#i think he has a split lip permanently until he’s like 24 because he doesn’t stay hydrated & he’s always chewing on his lip & reopening it

[ravenxbones]

updated kobra kid design! as i mentioned in my party poison post i’m redoing all of my killjoy designs so i have nice clear fullbody refs and can therefore be more consistent moving forwards!

untextured plain version for accurate colors & details under the cut!

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Drown Myself in Someone Like You

Harry and Catalina have known each other for decades. But he’s never know her like this, set into the world that she comes from before. And along the way, Catalina serves to remind Harry that there’s good even in the bad. 

AfroLatina OC!-Vampire!Harry, Demon!OC 13k+ words about 28 pages long. Reader be warned. 

CW: Mature content (smut so only 18+ and up), Gore, Graphic Depictions of violence.  Title is taken from Impossible by Nothing But Thieves. 

Moodboard made by the wonderful @notinthesameguey​ (Happy Early Birthday!!!!!)

Enjoy my masterlist

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It shouldn’t shock him. It shouldn’t make Harry stop in his tracks, seeing her leaning against the brick building, a cigarette dangling between her fingers. She never brings it up to her lips. It’s her signature; a sign of her coming and a sign of her going too-- the smoke trailing from the butt of a burning piece of paper around the tobacco. That paper is never lifted to her lips. It’s always a trail of smoke from her fingers. It’s all too fitting, all too ironic for anyone that knew Catalina. Like really knew her, like besides the permanent red lipstick that she loved to wear, and really knew the reason for the bruises that were on her knuckles. They’d know that the puff of smoke was a warning--always a sign to anyone that cared to read it. 

Harry always read it. He always turned his head to the smell of a cigarette just to see who was holding it, if they were puffing it. He looks for her--more than he really should look for her. Catalina has to disappear sometimes. She has to go back, has to recharge. Harry can’t tell what makes it hurt, what makes him always sad that she leaves. He knows she comes back. Maybe it was because they were always at a distance. They got time together; they had their fun, but it was always with the sinking feeling that eventually, it would have to come to an end. That’s what made it bittersweet, knowing that inevitably it wouldn’t last as long as Harry wanted it too. 

Still paused in the sidewalk, Harry’s aware of all the bodies passing him by. And there she is. Leaning against the brick of the building, a cigarette dangling between fingers. He knows it’s her. Even in the dark of the night and the distance, there’s no way to miss her forever painted red lips--sometimes they are glossy, sometimes they are matte. And even though she’s dressed in a black overcoat thanks to fall’s incoming chill, Harry knows that Catalina. 

It’s one foot that carries him and then the other and then he’s at her side. “Huh? Seems like you look a little familiar,” Harry teases, his accent smooth and the timbre of his voice deep. 

“Oh?” Catalina returns, barely turning her head to look at Harry. “Seems like I don’t know a mug like that one.” She grins though, her glossy red lips splitting to reveal a wide smile. 

He laughs, gently settling one hand on her waist. “You say that now.” She turns into him, careful of the burning paper and wraps him into a one armed hug. “But you won’t be saying that later,” Harry adds on, whispering into her ear. 

Catalina hums. “Like the sound of that.”

As they pull out of the hug, Harry nods up ahead, the downtown area is alive, even in the chilling night. “You hungry? I think that chili place you like is still open.” Her lips turn up and Harry knows the answer. “Or we get cupcakes.”

“Now you’re talking my language,” she laughs, arm winding around Harry’s waist. His jacket is black too, but feels like it can do decently to keep a person warm. Not that it matters completely to him. The cigarette drops from her fingers and she takes the pointed toes of her boots to stamp out any live embers. She’s always had a sweet tooth, as long as Harry’s known her. And he gives into it. Though he knows the sugar doesn’t mix well with his particular diet, he always has at least one taste. 

“C’mon then. Car’s just up ahead,” Harry grins. 

They walk up the block, her arm locked around his waist, his arm draped over her shoulder. More couples shuffle around them, edging to the side as they stride over the asphalt. The heels of both their boots clicking with their steps. Truth be told, they notice the glances, the way people duck out of the way. The stares never went away, not over the decades, or even the centuries. How long had it been? How long had they been playing this game? 

It wasn’t even truthfully a game. It felt like routine, felt like their normal. Catalina would come up from the depths in a human form--it changed in the beginning but she settled quickly on the dark skin and wide nose, paired perfectly with big eyes and pouty lips. And she’d find Harry; or Harry would find her. And then they would spend the days, the weeks, the months, however long Catalina could withstand the human form; however long she’d been assigned to come up together. It was late night drives and hanging out in bars and racking up noise complaints from neighbors in hotel rooms or apartment complexes. 

Harry is always up here, above the surface. He thought about when he first ran into Catalina that his soul had been damned forever and there was no use. What good could he ever do in a world where he’s cursed to be stuck like this? What good could he ever do cursed to always be hidden in the shadows? But Catalina never saw it like that. She took any day as an opportunity and though more often than not, she wound up with bloody knuckles or standing with cops questioning her, she never backed down from anything that she felt was wrong. 

Harry liked to have a low profile but not Catalina. Maybe it was because she never needed to be worried about maintaining a life above ground for too long. She could always disappear back to Hell and no one would ever be the wiser, no one could care. Besides Harry of course. He always cared. Maybe a little too much. 

“So what ruckus have you been up to?” Catalina asks, tucking her arm around Harry’s. Her elbows tucks in close to his ribs. 

“You’d be shocked to know that you’re the one that causes trouble out of the two of us.”

“Me? Trouble? Siempre,” Catalina laughs. The night is cold and she can feel it mostly on her nose, and maybe it’s being close to Harry again that makes her spine shiver. But she embraces it. There’s not much time for them on this round. Her orders are pretty strict but Catalina knows she can squeeze in just enough time. Just enough to take those memories with her and tide her over until the next time. 

Harry laughs, squeezes at the crook of her elbow. “Always,” he whispers. Harry leans them off the sidewalk into the crosswalk to head towards the parking garage. The lights are bright inside the structure, unlike the lights of the sidewalk. Harry holds open the door to the passenger side for Catalina and is quick to shuffle around to the driver side. As the car rumbles to life beneath them, Harry turns to Catalina. “So cupcakes for dinner? What does that leave us for desert then?”

She stretches across the console, her nails sharp but gentle as she drags them down the stubble of his chin. “You know exactly what I like.” Her teeth graze the shell of his ear. “Don’t have a lot of time unfortunately.”

Harry shudders at the feeling, her breath ghosting over his skin. “How much time?”

“Three weeks.”

Not a lot of time at all, but they can make the most of it. He’ll make sure of it. “That’s plenty of time,” he counters, turning his head now. They share a breath. This close he can smell the candy she’s had early and the nicotine still clinging to her clothes and skin even if she never took a drag. 

“But not our usual,” she purrs, a twinge of sadness pulling down her voice. “But I’ll take what I can get.”

“Good.” Their lips brush, not quite a kiss, but definitely not innocent either. “Because I want every second I can get.” They linger there, not quite kissing, but still sharing breathes. Harry almost suggests skipping the poor excuse of cupcakes from the 24-hour grocery store. It’s not the greatest, but she loves them even if the frosting always makes Harry think there’s no way one person can enjoy that much sugar. 

He pulls back though. But not before gently brushing her nose with his and inhaling one last deep breath of her candy and nicotine. “Cupcakes coming up,” he whispers. His voice almost doesn’t work, like in their silence Catalina was attempting to steal it from him but didn’t quite finish the job. 

Harry keeps his attention on the road, but one hand slinks it way from the gear shift, though the car is an automatic, to Catalina’s thigh. Her plaid pants are soft against his fingertips but he knows the feeling of her skin too--how warm and pliable it is, how her flesh always gave into the squeeze of his fingers. “Where are you headed this time?” Harry asks, needing to know if they’ll spend the weeks traveling or stationary. 

“I’m local this time. So I understand if you can always come out for the late night escapades.”

“You say that like I can’t go somewhere else after the hell you unleash.”

Catalina shrugs. “Wasn’t sure if you had gotten too settled here or not. You know I’m not exactly known for my caution or discretion.”

“Only when you need to be, are you. But no, don’t worry about that, Catalina. I’ll be okay.”

The night wraps around them as they step out of the car, staring up at the harshly lit sign and store. The place is small, a local shop. But they’re baked goods section is always well stocked. Catalina leads the way, heels of her boots clicking. The black jacket covers her from shoulders to ankles. Harry knows his attire matches. His jacket black too and hitting him at his knees rather than her’s going down basically to the floor. And while her wide legged pants are more formal in comparison to his jeans, anyone watching them would think immediately that they were taking cues from decades past. However, the worry doesn’t settle too deeply. Harry would rather be different and know it than worry. 

The air of the grocery store is a tad warmer than the night though it rings more as both of them click against the laminate of the flooring. Catalina makes a beeline for the baked goods and Harry takes a quick survey. There are a few people lingering about. One woman looks positively frazzled, bouncing a baby on her hip as she walks to a register with diapers in hand. 

He takes a pause at the front display of chips and watches for a moment as the mother approaches one the cashiers. “Can one of you unlock the formula display for me? I’m sorry to bother you,” she pleads, barely able to keep a whine that creeps up from the baby at minimum. 

The young man nods, his bored expression never changing as he finds the keys and walks ahead of her back down the aisle. “When the hell did they start locking up baby formula?” Catalina asks behind Harry. 

“Not sure. But I heard about a woman being arrested for stealing diapers a month ago.” 

“They really arrested a mother trying to provide for her baby?”

“Shit’s hit the fan since you’ve been gone. No one to scare the daylights out of ‘em,” Harry teases, grabbing a bag of chips so they don’t look too suspicious. “You all good?”

“Siempre.”

The two of them head into the only line open and with minimal conversation check out. Harry pays before Catalina can even reach for the cash in her pocket. He can feel the glare but takes the bag and receipt with a smile from the cashier. As they reach the automatic doors, Catalina can hear the beep of the scanner followed by, “I’m sorry, I don’t--can you take the diapers off?”

Catalina spins on her heel and doesn’t need to tell Harry what she’s doing. She heads back to the register she just left. “How much is it for the diapers and the formula?”

The woman turns to the sound of Catalina’s voice. “What?”

“How much is the total with everything?” she repeats again, throwing a glance at the card terminal to try and get a look. 

“24.75,” the cashier replies. 

Catalina pulls out some cash, two twenties, and hands it over to the cashier. She then turns to the young mom. “Keep the change, for the next time.”

“Oh my god, no, you don’t--”

“For your baby. It’s fucked up that the system is choosing between two essential things. Your baby needs diapers and formula and I’m going to make sure they get that.” 

“I-I can’t thank you enough,” the mother replies, tears beginning to well in her eyes. 

“Don’t thank me. It’s the least I can do.” Catalina smiles before turning back to the door. 

Harry’s outside the automatic doors and rubbing his finger clear of chip dust. “Going to do what I think you’re going to do?”

“Would I ever be me if I didn’t?” 

Harry laughs, but shakes his head. “Follow me first.” They head back to the car and from the trunk Harry pulls out a black sweatshirt with a hood. Catalina slips it on over her long sleeved top and throws the long overcoat back on. Her pants will give her away, but it’s not in Catalina’s nature to always think things through. 

She spies some spray paint cans. “When did you get into graffiti?” She picks the black one, knowing that if she stains her clothes it won’t be obvious though her heart wants to tag the store in red. 

“I’m not. I have it from a project. Just never took them out of my trunk I guess.”

Catalina shakes the can before slipping it into her pocket and thankfully it’s deep and wide enough. 

“Just don’t make too much of a mess,” Harry pleads. 

“It’s bullshit, Harry. Mierda. They’ve already made the mess.”

He can’t disagree. “Front or back?”

“Front.”

“Playing with fire?”

“Siempre,” she returns, throwing the hood up over her head. Back inside the store, Catalina cuts through the wine aisle, casually stopping here and there to check out a bottle but making sure that she never lifts her head too high. At the end of the aisle, Catalina makes a beeline for the baby aisle. Right at the end of the row before the encap, is the locked up formula. Though the glass is tall, Catalina thanks to high heavens her boots give her an extra few inches. There’s a tiny banner across the top that proudly labels the section as formula. 

The hiss of the can is loud but Catalina doesn’t stop. She keeps her hand moving. Her shoulder starts to hurt just a little by the time she’s done. Shockingly the hiss of the spray paint doesn’t alert either of the employees. However, her time of secrecy is up by the time she takes a step back and manages to drive the heel of her boot through the glass. One panel shatters and clatters to the ground. The second wobbles but doesn’t give way until she takes her elbow into the glass once then twice to make sure all the glass rests on the floor. 

“Hey!” The young man shouts, hands thrown up into the air. Catalina turns, crunching the glass under her feet as she ducks back behind the wine aisle. “What the fuck? Seriously?”

The young man doesn’t even bother chasing after her, only stares at the mess on the floor of glass in the aisle and as he gets closer he can see written in black across the name Los padres no deberían tener barreras. “Fucking hell, that’s not going to come out easy.”

Catalina continues to the door. More people are shouting after her. She assumes it’s the manager on duty. They’ll review tapes. They’ll call the police. But that doesn’t matter. What does matter is the message, what does matter is that people shouldn’t be constantly battling just to meet basic needs. Harry pulls up to the front just as Catalina’s heels click against the asphalt. She slips inside and he floors it, pulling out of the parking lot and into the street with hardly a glance at the traffic. 

“Your best bet is to get rid of this car,” Catalina says, finally pulling the hoodie down. 

“You don’t say,” Harry laughs, ducking into an alleyway once he feels they’re a safe distance away. “You’re getting an early start on that three weeks.”

“Trying not to waste a moment,” Catalina returns with a grin. “Blame me?”

“Not in a million years.”

They can’t sit for too long. It’s a sure fire way to get caught. Not that either one of them would be too worried about getting caught, though Harry does worry for Catalina more now than ever before. Just because she could get out of the mess doesn’t mean Harry necessarily wants her to get into the trouble in the first place. There’s too much happening right now-- it’s all over the news. 

“We’ve gotta go far,” Harry states. He’s got a place pretty far out from the town, up in the cut of a dirt road. Normally, he would offer his apartment. But it’s too far into the city that they will get caught. Besides, the house farther away is nice. He likes the seclusion. He can come out at night and no neighbors ask him about it, the strange habits--out more at night than the day or why he never really has much in the way of grocery. It’s much easier not to answer than it is to lie. After a few more minutes, and the wail of sirens die down, Harry pulls back out onto the streets. 

“Don’t want to live on the edge?”

“Never afraid of that-- for myself.”

“But me, you’re afraid for me?” Catalina’s been doing this a long time--sometimes Harry wonders how long. And even in all that, Catalina seeing all the hatred, death, and violence, she still continues on with a reckless abandon. At first, it was exciting, hearing her talk about all the trouble she narrowly escaped. Now, Harry worries and he knows he doesn’t need to. However, it creeps in, it settles into the deepest part of his brain sometimes. And he just does worry. He can’t help it. 

Harry hears the slight confusion, the almost amused edge to her question. “Sometimes the edge gets a little too dangerous. Sometimes I just want to enjoy my time.”

“A little ironic won’t you say? You got all the time in the world.”

“Time doesn’t really mean much except when I’m with you.”

Catalina shouldn’t smile, shouldn’t be as charmed. But the sentiment is coupled with Harry squeezing her knee before slowly dragging it up her thigh.The material of the pants are thin and his hands are cool but somewhere warmer than the last time she remembers. And if she’s honest, she can’t really remember the last time she was on Earth. Had it been that long that she couldn’t remember anymore? Or was she just doing this too long?

“What were you saying about time early?”

Harry laughs. “I wasn’t the one that brought up time.” His fingers squeeze, pressing into the flesh of her inner thigh. “However, I do have a question about time.”

“Which is?”

“How much time in those three weeks for me?”

Catalina traps his hand between her legs before pushing up, leaning over the console. Harry knows the feelings, knows how her lips will feel against the shell of his ear. “¿Para ti?” she whispers. “As much as you want.”

The whine builds in the back of his throat and Harry knows she still has work to do. She still has a job to do. But knowing that he can have as much time with her as he can is all the more exciting. “You don’t want to tell me that,” he whispers. 

“Oh, but I do,” she laughs quietly. She kisses down his cheek. “When’s the last time you fed?”

“Yes-yesterday,” Harry returns a shiver running down his beck at the graze of her teeth over the shell of his ears. 

“Good.”

Harry presses down on the gas a little harder. The car accelerates, pushing Catalina back, but she counters the force just so she can trace the contours of Harry’s neck with the tip of her tongue. “I am driving,” he whispers, voice tight and caught in this throat. 

“I’m playing on the edge again, aren’t I?”

“Just a little.”

“Want me to stop?”

With toes curling into his shoes, and readjusting his grip on the steering well, Harry exhales one simple word, “No.”

“Bueno.”

It’s an exhale when Harry cuts the car off in front of the house. The trees are dense around them and the moon’s light is cutting through the foliage just enough to guide him across the console to cup her cheek. In the dark, there’s a slight shine to her skin thanks to the moon but Harry’s eyes for a moment think he is cupping a tangible nothingness before her eyes come into his focus. 

Before any breath can carry a word over her lips, Harry kisses her and Catalina grins into the kiss. She holds Harry’s head in her hands, not because she knows he’ll back away too soon and she wants to keep him there. It’s because she’s nearly forgotten what he’s felt like. How his skin is so much cooler than hers but still makes her feel like she’s been set on fire--but in the best way possible, without the smell of burning flesh and burnt hair. 

Now all there is is Harry and the soft brush of his hair as it falls in front of his face against the bridge of her nose. There are soft giggled exhales and the light smack of lips meeting and pulling apart. All Catalina can do is drink in the smell, the feel, the taste of him--the last few crumbs of salt from the chips he must’ve been munching on while she tagged in the inside of the grocery store. 

As her fingers trace down his jaw, around his neck and curl up into the nape of his neck, Harry groans into her mouth--unabashedly and without a care at the way his weight falls into her just a little. She takes it in stride and presses up against the door and window. Harry curls his fingers into the thick layers of coat, sweatshirt and sweater. “Have I told you just how dangerous you are?”

“Not yet on this visit.”

“C’mon,” his breathing is laboured, and his voice is soft as his lips brush over hers in his speech. “More space inside the house.”

“Getting old on me?”

His grin reveals all his teeth and Harry shakes his head. “Never. Just want to treat you right.”

“When have you ever treated me wrong? Nunca me has tratado mal.”

“And I’m not about to start either. C’mon.” He seals the plea with another kiss and finally pulls away from her. Harry parked in the back of the house, as to keep them under cover for a little bit longer before he could find a way to change the plates or get a new cart. So he waits at the bottom of the porch for her to catch up before guiding them to the front door. 

The second Harry unlocks the door and flicks on the lights, he’s reminded of the fact that it’s been a while since he’s come this far out of the city. Everything is well kept. He pays a maid to come by every couple of weeks to keep it up. But it reminds Harry of when he first ran into Catalina, though he thinks it was less fate and more Catalina’s doing the more he looks back on it. 

He brought her here, to this house. She had gotten into a bad fight and was sitting on the side of the road. While her being was influenced to be more human like, it was clear when she was injured that she wasn’t fully human. The normal red blood had started to turn into a thick black ooze and it would slow in time. But there was no way she could hang out just on the streets like that. Harry noticed her, on the curb, and while he smelled the blood of the others she had fought, he locked in the slow thudding of her heart. So slow, Harry thought maybe for a moment she might’ve been dying but when she screwed the top to her lip gloss back close, and stood without a grimace or groan. Harry figured then he had been wrong.

Harry takes in the soft grey couch and suddenly wishes it was another color. And though his mind wanders to a few interior decoration changes, it’s the warm hand of Catalina running around his back, over his side and nestling snug against his stomach that makes me forget all about those. He feels it, the slow thudding over her heart--or what should be a heart, even though she is full of heart, full of gasoline waiting for the lit match. 

She kisses at his shoulder, even with the coat in the way and Harry gives into the way her fingers trace the opening of his coat and up over his chest and soon her palms flesh against his throat. His head is tilted back, resting almost onto her shoulder. There are a couple inches that differentiate them. But Harry can still give into her, drop his head back on his shoulders and flutter his eyes close to the feeling of her palm resting against his throat. 

“Letting me in so soon?” Catalina chuckles, fingers pressing in just a little. 

“Never let you go, really.”

His throat is released and soon his jacket falls to the floor. He takes the moment to spin and push her coat off her arms too before hooking his arms around her waist and pulling her into his chest. They’re lips are like magnets, finding each other and impossible to resist the pull. 

Slowly, he tugs at the hem of the sweatshirt. It does not go alone--her sweater comes off with it. Before Harry can truly drink in the sight of her, she’s making quick work of the t-shirt he’s dawned in, kissing down his chest. Her mouth is warm, tongue lapping at his nipples and Harry knows he’s a goner. He knew it when he noticed her on the sidewalk. But now there is nothing to do but succumb. As she works on the button at his pants, Harry exhales heavily. 

“Please,” he pants, “wait on that.”

And she does, standing back to her full height and kisses him. “So what do you want?”

Harry’s laughter falls in a tuft, one hands cupping her through her pants. “It’s not hard to guess.”

“Always a gentleman.” He winks at her before they walk further into the house, leaving what outerwear and shirts have already been discarded to the care of the floor. 

Her books make a soft thunk as Harry drops them to the floor. He kisses over her ankles, pushing the wide bootleg cut up to expose her skin. Sure they do this all the time but it never gets old. Harry can never get enough of the way her body quivers under his touch. He can never get enough of the way she shakes, and moans beneath him. There is nothing quite like it. 

The air’s cool to Catalina as her pants are removed. However, it’s chased by the feeling of Harry kissing down her thighs, dragging right to the edge of her underwear but not fully giving into her yet. And she knows, she knows what he’s doing, however, it still winds up her gut. Catalina takes a fistful of Harry’s hair and tugs, “Mírame,” she commands. Harry slowly lifts his gaze. “Do not play with me.” It’s desperate as it leaves her lips. But there’s a bit of a snarl, that leaves her mouth too. 

“What happens if I do play with my meal just a little?” Harry breathes heavily over her clothed sex and smirks as he watches the flutter of her eyes. Her hold in his hair slackens. 

“Fuck,” Catalina murmurs.

That’s all Harry needs, the crack in her voice that tells him all he needs to know. He’s quick as he removes her panties and at the first drop of her, he groans. It’s been so long, too long. For a fleeting moment, Harry thinks about how much he doesn’t want this to end. He doesn’t want her to have to go back. But the thought escapes him completely when she whimpers, fingers tightening in his hair. 

Catalina wants to squeeze her thighs close. She wants to trap him between her legs forever, but her muscles are quaking. She’s going to come undone and she knows it. But all she can do is give into the lap of Harry’s tongue and the push of his fingers. Her own voice, her own high pitched pants are almost foreign to her own ears. However the warmth in her stomach is all too familiar, it’s all too craved. 

“Oh, fuck,” she cries, heels digging into the mattress and hips attempting to push up but Harry’s hands keep her pinned down and spread open. His tongue dances over her, teasing at her clit, slipping inside of her just a little. There’s a lew slurp, lips wrapping around her clit. Stars--that’s what she sees right before her mouth falls open and his name crawls over her throat. 

Harry doesn’t slow, not until she gives a hiss and begs him to stop. Only then does he kiss across her inner thighs, up her stomach, between the valley of her breasts and then teases her nipple with the tip of her tongue. Harry can feel just beneath the flesh, the way her heart pumps rapidly. It reminds him, more than it should, of the times when his own heart still pumped blood. 

That’s what Harry focuses on, the way her heart thumps in her chest, even through her back when she’s pressed up against his chest. His hips never falter than his eyes flutter shut as he inhales the scent of her, brushing his nose along Catalina’s neck. Harry trails his fingers up from her waist to her throat and just feelings, the way her body sweats beneath him, the way she pants against him. “Fuck,” Harry whispers, a groan slipping over his lips. 

Catalina hums, reaching back to grab onto Harry’s shoulder--anything really. The bed’s a steady rhythm against the wall thanks to the pace of Harry’s hips. Catalina finds the buzz, the way her body warms even at the cool touch and sinks into it. She sinks into the squeeze at her throat and laughs. “Harder,” she breathes. When his hand tightens, she hums and can only feel the growing heat in her belly. 

“You’re gorgeous, you know,” Harry starts, kissing at her shoulder. “When you beg for more, when you whine--makes my knees weak.” 

At the confession, Catalina grins though the only thing she can vocalize is just the pleasure she finds herself falling into, she can only hum at the way Harry holds her neck firmly in his palm. She crumbles first, a hitch in her breath alerting Harry just how close to the edge she is, how she’s sure to come around his cock in mere moments. “Don’t hold back on me,” he coaxes, relieving some of the pressure from her throat. “I want to hear it all.”

Catalina feels her jaw going slack and the way her body tightens, coils ready for the pop of relief. She comes with a grunt, a string of curses and his name tumbling from her lips. Harry grins, turning her head to silence the sounds with a kiss. He swallows down the whimpers and when she melts, muscles caving in, he guides her face down, keeping her hips up. Everything radiates up. When Harry keeps a firm grasps on her hips, he knows his time is running up too. His time to succumb to the pleasure will be arriving shortly. 

“You know you want to,” Catalina teases from below, pushing herself up to her hands, back arched still. “You know you can’t hold out forever. Not with me.”

It’s true. He can’t. There’d be no point. She’d always find a way, know exactly what to say, know exactly how to touch him to get a rise out of him. There’s no point in fighting Catalina ever. It would only serve to his detriment, so Harry chases down his own release, holding Catalina firmly in place with the echo of skin slapping against skin. The echoes are occasionally broken by a groan, from him or her and before Harry has any mind, the tension finally bursts. 

“God, fuck,” he huffs, his body going lax, falling into Catalina. She doesn’t budge against his weight, just sinks into the mattress, laughing. The vibrations shake Harry’s chest and he winds his arms around her torso. 

“Told you so.”

Harry kisses along her neck, shifting more of his weight off her and settling in behind her. “Never a reason to deny myself you, so you can save the sarcasm.” 

Catalina turns, pushing up and shuffling to face Harry. “You’ll never escape it.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t want to.” The thought leaves him in a whisper and he stretches out for a kiss, sliding his hand down to cup her ass and pull her into him. Catalina hitches a leg, hands cradling his face. It happens again, in her stomach, the way his touch causes the butterflies and the heat to flutter.

Harry listens again, feels the slight thudding of her heart in her ribs. She’s alive again, even if it’s only for three weeks. That’s all he has to remind himself off. 

After another round to satiate their desires, Catalina starts plotting where she has to go. She made Harry her first stop but with the time crunch she knows she’s got to get across state lines within the next two days or else the whole time will be spent chasing. Harry offers that they make the plan during the rest of the night and figure out car logistics in the morning and make a move then. 

“You’re coming with me?” Catalina asks. 

She sits at the desk, bed sheet wrapped around her shoulders, munching on the cupcakes that Harry went back to the car to get for her. The pen scratches over the map before moving across the page of her notebook--really it’s Harry’s old lyric notebook, but he transferred the pages to a folder and left the remaining pages for whatever random things he’d need them for and not it appears it was for Catalina. She licks the icing from her fingers. 

“My car’s kinda toast. So if I stay here with it, cops might press me for me answers if they know that car’s connected.”

Her eyes narrow for a moment, assessing Harry. “You wouldn’t rat me out.”

“No, but I am one less loose thread. Besides, you’re not around for super long this time.”

“You don’t want to be a part of this. This isn’t the kind of stuff you do. You do good in the world.”

“I won’t be a part of whatever you have to do. I’ll be the willfully ignorant ride along, who buys snacks and patches you up, joking that I don’t even want to know.”

“That makes you an accomplice, you know.”

“A dumb one,” Harry counters, pushing up from the bed. He showered and put on a clean pair of boxers but hasn’t put on anything else. Whereas she’s dressed in a t-shirt and only a t-shirt, even though she’s draped into the sheet.

“Still an accomplice.” 

“Please,” he asks, kneeling in front of her, hands clasped in front of his chest. The lower lip rolls out and Catalina sighs. She can’t say no to that. Harry keeps the puppy-eyed look, waiting for the inevitable confirmation. 

“Fine,” she huffs. “But snacks--that’s your only job. No navigation.”

“Patch jobs? I’ve been told I’ve got a magical touch.” Harry pairs the sentiment with a smirk and his hands grazing along her thighs. 

Catalina pushes into his torso with her foot, putting just an inch or so between him and her. “No. Snacks and snacks only. I don’t think I’ll be needing patch jobs on this one.”

“But if you do? I could take care of it.” His hands have continued to hitch higher on her flesh. 

“Oh you’re impossible. Go pack a bag. We’ve got only a few more hours before needing to get out of here.”

His lips brush up her shin and over her knee. He’s quick as his fingers graze over her exposed core. She shivers, despite rearing her foot back. It lands square into his chest. Harry only laughs as he lets his body give to the weight falling back onto his butt just a little. She didn’t push hard, but enough force to warn Harry. He knows she could go harder. He winks at her before pushing off the floor. “Packing a bag. How long for?”

“Week and a half, max.”

When the morning light starts to just settle into the sky, Catalina’s quick to toss some of the spray cans into a black trash bag including the receipt to the grocery store. She’s grateful in the moment that Harry used cash. Maybe he suspected. Maybe he knew that after telling her about the formula being locked up was sign enough that Harry had to be careful just in case things went south. 

Had they been around each other that long that he just knew? What had it been, eighty years of this song and dance? Did he just know the next line because of time? Had they practiced this over and over that Harry just knew instinctively? Whatever the case be, Catalina is glad. She needed someone, especially now, that just got her. That didn’t think too much about the way she didn’t think too much. 

Crumpling the receipt, she tosses it too into the bag and takes a scan. There’s nothing else that can be linked so she ties it up and tosses to the floor of the passenger side. When they get back to some main roads, possibly on the backside of a shopping center, she can dump it there. But they need to get on the road soon. The morning is their cover for the time being and she managed to get a deal on a trade in on the car. 

Harry tosses her the keys as soon as he steps out of the door. He carries a duffle bag and backpack. “Lead the way.”

It’s not too hard to toss the trash once they get into the city north of them. And it’s not much longer before Carl steps out from the house turned office, taking in the car that Catalina and Harry step out off. “The only thing on it is heat?” he asks, another set of keys dangling around his finger. 

“Only thing on it is heat,” Catalina replies. 

“Normally don’t do just straight trade ins. But this is a nice ass car. All I’d have to do is give it a new coat of paint and some new tags and no one would be the wiser.”

“Carl, I would never make your job harder,” she smiles and walks up to him keys just about to fall over the manicured black nails. 

Carl drops the new keys into her hand and catches the other set. “Ain’t go through no tolls?”

“Cars just don’t disappear, you know?” she teases. 

“Not without a little help.”

“No tolls. Stopped once to get rid of something. Parked in the back. If anything is captured, it’s not much.”

Carl can work with that. Not perfect, but more ideal than the car getting seen in a toll--that has a direction, more specific area of such. Harry is silent during the whole exchange and follows behind Catalina as she walks towards the black 4 door sedan. Though he should be more upset that his car is being traded in for god knows what, he is not worried about that. Harry finds a small bit of relief, one less thing for them to worry about.

He drops the bags into the backseat and quickly climbs into the passenger seat. “Since I’m in charge of snacks, I get control over the radio and breaks from driving?”

“If that makes you happy, fine by me.” Catalina doesn’t waste a moment more before throwing the car into reverse and peeling out of the parking lot. The clink of gravel hitting in the spin of the tires is evident. But Harry searches through the radio stations instead of worrying about that. Instead he thinks about how long they should drive before he insists on Catalina to find a gas station nearby. Harry focuses instead on the way the wind comes in through the open windows. He focuses instead on listening to Catalina sing softly to the music coming through the speakers. 

“Driving through the night?” Harry asks. The evening has settled. The clock on the radio alerting them to the time of night. Nothing crazy, only 8. 

“Driving through the night,” Catalina replies. “Let me know if I’m not obeying any snack breaks.”

“Where are we going?”

“Ah, that’s a question of navigation. And I’m afraid my dear, that’s not something I can tell you.”

He did ask to be the ignorant ride along. Just not this ignorant, but he nods a hum falling over his lips. “I’ll let you know.”

“We do need to get there fast. Within a day and a half.” While Harry didn’t anticipate needing to get there that quickly, he doesn’t make a huge fuss. Neither one of them needs sleep and he should be fine for at least another day or two before needing to feed again. 

Harry watches the night pass, the stars become brighter the farther from the city they go and at the speed they’re rolling they look like streaks of white paint on a black canvas. “We should paint,” Harry says, still glancing out of the window. 

“Paint?”

He finally turns to her, watching the way she keeps a recline in the driver seat, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting outside the rolled down window. He hadn’t felt the breeze, but he should’ve heard it. Harry continues on, “I’m sure you miss it, when you have to go back. If we have time, I want you to paint again. With me. Just for fun.”

“If we have time, sure.”

The right of the night passes without much, besides the two stops to fill up on gas. The radio plays and they sing--Harry much better than Catalina, which she never fails to pout about. However, it’s all good natured. Even when Harry asks, knowing that she won’t answer, where they’re headed and if she’s sure he can’t play doctor. “You’ve got one more time to ask me that and I swear I’m throwing out of this car.”

The morning skies are perfectly blue. No clouds in the sky either. Catalina knows she should stop soon. She needs to gas up and they need to lay low until the sun starts to set. “Long rest?” Catalina suggests, looking for the next exit to pull off with a motel nearby. 

“If you’d like,” Harry shrugs, “Don’t have much else to do.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

It takes another hour before they pull off the highway. Catalina fills up the tank, arms crossed as the pump is locked and pours out gas. Harry steps outside of the car, leaning onto the hood. “Snacks?”

“Not really hungry.”

“We’ll come back out later then. Unless you need to make an errand then.”

“Evening? Errand can happen after.”

Harry nods, taking in the cars passing by. He pulls down the sleeves on his shirt. Possibly while she’s out doing her errand, Harry can go hunt. Normally feeding would last him longer but not around Catalina--he always uses too much energy around her. But it’s always worth it. Harry wonders if her constant leaving is always tied to her own recharge or does she know too--does she know that maybe they’re bad for each other? Not bad as in they bring out the worst in each other. Harry keeps her out of so much trouble and Catalina brings a little spice to Harry’s life that’s not normally there.  

However, there’s always some sort of take. Catalina gets time to come up. She gets time with him. But it’s never a permanent deal--she never gets long enough. And Harry maybe gives a little too much. He pushes himself more than normally would. Though the gaps-- the times she has to return to Hell-- are hard, they might be saving them, keeping them from burning each other out. It was probably too simple to think that eventually they’d even out. But that didn’t stop Harry from daydreaming about it sometimes. 

They find a motel close by and dump bags onto the single bed. “Make sure you behave when we share this bed now,” Harry teases, sending a wink her way as she steps into the bathroom. 

“I am the last person you need to tell that too.”

“Oh contrary to popular belief, you are the first one I need to tell that too.”

“Maybe I’ll give you that one.” Catalina’s quick in the bathroom, coming back out to immediately rummage through a bag. Harry packed the clothes but she asked for hers to be left out and Harry’s not really sure what else she needed. However, when she unearths a phone, one Harry’s never seen her with before. He knows he shouldn’t ask questions. But the curiosity itches. 

“I’ll be back in an hour max.” Harry can only watch as the door closes behind her. Maybe being the dumb compain wasn’t his most brilliant idea. 

It doesn’t feel like an hour before she returns. The only thing new in her hand is a cup from a Burger King. “I’m going to assume you lock me in here just to get a breakfast.” 

“Cased a place. What are you reading?” Catalina crosses the room, sliding out of her shoes and laying on the bed next to Harry. On her stomach, head held up on her hands as her elbows pressed down into the mattress. 

“Nothing special.”

“Read it to me?” 

Opening up his arms, Harry waves for her to get closer. She climbs the rest of the way up the bed and rests her head on his chest, one leg thrown over his left hip. Harry picks up where he was, not providing any sort of explanation about what’s happened prior to this moment. Though it’s still early in the novel, so there’s not much to catch up on plotwise. For the moment, he feels normal. Like he might be going on some road trip with his girl and they checked into some motel just for a day or two while they still head for their destination. And he’s just reading to her, as they take a break from the road. 

It’s all too clear though when Catalina loses her patience for the book. Her nails trace over his stomach, she angles her head up, pressing light kisses along his jaw. They don’t even hardly make full connections but just enough for Harry to feel, just enough for Harry to know. Catalina kisses a little harder and Harry’s thought trail off in the middle of the sentence. “We haven’t gotten to a kissing scene yet.”

  “Hmm, I skipped a few chapters ahead,” Catalina returns. Her kisses press a little firmer to his skin and Harry’s chest constricts. Her fingers trails at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up just enough to expose a thin band of his skin. That’s all she needs, just enough skin to tease before Harry drops the book to the floor and lifts Catalina firmly into his lap. Their lips meet firmly and he exhales, knowing he can’t not give into her. Not when she’s rocking her lips over his like this and the friction is just so deliciously enticing.Catalina sighs into his mouth as he brings a hand to her breast cupping it over the shirt pinching right where her nipple is beneath the cup of the bra. 

“That’s what I like to hear,” Harry coaxes, pulling the her shirt up and off of her body. He kisses down her chest, and over the swell of her breast in the bra. Catalina clings to him, wrapping his head in her arms and sinking into the brush of his lips, into the graze of his teeth along her skin. The small pricks of his sharp incisors cause a chill to crawl down her spine and she keeps her hips a steady grind against Harry’s crotch, needing nothing more than him. 

“It’s ironic,” Harry hums, tracing the lines in Catalina’s palm. They make her real. Realer than him and realer to him. 

“What’s ironic?” she asks, cheek smushed into the pillow. 

“I know you, have known you for so long. But I still don’t know you like that. Like I do know vaguely what you do. But if it weren’t for the time we’ve spent together I would be sure I was a ghost instead of a what I am. And I would be sure that you were one too. But yet, here we are. As real as ever. Being alive as long as I have been alive, things never are coincidences. I found you that night. I found you on the side of the road, bloody and I’m thinking holy shit, this person is halfway dead. And I don’t know. It’s the most full of life I’ve ever felt.”

“You’ve always been full of life. I’m not full of anything.”

It’s an age old debate. Harry can never call himself a monster, but she can call herself one. “If you’re not full of anything, then I feel bad for my soul.”

“You’re not damned, Harry. You never could be.” She squeezes at his head, fingers threading through. 

“You don’t know what I was doing before.” Harry looks past their joined hands, the vibrant contrast of Harry’s olive skin and Catalina rich dark brown skin to his legs, halfway uncovered by the sheets. The scars always seem to stick out more, even if Harry doesn’t want them too. 

“I do know.” 

“No you don’t,” he retorts. “How could you know?”

Catalina sits up, staring down at Harry. “Because I found, walking back in the night. Three hunters were stalking you. They had followed you the whole night and you were young--young into this body. They were just looking for a reason.”

“Three? How would they have been following me without me knowing?”

“Just like you thought I was halfway dead. They weren’t human. Human hunters are too easy to notice.”

“So why’d you save me?”

“I wasn’t saving you. One of the hunters had gone rogue on their previous assignments and lost the trails of others sent after them. I was sent up to eliminate that guy and by that proxy I also had to kill his other two goons.”

“If that’s all you were meant to do is just kill them, then why’d you stay out on the side of the road? Why’d you let me see you?”

“We caught wind that this rogue hunter was going after more non-human creatures. I was told if you were a threat to eliminate you as well. So I watched them, watched you. I watched you cornering people in alleyways. I watched you want to give in, and I watched you succumb to it sometimes. I know every thought you’ve probably had, watching the cute girl passing you by from the bar and the blood is thumping in her veins after dancing her heart out and knowing all you had to do was turn on the charm, offer to walk her home and wait for the right time to get close. All you ever had to do was get close. I know about the men you left dead behind buildings after they hurt people. I watched for weeks.”

His throat seizes. The thoughts never leave him. For moments there he wondered why he had been turned. He wanted to curse himself for getting too close. Gabriella found him one day at the bar. He was drinking after a particularly bad day, his tire had blown on his way too work, he was late for a meeting because of it. His girl at the time was constantly down his neck about every little thing. He had found, after returning home, someone else in his bed with his girl. And that was just the icing on the cake. He told himself he’d just drink himself under the table, through the floor and into the depths of the Earth.

It was at that bar, after the day he had, not even a drink into the night because he was too busy trying to keep the tears at bay but failing miserably that Gabriella found him. She sat across from while he poured his heart out. She listened. She coo’ed, shook her head. She told him that a handsome man like himself didn’t deserve to be crying in some bar. He deserved to fall into bed with someone else. And it was so stupid. Gabriella was a stranger. He hadn’t known her longer than two hours, but he went home with her. 

He got too close and that’s all Gabriella needed from him. It wasn’t until he regained consciousness in a dumpster and stumbled home that he realized something was way wrong. The world seemed to be moving in slow motion. The sun was twenty times warmer against his skin and brighter than before. When he opened the door to his apartment, it slammed open though Harry was sure he hadn’t opened the door with anymore force than he normally would have. If the day and night and previously had been the worst of his existence, the morning after all but shot Harry into an alternate reality one that he hadn’t and probably never would be able to any sense of it. 

So Harry went into hiding. He soon had to resurface. He knew he couldn’t hide forever. So he did his best to reintegrate. It wasn’t easy. The smell of blood was always just too strong and though Harry had managed to survive mostly on animal blood, nothing quite satisfied the urge like human blood. He reserved that-- he tried not to give in on just any whim. If he was going to feed on human blood he wanted it to be good but it doesn’t matter if the person he sank his teeth into was morally questionable or not the screams all sounded the same. 

“So-so you were sent after me to kill me? Potentially? If you thought I was enough of a threat?”

“Yes,” it falls with a little hesitation. However, ultimately, Catalina knows it’s true. That’s what she was told to do. 

“And watched all that--watched me do that and didn’t see me as a threat.”

“I saw you as young and scared. But never as a threat.”

“I was killing people,” he retorts, springing up the bed as if someone flipped the switch on him. It’s the first time he’s ever phrased it like that out loud. “I was a threat, Cat. I was a threat.”

“Ay dios mío! When’s the last time you killed, Harry? When’s the last time you got your fucking rocks of killing someone?”

“I-I never enjoyed it.” His voice cracks as he speaks. It’s why he worked so hard not to give into those urges. It wasn’t easy and after Catalina showed up, after she would tell him he wasn’t a monster, it felt like maybe he could prove it to himself, that he could fight against them. “It’s been decades. After I met you, I stopped. It felt so wrong and I was sick of giving in. I was angry with who I was. But I figured-I figured if I was going to be damned forever, I might as well be damned for something.”

“¿Cómo pudiste decir eso? You’re not damned, Harry. You could never be damned.”

His chest--something aches and he’s not sure what it is, but the tears are slipping down his cheek. “Is that why? Did you know how much I hated it? Did you spare me to prove some point?”

“Would you have rathered me kill you? I could always do my job, Harry. I could always end this for you. But I didn’t kill you then because killing you would’ve done nothing productive. What would you have accomplished if you were dead? Wouldn’t have made it in music. Wouldn’t have gotten those degrees. Wouldn’t have founded that hospital. And look at it now, oh my goodness. Have you gone by that hospital lately? They’re on the cutting edge of new therapies for children with cancer. Tell me what the fuck would me have killing you done eighty years ago.”

“You wouldn’t, you wouldn’t kill me.”

“Harry, I would do a lot of things for you. But I made the call that you weren’t a threat because I saw you were scared-I always saw the hesitation, the way you were pleading with yourself not to give in. I saw that you just needed someone that understood you so that you could understand yourself. And if you’re telling me I made the wrong call, then know all I’d need in the word to make the right one.” Her nostrils are flared but she stands firmly in front him. Her eyes blink back the tears. “But I know I made the right call. I’ve done a lot of other things--killed people, taken their souls, been the middle man in a lot of fucked up shit, but I have never made the wrong call.”

All Harry can do is tug at her wrist and arm and pull her into his lap. He hides his face into her shoulder, knowing that the tears are rolling down her shoulder. How did she know all that? How could she have seen all the fear and pain? Harry’s not one to tell it all. He tells bits and pieces. He gives what he wants. But she was hearing it all, she was hearing what was unspoken. He was crying out for a second chance in life. He was trying to figure out what the silver linings of this eternal curse could be and Catalina had answered them. 

“You made the right call,” Harry states. 

What Catalina remains silent, brushing her fingers along his scalp, feeling him repeat, “You made the right call” into the flesh of her collarbone What she doesn’t let cross her lips is that he’s the only right call she’s made, the only one that felt like the right call even after the fact. The rest of them--they’re all the right calls in the moment but not always the right call in longevity. Harry’s been her only call that had longevity, that had a real reason not to call it and it was for good. Not for some assignment, not for someone else. It was her call and her call alone. 

Truth be told, Harry might be the only call she gets to make that spares a soul, that keeps someone away from the gates of Hell. And she knows Harry’s never been able to fully accept what he is now, that he’ll always be hiding in the shadows as a vampire at least some of the time. But the thing Catalina’s always wanted to prove to Harry is that he’s always been good. Even when he thought he had been cursed, there was always good in that. 

Just as the evening settles in, Harry pushes away from the desk. He settled in at the desk to do some more reading and some journaling. Though Catalina draped herself over his back until Harry allowed her to settle onto his lap. “While you’re gone tonight I’m going to go out for a little bit. You’ll take the room keys and everything and if I need to get in before you’re back, I’ll just go to the front desk,” Harry states. 

“What about your trip for snacks before we head out for the night?”

“Do you want snacks?”

“Possibly.”

“Then we should go now. Besides I need a little less light before I can leave.”

“Hunting?” The only reason why Harry would want more of the night is to help cover his tracks. He’ll no doubt have to go a little far to catch any animal big enough to feed on. But it’s a lot easier to not hunt at night when the number of humans does drastically drop off. 

“Have to stay strong with you around,” Harry teases. 

“You’re not easy to keep up with either. But I like the challenge,” Catalina teases, before pushing off his lap and finding her spare phone and keys to the room. Harry pulls back on the jeans and slips into the sneakers. He takes the driving lead to the gas station, it’s only a couple minutes down the street.

“I’ll try to be back before you. Just in case you do need me to play doc.”

“I appreciate the concern,” Catalina returns pushing up her door. The display immediately in front of the door holds chips and sunflower seeds. Depending on how much of a fight it is night, cupcakes and honeybuns may not cut it. So Catalina grabs a bag off chips off the metal rack and takes in the setup. Towards the back is a display of refrigerated foods--mostly sandwiches but it’ll do. 

It shouldn’t be this hard to pick out a sandwich but Catalina looks over the options and ponders if she’d be in a mood for ham or turkey. Harry spies her pause in browsing and walks over. “What’s on the menu?” he teases, sliping one arm around her waist. 

“Don’t know. Should I go turkey?”

“I mean you can’t go wrong with--”

“Alright!” a voice booms. Harry and Catalina turn to the sound. The masks aren’t the most concerning thing. Both are visibly armed. In all that Harry anticipated, this would not have made the cut. They don’t seem initially aware of the people in the store. However, one woman, closer to the door than Harry or Catalina lets out a small whimper, the glass bottle in her hand smashing against the floor. It’s that moment that alerts the second guy to spin around, shouting at her to look at the ground and not move a muscle. 

“Mierda,” Catalina says under her breath. Her instinct is to rush. But that’s risky, she doesn’t know if any of them is a good shot and if she rushes, Harry’s going to follow--thus exposing both of them. 

“C’mon,” Harry exhales. He moves slowly from her waist and when his hand is firmly around her wrist. 

“Backdoor?” Catalina questions. 

“What?” It’s in his brief glance down that Harry can spy the wheels turning in her head already. “We always walk out the front.”

Catalina doesn’t miss the inclusion of ‘we’-- she couldn’t have missed it even if she wanted too. “We?”

Harry’s already glancing back to the store. One is focused on the teller and the other is still shouting at the poor woman that dropped the glass bottle. Harry steps in front of Catalina and guides her to head towards the rack of sweets and gum. “Rack,” is all he says before releasing her wrist. He turns back to the sandwich display case and Catalina nearly curses the heels on her boots. 

If she can get behind the cover and make a ruckus on the opposite end of the store, she can at least split them up. Neither one of them wants a shot to be fired--if she takes it, her whole plan to get work done tonight is over and if Harry takes the bullet, it’ll look suspicious that it won’t do much damage. Catalina does her best to keep her heels from striking too hard and when she’s behind the cover of the gum, she notices a separate piece to the rack, holding up cotton candy and other hanging bags of candy. The rack is hooked to the main structure when catalina first pushes it as a test. But she spends a moment, steading herself and finding the spot it’s hooked into before pushing it up. 

Once it releases, Catalina looks over to Harry. He’s not looking at her, instead now holding his hands up facing towards the door. She knows he can still hear. “Ready,” she whispers. She catches the small twitch of his index fingers before hoisting the bags and rack across the store. 

The ruckus turns the second man’s attention to her. “Don’t look at me! Or I swear I’ll blow your brains out.”

Catalina can hear the start of a tussle, the grunts and exclamations of pain. She closes in, grabbing the barrel of the gun in her left hand. She ducks her upperbody off center and swipes at the guys wrist with her right hand. The guy yelps, releasing the gun. He ducks as Catalina pops back up. The gun’s aimed at him now and he huffs, holding his hands up. Her finger nearly settles onto the trigger, she nearly fires one round into his foot. It’d be so easy and it would for sure slow down him and his friend down if they tried to flee. 

“Don’t.” Only one word from Harry--she hears it over her own labored breathing. “You gotta go.” Why would Harry tell her to leave but not include himself? Catalina starts to lower the gun, thumb just about to click the magazine to drop. 

“Oh the bitch is on a leash,” the man teases though his hands are still raised in defense. 

All it takes are about three pounds of pressure, not much more than the curl of her finger around the trigger to release a round. It echoes and is interrupted by the holler of the man falling to the ground, holding onto his shin. 

Catalina swivels again and squeeze off around round. That one hits the man focused on Harry in the left shoulder. He drops the weapon and Harry takes the moment to kick it towards the back of the store. “You don’t listen too good,” he huffs, taking the weapon from her and dropping the magazine. It clatters to the ground and he racks it to release the one bullet in the chamber. 

“I don’t kindly to being insulted. Pinche basura,” Catalina spits but steps over the howling man about his shin and finds the woman who’s curled in on herself. “Hey, hey, come with me.”

The tears tracks are obvious but the woman nods, shakily grabbing her purse from the floor. Catalina walks her to her car. “You did good back there. I know it’s scary,” Catalina starts, attempting to soothe her. Once the woman’s settled, Catalina waits, seeing Harry talk to the cashier. She knows Harry’s going to be pissed. But in her defense, the guy was a fucking asshole and deserved it. 

It’s as Harry walks out of the station, tossing her the keys as he does so, that she notices a plastic bag in his hand. “What’s that?”

“Helped them out for the mess we made.”

“Technically, I made it.”

“I was going to give you a break.” Harry hands over the bag. “It’s a sandwich for after. In case you need it. Drop me off about two minutes up the road from here, but past the motel.”

Thankfully, Harry parked on the side of the station, not too far from the dumpster. But even if this car was caught on video, Harry’s deal with the cashier will make sure that the video won’t be seen. Catalina does as instructed, driving up past the motel and continuing on for another minute or two before Harry calls for her to stop. “How long?” he asks leaning against the door. 

“Praying for no more than two hours. I gotta get there first. If they see me walk in, the thing’s blown. Bank for three.”

“More than enough time. Be safe.” Harry pats on the inside of the door before pushing away and zipping into the thick of the trees.

“Igualmente!” Catalina whispers, knowing he’s probably already too far away to hear. She turns around having to drive up into a random dirt path before peeling back down past the gas station and heading towards the casino she staked out for just a little bit this morning. Sure it’s ironic that her work would take her to a place like that, but she wasn’t going to be headed in for a regular. No, Catalina was headed in for the boss. Some debts can’t be consolidated or refinanced. 

Parking across the street, Catalina cuts across the still lively street and stares up at the bright red neon sign. It blinks for a moment at her and then continues to hold steady. Catalina leaves her coat by the door, hung up by one of attendants. She’s going to be in here for a while. She cashes in her allotment for coins and chips. Her first perch of the night are the slot machines. There are only a few bouts of luck but Catalina never pushes them, instead keeping a sweeping eye over the floor. 

He won’t be making an appearance just out of the blue. But the commotion, the sea of people that will move when the boss moves is all Catalina needs. She moves to a Black Jack table and thought that’s a dangerous move because it requires more attention, she knows she can’t linger on the outskirts all night. She throws a couple rounds but more than makes up for the losses. 

She moves to the drinks table-only ordering a Sprite. It takes a few more rounds, going to different slot machines and playing one round of poker before she catches what she needs. The guards at the door are now more fidgety, glancing around the room more, talking into coms more frequently. Catalina pulls the lever on the machine, not even watching it for the images it lands on but instead sees the flock moving towards the stairs. 

She leaves the winnings, bucket, and drink behind to start towards the bathroom. A little far from the stairs but a lot easier to work from than the middle of the casino floor. Ducking into the recessed area for the bathrooms, Catalina waits for a beat, hearing a voice echo, “Okay. Moving back up.”

Catalina slips from the door, just in enough time to see the huddle moving up the stairs and the others walking to the casino floor. She slips into step behind the mass moving upwards. She could get caught here, she knows but it really won’t matter. She’s close enough anyway. As the whole group lands on the second floor, Catalina keeps up against the wall, using the shadows for just a little bit longer. 

“We haven’t seen any strange movement, sir.” A soft voice reports. “Everyone’s on alert just like you asked for.”

“I can feel her,” comes the reply. 

Catalina almost laughs. But she knows that feeling the way the whole stomach feels like leads, the way you almost wish you could actually puke because everything is churning. “I’d say your gut’s still in good health then,” Catalina cuts, leaning against the wall, arms crossed in front of her. 

The whole room turns in unison to face her and she grins, letting the tearing sensation burn through her skin. The way her teeth elongate and hands shift into claws. There’s the heat too, the way her whole body warms. It’s the transformation that does most of the work. The fear of seeing some random human body expand into the terrifying stature of a hunter.

“Dominic, your time has come,” Catalina growls. Her voice is a snarl and though she’s not overly exceeding in stature over any one. Her demonic state on Earth can only really reach about seven feet tall--it’s still not a pretty sight. The way things ooze. 

A couple of brave guards rush forward. It only takes a heavy swat to send them flying. They clatter into the walls and glass, the sound of it shattering and hitting the floor sounds like rain almost. Catalina pushes forward, shoving more guards out of the way. They don’t go quietly, a few firing off shots. In this state, she’s a bit more protected but still not fully going to escape the realm of suffering injury. 

It doesn’t slow her stalk. Dominic pushes more and more guards between them but they too are swiftly pushed out of the way. “You knew your time was up long ago,” Catalina teases. “You can run. But you can never hide.”

“I don’t deserve this!” is the outcry. 

With a quick outstretch, Catalina swipes at Dominic’s back on his attempt to run away. He falls, a loud shriek leaving his throat. Catalina steps over him and hooks her fist into the back of his shirt lifting him up. His feet dangle above the ground. “Pathetic,” Catalina scoffs. “You do know your brother gave up everything for you.”

The heat of Catalina’s touch is searing his skin and Dominic whimpers in pain. But he doesn’t respond to the taunt. “You hear me?” she growls. “Your brother gave up everything for you!” She tosses him across the room and he falls into and through the door of some room. The thud of her feet echo as Catalina continues across. “And you don’t even hold up your end of the deal. Chance after chance you fucked it up.”

“I’m sorry. I am so sorry,” Dominic cries. “Just give me one more chance.” The blood is evident, scrapes along his arm and face.

“Chances have run out.” Hauling him up by the collar of his shirt, Catalina pauses for a moment. Her lips move, barely exhaling out the chant as the floor beneath starts to glow. It opens and both of them fall and fall. And even though Catalina’s done this a thousand times over, she’s still not quite used to it. 

At the feet of the throne, Catalina allows herself to fully assume, the skin blistering a bit and growing taller. Her claws become more prominent and the flames licking at her skin start to recess in pain. She knows soon her own skin will jump with flames, her own body will start to mimic the world she’s in. Dominic screams at her feet, slapping at his own skin to quell the pain. “Oh, none of that,” she laughs. “You could always try some ice.”

Two guards approach her, shackles already clinking in their grasp. She holds up a hand to stop them. Hear and now in her true form, Catalina’s able to grab Dominic like a child grabs a doll right around the torso. The sound of skin searing is clear. “I’d say you’d finally get to show your brother the pathetic man you’ve become--but even if he were still with us, I don’t think he deserves that. Selling on the back end of your establishment, knowingly selling to mothers to be, running folks out of their rooms for gambling debts. It’s one thing to do that on your first try--it’s one thing to fuck up the then. But you knew, you knew the time was ticking on you and your brother beat you to Hell’s Gates. Do you know how he sounded begging for your mercy? Do you know the pleas?” She gives pause for an answer, one she knows Dominic can’t give but he was made aware of by the scrolls because she hand delivered them. “You don’t get to beg.” 

With a single digit, Catalina presses it to Dominic’s mouth. The heat causes blisters and even though he screams, punches and kicks at her, Catalina holds for a moment longer before dropping him. His body hits hard and the guards finally step. She watches them take Dominic away, no doubt taking him to the holding chambers. And she lets herself stand a moment longer in the flames. Dominic won’t be dealt with for another week and though she should’ve taken more time, Catalina knows she must report back in. 

“Impressive. I would’ve easily thought you’d play with him a little longer. Really sell the fear.”

It’s Lucifer behind her. “I need to keep my full three weeks on Earth.”

“Your jobs done, what do you need that time for?”

“Doesn’t matter, does it? The longer you keep me up there the more I can get done.”

“It’s that Harry fella isn’t it? I’ve been watching you.”

Catalina scoffs. “When haven’t you?”

“I still think you should’ve pulled his plug when you had that chance. Vampires are soulless creatures.”

“So what the hell does that make you?”

Lucifer laughs, patting her on the back. “Always good with the comebacks. Fine, fine, have your fun. I don’t really care.”

“But you care enough to watch me and know his name.”

“You say it’s the right call on him. I’m just making sure that assessment stays current--is all. Besides, it’s fun to have that over you. I know what makes you tick.”

Catalina knew the moment she decided to spare Harry it would be the thing that could always be loomed over her. He’ll always be the thing that makes her tick. Turning now, she faces Lucifer. “And you’ve seen me explode too.”

There’s a beat. A moment where Catalina stares at Lucifer and Lucifer stares at Catalina. He has seen her explode and it’s no pretty sight. And it’s not a threat, Lucifer knows that. He knows that Catalina doesn’t say a word she doesn’t mean. Exploding is a promise. Exploding is the sure fire way to Lucifer potentially staring back at his own head. He holds up his hands. “Look, it’s just making sure there are no threats. If they get exposed, all the other shit that goes bump in the night gets exposed. Enjoy the rest of your time.”

“Thank you.” Catalina continues on to the ports, finds a portal and lets herself go, climbs up and climbs and lets the bone fuse back together and shrink. It feels tight when she stands up. The skin feels tighter, her body feels heavier and she leans against the wall of the Burger King, grateful that the night is cool. Once she regains her balance, Catalina finds the car. She left the trunk unlocked and pops it open. She feels until she finds the small internal compartment and tugs. A spare set of keys sits inside just like she asked Carl to do. Spare keys in hand, she closes the trunk door, opens the driver side door and slips inside. 

It takes another half hour just to feel like she could drive back to the motel. The transition back is always the hardest. Leaving Earth to go to Hell takes less energy than going from Hell back to Earth. She can’t hang out too much longer in this parking lot. So Catalina takes a breathe and starts the car. 

Harry hears the knock on the door and places his book face down on the bed. Catalina had the key, not him. However, peering through the door he can see her, sans her jacket. “The hell happened to you?” he questions, holding her up by her waist. 

“Went to Hell, came back and didn’t properly give myself time to adjust. I would’ve used the key,” she states, holding it up. She dropped that into the cup holder of the car before heading into the casino. “But it just took too much energy.”

“Didn’t eat the sandwich either?”

“What part of too much energy, did you not understand?”

“You’re impossible.”

“No, tú.” Harry laughs at the childish response but settles her onto the bed before, pulling her out of her shoes and taking the keys. “Stay there. Don’t move a muscle.”

The room door closes but a few moments later, it opens again and Harry rummages through the plastic bag she dropped into the passenger seat. "How much time do you think we have before we need to leave?”

“Safer to move now but a few hours tops.”

“And am I privy to know where we go next?”

Catalina shrugs. “Depends. You want to drive or not?”

“All your errands done?”

“All of them,” she returns, taking a small piece of the sandwich he extends out to her. 

“Just us two for the next two weeks and some change?”

“Yeah. Just the two of us.” 

There’s a bit of excitement that courses through Harry. It’s never really just been the two of them. Might this be the chance he’s wanted with her. Could this prove that they weren’t bad for each other? Harry hands her another piece of the sandwich, finding that she’s slowly coming back to her usual self. “But I got you into some terrible messes so I understand if you’re worried.”

“Everything here I have here I can sign over to myself and start new anywhere else. That doesn’t matter. Besides, it’s a little exhilarating to head into the action instead of watching from afar. We spend a week or so on the road, come back. Whatever mess is still happening we’ll sort out then. I know some people. I’m sure you know some people. Nothing to worry about.”

“You make it sound easier than it is,” Catalina replies. Harry can’t just go missing for a week and then turn up expecting everything to be fixed in a blink of the eye. 

“You made it sound harder than it is,” Harry retorts, holding out the small pouch of fruit juice. 

“Me llamaste imposible, pero tú eres imposible.” The rest of the mutter is cut off but the slurp of her drink but Harry catches onto the general gist of it--her general displeasure at his optimism. “Wherever you wanna go, for a week and then we come back and sort any mess out.”

Harry hands over the last bite of the snack he got and starts packing their bags. “We check out first thing in the morning. Only about four hours from now. You get the rest you need and we can plan where we want to go. Sounds like a plan?”

“Sounds like a plan.” 

tagging @5-secondsofcolor​

[unityghost]

All Cretans Lie

Part 24 of Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels. Here thar be angst, mateys. 

This story is based on a prompt from @commonercommenter​, who suggested:

The voices start to fade, start telling Gabe to hate himself less and less. He finds he’s compelled to do it himself.

Thanks, commonercommenter!

At the moment I'm not taking prompts, but suggestions are welcome. Thank you for reading! Please take note that there are subtle references to sexual assault in this story.

Perhaps Gabriel should have been horrified, or frightened, or - at the very least - just a little bit concerned.

The truth was that he had anticipated this, no matter how much he didn’t want it to happen.

He confined himself to bed that morning, trying to ward off a splitting headache. He knew he ought to drink water, but couldn’t bring himself to move. That he had been up much of the night, caught between vivid nightmares and vague but terrifying images he couldn’t quite recollect upon waking, didn’t help any of what was going on.

When he hadn’t exited his bedroom by lunchtime, there was a knock at the door. Gabriel couldn’t make himself sit up, but he managed to turn over when the door clicked open.

“Don’t mind me,” Gabriel muttered. “Just a headache.”

“Uh-huh.” Dean moved closer to the bed and peered down at Gabriel. “You know, Gabe, just because Sam isn’t here doesn’t mean you gotta hole up in your room.”

“Excuse me?” With all the appearance of effortlessness he could manage, Gabriel pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Pardon my audacity, headmistress, but I have no plans to swaddle myself in misery. I prefer to think there’s a difference between being neurotic and being lazy.”

“Hey look, come on, I didn’t say that.” Dean sat down on the edge of the bed. “I know you don’t need Sam to spoon-feed you. Just thought I’d check in.”

Gabriel groaned and edged into a proper sitting position. He massaged his temples. “I’m fine. Are you looking for help with something? Translations? The Sunday crossword? Leftover coffee that’s gonna go to waste if no one drinks it? Because I’m up for - ”

“Why don’t you just tell me what’s the matter, huh?”

Gabriel froze, then looked away. “I …”

“Even if it’s just that you’re missing Sam. I know it can be a little - ”

“All right, give me some credit, will you? I think I can keep my separation anxiety under control for a couple of days. You know what’d help? A fistful of Excedrin.”

“Are you sick or what?”

“I’m not sick.” Gabriel paused. “Not technically. More … uh …”

Dean waited.

Finally, Gabriel sighed. “Don’t freak out. It’s my grace.”

“Yeah?” Dean sounded unperturbed. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I mean it’s … I mean … right now, it’s …” Gabriel cleared his throat. “It’s not there. It’ll come back,” he added hastily, without meeting Dean’s eyes, “It will. I promise. This happened a hell of a lot with Asmodeus. Made sense: he’d take a truckload of it and suddenly it had a mind of its own, fighting back, in some kind of panic mode. Spring into action so hard it hurt. Then, other times, it was as resigned as I was.” Gabriel’s shoulders tensed. “Can’t say that made him too happy.”

Dean took a few seconds to process what Gabriel had told him. Then, slowly, he nodded. “I just made some lunch. I know you don’t have a strong stomach right now but if your grace is down for the count then you should have something to help get it back in gear.”

“I know. I know I should.”

“Here, come on, come out to the kitchen. Jack’s gorging himself on pizza. You should have some. Or something lighter, if that’s what you want. Come hang out with us.”

“I’m not much fun at parties right now.”

“Jack wants to feed you.” Dean got to his feet and clapped Gabriel on the shoulder.” Come on, buddy, get up.”

No, Gabriel thought, neither of them really wanted him there; and if Jack thought otherwise, he’d quickly recognize his mistake.

Gabriel closed his eyes.

Shut up.

He opened them again.

No one’s lying. No one’s delusional.

“Are you a hundred percent on that?” Gabriel asked Dean.

He’ll say yes.

“Yeah, we’ve been saving you a seat,” Dean told him.

And he means it.

It had been months since Gabriel’s arrival, months since Sam had begun telling him that it was possible to get better - to shake off at least a fragment of his self-abuse, so that the pain became sometimes, and not always; to have fewer dreams, fewer attacks of memory; to ask for help without the fear of violence or derision.

“All right,” Gabriel agreed. “Just … give me a few minutes.”

“Come out when you’re ready. It sounds like you’re sure this isn’t anything to call Sam over.”

“Let the kid have his downtime.”

“Ah, sure, yeah, downtime. Look at all the fun he’s having over in Tulsa.” Dean pulled his phone from his back pocket and, after a few seconds of scrolling, held it out so that Gabriel could read Sam’s text messages: Had to tell them I learned to be “respectfully dominant” toward my wife from my preacher dad. And then, half an hour later: I’ve been prescribed a double dose of prayer; take twice a day.

“Ha,” said Gabriel, “Gross. What is he doing?”

“Masquerading as a religious fanatic so he can get an inside look at what’s going on with kids under ‘Satanic influence.’ Their parents keep ending up dead, which is apparently all it takes for the kids to snap out of it. Not a pretty picture.”

“And is Cas putting on the same show?”

“Probably not as convincingly. Sam’s really good at looking remorseful.”

“And Cas has a penchant for looking confused. Proud of them both. It’s not every day you find that kind of raw talent.”

“So what do you need from me, then?”

Gabriel tensed. “You’re not pissed. That’s … appreciated.”

“All right. We’ll be waiting for you.”

“Consider me officially RSVP’d.” Gabriel forced himself to stand. His head stung, but he wasn’t dizzy or nauseated. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

While Dean was gone and Gabriel was getting dressed, he took inventory of his body - not to assess the effects of gracelessness, with which he was sorely familiar, but to better understand his response to Dean’s invitation to Sam’s absence, and to the question of, What are they going to do to me so long as I’m useless?

Over these last several months he had learned to read each one of them. It was anything but a smooth or rapid process, but Gabriel knew that he wouldn’t have fallen for Sam’s imaginary repentance in a house of prayer - because by this time, he could recognize when Sam was being honest. He could recognize when Dean was being honest. Neither of them had the time for diplomacy, Castiel couldn’t help being frank, and Jack had the colorful forwardness of any child.

There’s nothing to be scared of, Gabriel told himself, just to see whether he could identify his own sincerity.

And there it was. Wherever the assertion had come from, it was likely correct.

“Uncle Gabriel!” Jack exclaimed when Gabriel came into the kitchen. “Dean made pizza.”

“Dean made pizza,” Gabriel agreed.

“You should try some.”

“I … should not. Because I’m not hungry enough to take advantage of his masterpiece.” If that’s okay, he considered adding, but didn’t. “Gonna grab, I don’t know, an apple or something.”

“Uncle Gabe.” Jack looked somber. “You really should. Sam says that - "

“It’s fine,” Dean interrupted. “Guy’s just not up for it. We have apples.”

Jack shrugged. “Okay.” He bit into the slice of pizza, shut his eyes, and made muffled sounds of delight.

“He’s having a religious experience,” Dean told Gabriel.

Gabriel smiled. “I’ve been responsible for some of those, and I wouldn’t disagree with you.”

He spent most of the rest of the day locked in his bedroom, per routine; but, a few hours after lunch, decided to search one of the medicine cabinets for something to relieve his headache. He found two separate bottles of aspirin, one two years past its expiration date and the other unopened.

Gabriel hesitated. If someone noticed that he’d had the gall to take from an untouched bottle of medicine …

But there was what Gabriel told himself, and there was what Sam would have insisted upon.

Within half an hour, the headache was nearly gone.

That evening, he got a knock on his door. When he opened it, Sam smiled at him.

“Oh!” Gabriel was surprised. “I didn’t think you’d be back until tomorrow at least.”

“No, this wasn’t a hard case. Just some witch with too much time on her hands.”

“And I hear you’ve become quite the thespian.”

Sam laughed. “You’re doing okay?”

Gabriel hesitated, and Sam’s face fell.

“Turn that frown upside-down, soldier,” Gabriel said. “I’m not falling apart. But - you didn’t talk to your brother, by any chance?”

Sam looked worried. “He gave me some pizza but … not really.”

“Oh. Well, okay - don’t freak out, all right? Because there’s no need for it. But. When I woke up this morning …”

Sam folded his arms, watching Gabriel with fear in his eyes.

“When I woke up,” Gabriel finished, avoiding Sam’s gaze, “I didn’t have any grace. And it’s fine, it’s - it’s happened before. It’s always come back. Always. If it can rebound when I’m in Hell, having it ripped out of me like a tree root, I figure it’ll be fine. I mean, not fine, just - in flux. Not permanently gone.”

Sam frowned, contemplating, searching Gabriel’s face. “You look like you don’t feel good.”

“I’m not the usual picture of health you see every time you come into my room to mop up vomit in the middle of the night, but I’m in one piece.”

Sam bit his lip. “Sorry I wasn’t here this morning.”

“Don’t be. I survived. You know I always do when you need a break from - ” Gabriel paused. “From routine.”

Useless.

Gabriel stiffened. The word, the thought, had come out of nowhere - a hand clawing its way from what appeared to be an otherwise undisturbed grave.

He swallowed. “Anyway, don’t worry. There’s no problem. I’m …”

Nothing.

Not nothing, Gabriel pleaded with himself, No, that’s not what they think. With grace, without grace, that’s not how they -

“Well,” said Sam, “How’re you feeling?”

Gabriel found himself unable to speak.

Here it was again: that thick, dark feeling that swallowed him up, held him down, and gagged him. That putrid warmth coloring the normal with the sinister and contaminating the benign with the grotesque.

Memories, Gabriel told himself; these were memories. Don’t be afraid. Stop being afraid. It’s okay.

Alarm passed over Sam’s face. “Hey - ”

“Um - ”

“Gabriel.” Sam took him by the wrist. “What happened? Why are you shaking?”

“It’ll stop,” Gabriel told him, but didn’t pull away. “It’s just the shivers.”

“I’ll sit with you.”

Gabriel shuddered, overcome by something like fear, or relief, or uncertainty, or perhaps all three at once. “And I won’t fight you on that.”

Sam led him to the bed, lowered himself so that they were side by side, and gripped his shoulder. “I wish I could tell you I know what that feels like.”

“Oh, trust me, you really don’t.”

“When it happens … is there anything that pulls you out a little bit?”

Gabriel shrugged. “I’d like to say that you do, and you do, but it’s still there; it hangs around until it gets bored.” Then, worried that Sam would think he was ungrateful: “But it’s better than being alone. Really. A thousand times better.”

Sam offered a sad smile. “But you don’t tell anyone when it happens, do you?”

“Why should I? It’s just a feeling. It’s not real. I have to wait, that’s all. No need to call for help.”

“It is real,” Sam objected. “The feeling is real. The next time you - ”

“I know, Sam.” Gabriel closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “It’s habit. Instinct. I don’t want to ask for anything.” He looked up at Sam. “Ever.”

“I know.”

Gabriel was overcome with a sudden chill, so that he shuddered once more. His heartbeat hadn’t slowed at all. An unexpected surge of nausea washed through him.

“Calm down,” Sam said softly. “You’re practically seizing.”

Gabriel shrugged Sam away, and left the room as quickly as he could without actually running.

“Gabriel, wait!” Sam followed him into the hallway, where Gabriel began retching.

“Oh crap, hey, no - ” Sam rushed him into the bathroom and helped him lean over the toilet. “Easy, easy does it. You’re okay.”

Gabriel’s breath came in cold, shallow gasps. In his graceless state, he vomited and let Sam hold him in place as it happened.

“I know you don’t care,” Gabriel sputtered. “That you don’t care about how much grace I have. I - ” He heaved again before he could finish.

That was the food that Dean had given him, Gabriel recalled. Dean had expected responsibility that Gabriel couldn’t exercise.

Gabriel couldn’t be trusted - not with their food, not with their hospitality, not with their kindness. He had unwritten the peace of earlier, had spoiled the maybe of “Let’s have lunch together,” defaced the possibility that things were going to be okay.

“Sam, I thought - I - I asked for - ”

He had asked for what he wanted, asked for their food, stolen their medicine -

“Gabriel,” Sam said softly, “Just relax.”

Sincerity made no difference. However genuine their concern and kindness might be, there was no guarantee it would last. Impatience was always waiting in the shadows; Gabriel could smell it just as he could smell his own vomit then and there. Their affection and dedication was like the aspirin he’d removed from the cabinet earlier: there was a cutoff that Gabriel had acknowledged in the past, an inevitable conclusion that he had somehow managed to dismiss lately.

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered. “My grace isn’t - I’m sorry - ”

He should not have allowed himself access to I think it might be okay. Instead, he should have continued waiting for what had to come eventually. When they made up their minds that he was a burden they simply couldn’t handle anymore, the waiting game - which was a special kind of torture - would at least be over.

Gabriel shivered and gagged.

“Breathe, all right?” Sam sounded as though he was trying hard to remain calm himself. “I’m right here; it’s okay, Gabriel.”

He would be in danger if he forgot his place. He shouldn’t have permitted himself to forget that he was their sick patient, their delinquent foster child, their pet that just couldn’t seem to be house-trained.

The end, Gabriel reminded himself, was long overdue.

“Slow down,” Sam instructed, gently lowering him to kneel on the floor. “Just - I don’t know what I did. I’m sorry.”

Gabriel should have reminded himself that the others were poisoning themselves by touching him, by speaking to him, by listening to his voice, by acknowledging that he was there at all.

“Sam,” Gabriel choked, vomit still clinging to his lips.

“Yeah, hey, what is it?"

“I - I haven’t told you everything, and - ” He paused, waiting to see if he would get sick again.

“You mean about Asmodeus?” said Sam. “I know that.”

“You don’t, though; you haven’t seen any of the worst. You don’t realize just how - ”

“No,” Sam said firmly. “We’ve talked about this before.”

There was nothing left for Gabriel to vomit. All that remained was him, only Gabriel - and that couldn’t be gotten rid of. “I’m better, or I’ve been feeling better; I go back and forth, Sam, and I just don’t know!”

Sam guided Gabriel upright. “Let’s go lie down. In my room. Okay?”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel repeated.

“Come here.” Sam half-carried him out of the bathroom and back down the hall.

“All right,” Sam said, easing Gabriel onto the bed, “There we go. I gotcha.”

Gabriel, still trembling, wrapped his arms around his middle and pulled his knees toward his chest.

Sam sat on the edge of the mattress and peered down at him. “If I scared you - ”

“You didn’t. I - that feeling, it wouldn’t stop; it wouldn’t go away. I feel sick and I can’t control anything right now, and I - Sam, I’m not just trashing myself for funsies. There’s a reason I say you shouldn’t care about me. There’s a reason I’m so convinced of that, Sam. Dozens of reasons.” He swallowed, tasting the remnants of vomit in his mouth. “It’s just that you think you have no proof of it. Dad knows why you’d believe something like that after everything I’ve put you through, but all I can do is cram the really, really effed-up shenanigans as far away from you as possible. Because there are whole lifetimes I just can’t talk about. They’re too humiliating, and - and I can’t let you see what he - what I - ”

“You don’t have to, but you can.”

“And,” Gabriel continued hoarsely, “You’re just going to have to take my word for it. This is the one thing you can trust me with, because I was there. I can’t be wrong about what he made me do.” When Sam didn’t reply, Gabriel went on: “I know this is hard for you to hear. And I’m sorry. You just - if you want what’s best for me, for all of you - I don’t know, I guess I deserve the pain of whatever’s in store for me. Why not let myself get hurt, right? You’d think I’d be eager to let it all happen, wouldn’t you?” His breathing began to shallow. “A slow death. A little more of this here, of me lying on your bed with you looking at me like you’re about to cry; and then I’m worried about what’s best for you, and if I can’t trust myself then I’m wrong and you’re the one with your priorities straight. Sam - when the Cretan tells you all Cretans lie, what the hell are you supposed to believe? This is the most confused I’ve ever been and I can’t figure out what to do with any of what’s tearing at the inside of my head.”

Sam took a second to consider his response. Then he answered, “A few of my law professors brought that up in seminars. The Liar Paradox. I used to tell my professors that whichever way you look at it, that guy couldn’t’ve been a Cretan at all. Which means he has no authority.” Sam offered his hand. “That means there are answers. Somewhere. You just gotta think creatively.”

Gabriel’s throat tightened. “So then what’s the answer?”

Sam took his hand. “I don’t know.”

If Sam was made aware, if Sam could witness some of the depraved acts in which Gabriel had engaged - not because he’d wanted to, and yet they had still happened, every one of them - he would not allow this to continue.

Undoubtedly, Sam would think twice about giving up: he felt he had to keep his promise to protect Gabriel, to nurture Gabriel, to show love he probably had to convince himself he really felt. But he would choose to end it, because Sam couldn’t ignore what he knew, in his heart of hearts, to be right.

Sam squeezed his hand. “You can talk to me, you know.”

Gabriel kept his eyes averted. “I just did.”

“If you’ve got more to say, I’m here.”

“I always have more to say.” Let go. Let go of his hand.

“I have a question,” Sam said softly, and Gabriel caught the hesitancy behind his words. Maybe it was now. This was as good a time as any; Gabriel had, after all, just implored Sam to make it swift.

“Listen,” Sam murmured, “Hasn’t it ever crossed your mind that maybe I worry you’ll give up on me too?”

For a few seconds, all Gabriel could take in was the voice in his head - let go; let go of his hand - and then his mind went blank for a few seconds, and finally he heard what Sam had just told him.

“Uh,” said Gabriel, “No.”

“What about the other day?” A twinge of discomfort flickered over Sam’s face. “When I spazzed out about the - ”

“About that self-destructive young whippersnapper who ran into the middle of the road? I just wanted to help you.”

“Well, sometimes I figure there’s no reason you’d want to do that, and maybe you’ll eventually see why I think so."

Gabriel tried to assess his own response to Sam’s confession. On the one hand, he wasn’t very surprised: Sam’s relationship with himself was hardly more impressive than Gabriel’s. Even so, the very idea was almost laughable - but also sickening, and Gabriel felt some of the nausea resurface.

“Shut up,” he told Sam. Then, after a moment’s hesitation: “Are you lying? Part of me hopes you’re bullshitting me. Part of me hopes you’re the non-Cretan.”

Sam shook his head. “Dean’s given up on me before. The guy who knows me better than anyone. If that’s my metric, then ... “ He looked away before returning his attention to Gabriel and forcing a smile. “Kind of proves me right, doesn’t it?”

“No offense to your brother, but his patience is on the low end of the bell curve. And I know he’s sort of your hero, Sam, but the only one who has the final say in who gets to give up on who isn’t Dean.”

Sam shrugged. “I was just trying to make a point. We’re not really talking about me.”

“Aren’t we, though? Because I feel like self-revulsion has become a tautology with us."

Sam frowned. “What?”

“It’s like we’re throwing it back and forth. In fact, I - Sam, it’s almost as if you’re trying to take it away from me. Like if you keep on hating yourself enough, there will only be so much left for me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“It’s like you go grabbing for it. Except - and you should know this by now - there’s an infinite supply of that ugliness to go around. It doesn’t matter how much you try to take on; there’s always going to be more for me. For all of us.”

Sam fidgeted. “Yeah. Fine. But that has nothing to do with anything. Not right now.”

“I don’t want you to get the idea that this isn’t about both of us. There’s so much wrong with me, but I’m not an idiot. I know why you’re so good at what you do.”

For a few moments, Sam was quiet. Then he asked, “You want some water or something?”

Gabriel recoiled.

“Would you like some water?” Sam amended.

There were a few moments of silence. Then, eyes trained on Gabriel’s hand clasped in his, Sam said, “I don’t know how to read you. Sometimes you seem all right, but I can’t be sure, because what would I do if I got it wrong and didn’t think to check in and you …” He swallowed. “What if I miss something?”

“What if you do? It isn’t your responsibility to take my vitals every day.”

“Gabriel, you know what I mean. If something happened to you, just because I looked away for a second, I …” Sam trailed off.

“Nothing’s going to happen to me.” Gabriel knew Sam needed to hear him say it. “And even if it did, it wouldn’t be your fault.”

Sam shifted his gaze to his lap.

“You’re not stupid,” Gabriel pressed. “You know I’m always going to come running to you when things get out of hand. Plant my feet beneath your window, throw some pebbles, get down on one knee, give a speech. I don’t even have the capacity to - ” Here Gabriel paused, because it was precisely this that had soured the afternoon.

Sam looked back at him. “To what?”

Gabriel was suddenly overcome by a memory that turned his stomach again: Asmodeus, holding him down, as a second demon raised Gabriel’s arms and pinned them to the floor so that he couldn’t defend himself. This, Asmodeus knew, was a more effective method than any magical restraints could have been. Magic didn’t have a voice. Magic didn’t have a body that could be clawed, punched, and bitten to no avail. Magic robbed Gabriel of only so much dignity, because with magic there was no hope; there was no wasted combat, no maybe I can get away from him that bled through resignation to the inevitable. When Gabriel was attacked, he flailed under the foul illusion of possibility.

It didn’t matter how safe Gabriel might be now. That feeling, that awful feeling, had lessened in frequency, but increased in intensity whenever it returned. There was no safety. There couldn’t be. The closest Gabriel might come to being truly safe was to ensure awareness that he would never be safe.

“Hey,” Sam said quietly. “What’s the matter, Gabe?”

Gabriel gritted his teeth. The ceiling blurred. “I don’t know.”

“Listen, your grace will come back, and even if it didn’t we’d - ”

“Have every right to throw me away.”

“No."

“And when it’s good to go, I’m a valuable asset, so if someone finds that out and comes looking for me and offers you payment - ”

“I told you that’s not gonna happen. Gabriel, none of this crap is worth your time.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m giving it my time. My time is running to these questions with open arms. I can’t stop it. I can’t stop myself. He was - the memories are too strong.” Gabriel blinked and felt a tear glide down his temple and into his ear. “I can’t fight them.”

“I can help!”

“You are helping. You’re at the helm; you have been since the beginning. You started digging through the rubble at ground zero. And I - and - ” Gabriel let out a tight sob. “You need to lower your expectations, Sam. If you think you can change me then you’re only going to end up blaming yourself.”

“Okay.” Sam slid his hand out of Gabriel’s and lifted him upright. “It’s fine. You’re fine. You’re safe; everything’s okay.”

Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut but allowed Sam to hold him close. “You and Dean and Cas - you’re good at fixing things. You’re the world’s handymen. You’ve got wits as your wrench and the universe is a blocked sink. But I …”

“Gabriel, we’ll figure it out.”

“Things come back so fast; a - a memory, and then something in that memory - it leads to another memory. Sometimes I remember things I didn’t even realize I remembered. So I hear these voices telling me to clear out before it gets too late, and the next thing I know he’s telling me about how no matter where I am, he’ll always be with me - inside of me. And then I start thinking about how I gave in when it all got to be too much. Which makes me think of the things he did, the things he made me do, the things I let him do.”

Sam tightened his grip. “You didn’t let Asmodeus do anything.”

“I could’ve at least tried to stop him, though; it just - after a while it felt like there was no point in trying anymore. But where’s the honor in not fighting back? How can I forgive myself for going down just because he told me I would lose? I believed him. I couldn’t help it.”

“That’s not - ”

“Except I don’t think I could have won, because I … because … Asmodeus was stronger, yes, but there’s more than that. Asmodeus was right. I know that’s not what you think, and I believe you - at least sometimes. I just - I know it. The same way I know my grace, and when it isn’t there. It’s automatic, Sam; it’s in my blood at this point. I just know he was right, like I know glass will break when it falls. He was right about never being able to escape, never being enough for him, for anyone; never being quick enough to give, and being greedy enough to take everything he had to offer, pretending like I deserved any of it - his food, his love - ”

“Don’t say it like that. He didn’t love you.”

“And so what if he didn’t? Is that better? What does that say about me, that he had me locked up for so long and never even learned to love me? It’s like I told you, he was right. The proof is there, Sam, right in front of you. You see it every day. What have I done to show I’m worth anything more than what he said I was? He saw me as - ”

“He saw you through his eyes. I have my own. And for all your talk about weakness, you certainly haven’t stopped trying to fight back against me.”

That surprised Gabriel. “Nobody’s trying to fight you. I’m just … I need you to … to know what I am. That’s all. For my sake. And for yours too. So that I’m not thrown off when it happens, and you don’t keep forcing yourself into the pain that you do.”

“‘It’ has nothing to do with this. And I’m not in pain. But you are. Which isn’t your fault. It’s not because you’re not trying, or because you can’t get better. It’s because anyone, even you, even any of your family, or any of us, would’ve had to put in the same work you are after being put through so much torture.”

Feeling slightly frantic, Gabriel pulled away. “Wrong. You went through it yourself, Sam, and you’re miles ahead.”

“It was different, and I’m different, and I’m not not still a mess; you know that. You’ve seen that, Gabe. And also, you were there a lot longer, and when you got out you had more you had to face, and - I don’t know,” Sam finished, suddenly helpless, “Just cut yourself some slack, man.”

“I’m trying,” Gabriel grated out, “And I can’t.”

“Not yet, maybe.”

“I can’t, Sam, because I - because - ”

“Because what?”

“Because I shouldn’t.”

Sam didn’t say anything for a moment. He watched Gabriel, studying his face, building an answer from whatever he saw there.

Then, at last, Sam said: “You never have to talk about what else he did to you. Not if you don’t think you can. That’s fine. But you have to trust that I know it was his fault, not yours. Those thoughts, Gabriel, those memories - they can haunt you, they can hurt you, but they shouldn’t make you feel guilty.”

Gabriel remained silent.

“I need you to trust me,” Sam continued. “I know you usually do. You’ve got to take that a step further. Whatever I hear from you … it’s not going to make me think you’re disgusting. No one - not him, not you - can change my mind about that. Do you know why?”

Still, Gabriel said nothing, just looked at him.

“Because I know I’m right,” Sam told him. “I know it like I know glass breaks when it hits the floor.”

Gabriel’s breath shallowed.

“It’s okay,” Sam said. “It’s all gonna be fine. It’s just me right now.”

No more of this, no more crying, no more crying, please -

Sam laid a hand on his arm. “Relax.”

There had always been uncertainty. Not once had Gabriel allowed for a unanimous vote in his mind so that Sam’s declarations of loyalty could be accepted, beyond reasonable doubt, as wholly honest.

Now, looking into Sam’s face, something shifted. For a moment Gabriel felt the same sense of absoluteness, the same unquestionability, that he knew every time he thought about his own worthlessness.

For a fleeting second, the verdict became obvious.

“Just for tonight,” Sam told him. “Just for tonight, let me help; don’t ask why. Just for today. We don’t have to worry about tomorrow.”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel stammered for the third time. “I don’t - I don’t know. I can’t figure it out.”

“You don’t need to right now. There’s a lot to figure out. I know that.”

“It’s not; it shouldn’t be. I know I don’t deserve this, and I know I can trust you, and I can’t make them work together.”

“They aren’t working together. One of them’s a lie and we can toss it.”

“What if I know it isn’t a lie?"

“What if I know it isn’t a lie?”

Gabriel stared at him for a moment, and then turned away as he choked on another strangled sob.

“Gabriel, look,” Sam said, “As much as I want you to learn to trust yourself, this definitely isn’t the right time. If all you’re thinking is that we don’t want you here, or that you can’t get better, then you need to come to one of us instead of taking your own word on blind faith. I hate to say it, but if the question is between trusting what I tell you and what you tell yourself - what Asmodeus tells you - listen to me for a while. Only me."

Gabriel kept his eyes averted. “I can’t.”

“Yeah. Exactly. You have to let me take charge a little bit, Gabriel. Until you can stop being so violent with yourself. Not like - I don’t need to watch your every move, and you don’t have to tell me what you’re not ready to. That’s fine. All I’m saying is if you’re not sure who’s right about you, assume I know what I’m talking about. Just trust me, is all.”

“Sam - ”

“Try. Just for tonight. There’s no contract. Just try.”

Gabriel wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “I don’t - ”

“You don’t have to know. Not right now.”

Gabriel stared at him bleakly, feeling numb. Then he leaned into Sam and allowed himself to go limp.

Sam held onto him. Neither of them spoke.

“Don’t make me tell you,” Gabriel muttered at last.

“I won’t. Remember? You called me out on that. And I’m glad you did.”

“I might never, though. I might never be able to.”

Sam hugged him more firmly. “No worries about that.”

“I - ”

Sam remained still, waiting.

“For tonight,” Gabriel whispered.

“Yeah. That’s all.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

It was then that Gabriel realized that some of the terror had begun to abate. His head hurt, but he no longer felt sick.

There was darkness around him, darkness inside of him, but no darkness in Sam’s embrace.

More importantly, there was no insincerity. Just for tonight, the language of Sam’s touch could be read as easily as anything else.

[tabloidtoc]

National Enquirer, June 8

Cover: Chinese COVID-19 Cover-up -- defecting diplomat murdered in Israel 

Page 2: Former Jenny Craig weight-loss spokesperson Valerie Bertinelli is packing on the pounds again and said she doesn’t care anymore 

Page 3: Disgraced former Today host Matt Lauer has come out guns blazing in his own defense claiming the rape charges against him were not only false but widely embraced by the #MeToo movement without proper verification 

Page 4: Ryan Seacrest shocked audiences with his slurred speech and shriveled eye on the finale of American Idol prompting fears he could go blind, busybody Jennifer Aniston and cagey ex-husband Justin Theroux are playing cat-and-mouse with each other about their love lives -- while Justin’s been living the single life since their 2017 split Jen is doing everything she can to get the details about his dates 

Page 5: Celebrity Cov-Idiot of the Week -- Maurice Fayne has been arrested for taking millions in emergency money from the government and spending it on over-the-top blind like a Rolex watch, a diamond bracelet and a 5.73 carat diamond ring plus leasing a Rolls-Royce Wraith and paying $40,000 in back child support from money loaned his company under the Paycheck Protection Program which is supposed to be used to prop up small companies during the COVID-19 crisis 

Page 6: The tragic overdose death of Melissa Etheridge’s son Beckett Cypher has insiders fearing for the well-being of his sperm-donating dad rock legend David Crosby -- David had an active role in the boy’s life and with his long list of health woes his friends are afraid he won’t be able to stand the strain of a loss like this 

Page 7: Wannabe actor Prince Harry is so desperate to make it big in Tinseltown that he’s subjecting himself to a grueling Hollywood boot camp and has signed up for a string of special classes and training sessions to follow in the footsteps of his actress wife Meghan Markle, Chip Gaines is going to trial in a million-dollar lawsuit against former partners who accused him of swindling them out of a fortune 

Page 8: Last year doctors concluded that Dolly Parton’s face had been partially paralyzed by Bell’s palsy and she may never sing again -- two videos last month showed her barely able to move her lips and struggling to get her words out and medical experts have warned she also may have suffered a ministroke, Brian Austin Green finally admitted his marriage to Megan Fox is finished

Page 9: Phyllis George was hailed as a TV pioneer when she broke up the boys’ club as the first female anchor of The NFL Today but faced humiliation after being shredded by horrific reviews as an anchor on CBS Morning News -- Phyllis died brokenhearted at 70 following a long illness 30 years after being run out of network television 

Page 10: Hot Shots -- Kristin Chenoweth and her dog Thunder, Chris Sullivan on a bike ride in Brentwood, Pierce Brosnan goes snorkeling in Hawaii, Dean McDermott and son Beau 

Page 11: Tom Cruise is keeping his romance with Sofia Boutella secret and is even donning disguises to avoid detection when he sneaks out to see his co-star from The Mummy, Zooey Deschanel’s pals think her hot romance with Property Brothers star Jonathan Scott will be a flash in the pan because she’s only interested in him for booty calls and raising her profile 

Page 12: Straight Shuter -- comedian Michael Showalter with shopping bags and coffee (picture), in a 2008 interview with Beyonce on the Tyra Banks Show all the questions were cleared in advance with Beyonce, friends and fans are worried about Adele’s recently unveiled massive weight loss because this is a cry for help from someone who’s always claimed she was very comfortable being her size and would never go all Hollywood skinny, now that Bruce Willis and Demi Moore have spent time together in lockdown the former couple are looking to make it permanent with Demi moving in with Bruce and his wife Emma and Emma is the driving force behind the idea -- she loves Demi and wants to get a place where they can all live together, super-healthy Gwyneth Paltrow didn’t always live on a strict diet but as a struggling actress she seemed to survive on cigarettes alone

Page 13: Kristin Cavallari’s diva behavior was behind the demise of her reality show as ratings for E!’s Very Cavallari plummeted in the third season and many of the crew say it was because she’s a royal pain, blowhard Alec Baldwin has been browbeating his pregnant wife in lockdown after Hilaria offered to cut his hair and he replied I don’t think she knows what she’s doing -- Hilaria and Alec hoped her latest pregnancy would boost their sagging union but his behavior may be a sign that the glow of the pregnancy has worn off, Jonah Hill doesn’t go anywhere without his dog Carmela but his pals said the dog stinks

Page 14: True Crime 

Page 15: Internet hackers who stole a trove of celebrities’ information from law firm Grubman Shire Meiselas & Sacks are getting desperate as the FBI closes in on their $42 million extortion scheme, devastated Mary-Kate Olsen is begging sister Ashley Olsen for help navigating her ugly divorce from Olivier Sarkozy and the twins are working up a game plan to protect the $500 million fortune they built together from the French banker 

Page 18: Real Life 

Page 19: George Clooney has resurrected his decades-long feud with romance-novel cover icon Fabio Lanzoni which was so bad the two had to be separated during a vicious confrontation in a Beverly Hill restaurant -- now that George moved back to L.A. after spending years at his homes in England and Italy their rivalry has reared its ugly head again because they run in a few of the same circles and word has gotten back to Fabio that George thinks he’s some type of big shot who deserves special treatment, Ruby Rose landed the role of a lifetime as the title superheroine in Batwoman but after the dark drama turned into a disaster she flew the coop -- Ruby was the face of the show and she got the blame when the writers didn’t do as good as job as they could have plus there was also a lot of fighting behind the scenes among writers and producers

Page 21: How to teach your kids 

Page 22: Health Watch, Ask the Vet 

Page 24: Sarah Palin and her husband Todd are no officially divorced 

Page 26: Cover Story -- Doomed Du Wei was China’s ambassador to Israel and he knew too much about his country’s involvement in the COVID-19 pandemic and its evil expansion plans and he paid with his life 

Page 30: Scott Disick has been hit with a second wave of heartbreak after girlfriend Sofia Richie ditched him after he checked into rehab to treat past traumas caused by the death of his parents and Sofia has already been hanging out with a new mystery man, Hollywood Hookups -- Rooney Mara and Joaquin Phoenix are expecting, Dan Soder and Katie Nolan dating, Katie Maloney-Schwartz and Tom Schwartz are ready to start a family 

Page 32: Kanye West’s ridiculous rules and drastic demands have earned him the title of the worst boss in Hollywood and the bad rap has wife Kim Kardashian at her wit’s end, they’re liberal laugh legends but Bill Maher and Stephen Colbert can’t stand each other and they don’t need a camera running to batter each other with punch lines -- Stephen thinks Bill is pompous and Bill thinks Stephen is a smart-ass 

Page 34: Jennifer Lawrence admitted on Amy Schumer’s new cooking show that she can’t even wait for darkness to fall before drinking alcohol and getting her private house party going -- she said she tries to wait until 6 so she has a preemptive beer at 5, Charlize Theron hates ex Sean Penn so much she pretends he doesn’t even exist -- she dated Sean for a year and a half before calling it quits in 2015 but in 2019 she insisted she’d been single for a decade 

Page 36: Nicole Kidman shattered her ankle in a freak accident while running through their Nashville neighborhood and now her husband Keith Urban and concerned pals fear the effects may cripple her career 

Page 42: Red Carpet Stars & Stumbles -- designer Atelier Versace -- Lupita Nyong’o, Anne Hathaway, Jessica Alba 

Page 45: Spot the Differences -- Nancy Lenehan and Liza Snyder in Man with a Plan 

Page 47: Odd List 

[sourwolfstories]

Long Angsty Sterek Fics

All at least 20k words long (by request)

Divided We Stand by KouriArashi

Derek is being pressured by his family to pick a mate, and somehow stumbles into a choice that they didn't expect and aren't sure they approve of....

By Any Other Name by entanglednow

He doesn't know his name, he doesn't know who he is, and neither does the werewolf he's on the run with. But he's pretty sure they hunt monsters, because they seem to be really good at it.

Permanent Fixture by linksofmemories

Derek is Scott's older brother. Stiles is Scott's best friend. Derek is falling in love with Stiles. This is a bit of a problem.

Mating Habits of the Domesticated North American Werewolf by lielabell

Derek doesn’t do pining. He doesn’t. So when it becomes clear that Stiles is much more interested in having Derek as a new best friend than a boyfriend, he puts on his big boy pants and makes it fucking work. He becomes the best goddamn friend a spastic teenager could ever hope to have.

Don’t Speak by fatale

The Alpha pack has systematically attacked Stiles and his friends for months, testing their strengths and weaknesses. When one of the Alphas goes after Stiles, he awakens in the hospital and realizes that something's wrong. Very wrong. All sounds seem to hurt him, he can't understand what anyone is saying, and when he tries to speak, it's gibberish. How is he supposed to deal with the fact that he's lost the ability to communicate with his dad and his friends?

Without his ability to talk, his sarcasm, and his wit, what does Stiles even have left? Enter Derek, the only one who seems to make it better.

Enemy Lines by qhuinn (tekla)

This is the story of werewolf Derek Hale and human Stiles Stilinski: two people who grew up in the same town but completely different worlds, their realities split by the war between men and wolves.

Years later when Derek returns to Beacon Hills, he does it as Alpha of a military pack on a mission to capture those responsible for the region’s resistance. With his main objective, Sheriff Stilinski, out of sight, he settles for the next best thing: his son, Stiles.

Neither of them suspects they’ll need to trust each other if they want to make it out this alive.

Windows by dr_girlfriend

Derek has a new neighbor who won't stop looking.

Excerpt:

“You’re blind,” Derek said flatly, the anger draining from him so suddenly he felt almost woozy. His vision cleared, his claws sliding back into blunt fingernails.

“Thanks for the memo, genius,” the kid said acidly. “I can still fucking defend myself, so don’t take another damn step.”

“Fuck, I...I’m sorry,” Derek stuttered.

“What?!” The kid’s brow crinkled. “I mean — what?! You’re fucking sorry!?” His lips thinned into a harsh line. “What, is this some kinda Hallmark movie where you’re discovering the error of your ways because you don’t want to rob a blind person?! That’s fucking condescending, man. I’ll have you know that —”

“Just, wait.” Derek interrupted what was apparently the start of a convincing argument as to why he should rob the kid after all, feeling his head start to spin. “This is — it’s a misunderstanding. I’m — I’m not robbing you. You’re — you’re safe, okay? I’m taking three steps back. Just — just let me explain.”

“Explain why you came busting into my apartment? Yeah, go right ahead, man, I can’t wait to hear this epic tale.”

Pulling the Pieces Together by fireflystiles (cuddlehazz)

“You never have hurt anyone. Not then and not now. You just made Coach piss his pants and that’s funny shit there.” Jackson told Stiles. They all underestimated how responsible Stiles felt for the Nogitsune and what happened. No wonder he was afraid to go near the pack, not to mention the whole no control over magic thing. He felt Stiles huff out a breath at the part about Coach which was a good start.

Or after the Nogitsune, Stiles keeps secrets, there are new people in Beacon Hills, and the Pack has fallen apart. Stiles starts to figure out his role in the pack, piecing it back together, and trying to keep everyone safe.

Paint My Spirit Gold by Red_City

There was a gift.

There was a curse.

There is a power in the house of Hale, given to the firstborn son of every generation - the ability to turn everything he touches to gold. Though the original intent of the power was thought of as a gift, in reality, it is a dreaded curse that causes the bearer a life of fear, isolation, and danger.

Thus, Prince Derek is born.

---

[Excerpt from Chapter 22]

He didn’t think much of his hands, or any part of his body, really - but Stiles gaze had lingered enough to make Derek wonder what Stiles’ thought. Now, Stiles honey eyes were fixated on Derek’s hands, running over them like they were something precious rather than tools of death.

“Hmm.”

“What.”

“Nothing, I just - I thought they wouldn’t look like normal hands.”

“Why.”

“Because they’re magic,” Stiles said, looking up to meet Derek’s eyes.

“They’re not magic, they’re cursed,” Derek said, tucking his hands back into the sheet.

Stripped & Polished by Morgana, Winchesterek

Stiles is 17 and he’s sick of being a virgin. The last two and a half years of trying to get laid by every guy in the school (both straight and gay) haven’t worked out and the time he came onto his long time crush Jackson Whittemore blew up in his face. That was it. He was going to go out to a club and find someone to fuck him and they would be just as good as anyone else he was trying to have sex with. He goes to Jungle to scope out his prospects.

Certain Kind of Fool by saraubs

Derek, who has been dragged against his will to the same resort his family visits every summer, is determined to spend the next two and a half months sequestered in his room. His only friend, his sister Laura, is preoccupied with her newly-bonded mate, and doesn't seem to care about anything but making him happy.

When Derek meets Stiles Stilinski, a sharp-tongued waiter, he thinks that this summer might not be a complete waste of time. There are only two problems: First, Stiles is human. Second, he doesn't believe in mates.

Secondhand Soulmate by AnnoyinglyCute, Inell

Not always, not even most of the time, but sometimes -- 24% of the time, statistically speaking -- people meet their soulmates and live happily ever after.

THIS isn't that story.

This is the story of Stiles Stilinski, whose soulmate died before he was born. This is the story of all the sorrows and heartache Stiles experienced, all the bullying and oppression from those who should know better but didn't. This is also the story of the friendships Stiles made along the way, of the battles he fought -- and won -- and the love that endured through it all.

In Need of a Roommate by super_queer

(AU where there are very similar circumstances with the supernatural, but Scott was never bitten so Stiles doesn’t know about werewolves at all. Stiles programs video games for a living and Derek is a fire fighter.)

Stiles is 26 years old and still lives at home, he decides to move out after some prompting from his girlfriend, and finding 29 year old Derek because of an ad online. Stiles moves in with him as more and more strange things start to happen around town. People seem to be getting attacked by wild animals, and Derek seems to know more about these occurrences than the police.

against the shore by Lion_ness

Living in Venice Beach was living in paradise and Stiles wouldn't have it any other way. He worked at a clinic on the boardwalk, had a good group of friends and enjoyed the most beautiful sunsets California had to offer. There was nothing more he could have asked for besides maybe a bigger apartment with his own washer and dryer, but hey, who was complaining? He was perfectly content having sand between his toes on a daily basis and watching the faces of wanderers come and go.

That is until a new bartender, Derek Hale, is introduced to him on a sunny afternoon in June and throws his whole life for quite a spin.

Won’t You Be My Solid Ground by scarlettletterr 

Your typical High School AU. There’s a jock, there’s a nerd, there’s a bet, and there’s feelings. --- (Nerd) Derek Hale is not a chicken, and when Erica bets that he’d never have the courage to date (Jock) Stiles Stilinski for more than two weeks, Derek accepts the challenge, because he’s stupidly attracted to Stiles, and also maybe crushing on him a tiny bit too much. And maybe Stiles has been crushing on Derek for years. And maybe somewhere along the line they fall in love. And then ruin it.

The View From My Window by primroseshows

Derek is a glassblower on the hunt for new ideas. His assistant Scott has some artist friend named Stiles.

Three Marks by sanam

"And then there was pain again, but this time it was in only three places—his arm, below his clavicle, and next to his heart, all on the left side. It felt like the skin was being sliced apart, ripped open, flayed off— And suddenly it was done. Derek looked across the room and saw the boy on the floor, looking about as bad as Derek felt."

Derek and Stiles learn that bonding is probably best done with ridiculous amounts of video games and maybe a little bit of time.

Happier by grimm

When Stiles nearly dies out in the woods one day, Derek kicks him out of the pack, and life gets seriously, seriously shitty.

Reach Out by weathervaanes

Or, In Which Stiles Falls in Love Twice...With the Same Person

-0-

Stiles sees the flyer on his very last day at Beacon Hills High School. It’s hanging, unassuming, in the hall near the front entrance along with bulletins and other flyers, advertisements, posters for free student concerts, but the fact that the word “sex” is written in a font two times larger than the rest of the page catches his attention.

It’s an advice hotline for a whole range of things, from teenage angst to how to deal with your parents telling you you’re adopted and a whole mess in the middle. Stiles thinks it’s funny, though, that they offer advice on sexuality and sex education. It makes sense on the one hand, since high school sex ed does jack shit for actual learning, but anyone who really wants to know stuff has an infinite source of knowledge right on their phone—the internet.

So it starts off as a joke.

The Right Number by kyaticlikestea

When Stiles Stilinski's phone gets switched at the gym, he really just wants it back. The last thing he's expecting is to fall hopelessly in lust with the guy who's got his phone.

So, of course, that's exactly what happens.

I’ll Be Seeing You by thepsychicclam

In the summer of 1941, with the country on the brink of war, diner waiter Stiles meets Derek Hale, an army soldier just passing through Beacon Hills.

I Just Wanna Be With You Every Day by Brego_Mellon_Nin

When his best friend’s son barrels into the kitchen only dressed in a pair of skintight jeans, lean but defined torso on display, Derek knows he’s truly and utterly fucked. Not only is the kid barely eighteen, but he also happens to be the Sheriff’s only son.

Derek makes a vow to himself that he will not seek Stiles out and he’ll get this thing under control.

Silence is Loudest by codarra

Monday dawned fresh and cool and with a lack of Stilinski.

The buzz in the school changed over the week, once Derek started paying attention to it. No longer was the student body talking about where the students were going on vacation, or lack thereof for the more middle-class populace. They were bandying about a different series of words instead.

“Accident.” “Car crash.” “Hit and run.” “Sick. Really sick.” “Disease.” “Brain damage.” “Brain dead.” “Stilinski.” “Stilinski.” “Stilinski.”

Worlds Apart by siny

Derek Hale, Heir Prince of Betonia and Italy, meets Stiles Stilinski, college boy.

Love Don’t Die by Finduilas

Derek is nine years old when he discovers the gift that he's been given. A gift that he didn't necessarily ask for. Derek can touch dead things and bring them back to life. But not without consequences and conditions, many of which are heartbreaking.

Many years later, his path crosses that of his childhood sweetheart, Stiles, in very unfortunate circumstances. But now, Derek's gift gives him the power to save Stiles. And damned be the consequences.

[jugsdead-blog]

Veronica, on the other hand, has a bad habit of repressing her own negative emotions (she prefers helping literally anyone else with their problems). Usually something trivial sets her off, like Kevin bemoaning having to hide his relationship with Joaquin from his dad, or Archie briefly wondering if his dad would like it if he built a gazebo (Betty tries desperately to talk him out of it until Jughead says plainly, “You would literally die if you tried to build something by yourself, Archie” and that’s that, really). But it has Veronica thinking about her own father; how it’s been over a year since he’s held her in his arms, how when he calls her “Princess” over the phone, his voice is strained and tired. On days like those, she asks Jughead if he wants to watch Paper Moon and he keeps her close as she cries through it.

8. Who sleeps in their underwear (or naked)/ Who sleeps in their pajamas? Jughead usually sleeps in a pair of his dad’s (or Archie’s) old sweatpants and a t-shirt. He’s surprised when he sees Veronica in a simple–not sexy, not chic–if anything, it’s too large to be truly flattering–t-shirt for the first time. He laughs when she tells him how she wears pearls and designer nightgowns to Cheryl’s sleepovers to annoy Penelope Blossom, and she laughs with him.

9. Who makes the coffee (or tea)? Veronica is not shocked when she finds out Jughead has been drinking coffee black for most of his life (”Since I was eight,” he says it like he’s proud and Veronica rolls her eyes so hard she gives nearly herself a headache). Eventually she thinks she is able to convince him that, yes, herbal tea can soothe nerves. He never says so outright, but he always appears appreciative when Veronica has some extra tea with her (Veronica had initially not enjoyed having to semi-permanently trade her favorite Prada handbag for a clunky Marc Jacobs shoulder bag on the off-chance Jughead was feeling anxious that day and she needed two thermoses instead of one, but when she pulls it out and he looks at her like she may well have hung the moon, she finds she doesn’t really care).

10. Who likes sweet/ Who likes sour? Jughead likes every kind of candy, but he leans toward sweet. Veronica, as a rule, doesn’t eat candy, but sometimes Jughead hands her a piece of whatever he’s enjoying that day and she can never find it in herself to say no.

11. Who likes horror movies/ Who likes romance movies? They both really love bad horror movies. Not movies that are meant to be bad, but movies that are actually trying to be good and just end up bad. By the end of most movies, it sounds like they’re just trying to out-scoff each other, Jughead saying things like “Wow, that transition was atrocious” over Veronica’s insistence that, surely, they could have found a better looking male lead considering they didn’t even bother to find a good actor.

When the mood strikes her Veronica will turn on a Nicholas Sparks movie, much to Jughead’s vocal dismay. She smirks when he asks her to pause the movie he supposedly hates while he goes to the bathroom, but doesn’t push the issue.

NOTE: i’m skipping 12 bc it turned into an honest to god FIC which i will finish later :-)

13. Who is considered the scaredy cat? + 14. Who kills the spiders Veronica considers herself pretty fearless…but her resolve is broken the second she sees a creepy-crawly in the ridiculous amount of space she refers to as her “personal area.” Usually, she asks someone else (Jughead) to “get it away” but also insists that they do it without actually killingthe thing, which Jughead finds both impossibly annoying and incredibly endearing.

16. Who is scared of thunderstorms? Neither of them tbh. I think Jughead enjoys them while Veronica only laments what the humidity is going to do to her hair.

18. Who is a cat person/ Who is a dog person? Jughead has only ever had a dog, and thus considers himself a Dog Person™, but he doesn’t hate cats with a fiery passion like Archie does.

19. Who loves to call the other one cute names? Veronica, but only because it annoys the ever loving fuck out of Jughead. The only thing he is ok with is ‘Juggie’ but Veronica has come up with several nauseating variations (Juggie-poo, Juggie-pie, Dollface???, Sugar lips????), much to the delight of one Kevin Keller.

20. Who is dominant/ Who is submissive?
In their day-to-day lives, Veronica is dominant. And though Jughead puts on a show of battling her at every turn, he usually ends up doing what she wants (sometimes he realizes it doesn’t bother him as much as it should, but then he tucks the thought away because it makes his stomach flutter and, honestly? fuck that)

21. Who has an obsession (over anything)? Jughead is obsessed with Tarantino, as everyone knows. He makes Veronica watch the movies she has seen with director commentary. Veronica smiles when Jughead finds it in himself to talk over even the great Tarantino in order to make a point about the film.

22. Who goes all out for Valentine’s Day? Veronica takes it to a level that Jughead can’t even imagine. Chocolate, flowers, at some point there is a barbershop quartet? The entire day was honestly a blur, ending with Veronica renting out the local cinema and playing what was essentially a chronological marathon of the best Film Noir to ever grace the silver screen.

(The look of happy surprise on her face when Jughead gives her a simple necklace is not one he’ll forget)

24. Who is the talker/ Who is the listener? Jughead rants a lot, but sometimes Veronica will get a little gossip-y…and though Jughead sees himself as “above” that sort of thing, he listens and responds as if she were telling him a very important life event.

25. Who wears the other ones clothes? Veronica Lodge is nothing if not a master at accessorizing. She’ll take a shirt Jughead has grown too tall to wear comfortably and somehow look better in it than he, or anyone, could even hope to.

One time Jughead wore one of Veronica’s bags to Pop’s instead of his usual sack, but that’s a different story entirely

27. Who takes a long shower/ Who sings in the shower? Veronica does both. Jughead listens.

29. Who is the better cook? Jughead can cook simple things. He’s learned to take care of himself since his dad was away a lot. Veronica, on the other hand, is appalled if you ask her to toast a piece of bread.

31. Who is more affectionate? Veronica is more affectionate in public, but you’d have to be watching to notice the little things she does (rest her hand on his leg, fix his hat, slide her unfinished food over to him at Pop’s). In private, Veronica is surprised at how affectionate Jug can be. He has a weird fixation with her hair (“it’s really soft,” he says plainly) and is constantly plays with it when they’re alone.

32. Who likes to have really long (deep) conversation? Jughead loves him some deep conversation. He especially loves it when Veronica disagrees with what he’s saying, because their debates are spirited and sometimes she makes some points that he finds really hard to argue (he does anyway, but).

33. Who would wear “not guilty” t-shirt/ Who would wear “sin” t-shirt? Kevin got a matching set for them (AND INSISTED ON Veronica being “Not Guilty” and Jughead being “Sin”) as a joke (and taking pictures) while Veronica complained about the quality of the fabric and Jughead just complained.

38. Who likes to star gaze? They both enjoy a quiet night together looking up at the stars. Sometimes Jughead will point out the few constellations that he actually remembers from Astronomy, and Veronica will hum and listen while she traces them with her fingers.

Sometimes, Veronica will talk about what her horoscope sai that morning. Jughead can go on for hours about how astrology is bullshit but he doesn’t argue when Veronica tells him their signs are “like, freakishly compatible.”

39. Who buys cereal for the prize inside? Jughead has a private (very private) collection of cracker jack prizes that he knows Archie would lose or break. He flushes when Veronica comes across them while she’s browsing through his wardrobe (as she is prone to do to anyone who will let her), but she doesn’t laugh. Instead she smiles and asks about each one, about when he started collecting them, about how he managed to keep track of them (and it feels like something private between them).

47. Who has the more complex coffee order? Veronica used to pride herself on her complex orders, but apparently she’s spoiled Jughead with her Rich People Coffee™ because he visibly grimaced every time he has to drink something that isn’t a venti, half-whole milk, one quarter 1%, one quarter non-fat, extra hot, split quad shots (1 ½ shots decaf, 2 ½ shots regular), no foam latte, with whip, 2 packets of splenda, 1 sugar in the raw, a touch of vanilla syrup and 3 short sprinkles of cinnamon.

50. Who is the hopeless romantic Veronica, 100%. She honestly believes that everyone has a soul mate. Jughead is infinitely more jaded and openly disagrees with her, but every time they argue, Veronica says something stupid like, “Soulmates argue, too. So we’ll be fine.” and Jughead’s resolve is gone.

[lost-n-stereo]

my only wish this year (it’s you)

[AO3] 

A/N: It’s finally finished! These are the last two chapters but you can read the entire thing on tumblr HERE or on AO3 at the link up there. Thanks to everyone that has read/reviewed/liked/commented on this fluffy little fic. I really hope you all enjoyed it!

chapter 4

The week after Christmas is a blur of getting to know this man that already knows everything about her.

She finds out that he loves chocolate chip cookies but never with milk. He likes them with orange juice which is basically the grossest thing she’s ever heard. He’s fluent in three languages, knows more about history than anyone she’s ever met and can solve a Rubik’s Cube in under five minutes.

They spend their nights wrapped up in each other, his leg tucked in between hers and his head usually resting between her breasts. It’s as natural as breathing and every single night she goes to sleep terrified that when she wakes up the next morning she’ll be alone. There’s no way that this is permanent. She’s too happy, too content, and as great as it is, it still doesn’t feel real.

But every morning, there he is. Brown messy curls and his reading glasses askew as he reads from whatever book is sitting on their nightstand. She has grown to love the feel of his morning stubble brushing against her cheek when he kisses her good morning. His off key singing when he cooks her breakfast is endearing and when he makes love to her it’s like he’s setting her on fire from the inside out.

The last day of December starts with a snow flurry and Clarke holds a cup of hot chocolate in her hands as she watches kids playing in the park across the street from her apartment building.

“They’re cute,” Bellamy says when he comes up behind her, his nose cold on her neck when he presses a kiss to her shoulder.

Clarke nods and lets out a little sigh when he nibbles the skin behind her ear. “You’re insatiable.”

She can feel his chuckle against her entire body. “Sorry?”

“Don’t be,” she whispers as she turns around in his arms. “I love it.”

“And I love you,” he says before capturing her lips with his but she holds up a hand before he can take it any further.

“We’ve barely left the apartment all week,” she giggles when he bites her bottom lip and tugs. “It’s New Year’s Eve. What do you want to do?”

Bellamy turns her back around so he’s standing behind her again and holds her close against his front. “Nothing. I just want to sit on the balcony at midnight, my arms around my girl and a good bottle of wine to split between the two of us.”

Clarke sighs happily and leans back in his arms. “Sounds like heaven.”

***

A heavy weight sits on her shoulders all day and she can’t figure out why.

Nothing is different than the last few days. They eat lunch at the dining room table, their legs intertwined underneath, and she snorts into her coffee when he does a spot on impression of Raven. They watch reruns of Friends and The Office until her sides hurt from laughing so much.

“Do you think something can be too perfect?”

She’s laying on the sofa with her feet in his lap and he tickles her heel as he ponders her question.

“That’s a little random. Explain?”

She shrugs and twists so her toes are running up the outside seam of his jeans. “I don’t know,” she admits. “Like this, us. Do you ever feel that it’s too good to be true? Like if we close our eyes for too long we’ll wake up and it’ll just be…”

He pokes her foot with his finger when she doesn’t elaborate. “It’ll just be what?”

“Gone.”

The word hangs between them and she wishes like hell she could just take it back. This is her life, at least for now, and she should be enjoying it, not making it awkward with random philosophical questions.

Bellamy holds out his hand for her and she rolls her eyes a little before letting him pull her across the couch.

“Clarke, I don’t know or care if this is too good to be true.” He pushes her hair out of her face and drops a kiss to her temple. “All I know is that I am happier with you than I am when I’m without you. I don’t want to lose that feeling. Ever.”

“Me either.”

They make love on the couch with the TV playing softly in the background and the snow falling steadily outside.

*** Midnight feels like a deadline.

She can feel it in her bones, deep inside where her intuition lies. Something is off and she doesn’t want to believe it but she knows that it’s true.

Tonight is their last night.

Even though she can feel the clock ticking, like she’s some fucked up version of Cinderella, she doesn’t want it to change anything between them. She makes them a simple dinner with big glasses of wine that she spent way too much money on. They settle in to watch the ball drop, thankful that they are inside on this freezing winter night and not in the middle of thousands of strangers.

She’s in his arms (for now) and that’s enough for her.

Bellamy yawns at ten minutes to midnight and she panics. It’s too early to go to bed and she doesn’t want this night to end just in case she wakes up alone in the morning.

“Hey,” she pokes him in the side. “What happened to sitting on the balcony at midnight?”

He grins, albeit a little sleepily, and stands up. “What my lady wants, my lady gets.”

Clarke snickers and grabs the blanket from the back of the couch. “You’re a dork. Let’s go.”

The snow is still falling softly but they are protected by the overhang on her balcony. Clarke shivers a little despite her long sleeve shirt, pajama pants and wool socks.

“Come here,” Bellamy says quietly from behind her and she smiles as she settles between his outstretched legs on the wicker chaise. He runs his hands up and down her arms a few times. “You’re so cold.”

“I’m better now.” She snuggles into his warmth and he kisses her neck once before putting his chin on her head.

It’s then that a light in the sky catches her eye and she sucks in a breath. No, this can’t be happening.

“Was that a shooting star?” Bellamy asks her and she closes her eyes in a panic.

God, I hope not.

“Maybe it’s a satellite,” she says weakly. “Don’t think you can make a wish on those though.”

“Then we’ll pretend,” he tells her sweetly. “Make a wish, Clarke.”

Her heart is pounding. This can’t be over. It just can’t be. She’s not ready. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and makes her wish.

I wish this was all real.

Bellamy is still holding her when she opens her eyes but she knows how this works. He’s going to be there when she falls asleep but come morning she’ll be back to her old life.

“I need to say something,” she says, sitting up so she’s facing him. “No matter what happens tomorrow I need you to know something.”

“Clarke…”

She shakes her head. “No, please don’t stop me. Just let me talk.” He nods his head and waits so she continues. “Before this week you were just this stranger to me. A guy I watched from afar and I know this doesn’t make sense to you but just bear with me, okay?”

He’s just staring at her and she knows there’s a question on the tip of his tongue but she’s not going to give him the chance to question her when they are running out of time.

“I didn’t know you but I do now and I am so in love with you, Bellamy Blake. I am hoping like hell that when I wake up tomorrow you’ll be here but if you’re not, then at least I got to spend the last week being loved by you.”

Tears are falling freely but she doesn’t try to stop them and Bellamy doesn’t say anything, just pulls her down until his lips are on hers. She’s sure that he can taste her tears but he doesn’t seem to mind, just kisses her deeper as sounds of celebration start up around them.

“Happy New Year,” he whispers against her lips. “No matter what, I am yours. Okay?”

She nods and smiles even though she feels like breaking down. “Take me to bed, Bellamy.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

***

She knows he’s not there before she even opens her eyes.

Her chest doesn’t feel heavy for one. Every morning she’s woken up to his arm lying under her breasts, the warmth of his skin acting like her own personal heater. The bed is too cold and she tries to pretend that she’s back in that other world. Back with him.

Her phone is going off next to her head and she sighs as she moves her hand around without opening her eyes.

Merry Christmas Eve! reads the text from Raven but…

What? It’s January 1st, not Christmas Eve. Isn’t it?

Only her phone confirms that it’s December 24th when she pulls up her calendar. Her heart is aching in her chest. She runs her hand absently over the empty side of the bed, her sight blurring when she sees the dish that held Bellamy’s glasses is nowhere to be found.

She needs a plan, a way to get him back into her life. There’s no way she can just run up to him and tell him that she’s seen what their life could be together but she can’t sit back and do nothing either.

For now though, because it’s Christmas Eve again and she’s completely alone, she curls herself onto what she now thinks of as his side of the bed and she cries.

~~~

chapter 5

Six weeks later

The sun is barely peeking through the clouds as she hurries along the street, a white cashmere scarf wrapped around her neck. She thought it would be festive to wear pink and white even though it’s not actually Valentine’s Day because it falls on a Sunday this year and she doesn’t work weekends.

“You’re here early,” Raven comments when Clarke passes her office. “Nice coat,” she snickers and Clarke flips her off.

“Shut it,” Clarke laughs. “I happen to love this coat, thank you very much.”

Once she’s in her office she unbuttons the baby pink peacoat and tries not to dwell too much on the memory of Bellamy telling her about their first kiss. It’s been a month and a half since the dream or whatever the hell it was and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t think about him every day.

There was a moment when they made eye contact on the subway not long after she woke up and she could swear that he knew, that he felt it too. But then he just smiled and boarded the train, asked her how her holidays were and went back to his book.

Her holidays, her real holidays, were spent alone for the most part. She got together with Raven, Monty, Harper and some friends the day after Christmas for brunch. Raven listened intently as Clarke described the insanely detailed dream she had.

“You have to talk to him,” Raven insisted when Clarke finished telling her everything. “Maybe it was more than just a dream. Maybe it was a…glimpse.”

“A glimpse?”

Raven had just nodded excitedly. “Yes, like the universe showing you what your life could be like if you just took a chance.”

So she set out to talk to him more. Ask him on Mondays how his weekend was and then if he had any big plans on Fridays. They sit and laugh as they exchange stories about their crazy friends or family. She is getting to know him, slowly but surely, and she knows that soon she’ll have the guts to make a real move.

She didn’t get to see him this morning because she wanted the weekend to herself and the book she’s currently editing requires extra attention and she’d much rather do it in the office than on her downtime.

“What are you doing here so early?” Clarke asks Raven after grabbing each of them a cup of coffee from the break room. Raven does her grabby hands when Clarke passes her the mug and she laughs. “You’re never here this early. What’s up?”

Raven shrugs. “I may or may not have a date tonight and wanted to get some work done so I could get out of here early.”

Clarke mock gasps and puts a hand to her chest. “Why has my little Raven found a gentleman caller?”

Raven rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her coffee. “Shut up. His name is Wells and he’s a contractor for some big shot company in Brooklyn.”

Clarke sits up in her seat. “Wait a second…Wells? Wells Jaha?”

“Oh shit, why do you know his last name?”

Clarke grabs her phone and logs into Facebook, pulling up Wells’ profile. “Is this him?”

“Oh shit, why is he on your friends list?” Raven’s forehead hits the desk and Clarke laughs.

“I’ve known Wells Jaha since…god since we were infants. He was my first boyfriend, actually.”

This causes Raven to look up and scowl. “So you’re telling me that I’m about to go on a date with your childhood sweetheart?”

“If it makes you feel any better, he’s a very nice guy. And a pretty decent kisser but then again I was only eight so what do I know?”

Clarke ducks when Raven throws a stack of post its at her. “Get out of my office, will ya? I got work to do.”

The rest of the day passes without fanfare. Clarke throws Raven a wink when she heads out an hour early and she laughs when Raven scowls and flips her off. She still has another hour before she can head out of here so she buckles down to work, her headphones playing softly in her ear as she moves her red pen across the stack of papers in front of her.

The subway platform is surprisingly empty when she arrives so she pulls out her phone and scrolls through her Facebook and Twitter feeds.

She leans against a pillar with her phone in her hand and she can’t help but laugh out loud at a text that just came through from Raven.

Still can’t believe I’m about to go mack on your childhood boyfriend. Wish me luck.

Clarke’s just about to type in a response when she hears a familiar voice behind her.

“You have the most adorable laugh I’ve ever heard.”

Her breath hitches in her chest when she turns around and sees Bellamy standing there with his hands tucked into his front pockets, a bright smile on his gorgeous face.

She blushes when he winks. “Thank you. What are you doing here? This isn’t your stop.”

Bellamy shakes his head and steps closer to her. “It’s not but I had to see you.”

“You did?”

Her heart is beating so fast it’s likely to take flight and fly right out of her chest.

Bellamy takes another step closer and then another until he’s almost toe to toe with her. “I did,” he nods. “Clarke, I have wanted to tell you something for weeks but it never seems to be the right time and I’m tired of waiting. Octavia keeps telling me to just make a move and she’s right so that’s what I’m doing.”

Clarke sucks in a breath when Bellamy reaches down for her hand. This can’t be happening. Not when she’s wearing exactly what he said she was wearing. Not when he’s saying exactly what he told her that he said.

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And if you don’t go out with me I might just die,” he chuckles. “Dramatic I know but I feel like we need to know each other. And I know that you feel it too, I can see it in your eyes when you look at me. Please tell me that you feel this too.”

She doesn’t nod or agree, just stands up on her toes and kisses him gently. A slight brush of her lips across his and it somehow feels exactly like she remembered but also an entirely new experience. His hands find her hips and he holds her close to him as he kisses her thoroughly.

“Wow,” he says when he pulls away. He rests his forehead on hers and smiles. “I definitely didn’t know that was going to happen.”

Clarke grins and tugs him down so she can speak against his lips.

“Don’t worry. I did.”

*** 10 months later

“Merry Christmas, baby.”

Clarke groans when Bellamy nips the skin right beneath her belly button with his teeth. “You too. Now don’t stop.”

Bellamy chuckles as he moves further down and she can feel his breath hot on her inner thigh. “Is it just me or does this feel a lot like déjà vu?”

Shortly after they started dating Clarke confided in him about her dream, her glimpse and even though it seemed farfetched there were a lot of things she couldn’t have known otherwise. Octavia’s boyfriend Lincoln, for one. There was no way for Clarke to know about him and when she met the real Lincoln she almost had a heart attack. Also, the cookie thing. She almost laughs just thinking about the time she brought him a glass of orange juice with his stack of cookies instead of milk.

“How in the world…” He had looked from the glass to her a few times in awe and she had just laughed and shrugged. And of course she’ll never in her life forget the moment that’s happening again right now.

“Maybe because it’s happened before,” she says breathlessly as she clutches his shoulders. “Will you please, please give me my present now?”

“With pleasure,” he mumbles against her but instead of putting his mouth on her he puts a small box on her stomach instead.

“Bellamy…” She looks down, her eyes wide, as she takes in the black velvet box resting on her bare skin.

He grins, that devastatingly handsome smile he pulls out only on special occasions, and repositions himself so he’s hovering over her.

“Clarke, I feel like I’ve known you forever. I believe that this isn’t our first lifetime together and I don’t think it’ll be our last. So…” He pauses to open the box and Clarke feels the first tear hit her cheek when he pulls out the ring. “Will you marry me?”

She doesn’t nod or agree, just leans up and brushes her lips gently against his. A kiss that encompasses both the past and their future, familiar but as exciting as their first kiss like it always is.

“Should I take that as a yes?” He chuckles against her lips and she finally nods and holds out her hand so he can slip the ring on.

“Wow,” she says, resting her forehead against his. “I definitely didn’t know that was going to happen.”

He pushes a strand of hair out of her eyes and kisses her again.

“Don’t worry. I did.”

[originaldetectivesheep]

The Thirty and One Nights' Momentary Diversion - On the Graveyard Shift

Tonight's story goes out to all the other ground-down, worn-out on-call 'resources' out there who've ever had to put down their fork, tie their boots up again, and go back to work on a problem the customer should've been able to solve themselves -- please don't do this in real life.

On The Graveyard Shift

Dan rolled his beer in his hands, thinking.  He was still new, just at the end of his first week, barely done with his basic training, still not all the way through the syntax doc for Jokol Communications' proprietary scripting language, so he felt kind of weird about bringing it up, but it was Friday, and nearly everyone was packed into the kitchen, drinking; maybe this was how they did it back in Sweden too, and this wasn't just about taking some time to blow off steam and team-bond, but to make him less uncomfortable.  If that was how it was, it was working – two of the Lagunitas cans had definitely loosened him up, and it was just a question, right?  What was the harm in asking?

"I'm sorry if this is, like, weird," he said, kind of cutting in on the end of James' story about the truck his cousin had just bottomed out for the second time, "but I think I know everyone in the office by now – but I still don't think I know who has that office behind me.  Are they just on vacation this week?"

It was an innocent question, but it was like if he'd asked if anyone was up to shoot a bunch of heroin over the weekend.  Karen looked away and bit her lip; Yichuen slammed down the last of his Pacifico all at once and almost jogged around the refrigerator to pitch it in the trash and split; Allen shot a look over at Janak, who crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows to the sky like he was goddamn sure not touching this with a ten-foot pole.  Debbie was suddenly very interested in something on her phone, and Siba took a call or 'took a call' as an excuse to get the hell out.  Dan was left just looking around, stunned dead, not sure what the hell he'd done to kill the conversation or what he was supposed to do from here.  What the heck was this even?  And if this got back to Pierre or Ravi – would they like fire him on his trial period for screwing up the office chemistry?  What had he done?

At last, Brian spun around in the one rolly chair, looking him dead in the eye, knuckles tight around the neck of his Fat Tire.  "That office, don't worry about it.  Don't talk about it too much – it's nothing to worry about."

"But –" Dan was looking around, not sure what the hell to make of this, because it was sure as shit that everyone else at Jokol was worried about it or something.

"You live in Medford, right?  Meet me at P.J.'s in Teele tomorrow for the game; I'll explain it more there.  It's kind of wicked long, and I want to go home – I just come off on-call, and it's not healthy to stick around work longer than you have to."  He slugged the last bit out of the bottom of his beer and clunked it into the recycling bin.  "That's that; if you're gonna hang around to dry out, find something else to talk about – something lighter than that, huh? Isn't the Walking Dead starting up again?"  Janak threw out a reference in response, and Dan sat dumb as Brian left and his co-workers started discussing zombie dismemberment – as something lighter than whatever was the matter with that office that they weren't supposed to talk about.

Dan had no idea what 'game' Brian was going to be at P.J. O'Toole's for, and was surprised to find him already parked at the bar, most of an Irish breakfast gone and a second Guinness, at least, half-empty in front of him when he came into the bar at eleven.  He tried to contain his shock, but while Brian definitely noticed, he snorted like he didn't care, and motioned at a seat.  "Took you damn long enough; it's good that the second game's Chelsea kicking the shit out of West Brom, I won't be missing anything while we talk." He picked up a last forkful of beans, and Dan slid gingerly into a chair, looking uneasily at the Guinness that the dreadlocked Brazilian bartender set in front of him, apparently certain that anyone who was friends with Brian would be all about thowing down stouts first thing in the morning.

Dan picked up his beer and took a tentative sip.  "Then – right, about the office.  I'm sorry if I, like said something wrong back there – it's only my first week, and I don't really know anything yet.  Is there like something wrong with it?"

Brian arched an eyebrow over his beer.  "That office?  Yeah, it's cursed.  That's why it's empty – and people don't like to talk about it."

Dan's face flattened out, unbelieving.  "Cursed?  Cursed?  Like –"

"Like whoever takes it leaves.  The last guy Pierre sat in there was this guy Rich, a cold-call sales rep. He got zero hits in two weeks in the office and quit out of depression.  Before him there was a project manager called Wade – he made all kinds of shit undeliverable promises and nearly fucked us out of our biggest customer, so he had to go. Before him it was one of a couple Chrises – and that's the other curse, if you don't know it, that there isn't ever more than one person with the same name at this company, so if there's two, one's got to go.  They put the good Chris who was on track for the architect position in the office, and he got a better offer from Tetradyne and quit two weeks in, so we were stuck with the bad Chris who boat-anchored the support team for three months until Piotr caught him abusing sick time and canned him. One or two of these might have been an accident: all of them, one after the other, it's got to be a curse."  Brian took a deep drink from his beer.  Dan's head was swimming, and he hadn't hardly drunk anything yet.

"But – cursed – it can't always have been cursed – the place is just, like, a normal office building.  Was it that way from the start, like when you moved in?" As weird as this was already, asking about previous tenants doing voodoo rituals in the office was just borrowing trouble, and he couldn't be sure that Brian wasn't just lying to him.

Brian looked unexpectedly reflective, elbows on the bar.  "I don't know.  It was before my time, but probably not much.  Go look up the Employee of the Quarter plaque, if you can find it – last I saw it was covering a hole in the kitchen wall over the fridge, because the brass doesn't want to make a big deal of it.  That plaque's got two names on it, two quarters only, and it stops in 2007 Q2 for a reason.

"The second name, Merzahd, he's the one who was in support before me.  He got on the plaque for doing three weeks of 24-hour call in a row, and he quit the month after he got the award.  Burnout.  Burnout gets you.  The first name is the guy he replaced, a guy called Warren.  He did the same stuff, met the same fate – as far as I've gotten anyone to tell me.  Merzahd, people have him on LinkedIn, they sort of know what he's doing; Warren, he finished up his back to back to back and had some stupid hand-holder prod ticket at five on a Friday and he just lost it.  He finished the case and got it Pending Close, but he grabbed up one of the permanent markers – not even the whiteboard ones – and chalked up FUCK THIS SHIT on the back wall of that office in foot-high black letters, left his security badge on his laptop, and just walked the hell out.  Nobody ever heard from him again, and when the janitors found what he'd written on Monday, they had to chisel it off the wall and repaint – there was no getting that off."

Dan stopped and blinked, beer hanging in midair.  "So – then –"

"Yeah, that's about the shape of it," Brian said, plugging back the rest of his Guinness and signaling for another.  "Hell hath no fury like a support engineer at the end of his rope, and you're new yet, and in Services – you don't know that over by us we make suicide jokes to whistle past the graveyard.  Whisper it, but like as not Warren got sick to fucking death of the fucking customers and killed himself, and he's haunting that office with frustration and despair down to this day."  He picked up his new beer and took a long pull off it without letting the head settle, ignoring Dan's horror-wide eyes and hanging jaw.

"But – but – but –"

"But it's a crazy story, and there's no ghosts and no curses?"  Brian cocked an eyebrow back over his beer, leaning away.  "Sure, fine; believe whatever you like.  As long as you don't get posted up in that office, and as long as you keep the door closed, you'll be fine.  Probably.  I mean, I've been here ten years and change, and I haven't heard about it getting out and jumping on anyone outside. Well.  Yet."  He leaned back, glugging away at his beer, and Dan looked down at his hands.  Maybe Brian was putting him on, the grizzled old veteran hazing the wet-behind-the-ears newbie.  Maybe – or maybe every single person in the office wasn't in on the hazing plot and there was really something weird through the glass behind his cube.  Maybe Jokol was really cursed.  Maybe.  Whatever.  He couldn't deal with this, not like this right now – but maybe the Guinness would help.  Dan leaned back, eyes closed, and tried to get all of the beer down in a single swallow.