at the faculty luncheon, but he didn’t have much of a reaction. It was sort of nice having someone to talk to that wasn’t as hyperbolically reactive as the rest of her friends, but it was also painfully difficult when Levi didn’t show her any sympathy. 

“You saw him last week when you were at the library to look for reference books,” he reminds her as if it were the same thing. “I don’t know why this dinner has you in a panic. You left me nearly a hundred messages while I was teaching class.” He hadn’t even replied to her texts, the bastard. He had simply left her on read until midnight before sending her a thumbs-up emoji to let her know that he had read her messages, which was not exactly the response Petra was waiting for. 

“This is different!” Petra insists, but she knows Levi will never see it that way. 

“You’re making this a much bigger deal than it needs to be,” Levi says. She can hear him scribbling something on the other end, probably correcting exams for his differential equations classes and marking a poor student’s paper in an abundance of red. “Either cancel or just go to dinner with him. You’ve had family dinners with him even before you guys got together right?” 

“Yeah, but that was back when we were kids,” Petra mumbles, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. 

“Then you’ll be fine,” he tells her. 

“You’re horribly unsympathetic sometimes,” she sighs. 

“If you wanted sympathy, you shouldn’t have called me,” Levi says with a cluck of his tongue, but he chuckles when he hears her groan on the other end. “Really, it’ll be fine. You’re just overthinking it. I’m sure it’ll be fine. And you said the kid will be there, right? His brother, so it’s not as if you’ll be alone with Zeke and his parents.” 

Petra lays with her head on her desk, her phone pressed against her cheek. “Yeah, you’re right,” she mumbles, but her lower lip still sticks out in a pout. The thought of Eren being there, sweet little Eren with his eager puppy eyes and wide smile, does make her feel better if only a little. She probably hasn’t seen him since she broke up with Zeke. She wonders if he’s changed very much. He’d be in college now? Or maybe he graduated. “I haven’t seen him in awhile though. What if he hates me now?” 

“You’re overthinking again,” Levi says. He sighs on the other end. If Petra didn’t know him very well, she would think she was bothering him, but he’s always like this. “Are you going to be okay?” 

“Yes. No. Maybe,” Petra sniffs. She looks sadly at her bandaged fingers and picks at the ends of one of them. “Should I just cancel? Maybe I can tell him I fell down the stairs and had to go to the hospital or something -” Someone knocks at the door and Petra lets out a startled yelp, nearly falling out of her chair because she’s so surprised. When she looks at the door, she sees Zeke’s silhouette against the frosted glass pane. The sight of it makes her want to hide behind her desk. “God, he’s here already!” 

“Too late for you to run then,” Levi says, not even bothering to hide his snickering. He’s such a sadist that Petra doesn’t even know why she’s friends with him sometimes. “Have fun at your absolutely normal dinner with your friend and his family.” Click!

“Asshole,” Petra mutters under her breath before shoving her phone in her bag. There’s another knock at the door — the same long, slow knocks that are a signature of Zeke’s —  and she hastily shouts, “I’ll be right there!” before shoving her papers in her bag and stumbling out of the door, nearly tripping over her own feet in the process. She must look like a mess because Zeke raises an eyebrow at her when she emerges from her office. Petra catches a glimpse of her reflection in the window and winces at her frumpled shirt and the hair falling out of her bun. She mumbles an apology as she pulls the hair ties out of her bun, her hair falling in loose curls around her face. 

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Zeke asks. 

“No! God, no,” Petra says, inwardly cringing at every word that comes out of her mouth. Even she can tell how awkward her responses sound, a little too quick and desperate. What is she being so anxious for? It’s just dinner with a friend —  an ex-boyfriend, but a friend nonetheless. Petra clears her throat and asks as casually as she can manage, “How are your parents?” 

“Hmm? They’re well, I suppose,” he answers. Everything about him is familiar. He’s grown just a bit taller since Petra last saw him, his shoulders a bit broader and his jawline a bit sharper, but he still wears the same double-bridge glasses and the right corner of his mouth still quirks upward just the slightest bit when he speaks. He even walks the same way, his strides a little too long and quick, and Petra finds that she still has to struggle a bit to keep up. If Zeke notices the same thing about her - how she still wears the same shade of lipstick, how she still has that habit of wrapping her hair around her finger when she’s nervous like she’s doing now, how she bites her lip when she’s not sure what to say next - he doesn’t mention it. “My father’s still working at the hospital with my grandfather. He’s been promoted to director of the orthopedics department.” 

“Oh, congrats!” 

“And you know my mother has been at the hospital now that she doesn’t have to worry about me anymore,” Zeke says. It’s strange how casually he says this, as if he doesn’t remember that the last time he spoke about his mother to Petra was when they were still together. “She really missed being in the OR. Says she’d rather be doing surgeries all day than taking care of me.” 

“It’s nice that she can go back to it.” She nearly stumbles over a step but catches the railing before she can. When she looks up again, Zeke is already on the sidewalk and she hurries after him, a little breathless. “And Eren?” 

“Eren?” Zeke seems a little surprised by the question although Petra doesn’t know why. He leads her to a car - a slick Mercedes with a shining blue exterior and tinted windows that don’t quite match Zeke’s academic profession —  and opens the car doors with a click. 

“Your brother,” she clarifies as Zeke walks over to the driver’s side and slips into the car. She opens the passenger car and slides into the seat beside Zeke, setting her bag down next to her feet. The door swings shut behind her. “He’s coming to the dinner too, right?” 

Zeke turns on the engine and the car comes to life with a pleasant hum. “Most likely,” Zeke says as he checks the side and rearview mirrors before pulling out of the parking space. He even drives the same way, his arm resting on the side with his hand tapping against the door while one hand is on the wheel. Just watching him makes Petra’s chest feel tight. 

“Ah, that’s good. I haven’t seen him in so long,” Petra says. For some reason, knowing that Eren will also be there makes her feel a little more relaxed about the dinner. “Is he still in college? I think he should have graduated by now.” 

“He graduated a little while ago. He’s teaching now. Still on probation, but he says his colleagues like him so he’s not too worried about getting tenure after the probationary period is over.” He slows the car to a stop at an intersection and leans over, fiddling with the radio dial. He sets it to the jazz station and the sound of smooth brass and relaxed percussion fills the car. 

Somehow, driving down the streets with Zeke is far more nostalgic than it ever was when Petra drove on her own. Some nights Petra drove home by herself, and all it ever felt was lonely. Maybe it’s the familiarity of having Zeke beside her like when they were teenagers, driving back home after watching a movie downtown or returning from a basketball game at their high school. 

Petra doesn’t ask any more questions about Zeke’s family. She figures she can catch up with the rest of the Jaegers when she sees them at dinner. Instead, she asks Zeke about his classes and finds that conversation with him comes more easily after she stops stumbling over her words. He tells her a little bit about teaching anthropology (“Far less painful than you think it would be, at least when the kids aren’t just taking it to fulfill their core classes,” he says), his plans for the upcoming week (“It’s midterms, but the students should be fine if they actually look at the study guide.”), and the butterfly exhibit opening up at the museum downtown (“I’m thinking of putting it up as extra credit. Who knows, they might actually look at the other exhibits while they’re wandering around.”). Petra also fills him in on her own life, mumbling about how she still has to make the answer key to her own midterm and expressing interest in the butterfly exhibit Zeke mentions. 

They pull up next to Zeke’s house, the very same one he grew up with. Not much has changed from the outside. The white picket fence is a little worn and the rose bushes have been replaced with peonies. The house is still the same shade of cream, but Petra is sure that the Jaegers had it repainted over the summer like they usually do. She looks up at the second-story window where Zeke’s room should be and vaguely wonders if it’s still his room or if he’s moved out and hasn’t mentioned it yet. 

Walking up the brick steps to the door is a bit surreal. Petra doesn’t realize just how silent she’s been until the chime of the doorbell startles her and Mrs. Jaeger opens the door. As with most of Zeke’s family members, Petra hasn’t seen Mrs. Jaeger since she broke up with Zeke, but she had an amicable relationship with her. She can’t recall Mrs. Jaeger ever being angry, so she’s surprised when Zeke’s mother opens the door with a terrible scowl on her face. 

“Mom, you remember Petra,” Zeke says, moving aside so that Petra can enter first. 

The scowl quickly slips from Mrs. Jaeger’s face, replaced with a smile that Petra is more familiar with. “Petra, of course! I haven’t seen you in ages,” Mrs. Jaeger says, her voice strained. She waves Petra and Zeke in, shutting the door gently behind them. “It’s nice to see you again.” 

“Likewise,” Petra mumbles. She looks at the kitchen doorway where Zeke’s father leans and gives him an awkward wave. The man, just as silent as he was when Petra was young, gives her a polite smile and a nod in acknowledgment. 

“Sorry, we’re a bit late,” Zeke apologizes as he shrugs off his coat. He walks over to the dining room, Petra and his mother trailing behind him. “A student wanted to talk to me and it took a bit longer than I thought it would.” 

“No need to apologize! Eren hasn’t arrived yet anyway. He’ll probably be late. Again.” There’s a harsh tone in Mrs. Jaeger’s voice that Petra hasn't heard before. When she looks up, she sees Zeke’s mother hovering around the table and arranging dishes, the same polite smile on her face as she does so. “Your brother, of course, didn’t bother to send a text to notify us that he’d be late.” 

Petra wonders if Mrs. Jaeger usually speaks about Eren with such disappointment in her voice. Maybe she had always spoken about Eren like this and Petra had never been around to witness it or maybe it’s something that developed while Petra was away. Whatever it is, Zeke and his father seem used to it. Zeke merely shrugs, pulling out his phone to flip through his phone while his mother continues to mutter about how disrespectful her stepson is. Mr. Jaeger continues to stand at the doorway, not bothering to join them at the dining table, his eyes fixed on the carpet. He doesn’t bother to defend his son. 

“Maybe he’s busy,” Petra says, interrupting Mrs. Jaeger mid-rant. She feels rude for speaking while Mrs. Jaeger is talking, but sitting in silence while Zeke’s mother speaks ill of Eren doesn’t feel right either. All eyes are on her now - Mrs. Jaeger a little surprised, Zeke with an eyebrow quirked upward as if in amusement, and his father with a look that’s almost relieved. Petra clears her throat and continues. “He’s a teacher, right? It must be difficult teaching so many children every day — making the lesson plan and everything. Maybe texting slipped his mind. He’ll probably be here soon.” 

God, she hopes Eren will be here soon. Her cheeks are starting to burn bright red and she’s thinking that perhaps speaking up might not have been the best decision. 

“Ah, you’re probably right.” Mrs. Jaeger seems a little more composed now, perhaps remembering that they have company over. She settles down in the chair across from Zeke and flashes a pleasant smile at Petra. “He can be quite forgetful of these things. Of course, you’d never worry your father like this. You’ve always been so responsible.” 

Has talking with Zeke’s mother always been this difficult? Petra’s head is starting to spin, unsure of what response would be appropriate. She feels as if she should defend Eren, but she doesn’t want to make things awkward either. In the end, she smiles awkwardly at Mrs. Jaeger as if accepting the woman’s compliment and reaches out for the glass of water in front of her, raising it to her lips before she can say anything else that she might regret. 

“Dear, come sit next to me,” Mrs. Jaeger calls. She gestures for her husband to join them at the table and Mr. Jaeger stiffly walks over from the doorway before taking a seat at the head of the table. Mrs. Jaeger folds her hands on the table, her gaze still on Petra. “How have you been, Petra? We haven’t heard from you in a while. How long have you been back?” 

The series of questions leave Petra tongue-tied and unsure of how to answer. It’s so strange how casual the Jaegers can be about asking after her, like she hadn’t been such a large part of their lives — or at least Zeke’s life — ten years ago before disappearing completely. As if they didn’t know the real reason she hadn’t kept in touch. She’s not sure if she’ll ever be able to act as oblivious as them. 

“Er, I’ve been back for a while now,” she replies. She bites her lip when she sees the look of surprise on Mrs. Jaeger’s face. When she glances over at Zeke, he doesn’t look back at her. He’s returned his gaze to his phone screen, ignoring her. Nervously, she laughs. “I guess Zeke didn’t tell you, but I’m teaching at the same university he is. A few undergraduate English classes and then a graduate course on nature and romantic poetry.” Petra doesn’t know why she feels a lump at the back of her throat or the sting of tears at the corner of her eyes. She nibbles at her lip again, looking down at her lap so that she doesn’t have to look at Zeke or his family. She doesn’t have a reason to feel hurt or upset. Maybe Zeke was busy and didn’t have the chance to mention it to his parents or maybe it just slipped his mind. It isn’t a big deal. 

“Oh, that must be nice!  Who knew you two would be working together after all these years?” Mrs. Jaeger says. She subtly pushes the cheese plate on the table towards Petra, gesturing for her to take one. 

“Mmm,” Petra says, nodding as if she agrees with Mrs. Jaeger. It’s not as if she’s wrong. Petra certainly didn’t know any of this would happen. She knew some of it would — getting her degree, teaching at a university, eating dinner with Zeke’s parents — she just hadn’t predicted other things like Zeke breaking up with her, not speaking with him for ten years after knowing him her entire life, or having to pretend that she’s okay. 

Petra reaches for a cracker and a spread of raspberry goat cheese and shoves the entire thing in her mouth, hoping that she won’t have to answer any more questions. 

“The university is nice,” Zeke’s father murmurs. It’s the first time he’s spoken all night. The sound of his voice startles Petra, but the other Jaegers don’t seem too surprised. “It’s near the museum too. Very convenient.” 

“Ah, the museum!” Mrs. Jaeger clasps her hands together and looks at Petra expectantly. Petra nearly chokes on her cracker out of nervousness. “Have you been there yet?” 

“Er, not yet,” Petra says hastily, wincing at the pain in her throat. She takes a quick sip of her water to relieve it. “I haven’t really found the time, I guess.” 

“Oh, you should absolutely go!” says Mrs. Jaeger brightly. Petra had never thought Mrs. Jaeger was one to love museums, but there’s probably a lot about the woman that Petra doesn’t know now. All Petra really remembers about the woman is that she stayed at home during the daytime and worked at the hospital at night. She’s bound to have found other ways to occupy her time now that she doesn’t have to worry about Zeke anymore. 

“You sound as if you really enjoy it.” Petra nibbles at another cracker. She feels as if she should smile right now, but she’s not sure if she’s able to. “Are there any exhibits you would recommend?” 

“Oh, they’re all good! The staff especially …,” Mrs. Jaeger gushes, but her voice begins to trail off. Her eyes flicker over to Zeke as if waiting for a sign to proceed, but her son pays no attention to her. He simply reaches over for an almond on the cheese plate and pops it into his mouth. His mother’s smile tightens and she continues, “The butterfly exhibit that’s opening soon should be exquisite!” 

Petra looks from Zeke to Mrs. Jaeger. Aside from Mrs. Jaeger’s forced smile, Petra really can’t tell what’s wrong, so she puts on a false smile of her own and nods. “I know. Zeke was telling me about it on the ride here.” 

There’s a long and awkward silence. Zeke puts no effort in speaking and neither does his father, who still sits and stares at his lap. Only Mrs. Jaeger and Petra seem to be putting in any effort to pick up the conversation, both trying to appear calm as they search for some common ground to work with. Instead, the doorbell rings and Petra swears she hears a sigh of relief escape Mrs. Jaeger’s lips. 

“It seems Eren has finally arrived,” Mrs. Jaeger says, her chair scraping across the floor as she gets up from the table. As she turns to leave, she flashes Petra an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry you had to wait so long.” Petra is about to tell her that it wasn’t a problem, that she didn’t mind waiting (even if it was a lie), but Zeke’s mother has already disappeared into the next room with Zeke’s father following silently behind her. 

For a moment, Petra wonders if she should try to talk to Zeke so more. It’s not that the quiet bothers her, but she’s never felt comfortable sitting silently next to others unless she was completely comfortable with them. Ten years ago this would have been fine, but now sitting with Zeke beside her without saying a word is making her skin crawl and her throat dry. She glances at him from the corner of her eye, trying to gauge his interest. 

Zeke doesn’t seem to be bothered by the silence at all. He’s still scrolling through his phone, occasionally reaching out to pluck a cracker or another almond from the cheese plate. If he’s fine without any conversation, Petra figures she shouldn’t bother him. She settles down with her back against her chair rather unhappily and tries to occupy herself another way. 

Petra tries not to eavesdrop on the conversation going on in the other room. First, she stares down at the lace tablecloth, gazing at the delicate pattern until the floral designs are burned into her corneas. Mrs. Jaeger’s voice begins to drift into the dining room, her tone just as cold and harsh as it was when she spoke about Eren earlier this evening. Another voice floats into the room as well, a voice like Eren’s but a bit deeper and rougher than Petra remembers. As the two continue to talk, Petra finds herself straining to listen to the conversation, but she can’t quite make out the words. The words exchanged don’t sound incredibly pleasant though. 

“...if you told me we were having a guest beforehand I would have shown up on time,” Eren hisses as he walks into the room. He’s taller than he was when Petra had seen him last — probably as tall as his brother if not taller — but he walks with his head down and doesn’t seem to notice Petra seated at the table even as he pulls out a chair to sit down. Without looking up, Eren mumbles, “Sorry, I’m late.” 

Zeke looks up, his expression amused. “Eren,” he says, setting down his phone for once. He rests his chin in his hand, mouth quirked upward in a smile. “Aren’t you going to say hi to our guest?” 

“Uh, yeah. Hi,” Eren says, mumbling into his lap. His eyes flicker upward, first at Zeke and then Petra, but he doesn’t really register who Petra is until he takes another glance. His eyes are huge like a doe’s. He’s always had big eyes even when he was a child, large and green like gemstones. He’s grown into them more since the last time Petra has seen him, but they’re still enormous, growing wider as he recognizes her. His mouth falls open in surprise. “... Petra?” 

She can feel her lips curling in a smile. “Hi, Eren.” 

Eren smiles back at her, a little nervous but a lot more relaxed than he was when he first arrived. He’s still shy when he smiles, looking up at her before glancing down at his lap again. “How are you?” He sits up straighter in his seat, no longer slouching. 

“I’m well. How are you?” 

“Good,” Eren answers.

“I’m glad. I missed you,” Petra tells him, and she means it. 

His smile is a little wider now and Petra feels the most relaxed than she’s been the entire night. It’s nice to know that, despite everything, at least Eren hasn’t changed and she feels less awkward being at a Jaeger family dinner after ten years of estrangement. 

Mrs. Jaeger puts down a tub of what looks like a potato salad on the table, opening the container with a frown. “At least you didn’t come empty-handed,” she comments wryly. 

Eren winces but doesn’t say anything. 

Petra sits up. “It looks, um, delicious.” It doesn’t. It looks like a pile of mush and not at all like anything edible, but Petra begins to spoon some on her plate anyway out of politeness despite the look of alarm on Eren’s face. “Eren, your brother told me you started teaching recently. Where do you teach?” 

“Just, um, down the street. Not really elementary … it’s a daycare,” he says distractedly as he watches her help herself to his potato salad. Eren hesitates for a moment before taking the spoon from Petra and switching their plates. He does it absentmindedly, almost as if he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he notices everyone looking at him peculiarly. Flustered, he explains, “It’s not, ah, I don’t think it’s very good. So.” As if to prove his point, he puts a heaping spoonful of it into his mouth, gagging on it as he swallows it down, and scrunches his face up in disgust. 

Mrs. Jaeger looks rather smug as Eren chokes. “I’ll just put this away then,” she says, removing the tub of potato salad from the table. She gestures for Petra to help herself to the other food on the table. “Help yourself to everything else, Petra.” 

“Er, thank you,” Petra says. She does feel bad about not eating the potato salad, but Eren looks pretty relieved. Because she’s talked Zeke’s ear off in the car and doesn’t know how to carry on a conversation with the Jaeger parents, she decides to continue her conversation with Eren. “Daycare seems like it would suit you. I bet you’re great with kids.” 

“I’m alright,” Eren mumbles as he pushes the potatoes back and forth on his plate, but he’s hiding a smile on his face, secretly pleased. He’s never been that good at hiding his emotions, which Petra thinks is an endearing trait. “Teaching at a university is probably harder.” He freezes for a moment and then hurriedly adds, “Your dad told me you work as a professor now. I ran into him before coming here. He mentioned that you taught English …?” 

She doesn’t say anything for a moment, casting a side glance at Zeke. She thought Zeke would have mentioned that they were working at the same university, but maybe it never came up in conversation between the brothers or they just weren’t as close as they were before. Forcing a smile on her face, she nods, “Yeah, I teach English, but I wouldn’t say teaching university is more or less difficult than handling a daycare. They have their own challenges, right?” 

“Yeah,” Eren replies, voice soft. His smile grows wider and, after Petra asks him about what it’s like teaching at the daycare, starts animatedly talking about his students. He seems very endeared towards a young girl named Gabi, a very mischievous but sweet troublemaker, and her companion Falco, a young boy that often has no choice but to be dragged into all of Gabi’s shenanigans. 

Talking to Eren makes the rest of the dinner go by easily. He’s always been easy to talk to even when they were teenagers and she was dating Zeke. Sometimes she would wait at the Jaeger house and talk with Eren while they waited for Zeke to come back from baseball practice. Eren was always so animated when he talked, using his hands and sometimes bouncing up and down his seat when he got excited. He still does that now as he talks about his work at the daycare, listening intently whenever Petra or even Zeke exchange their own stories about teaching. It makes her feel as if the past ten years hadn’t really happened, like Zeke and Eren had been a part of her life the entire time. 

“Oh, I brought dessert,” Eren says brightly. Before Mrs. Jaeger can say anything, he gets up to collect the paper bag on the kitchen counter and plops it on the dining table. He pushes it closer to Petra. “Your dad gave me some while he was closing up his shop.” 

She laughs. “I eat too many of these as it is,” Petra says, but she plucks an almond cookie from the bag. Her teeth sink into the cookie, savoring its subtle nutty flavor on her tongue, and sighs. “Don’t tell my dad. He won’t let me eat anymore when I get home.” 

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Eren grins. 

Petra peers into the bag. “Did he give you any chocolate croissants?” She looks over at Eren. “Those are still your favorites, right?” 

Eren looks surprised. “Ah, yeah,” he replies, blinking. “You remember?” 

“Of course, I remember,” she snorts. She manages to find a pain au chocolat and places it delicately on Eren’s plate. It’s a little smooshed from the ride here, chocolate spilling out of its side, but Eren still looks at it hungrily. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

Zeke leans forward. “I like the lemon bars. Let me know if there are any in there.” 

She laughs and actually does manage to find one, but it’s a lemon-lavender bar. Zeke assures her it’s fine, picking off the little bits of lavender that are on the top of the bar. They eat like that for a moment and Petra feels an overwhelming wave of nostalgia. It’s probably unhealthy to yearn for the past, but Petra wouldn’t mind if things somehow ended up the way they were before. 

When their dishes are scraped clean and the conversations begin to fade away, Zeke pats down the corner of his mouth with a napkin before announcing that they should stop for the night. He has papers to grade tonight, he explains to his parents who nod understandingly. The wooden legs of his chair scrape against the carpet as he gets up from the table and Petra slides out of her own seat, ready to follow him. 

“Ah, Petra,” Zeke says, pausing like he’s just remembered. He looks at her, head tilting slightly. He’s stopped by the door to the living room, his hand resting on the doorframe. “Do you mind calling an Uber to pick you up? I’d drive you home myself but …” 

“I …” Petra blinks, feeling like a deer in headlights. If she looked around, she would see that the rest of the Jaeger family has a similar expression. She’s not sure why she feels so surprised. Maybe it’s because she had expected him to drive her home, but maybe that was too much to ask of him after he had taken the trouble to drive her here in the first place. It’s not even that far of a drive to her house, but it’s probably too cumbersome for Zeke, who’s busy with grading papers and preparing for tomorrow’s lectures. There’s an awful lump in her throat like she had swallowed an egg whole, but Petra forces a smile on her face as she begins, “Sure, let me just call my dad -” 

“I’ll take you home,” a voice says suddenly. Everyone turns to see Eren standing up from his chair. At first glance he looks angry, but Petra blinks again and there’s only concern on his face as he collects his jacket and walks over to Petra. He shrugs it on and smiles down at her, his expression a little apologetic. “Er, you don’t mind riding on a bike, do you?” 

Petra has to lift her head to look at Eren and she wonders when he had gotten so tall. It must have been after she left for college. “No, that’s fine,” she replies numbly, too shocked to really think about it. She shuffles silently after Eren, mumbling a brief “thank you” when he helps her into her coat. 

“It was lovely having you over again, dear,” Mrs. Jaeger says to Petra, a smile pasted on the woman’s face as she saw the two out. She doesn’t say anything about Zeke not offering Petra a ride back. “Do come again sometime.” 

“Of course,” Petra says, although the promise feels empty. She’s not sure if Mrs. Jaeger notices or even cares because the woman shuts the door in her face before Eren and Petra are even out in the driveway. It’s not a cold gesture, but it’s a change from the days when Mrs. Jaeger would wait until Petra was almost out of sight before shutting the door and disappearing into the house. 

Petra shoves her hands into the pockets of her coat and follows Eren down the driveway, watching as he runs to the bike he had carelessly discarded on the ground before entering the house earlier. Embarrassed, Eren hastily picks up the bike, brushing it off and mumbling something about how he had been in too much of a hurry earlier to properly lock up his bike. Petra assures him it’s fine. She’s only half-listening anyway. 

“You can just sit here,” Eren says, patting a padded seat on the back of his bike. He throws a leg over his bike easily and looks at Petra, waiting expectantly. 

She hadn’t objected to the ride home before, but now she looks at Eren’s vehicle of choice skeptically. “Are you sure you’ll be able to pedal with me on it? I’m a whole other person.” Petra hovers beside the bike, but she doesn’t get on. 

“Yeah, it’s fine. It was fine when my boyfriends were riding in the back, and they’re a lot heavier than you,” Eren replies. It takes him a moment to register what he just said and then his face begins to color, cheeks glowing pink even in the dim moonlight. “I mean my ex-boyfriends. I rode around with my ex-girlfriend too, but she was really tiny too. She was …” He probably would have babbled on and on if Petra hadn’t sat down. 

“Your exes?” Petra asks, eyebrow raised. She hadn’t really thought about Eren dating, but it’s funny to think about now. She doesn’t remember if he ever dated anyone when he was in high school. She probably shouldn’t tease, but she can’t resist grinning at the boy and saying, “It looks like you were busy in college.” 

“Not that busy. Just … probably as busy as your average college student,” Eren mumbles under his breath, face still flushed. He gestures at Petra’s hands and then makes a motion around his waist. “You can … around me if, you know, you’re comfortable with it.” 

“Oh, right.” She leans forward and wraps her arms around Eren’s waist and wonders briefly how someone so tall can have such a thin waist. “Do you remember the way to my house?” she asks. 

“Of course,” Eren says. “It’s not that far from here.” 

For some reason, the way Eren answers makes Petra feel warm. Maybe it’s just the heat transfer from resting her cheek on his back. She closes her eyes, feeling the wind rush around her as Eren bikes her back home. 

It feels so comfortable, clinging onto someone so familiar and breathing in Eren’s scent, something like pinewood and a little bit of peppermint. He feels strong too, sturdy like a redwood tree. Petra doesn’t know why she doubted his ability to bike with her additional weight. He’d probably be fine having someone twice her weight in tow. She experimentally gives Eren’s waist a little squeeze. It must have been too sudden of a squeeze because they come to a screeching stop, Petra’s face slamming against Eren’s back and the two of them nearly go flying. 

“Oh, ouch,” Petra says. One arm is still wrapped around Eren’s lithe waist, but she raises a hand to rub her stinging face. “That hurts.” 

“S-sorry!” Eren stammers. He twists around to get a good look at Petra, forehead wrinkling. “I didn’t mean to stop so suddenly I was just … surprised.” He brings his hand down to where Petra’s arm is hooked around his waist, but he snatches his hand away as soon as their skin brushes as if he’s been burned. “Sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Petra assures him. Her nose is throbbing dully, but it’s not bleeding. “It’s my fault anyway. I was just surprised. You’re a lot bigger than you were the last time I saw you.” 

“I’m alright,” Eren says with a shy laugh. He pushes off on the bike and starts for home again, pedaling easily despite Petra’s weight. He doesn’t startle when Petra leans against him again, her cheek rubbing against the cotton of his hoodie. His breath hitches a little when Petra wraps her arms a little tighter around his waist, but it goes unnoticed by her. 

“Were they nice?” she asks. Eren makes a confused noise, and she can’t help but smile. Clarifying, she says, “Your exes. Were they nice?” 

Eren pedals in silence for a while before responding. “Yeah. They were nice.” 

“That’s good.” Petra sighs against his back, not noticing the way he shivers as if he can feel her breath on his skin. “You deserve to date nice people.” 

Petra might have imagined it, but she thinks she hears Eren say something in reply. He says it quietly, though, and the wind carries it away too quickly for her to hear. She straightens her back, lifting her head from where it rests against Eren’s back, but he doesn’t repeat himself and she doesn’t ask. Maybe it’s just one of those things that are meant to be spoken aloud but not heard by anyone. 

They don’t speak much the rest of the way home. Petra figures Eren is having enough trouble biking with two people and holding a conversation would only tire him out more. She just lets herself rest against him, watching as they pass streetlight after streetlight. It probably would have been more convenient to call a Lyft or an Uber, but Petra thinks accepting Eren’s bike ride isn’t bad either. It saved her from having to wait awkwardly for her driver to find the house while Zeke’s parents waited for her to leave. 

She wonders if she should have gone to dinner in the first place. Maybe Zeke had only invited her out of politeness, but she had taken it to mean more than it did. She’s stupid to think that arriving at the Jaeger house meant that things could go back to the way things were. It was noticeably tense in the house. At first, Petra thought it was because of the strained relationship between Mrs. Jaeger and Eren, but now she’s not so sure. It’s not as if Mr. and Mrs. Jaeger had met her with open arms. They hadn’t been hostile, but they were polite in the way that people were polite to house guests and not in the way they would be to a childhood friend of their son. God, she’s so stupid. She should have just declined Zeke’s offer politely and never spoken to him again since he was obviously content with not speaking with her for ten years. 

Burying her face in Eren’s hoodie, Petra gives him another squeeze. Eren doesn’t brake this time. He just lets out a surprised “oh!” and falters for a bit, bike slowing, before picking his pace back up and continuing on their way. 

“We’re almost there,” Eren tells her. As he approaches Petra’s house, the bike begins to slow before stopping completely in front of the driveway. When Petra lifts her head, Eren is looking at her, smiling. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” Petra nods. She gets off the bike and pats down her windswept hair, brushing some stray locks out of her face. She manages to smile back at Eren. “Thanks for the ride back. I hope it wasn’t too out of your way.” 

“It’s fine.” Eren sits at his bike, his smile a little lopsided. He looks as if he’s about to say something, but nothing comes. It’s only when Petra turns around towards her house that he opens his mouth. “Hey, Petra?” 

Petra’s hand rests on the gate of her wooden fence, just about to open it. She looks at Eren, watching as he fidgets with the handle of his bike. “Yeah?” 

“Did Zeke …?” His voice trails off and Eren’s looking everywhere except at her face. He nibbles on his bottom lip and Petra wonders what he’s so nervous about. His expression looks pained as if he’s scared whatever he has to say will hurt her, but Petra’s not sure why it would. After a moment, Eren swallows and forces a smile on his face. “Did Zeke tell you that … I work near your university?” 

“You do?” 

Eren nods. He looks a lot less nervous now, his shoulders relaxed. “Well, it’s not that far by bike.” 

“Really?” Petra hums. “I should come visit you some time then.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to -” 

“Or you could visit me?” she suggests. 

He blinks. “I can?” Eren asks. “Is that really okay?” 

Petra almost laughs. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be? You should just let me know beforehand if you’re coming,” she tells him. She walks over, pulling her phone out of her purse and handing it to him so he can add his number. “Text me or call me. I might not respond right away because I might have a faculty meeting or a lecture, but I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.” 

“Oh, alright then,” Eren says. He types away on her phone, handing it back to her as soon as he’s finished. He watches with wide green eyes as Petra sends him an emoji — a simple “Hi, Eren! It’s Petra 😊” — and looks back at her with a grin. “I’ll come visit sometime.” 

“That’d be great,” Petra says, and she really means it. “Thanks again for the ride, Eren. I really appreciate it.” 

“It was no problem,” Eren tells her. He waves as walks through the gate and up the steps of her porch. He’s still waving when she opens the door and turns around, his smile a little goofy but cute at the same time. “Have a good night!” 

“You too,” Petra says before shutting the door gently behind her. She takes a peek out the window and sees Eren still on the sidewalk with the bike. He stands there with a pensive look on his face before pushing off his bike and riding off into the night. Petra watches until he’s a tiny speck down the road. When she blinks, he’s gone. 

Petra finds her dad waiting for her in the living room, sleeping because he can’t stay awake for very long after dinner. In his lap sits a half-finished crossword puzzle. Petra smiles affectionately at her father before pressing a soft kiss on the old man’s brow. 

“I’m home,” she whispers as her father begins to stir. 

“Ah, Petra,” says her father. He looks at her, eyes still bleary with sleep, and gives her a drowsy smile. With a hand, he pushes up the glasses that were slipping off his nose during sleep. “Did Zeke drive you home?” 

Her lips press into a thin line. “No. He was busy,” Petra replies, trying to keep her voice as even as possible. “Eren took me home instead.” 

“Eren?” her father repeats, not seeming to remember the name. 

“Zeke’s younger brother,” Petra reminds him. She leans against the back of her father’s armchair as she tries to describe the half-brother. “He was a few years younger than me. Brown hair, big green eyes, kind of gangly.” 

“Oh, Eren,” her father says, nodding. Petra’s not sure if he actually remembers or if he’s just being polite, but then he suddenly says, “I saw him earlier this evening before I was closing up shop. He’s very polite. He’s a nice boy.” 

Petra leans over to rest her head on her father’s shoulder while her arms lay folded on the back of the armchair. She thinks about her ride home, how it could have been cold and miserable and lonely. And maybe her thoughts were all of those things, but the ride wasn’t. She can still feel the warmth Eren emanated from underneath his hoodie, how comforting it was to have someone to hold.

“Yeah. He’s a nice guy,” Petra says softly. 

[seonghwahugs]

two black cadillacs

inspired by carrie underwood’s song of the same name. not proofread.

cw for murder/homicide, cheating

♟♟♟

Two black Cadillacs driving in a slow parade

Headlights shining bright in the middle of the day...

Hyunjin adjusted his tie, foot settled on the brake pedal as the procession prepared to move. Despite sitting directly behind the hearse carrying the body of his late husband inside he felt no loss, no pain, there was no need to grieve. Behind him was another car identical to his own, a 1969 black Cadillac. Who would’ve thought that the other man would own the same car. It was only four in the evening yet it felt so much later, the cloud cover darkening the world around them. 

The procession lasted about half an hour, the drive usually much longer with traffic. But, as a funeral procession, the laws of the road were bent and broken to accommodate them. To accommodate the supposedly grieving family, the hearse carrying their body. 

If only his family knew what he was hiding.

Hyunjin stepped out of the car, adjusting his long coat and veil. It was unusual for a man to wear a veil but he was always known to do things how he felt was right, not abiding by the standards set around him. It was one of the many reasons he and his husband had fallen in love, bonding over their desire to make their own path and not follow that of another person. He made his way to his mother in law, embracing her as she cried and held him close.

If only she knew what they were both hiding.

Two months ago, his wife called the number on his phone…

“I need to shower, it was a long sweaty day.” His husband had said with a playful smile, leaving a kiss upon his forehead. Hyunjin made a sound of mock disgust as he came close, waving his hand in front of his nose with an exaggerated ‘ew, you smell!’ He couldn’t contain his laugh though, pulling his husband down for a true kiss, melting into the hand that cupped his cheek. 

“I’m going now.” His husband said as he pulled away, walking up the stairs to the master bath for a much needed shower. Hyunjin took this time to grab his phone from the coffee table and typed in the passcode, opening the phone app and searching through his recent calls. There were multiple calls made to a single unsaved number, most of them when Hyunjin was already asleep or on days he was out at work. He’d been suspecting something for weeks but his stomach dropped at the thought of his suspicions being correct.

Slipping out to the front porch he hit the green call button, gnawing on the edge of his thumb as the phone rang once, twice, three times, finally being answered on the fourth ring.

“Ah, babe, I thought you said you wouldn’t be able to call this early! I was just about to make some dinner, would you-”

“Who is this?” Hyunjin cut the other man off, his voice cold yet shaky. “Who are you to call my husband babe?”

There was a beat of silence before he got a reply. 

“Husband? He..he said he was single..said the man in his photos was an ex boyfriend from high school…” The man’s voice sounded a bit fearful. “I swear to you I’m not a homewrecker, he told me he didn’t have anyone else!”

Hyunjin stayed quiet for a while, thinking over what to say. Everything was beginning to make sense, all the nights he’d wake up in a cold bed, the extended work days, the constant overtime with no extra pay (despite his company policy stating that all overtime was paid.)

“How long?”

“Have we been together?”

“Yeah, how long?”

“Seven months. He..actually just proposed to me a week and a half ago. It looks like a pretty expensive ring too-” 

Hyunjin let out a humorless laugh. “So that’s where our money went, lying bastard. He told me his friend needed to borrow some for car repairs. And I didn’t question it, his friend has two little ones and taking the bus with them is a hassle.” He took a deep breath, holding it for a moment before exhaling.

“What’s your name? We may as well know who he’s been with.”

“Lee Minho.”

“Hwang Hyunjin.”

“Hwang? But isn’t his surname Yeo?” 

“He’s not going to be my husband much longer. I’m not keeping his last name.” 

“Understandable.” There was a long pause from the other, as if he was thinking about something, processing.

They decided then, he’d never get away with doing this to them

Two black Cadillacs waiting for the right time, the right time

“What if we handle this ourselves?” He finally asked, a dark edge to his voice. Hyunjin knew that kind of tone, knew what he was insinuating. And damn, he’d never think to do something like that but he couldn’t deny that it sounded awfully tempting. 

“I’ll text you from my number. Let’s meet, you and I.”

The two made their way over to the set up chairs and Hyunjin held the woman’s hand tight, whispering a soothing ‘it’s okay mama, he’s in a better place now. No one can hurt him anymore.’ After about ten minutes of everyone seating themselves and the preacher making his way to the podium, it was time to give the eulogies. 

And the preacher said he was a good man…

“Today we are gathered to lay to rest one of the best men I’ve ever known.” 

And his brother said he was a good friend…

“My brother, you see, he was an amazing friend. Outgoing and loveable-”

But the women in the two black veils didn't bother to cry…

Everyone around Hyunjin was crying, whether it was loud and sniffly, or a silent tears-and-shoulder-shaking cry. But he wasn’t. He wouldn’t dare cry for that man, not after what he did, how he treated him. Months of lying after they’d agree honesty was the most crucial part of their marriage. When it came time for the burial Hyunjin stood, his disinterested gaze hidden by the dark veil over his face. It’s not like anyone would question his way of ‘mourning’, why would they? Who would think to question the deceased man’s husband?

They took turns laying a rose down…

Hyunjin’s eyes scanned the crowd of people, landing on an unfamiliar man standing in the back, a veil covering his face as well and an umbrella in his hand. 

Lee Minho.

Hyunjin nodded for him to come closer, the two gently plucking roses from the pile and laying them on the casket before stepping away to allow others to follow suit. 

“Funny meeting you here.” Minho remarked softly, Hyunjin’s lips twitching up at his monotone voice making such a remark. 

“Thought I wouldn’t see you after that day.” Hyunjin admitted, turning to look at him. While their eyes were hidden it wasn’t hard to see the crimson red on their lips through the fabric. 

“I know. But..I doubt we’ll see each other after this. I’m moving out of the country with my godson, he wants to attend an international high school in France but his parents can’t leave work.” Minho explained. “And, well, it was my car that did it that night, even though you were driving.” 

The two didn’t plan to meet for coffee, or a meal, or anything domestic like that. They planned to meet only to end things between them and the man they shared. Hyunjin tricked his husband into thinking they were going on a date, a surprise that the younger man had planned for him. 

It would be quite a surprise.

They chose an old bar, a wide alleyway behind it that separated it from an old, abandoned apartment complex. No cameras, no lights, nothing that could identify them. Minho waited around the corner in the passenger seat of his car, leaving it running for the other. It was his husband after all, he should be the one to step on the gas. 

Hyunjin parked his Cadillac further behind Minho’s, stepping out of the car and linking arms with his husband. They strode past Minho, the two sharing a look before Hyunjin began speaking to his husband. 

“We’re going in the back door, I know someone here and she’s going to give us a private room. I know waiting in an alley is...kinda gross but it won’t be long.” He explained as they turned into the dark alleyway, walking to the end of it.

“Darling you’ve led me into weirder situations, if we get a private room-” He slid his hands down his hips, “then it’s a-okay with me.” 

Hyunjin only winked and gave him a sickly sweet smile, toes curling in his boots since he couldn’t clench his fists. They stood there for a couple minutes, the cold biting their skin before the long haired male gasped. 

“Ah hell, I left my wallet! I’m going to go get it and I’ll be back.” 

“Don’t take too long! I don’t want to miss you too much.” His husband smiled, pulling him in for a quick kiss. 

“I won’t be long, just wait here.” And with that Hyunjin was gone, dashing out of the alleyway. He all but ran to Minho and his Cadillac, sliding into the driver’s seat and sucking in a deep breath. The two men were quiet for a minute before daring to do something they’d never thought they would, leaning in to share a deep kiss. 

“I guess this is it, isn’t it? We’re really doing this?” Hyunjin asked against Minho’s lips, holding his hand and slotting their fingers together.”

“This is it. Once we do this, there’s no going back.” Minho whispered, kissing him again before sitting back in his seat and slipping his seatbelt on. “Put your belt on, he’s the only one getting hurt tonight.”

Hyunjin clicked his belt into place, put the car in drive, and circled the corner. 

The man didn’t even have time to scream.

“That it was. But..I would like to see you at least one more time.” Hyunjin whispered before walking away.

Threw a handful of dirt into the deep ground…

Minho followed closely behind the now widowed man, the two taking turns throwing a handful of dirt on the now lowered casket. They took one last look at it and walked away, allowing others to do the same.

He’s not the only one who had a secret to hide…

They knew life wouldn’t be the same. If they were caught they’d be charged with murder, and even if they exceeded the fifteen year limit they would still live with it on their conscious. But what was done was done and that was the end. No going back. No second chance. They did have each other though, if they wanted, if they were willing.

The two shared a crimson smile and just walked away…

The two waited until they were sure no one was looking, lifting their veils for a mere second to share a kiss, letting them fall back to cover their faces once again. With a dark, thin lipped smile they walked away from each other, towards their separate Cadillacs. No one noticed when the two departed together, tailing each other. 

And left the secret at the grave.

[writinginthesecrettrees]

A Little Off

Things are a little off with Sammy. He’s been secretive, and at first Dean thinks it’s normal kid stuff. Puberty or something - Sam’s twelve, and they just had an awkward talk about wet dreams and “just wake me up so we can change the sheets, all right? I don’t wanna sleep in it.” 

(sam blushing furiously as he nodded, red on his cheeks like the girls dean sweet talks into the backseat and out of their panties, makes dean’s belly hot with anger at his baby brother for making him think these things)

Maybe Dean could believe that Sammy’s just exploring himself a bit, looking for privacy they can’t find in motels and shared beds. But there’s more to it than Sammy disappearing after school, coming back just before dinner in a rush to finish his homework. There’s clothing, vanishing from Dean’s duffle and showing up the next day freshly washed. There’s Sam, watching him with dark eyes when he flirts with pretty girls.

(“please, dean, can’t you stay in and watch a movie with me? please?” sam’s voice high, begging the way a girl does when dean’s got his tongue on her clit and two fingers in her pussy and she’s begging for his dick and dean can’t stay in even though he wants to, wants to paint his baby brother with bruises for making him feel these things)

Dean usually sleeps late after a night out with a girl, likes to stay in bed long after he wakes up, thinks about soft breasts and intoxicating kisses when he pushes his hand down his pants and jerks himself lazily until he’s about to come, then finishes himself off in the shower thinking about falling asleep with his arms around Sam. But Sammy’s been acting off lately, and getting up early on weekends to sneak out of the motel without Dean. 

(little brother sneaking out like the girls dean talks into breaking their curfews - “my dad doesn’t let me date yet,” whispered between kisses under the school bleachers when dean’s already got his hand up under her bra - and how is dean supposed to keep sammy safe from the monsters of the world when he doesn’t know where he is)

It’s past noon when he finds Sam in a cornfield, stalks tall overhead rustling in the breeze. Sam’s got a bucket of water and a pile of Dean’s clothes, so focused on scrubbing at his shirt from last night he doesn’t notice Dean getting closer. And Dean’s so intent on Sammy that he doesn’t notice the hole dug in the soft ground, almost falls in. Sam’s got more than just Dean’s clothes from last night - got his date dead in the dirt, too. 

(oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck)

Sam hears him stumble, looks up at him like a deer caught in the headlights, like he used to when he was five and Dean caught him stealing Twinkies meant for Dean’s school snacks. The water in the bucket is stained pink and his hands are stained red and his mouth is opening and shutting like he’s trying to talk but no sound is coming out.

(girls gone missing just before they leave town and dean’s never thought twice about it but here’s one of them and her family’s gonna be looking for her - thank fuck they won’t be looking for him thank fuck he was her dirty secret - good girl didn’t want people knowing she was getting fucked by the bad boy who just blew into town - how many sammy?)

“Whatcha doing, Sammy?”

Sam’s shaking harder than the corn stalks over their heads, still won’t - can’t? - speak.

“Know you don’t like me going out with them, but isn’t this a bit… extreme?”

Sam’s eyes get wider, whites all around. “I-I’m just cleaning - I didn’t do this...”

Dean shakes his head. “Sammy. I caught you, literally red-handed. Wanna try again?”

(sammy shaking shaking shaking like a leaf and breathing fast, fast as the dead girl did last night when he was behind her with his hand on her neck and his dick in her pussy and her cheek pressed hard into the soft dirt of the cornfield and her hair, soft and long and brown and falling across everything, and her slender back, and the little gasps and grunts he fucks out of her are just like the sounds he wrings out of sammy when they wrestle.)

“How long have you been doing it, huh, Sammy? Killing the chicks I get off with? Why do you do it, Sammy?���

And Dean could keep going but Sam’s scrambled to his feet and he throws a shoe at Dean’s head. Kid’s got good aim, would have hit him if Dean hadn’t dodged. “I don’t, Dean! You do it! I just… just clean up after you.”

(tears in his eyes, like the tears in hers last night when he had her on her back in the dirt after she pushed him off and slapped him for saying the wrong name. “isn’t sammy your brother? you’re sick–” and she couldn’t say anything else because dean’s got his hands around her throat, squeezing tight while she claws at his arms but he never bothered to take his shirt off so she only gets flannel. “you don’t say his name,” he says, gets one hand free and slaps her hard.)

Dean reels, takes a step backwards, and Sam steps towards him. “I’ve been covering up for you for months! Months, Dean! Covering with Dad when he calls while you’re out screwing any girl who’ll have you, covering up all the… the blood, and mess, and god you don’t even try to hide the bodies and now you’re saying I did this? Screw you, Dean.”

Sam glares at him through his tears, stands with clenched fists and panting from his outburst.

(she panted just like that, when dean took his other hand off her throat after she stops struggling and her eyes started to roll up because she doesn’t get to die that easily, not when she saw the secret dark corners of his soul and was stupid enough to notice, panted beneath him and he’d fuck her again if he thought she was willing but it’s a point of pride that he doesn’t take anyone who isn’t begging for it. when she catches her breath, starts to try to wriggle away, he pulls his knife and slashes out, a deep cut across the throat spraying him with brilliant red blood. she’s already forgotten by the time he gets back in the car, leaves her body in the cornstalks and drives back to his bed and sammy.)

Memories of this girl and others are rushing in, filling his head with blood and weapons (once laughing, when he let her think she got away before taking aim and dropping her with a headshot at fifty feet, just like the zombies in the arcade that Sam begged him to go to) and through it all Sam withdrawing and clinging close all at once and fuck.

“Fuck!” Dean falls to his knees, hands tugging at his hair, and Sam squats down next to him, puts a hand whisper-soft on his back, somehow takes the weight when Dean falls into him and comes apart.

-

Things are a little off with Sammy, and the off part is Dean. It started months ago, Dean going off on another “date” and ignoring Sam flipping him off as he left, then coming home with his clothing covered in dirt and falling into bed, unaware. They left town in the morning, Dad calling just after sunrise, and Sam didn’t think about it until he saw the news a few days later - a girl found dead, strangled, and no one knew who did it except Sam remembered Dean pointing her out to him three days ago.

The next time Dean has a date, Sam sneaks out after him, steals a bike and pedals furiously through town to find his brother with a girl spread out beneath him in the backseat. Sam’s too far away to hear them, but he sees her writhing under his brother and he hates her, and when Dean suddenly sits upright and slams his fist into her face all Sam can feel is satisfaction and that sends him running, racing back to the motel to hide trembling under the blankets. Dean joins him not much later, falls into the bed and slings an arm across Sam’s waist before falling into a heavy sleep, and Sam lays awake until light peeks in around the curtains.

He can’t stay, has to know for sure, so he wriggles out from under Dean’s arm. Grabs Dean’s clothes from last night off the floor, and the rest of the laundry too, and shoves it all into a duffle before heading out. He finds the body left unhidden at the side of the road, and “fuck” it’s a long, hot trip, dragging her back into field far enough that no one will see him digging.  When he’s done, the sun is setting and there’s a bruised and battered body in a shallow grave, just deep enough that he was able to bury a roadkill rabbit above it in case the cops bring out dogs to search.

Dean shakes him and shakes him when he gets back, full dark outside and duffle full of clean clothes and all he can say when Dean asks where he’s been is “out.”

It becomes routine before long. Try to keep Dean in with him - that’s unchanged, but there’s new meaning in it now - and when that fails go out and cover up the inevitable. Pick a fight when Dad comments that he’s gotten better at digging up graves the next time they have a ghost to salt and burn. Try not to cry when Dean doesn’t kill the girl and she shows up at school the next day, looking smug and satisfied and then Dean takes her out the next night too, even though Sam begs him to stay in, watch a movie with him, anything. Does cry later, in the shower, trying to wash away the satisfaction he felt with every shovelful of dirt he dumped on her body when Dean slit her throat on the second date.

He’s in the middle of yet another clean-up, burying Dean’s last date where she died in a cornfield and scrubbing as much blood out of Dean’s clothes as he can before hitting the laundromat, when Dean finds him.

-

Things are very off with Dean. He can feel his mind unravelling, feel the earth crumbling away and the only real thing left is Sammy and Dean clings to him. Baby brother arms around him and Dean should pull away, that’s only allowed at night with the plausible deniability of sleep but he can’t move, can barely breathe, needs Sam to hold him, needs to know Sammy’s with him and won’t leave.

Whispers of “don’t leave” and “sorry” and “stay” fall between giant gulping breaths and Dean’s only half aware of saying anything.

“Never” and “I don’t care” and “always” are the replies, until Sam pulls back slightly, forces Dean’s head up out of his shoulder and presses their foreheads together and Dean falls silent, pulled out of his own head and all he can see is Sammy eyes.

“I’m glad they’re dead,” Sammy says and Dean starts to shake his head, but Sam grips him hard, fingers digging into his shoulders and the pain is grounding. “I hate them. Every girl you ever look at, every girl you think about, I hate them all and I’m glad you killed them. I just…” 

Sam slumps and his hands fall away from Dean. Dean whimpers at the loss.

“I just wish you’d, like, try to hide the bodies? Or wash up, or something. Do you know how exhausting it is?”

“... no?” 

“Well, it is. ‘Cause you can’t just dig the hole, you have to fill it up again and I swear most of the girls weigh more than I do so getting them in isn’t exactly a picnic and then I have to make sure there’s no evidence and wash your clothes and clean your knives and once I had to dig a bullet out of a girl’s brain, Dean, I had to go digging in her head for it–”

“Why d’you do it, Sammy?” 

“Why do you?”

Dean searches for something, anything other than the truth because Sammy might be okay with the murder but he won’t, he can’t be okay with the reason, and he opens his mouth to lie but it comes out true. “They aren’t you.”

Sam’s arms around his neck, soft lips pressed to his in a kiss that is technically terrible but perfect because it’s Sammy, mean that the truth is maybe not as terrible as he thought. Dean’s arms close around Sam, a hand stroking up to cup the back of his head and hold him in place.

Then Dean leans forward, tips them over so Sam’s beneath him, head pillowed by the mound of dirt that still needs to be shovelled over a dead girl, and Dean grins as he sets about teaching Sam the proper way to kiss.

(sammy under him, arching up as dean strokes over the roof of his mouth with his tongue, tastes like sweat and spit and heaven and better than any girl dean’s ever had and dean chases the sammy taste down the side of his neck. sammy’s hands tugging at his hair and a high whine coming from the throat dean nips at, and dean’s never burying his want in anyone but sammy ever again.)

-

Things are a little off with his sons, and John doesn’t know what and he’s scared to find out.

[jrob64]

Devastation and Healing (Chapter 6)

Sergeant Killian Jones has had more than his share of tragedy in his life. When he’s injured in an IED explosion, he’s assigned to a physical therapist named Emma Swan. While she tries to help him heal physically, can they help each other heal emotionally?

Rating: T

Part 7/?

Chapter Summary: Killian and Emma say goodbye to each other. End of story. Or is it?

I’m glad my muse and @hookedmom​ cooperated and were so helpful to let me get this chapter ready to post on Memorial Day here in the United States. Neal Cassidy and Liam Jones are fictional characters who died in the service of their country for the purpose of this story. I’d like to acknowledge the real life heroes who have sacrificed their lives for the protection of our country, or any country for that matter. I am in awe of you and am truly grateful. 

Find the entire story on Tumblr: prologue / ch. 1 / ch. 2 / ch. 3 / ch. 4 / ch. 5

Or read it on  Ao3  &  ffn

*********

Killian folded himself into Emma’s car and watched as she slid in behind the steering wheel. 

“This is quite a vessel you captain, Swan. Stick shift, huh?”  

“Yep. I was pretty proud of myself when I learned to drive it.”

“How long have you had it?” he asked, looking around the interior. 

“I got it for my 16th birthday.”

“So, how long ago was that?”

Emma looked over at him with a smirk, “If you want to know how old I am, all you have to do is ask.”

“I was taught never to ask a lady her age.”

She laughed. “I’ll be twenty-seven in October. You’re twenty-eight, right?”

“Aye, as of last January.” 

“I thought I remembered that from your medical records.”

As Emma slowed the car to a stop, the brakes let out a squeal. “Sorry about that,” she said. “I know it’s probably time for me to get a different car, but this one is special because my parents gave it to me. I guess I’m just too sentimental.”

Killian looked at her for several seconds, then reached inside his shirt and pulled out a chain. He held up the ring that was on it and explained, “This was my mother’s engagement ring. I keep it close to me at all times.” Dropping the chain back into place, he then pulled a set of dog tags out of his pocket. “These…were Liam’s.” Looking over at her once again, he said, “I don’t think you’re too sentimental at all, Emma. I understand exactly why you want to hold onto your car.”

She couldn’t help but think that Mary Margaret had been right when she said that Killian could identify with Emma’s feelings. As she pressed the gas pedal and turned the wheel, she said, “I guess I need to figure out how to fit my car onto a chain to wear around my neck.”

Killian laughed out loud at that. Emma smiled as well, thinking how this man barely resembled the one who had walked into her therapy room all those weeks ago. 

“I can see why you say that Dave is like a brother to you. The two of you pick on each other like siblings,” Killian chuckled. 

“Yeah, wait til you see how August and I go back and forth with each other.”

Killian noticed that she was talking like she expected him to actually meet her brother someday. “Do you get to see him very often?”

“Every couple of months or so. He and my dad live a little under two hours away.”

“That’s not too bad, then.” 

“No, it could be worse.” 

Killian nodded and turned to look out the window at the passing neighborhood. “Is your home around here?” he asked, remembering that she’d said she lived a short distance from her friends. 

“It’s actually back the other way a couple of blocks. We would’ve turned left at that first intersection instead of right.”

“I’m sorry to make you go so far out of your way.”

“I really don’t mind, Killian. I wouldn’t have offered if it was something I didn’t want to do.”

“Still, it will be nice when I no longer have to rely on others to transport me.”

“Did you and David have any luck finding a car that you like?” Emma asked, as she waited at a stoplight.

“There were four or five that looked promising. Dave forwarded the information to my laptop. I’ll do some more research on them in the next day or so.”

“What exactly are you looking for?”

“Nothing fancy. I figured I’d just get a sedan, but there were a couple of pickup trucks that were pretty good deals. A truck would be helpful when it’s time for me to move, even though I don’t have a lot of possessions. Of course, I’ll probably have to put some things into storage until I figure out where I’ll be living.”

“Are you, um, are you thinking that you’ll stay around this area?” Emma asked, taking her eyes off the road briefly to look over at him. 

Killian sighed. “I really don’t know. I suppose I will for now since I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Looking at classes to take online sounds like a good idea.”

“Yes it does. I plan to look into that in the next few days also.”

They lapsed into silence as she maneuvered her car through the streets. 

Finally, she spoke up. “Do you remember much about Ireland? I’ve always thought it looked like such a beautiful country.”

“I do remember it, and it is very lovely. It seemed like it rained quite a lot, but that only helped to make everything look so green, I think. We used to go to the beach when my mum felt up to it, and those days are some of my favorite memories. I’d like to go back to visit someday.”

“I hope you get a chance to do that. Ireland is on my list of places that I’d like to travel to in the future.” 

“What are some of the other places on your list?”

Emma ticked them off on her fingers. “England, Switzerland, France, and then some states like Colorado, Alaska, California, Oregon and Hawaii to name a few.”

“That’s quite a list,” he chuckled. 

Emma shrugged. “I can dream, can’t I?” 

“Of course you can, Emma. I sincerely hope that you get to travel to all those places, and then some.”

They arrived at the Army base and he showed his ID to the guard on duty, who opened the gate for Emma to drive through. Killian began directing her to his barracks. 

When she pulled up beside the building, he unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for the door handle. “Thanks very much for the ride, Swan. Be careful driving back home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Killian. Sleep well.”

He watched as she turned her little yellow car around and drove off. When it disappeared around the corner, he entered his barracks with a melancholy smile on his face. It had been a wonderful evening with lots of good food, conversation and laughter, as well as some time alone with Emma. But he couldn’t stop thinking about how, after tomorrow, he probably wouldn’t see her again. 

 *********

Emma looked up and saw Killian entering the treatment room the next day without the smile that she’d grown used to seeing. She knew how he felt, as she wasn’t looking forward to this being their last session together either. Still, she felt the familiar flutterings in her stomach as she grabbed her clipboard and went to meet him. 

“Good morning, Emma,” he greeted as he took his seat on the table. 

“Good morning,” she replied. “Ready to do this one more time?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” 

He went through his exercise routine as usual. At the end of it, Ashley and Emma evaluated his strength and range of motion, and were able to show him just how much progress he had made. 

At the end of the assessment, Emma filled out the necessary paperwork and declared, “Well, that’s it, you’re officially done with physical therapy. You don’t need me anymore.”

You’re wrong about that Swan, Killian thought, but he stopped himself from voicing it. Instead he said, “I assure you that I’ll continue to do my exercises at home.”

“Sounds good. I guess that’s it then. Take care of yourself, Killian.”

“You too, Emma. Thank you for everything.” 

He reached out to shake her hand, holding it for just a few seconds longer than necessary. Then he turned, and Emma watched him walk out the door, trying hard not to notice the all-too-familiar ache in her heart. 

*********

Killian picked up the remote control and switched off the TV. It had been nearly two weeks since his final physical therapy appointment with Emma Swan, and he was having trouble concentrating on anything. 

He had been able to accomplish a few things. He’d scheduled some private driving lessons as it had been years since he’d driven anything other than a Hummer, and had never driven using a prosthetic limb. He’d also purchased a small pickup truck, and had signed up for two online engineering classes.  

His occupational therapy sessions were continuing, as were the ones with his psychotherapist. He felt like he was making good progress with Ruby, but not so much with Dr. Hopper. He just didn’t feel like he could open up to him, no matter how much he knew he should. The only person that he’d found easy to talk to and who he knew could understand him, had been Emma. But that connection was gone now, and he felt adrift again. 

He knew he could probably get Emma’s phone number from Dave or maybe even Ruby, but he didn’t think that it was a good idea. If she’d wanted to contact him, his information was in his file. 

Plus, he argued with himself, she had been going out with his mate Neal, and it wouldn’t be right for him to pursue the feelings that he’d developed for her. When those thoughts entered his head, he remembered what Emma had told him - ‘I had a lot of fun with Neal on our dates, but we didn’t have enough time together to form a really close relationship’. Still, he didn’t think he should add dating his buddy’s girlfriend to the guilt that he already felt when it came to Neal Cassidy.

And then, of course, there were the feelings of inadequacy that Killian had. Why would someone as beautiful, intelligent and vivacious as Emma Swan ever want to be with someone like him? He would soon be out of the Army with no plans for his future, nowhere to go, and he was handicapped. What did he have to offer her?

Yet, no matter how much he tried to talk himself out of thinking about Emma, he wasn’t successful. He thought about her constantly, and he missed her. 

*********

Ashley was eating her lunch at Emma’s desk when the phone began to ring. 

“Emma Swan’s office,” she answered. 

“Hi Ashley, this is Ruby Lucas.”

Ashley was acquainted with Ruby, but wasn’t a close friend of hers, so she knew Ruby wasn’t calling to talk to her. 

“Oh hey, Ruby. Emma’s not here right now.”

“Yeah, I know. She told me she had to make a trip to the pet store during her lunch today. I was hoping that you would pick up if I called her office phone.”

“Is there something I can do for you?” Ashley asked. 

“You can help me give Emma a good, swift kick in the pants.”

“Pardon me?”

“How has Emma been acting at work since she dismissed Killian Jones from physical therapy?”

Ashley sighed. “She’s sad and I can tell she misses him, but she won’t admit it. I was really hoping that she would try to stay in contact with him. I think the two of them were good for each other, but every time I bring up his name, she changes the subject.”

“She does the same thing with me when I talk to her, and Jones is back to being detached and quiet. I think it’s time the two of us take matters into our own hands.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Does she have any openings after her lunch break in the next couple of weeks?”

Ashley pulled the laptop closer to her and clicked on the schedule. “Um, she has a cancellation at 12:00 on Thursday, so she doesn’t have another appointment that day until 1:00.” 

“Perfect!” Ruby said. “I have Jones scheduled for 10:00 that day. I’ll call and ask her to meet me here at 11:00 for lunch, just when he’s finishing up. If things work out the way I hope they do, they’ll be able to have some time to spend together.”

“That sounds like a great plan, Ruby!” Ashley exclaimed. “I really hope it works because I’d like to see a genuine smile on her face again, like the one she had while she was treating him.”

“You and me both. Thanks for the info, Ashley. Let ‘Operation Help Emma Get Her Man’ commence!”

*********

On Thursday, Emma went into her office after her last morning appointment to grab her purse. While she was there, she checked her reflection in the mirror. Taking out her tube of concealer, she dabbed some under her eyes, blended it in, then reapplied her blush and lipstick. She hadn’t been sleeping well the last couple of weeks, and it was beginning to show. If she went to meet Ruby with those dark circles set against her pale skin, she’d have to listen again as her friend told her to ‘just call Killian Jones already’. 

She really did miss him and wished to see him again, but she was torn. She was afraid that getting his phone number out of his file would verge on being unethical. He wasn’t her patient any more, but that number was given confidentially, as was all the other information in there. She could ask David for it, but that would only serve to fuel Mary Margaret’s efforts to get the two of them together. 

In addition, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to risk putting her heart out there again. In truth, she’d only really opened it to Neal when it came to dating, but after having it broken with her mom’s death as well, she wasn’t keen on experiencing that feeling again. 

Emma sighed as she pulled her ponytail tighter. She wondered how much longer it would take until she stopped thinking about Killian Jones. She was pretty sure that it wouldn’t be any time soon.

*********

When Emma arrived at the occupational therapy center, Ruby was working with someone, so she started walking over to the row of chairs to sit down and wait. Then with a shock, she recognized Ruby’s patient. She couldn’t mistake his thick, dark hair and slightly pointed ears, even from the back. 

Ruby looked up and smiled at her colleague, “Hey Emma!”

Killian twisted around quickly. Emma’s knees went weak at the smile that lit up his face when he saw her. “Swan,” he breathed. 

She tried not to let her voice waiver as she greeted both of them, never taking her eyes off of Killian. 

“We’re just about finished,” Ruby told her. “Give me about ten more minutes.”

“No problem,” Emma responded. “The patient that I have right after lunch cancelled for today, so I’ve got a little extra time. Do you mind if I watch you work?” 

“Not at all,” Ruby answered, as Killian echoed with, “Go right ahead.”

She sat down and watched Ruby assist him as he worked to put toothpaste on a toothbrush. Then she had him picking up coins with his prosthetic hand and putting them into a slot in a jar lid. Every so often, he would look over towards her and they would make eye contact. Each time it happened, she felt a shiver go down her spine. 

She was impressed as she watched her former patient using his prosthesis. It wasn’t easy for him and he was still clumsy with it, but he was persistent. As he performed his tasks over and over, she could see that he got better each time. 

When Ruby announced the end of the session, Emma walked over to talk to them. Killian turned to her with a slight smile, but she could tell that he was wondering what she would say. 

“Well, I don’t know what I was expecting, but I’m very impressed with how well you’re doing!” she said, and watched as his smile grew. 

“I agree,” Ruby threw in. “You’re making great progress due to the hard work that you’re putting in, Jones.”

Killian ducked his head down as the tips of his ears turned red. Then he lifted his eyes to Emma’s. Looking back on it later, he would say that he didn’t know what got into him to make him do what he did next. He cleared his throat and asked, “Would you join me for lunch, Swan?”

She looked stunned as she sputtered, “I, well Ruby and I, we were planning to eat…”

“We can do that another time,” her friend interrupted. “I’ve got a pile of paperwork that I need to work on, so I really need to stay here during my lunchtime anyway. I’ll call out to have something delivered.”

“Are you sure?” Emma asked, but her eyes were on the man in front of her, who had a hopeful look on his face. 

“Absolutely! You two kids go on now and have a good time. Just make sure she gets back to work on time, Jones. I don’t want her getting fired, then hanging around here all the time, making eyes at my patients.”

“I don’t make eyes,” Emma protested. 

“Whatever you say, darling. Now get going before you waste any more time.”

Killian smiled his thanks at Ruby before turning to Emma once more . “Shall we?” 

She nodded and could feel him place his hand on the small of her back, while she tried to ignore the fist pump that she could see Ruby doing.

*********

Thank you so much for reading, commenting and reblogging. 

Tagging @live-in-my-reality @nikkiemms @searchingwardrobes @wyntereyez @therooksshiningknight @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @therealstartraveller776 @snowbellewells @emmythedaydreamer @heartofkillian @pirateherokillian @kymbersmith-90 @let-it-raines @resident-of-storybrooke @captainsjedi @hookedmom @ohmightydevviepuu @queen-serena88 @daxx04 @branlovestowrite @theonceoverthinker @laschatzi @coolcat08 @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @resident-of-storybrooke @mayquita @badwolfreturns @djlbg @withheartfulloflove @squidvisious @xsajx @lyssapup27 @tohellwiththepancakes13 @annastasiarinaldiva @hollyethecurious @kday426 @ohmyjoan @oncechi @spartanguard @hookpiratejones @apromisednightcap @andiirivera @swanlovato @ouat-the-hell @adoringjen @killianswannn @imlaxdris71 @xarandomdreamx @everything-person @eeteeaytay @glennaywh @gingerchangeling @lexie27 @reylowillliveon @tumblercanbetheworst @vvbooklady1256 @teamhook @myfearless-love @ultraluckycatnd @timeless-love-story @bugheadswanjones @goblynn @csalltheway @sals86 @badcats-andmice @darthbecky726 @166hours @kissmeretard @sederiana @eherron14 @bubblegum1425 @klynn-stormz @harshini01 @kingofmyheart14 @yasbio2015 @officerrogers @captainswan-shipper88 @sh12pen-bookfan​ @loveliklove​ @singersdd @bluewildcatfanatic​ @lfh1226-linda​ @crick-11 @angellifedeath​ @mythologicalmango​ @socmono @brustudyblog​ @harshini01 @artistoncer​ @hails-paige​ @eleveneitherway​ @broadwaybabe18

[chaoticgremlinwholikescheese]

A/N: Here’s chapter three of my newsies fic! The full thing is linked in my master list if you want :)

CHAPTER 3

ALEX’S POV:

This dress is being extremely finicky today. The fabric keeps scrunching up as I sew, causing me to have a slower pace. Plus, I keep poking myself with pins, forgetting where I put them. “Pins, pins…” I mutter, searching for my sewing kit. I locate it and pull out some silver pins, poking them through the fabric. 

I run the machine, the rhythmic humming almost calming. I push the fabric through, the silver needle flashing as it punches through the silk. My foot rests on the pedal, moving up and down as I vary the pace. The fabric is soft under my fingers, thin and colored black. 

I finish the piece and set it to the side. My fingers are sore, a blister forming on my middle finger from all the hand sewing. I could use a break. Give my poor hands some time to recover. And I can go see if Jack is here, maybe say hello.

I leave the costume room and my eyes adjust to the darkness of the theatre. I walk out to the main stage and I see Jack sitting on the ground, a paintbrush in his hand. I can see the top of the backdrop starting to appear, tree tops shielding the sky. 

The trees are detailed, each leaf outlined and shadowed. It looks real. I can almost see the leaves shaking in the wind. “That’s really good.” Jack whirls around, relaxing once he sees that it’s just me. “Hi, Alex.” I smile and wave, walking over. I study the painting, taking in each beautiful detail. “This should be in a museum. You have a real gift for this.” Jack blushes and shrugs his shoulders. “It’s alright.” I give him a friendly glare, shaking my head.

I sit down next to him, crossing my legs. I silently watch him paint. He does it gracefully, his hand moving slowly and with precision. Each brush stroke is deliberate, a small detail that no one else would see unless they really looked.

He makes one last brush stroke. He places the brush handle in his mouth, hesitating a moment. “It’s good enough for today.” he states. He shifts so he’s facing me, leaning back on his hands. “So, are you still mad at me for spilling paint on you?” he asks with a smirk. “Maybe. But I know how you can make it up to me.” 

He raises an eyebrow, waiting for me to continue. “Why don’t you buy me a soda, then we can call it even.” he looks surprised for a moment before covering it up with a confident grin. “Sure. Why don’t we go right now?” he says it as if it’s a challenge, testing if I was serious. “Let’s go.” I clamber up, dusting off my pants. I adjust my hat and pull my hair back into a neat ponytail. 

We walk to the soda shop around the corner. Jack buys each of us a coke and we sit on the corner outside, watching people go by. “How’d you know Medda?” Jack asks. “I auditioned for one of her shows a couple of months ago. When she asked around for a new seamstress I volunteered. The money isn’t great but it's the best job I can get right now.”

“Makes sense. Ya gotta have money to get a job, but ya can’t get money without one.” Jack takes a sip of his soda, setting the glass bottle down on the sidewalk. “If I could get a good job, the first thing I’d do is to buy a nice house. Somewhere quiet, uncrowded.” Jack considers for a moment before saying “I would move to Santa Fe. Get a good job, make enough money to buy some new shoes.” He looks pointedly down at his worn leather shoes.

“Okay. If you had a million dollars, what would you do with it?” I ask, turning towards him. “Hm. I would do what I just said. But I would get a nice big house with room for all the newsies. I’d make sure we have giant meals every day, and we’d have real beds to sleep on. I would get them all nice clothes, send them to school. Get Crutchie a better crutch.” 

He sighs mournfully, biting his lip. “You seem like you really care about these boys.” Jack nods. “They’re like brothers to me.” 

“I’ll have to come meet them one day.” Jack smiles. “Ya should. They’d like you.” I blush a bit, tucking my hair behind my ear. “You shouldn’t be so sure. I tend to throw people off,” I say honestly. “I don’t take any shit. I won’t hesitate to get in a fist fight. People don’t like that in a girl, say it’s ‘unladylike’ of me.”

Jack cocks his head, considering what I’ve just said. “Eh. I say screw that.” 

“I agree. A toast to screwing what people say.” we clink our sodas. We sit there on that sidewalk, sipping our drinks, as the world goes by. It feels like time has stopped. And to be honest I don’t want it to start again.

[basketcase1880]

Once again I’ve taken part in the Sherlolly Secret Santa organised by @sherlollysecretsanta

This year’s gift is for @forever-sherlollied. I’ve taken liberties with The Empty Hearse; Sherlock came back after 4 years of being “dead” instead of 2, and it takes place just before Christmas. Some of the events of The Empty Hearse are referenced here. This is loosely based off my favourite (almost) Christmas number 1 here in the UK; Babe by Take That, so if you know the song, you’ll know the twist.

 Sherlock has returned from the dead and there’s only one person he wants to see. Only thing is, Mycroft thinks it’s one Dr Watson, but it’s another doctor entirely, Dr Hooper.

 Before the Fall, Sherlock and Molly had been secretly dating. It was so secret that Mycroft had no idea about his brother’s love life, so had kept track of John instead of Molly. This allowed Molly to slip under the radar and move back to her home village where she was able to keep a very special secret. But one person kept track of where she was…

BABE

As soon as Sherlock had finished with Mycroft, he only wanted to be one place. Of course, Mycroft thought he was smart in telling his younger brother about John Watson’s whereabouts, and as much as Sherlock was happy his best friend had been monitored, he was more concerned about the biggest secret in his life before his “death” and whether she would want him back.

 Molly Hooper had been his lifeline the entire time he had been away bringing down Moriarty’s network. He kept focused on what he was doing because he knew he would be returning to her. He had to protect her at all costs. After all, Moriarty knew Molly’s worth when he tried to date her, but Sherlock played indifferent in order to protect her. Molly knew that, knew that Sherlock kept their relationship secret to protect her, understood why he hadn’t introduced her to his family, and she liked it like that. She liked having him all to herself when he wasn’t on a case. Their cover was that he used her place as a bolthole, and fortunately, that kept Mycroft off the scent.

 Making his way to St Barts, Sherlock was looking forward to seeing his girl. But when he got there, he was surprised to find that there was no trace of Molly. He knew he had been gone a few years, but he still expected Molly to be at Barts. Maybe even running it now, but alas, there was no Molly. Lestrade, however, was there and was shocked to see Sherlock back from the grave.

 “You bloody bastard,” Lestrade said as he shook his head at the sight in front of him. “You’ve cost me in a bet with Anderson. He was adamant you were still alive and had simply faked your death. I’m never going to live this down.”

 “Poor you,” Sherlock simply said with no emotion in his voice. “Do you have any idea where Molly is? I would like to speak with her.”

 “If she helped you fake your death, I’ll kill you myself,” Lestrade countered, knowing most of Anderson’s theories revolved around the young Specialist Registrar helping Sherlock to fake his death.

 Sherlock didn’t verbally say anything in response to Lestrade’s comment, but his face must have said everything, because Lestrade was soon back pedalling his comment.

 “She moved away about three months after you died,” Lestrade informed. “Said something about her mum not being well and that she was moving back home…”

 “Did you keep in touch with her?” Sherlock suddenly questioned, interrupting the detective. “She wouldn’t have cut ties with London completely. She knew there was a chance I would be able to return, so she would have kept a loose connection to my life in the city.”

 “Of course she kept in contact with me,” Lestrade said as if it was obvious. “She texts me once a month to check in with how Mrs Hudson and John are without rousing their suspicion. They don’t know I have a contact number for Molly.”

 “Give me the number,” Sherlock demanded.

 “I don’t know…” Lestrade hesitated.

 “She would want me to call her,” Sherlock said slightly more polite. “As I said, she helped me fake my death. She knew there was a chance I would be able to return to London. She’ll want me to call her.”

 Shaking his head, Lestrade wrote Molly’s number down and handed it to Sherlock, he just hoped this wouldn’t come back to kick him in the ass. He really liked knowing Molly was safe, even if she wasn’t around anymore.

 [PAGE BREAK]

 When Sherlock got back to 221B Baker Street, and after Mrs Hudson got over her shock at him being alive, Sherlock relaxed in his chair. He played with the card that held everything he had been working towards: Molly. But he was hesitant to call her. Had she moved on with her life? Had she got bored waiting on him returning? Did she have someone new in her life? Someone new to love her?

 Before Sherlock could dwell on anything more to do with Molly, the door to the flat burst open and an angry John Watson came bursting into the room with an exasperated woman on his coattails.

 “You bloody bastard,” John exploded. “You bloody bastard. How dare you do this to me? I mourned you. I stood at your graveside and mourned you…”

 “Yes, I saw you,” Sherlock said, his eyes never lifting from the card between his fingers. “Black really suits you. That moustache doesn’t.”

 “Hi there,” the woman smiled at Sherlock, completely ignoring John’s anger at the other man, deciding to introduce herself. “I’m Mary.”

 “Nice to meet you, Mary,” Sherlock smiled. “Tell me, if you were given the number of the one person in the world you would like to speak to the most, would you call them?”

 “Excuse me?” John asked, not believing the scene before him.

 “Are they expecting your call?” Mary asked, completely ignoring John’s exclamation.

 “No, they’re not,” Sherlock replied, ignoring John, too, fully recognising Mary’s intelligence to be on his level. “She doesn’t even know I’m back yet.”

 “I’d call them,” Mary smiled. “Must be someone special.”

 “Yes, she is,” Sherlock said. “She’s my Molly.”

 “Molly?” John exclaimed. “Your Molly?”

 “Yes, of course, John,” Sherlock said matter of factly. “Molly and I were an item before my death, she helped me fake my death. Now I must call her, I will call you tomorrow and arrange a time for us to meet. Goodbye John, Mary.”

 “Goodbye, Sherlock,” Mary said as she dragged John out the door. “And good luck with Molly.”

 “Goodbye,” John could be heard calling as Mary dragged him down the stairs.

 Now that Sherlock was alone again, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and began to dial Molly’s number.

 [PAGE BREAK]

 Molly was busy making sure everything was ready for Christmas. It had always been her favourite time of year, and nothing would ruin it for her. Not even that Christmas when Sherlock had been preoccupied with The Woman.

 Sherlock. Even just thinking about him made her smile. Yes, their relationship had been secret, but that’s how she liked it. From what Sherlock told her about Mycroft, it was best to keep it between themselves for a while because Mycroft would try and use her against him. And so, after Sherlock “died” she knew she couldn’t remain in London. She had to go back home, especially after the news she got two months after Sherlock left.

 She had purposely broke contact with almost everyone in London, but she knew she couldn’t break it completely. She had to keep an eye on John and Mrs Hudson, but she knew if she had direct contact with her, they would break down her walls and get her to return to London from the small Wiltshire village she had returned to. She couldn’t return to London while Sherlock was away, it wouldn’t be right.

 Just as Molly was wrapping the last present to put under the tree, her mobile rang, so she grabbed it to accept the call despite it being an unknown number.

 “Hello?” Molly said and paused, allowing the other person to speak.

 [PAGE BREAK]

 Sherlock’s heart stopped when he heard Molly’s sweet melodic voice say “hello”.

 “Molly,” Sherlock said once his voice came back to him. “I’m back. Where are you? Can I come to you?”

 “Sherlock?” Molly asked, barely able to hide the tears in her voice. “Are you really back? I’m not imagining this?”

 “No, Molly, you’re not imagining this,” Sherlock reassured the only woman who ever had his heart. “I’m really back. I’m sitting in Baker Street on the phone with you after arguing with John. Just tell me where you are, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

 “I’m, I’m at my mum’s,” Molly choked out before she could stop herself. “Nomansland in Wiltshire.”

 “I remember you talking about it,” Sherlock smiled, as he mentally calculated how long the journey would take. “By the time I get a car, I’ll be there in about two and a half hours. Wait for me, Molly.”

 Before Molly could answer Sherlock or tell him she’d be able to come to London tomorrow, he had hung up. Yes, she wanted to see him, but she wanted to be able to control the environment. She wasn’t sure how Sherlock would take the news she had to tell him.

 [PAGE BREAK]

 Two and a half hours later, as promised, there was a knock on the front door of Molly’s house. She was nervous about this because she wasn’t alone in the house, her secret was very much present in the house and she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep it from Sherlock. Biting the bullet, Molly took a deep breath and opened the door to see the handsome face of the man who had stolen her heart years ago.

 “Molly,” Sherlock smiled as he held his arms open to her. “My Molly.”

 Molly couldn’t believe he was standing there in front of her. Yes, she had spoken to him only a couple of hours ago, but a part of her said it wasn’t real until he was standing in front of her. “Sherlock,” she whispered, and she collapsed into his arms, and breathed in the scent that was entirely him. “You’re really here?”

 “Yes, I’m really here,” Sherlock said as he lifted his head from resting on Molly’s head. “I’m back and I’m not going anywhere ever again. Unless you’re going with me.”

 “Oh Sherlock,” Molly sighed again. “I’ve truly missed you. I waited for you, but I had to do it away from London. I just had to get away from the city.”

 Before Sherlock could ask her why she needed to get away from the city, a slight movement from behind her caught his eye. “Uh, Molly, are you alone here?”

 “No,” Molly said, bracing herself for what was to come. “There’s someone I would like you to meet. Would you like to come inside?”

 Sherlock followed Molly’s direction into the living room, which was decorated beautifully for the festivities, and took a seat on the armchair next to the window. He wondered who Molly was wanting him to meet, especially since she had just told him she waited on him. It was soon obvious to Sherlock, however, when Molly re-entered the living room.

 “Molly?” Sherlock questioned as his voice caught in his throat.

 “Sherlock, I’d like you to meet your son,” Molly said with a smile as she held a young boy of about three years old with very familiar curls. “William Arthur Hooper. William, this is your daddy.”

 “William?” Sherlock asked, and Molly nodded. “That’s my first name too. But we have a son?”

 “Yeah,” Molly smiled as she moved over to beside Sherlock to allow him to see his son. “I found out two months after you left. Do you want to tell your daddy how old you are?” William held up 3 fingers but still stayed close to Molly. “He’s been away helping to make the world safer for you, baby boy.”

 “Hello, William,” Sherlock said as he lowered himself to the floor, so he was on the same level with his son. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here before, but I promise I’ll be around from now on.”

 Molly smiled at the way Sherlock was talking to their son, it was all she had ever dreamed of. And then the best thing she could ever think of happened, William lunged out of her arms and onto Sherlock’s lap, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s neck. Molly thought she saw a tear in Sherlock’s eye, but he blinked, and it was gone, so she doubted its existence.

 “Mumma, can daddy stay?” William suddenly asked, causing both Sherlock and Molly’s hearts to skip a beat. Hearing William call Sherlock daddy was so emotional for different reasons; Molly because she wasn’t sure how he would react to meeting Sherlock, and Sherlock because he never expected to be called daddy.

 “Mumma and daddy need to talk baby boy,” Molly said, honestly. “And it all depends on gramma, too. This is her house.”

 “Okay, mumma,” William said through a yawn. “I’m tired.”

 “Why don’t you go for a nap while mumma and daddy talk,” Molly suggested, and she caught the look on Sherlock’s face that said he didn’t want to let their son go. “And you can sleep in daddy’s lap if you want?”

 “Just let me take my jacket off first,” Sherlock said, suddenly realising he was still in his belstaff. “There we are, William, let’s get comfortable so you can have a good nap.” William climbed back into Sherlock’s lap and curled up in his arms. Sherlock leaned down and pressed a soft, loving kiss to William’s curls. “Sweet dreams, my boy.”

 Molly smiled at her boys again. She had dreamed of this moment many times in the four years she had been separated from Sherlock, but actually having him in front of her, cradling their son was a million times better.

 While Sherlock rocked William to sleep, and surprisingly sang lullabies to him, Molly decided to make herself useful and go and make them a cuppa. Waiting on the kettle to boil, Molly decided to call her mum and make her aware of the situation at home.

 “Hi mum,” Molly said after the call was connected. “You’ll never believe what’s happened here… No, Sherlock is back… Yeah, I told you he wasn’t actually dead, but he had to go undercover to crack a crime syndicate… Well, it’s safe enough for him to come back… No, we haven’t discussed anything yet, we’re just about to… Just now? He’s currently rocking William to sleep for his afternoon nap, and we’ll talk after William is asleep… He’s amazing with him, you can see when you get home… Thanks, mum, I’ll let you know when it’s okay to come back… Love you, too, mum.”

 Back in the living room, Sherlock had finished singing to William, and he had caught the end of Molly’s conversation with her mum. He was glad he was meeting all of Molly’s expectations despite having only been a dad for the past hour. He guessed it was just natural instinct, and he couldn’t wait to introduce his son to his parents.

 “Mummy is just going to love you, William,” Sherlock whispered. “She always begged me and your uncle Mycroft to give her grandchildren. And as for your uncle, you can call him Uncle Mikey, and he can’t get mad at you because you’re only a child. He hates it when mummy calls him Mikey.”

 “So, we’re not going to be a secret anymore?” Molly asked coming back into the living room.

 “No, I had every intention of introducing you to my parents as soon as it was safe,” Sherlock replied. “I thought it would be safe until ‘Jim from IT’ showed interest in you. That was when I realised I may need to take drastic measures to bring him down.”

 “I was never interested in him,” Molly smiled as she sat down on the sofa closer to Sherlock than she had been before. “I was just trying to make you jealous. But you were getting ready to introduce me to your parents?”

 “Yes, and I still want to,” Sherlock smiled as he reached out to take Molly’s hand. “Both of you. And I want you both to move into Baker Street with me.”

 “Are you sure, Sherlock?” Molly asked. “Aren’t you going to ask John to move back in?”

 “By the looks of things, John is about to ask Mary to marry him,” Sherlock said. “And the only way I want Baker Street to be a family home is if it’s my family living there. So, what do you say, Molly, are you and William going to move back to London in the new year?”

 “You’ll let us have Christmas here?” Molly asked, shocked that Sherlock was so giving. “And what will you be doing while we’re celebrating Christmas here?”

 “Of course, I don’t want to upset William’s routine,” Sherlock said. “If he’s anything like me at this age, routine is important. As for me, I shall be in the Cotswolds. I feel I should be spending Christmas with my parents this year.”

 “Will you tell them about us?” Molly asked. “About William?”

 “Of course,” Sherlock replied with a smile. “I may even set up a video call on Christmas Day so I can see you both. Talking about Christmas, is there anything I can get William? I don’t want to take the credit for anything you’ve bought him, after all the thought and effort you’ve put into everything.”

 “You don’t have to get him anything,” Molly reassured Sherlock. “You coming back is gift enough for him. But if you must; he’s showing some interest in music and he likes pirates.”

 “Just like me at that age,” Sherlock smiled. “We can have our own Christmas gift exchange when we’re all back at Baker Street. And before you say anything, you’ve given me the gift of fatherhood and a family, so you don’t need to get me anything else. Just knowing that I have the two of you, and all three of us are going to be living under the one roof is enough. Now, how sound a sleeper is William? Will he wake if I were to move seats?”

 “He won’t wake,” Molly reassures Sherlock with a smile, and she repositioned herself on the sofa, so she was better positioned for Sherlock joining her. “So why don’t we watch a movie while we wait out nap time?”

 When Sherlock sat down beside Molly, he took the arm that wasn’t supporting William and wrapped it around Molly’s shoulders. He then leaned down to press a soft kiss to Molly’s lips, then laid his cheek on Molly’s head and both parents finally felt complete having the love of their lives in their arms along with their son.